Re: 10th floor: 2:15 a.m.
He slid his muzzle off the bed. Woodsman. The very word sparked echoes of anger, fear, violence. He had another flashing, intense urge to just eat the girl, take short-term satisfaction over the potential of a long-term food source.
He watched her, curled on her side. She wouldn't suspect it, not now. And she had tricked him, toyed with him.
But she'd also offered him food, if only to save her own skin. That uncomfortable, prickling sensation was back, and he didn't like it in the least. A memory cropped up, unbidden, of Red laughing--and of enjoying the sound, relief at her happiness.
He watched her, ears flattened back against his head. What was this girl, anyway?
He moved toward the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on her until he finally settled down on the floor, curling up. Well, he was tired anyway. He could still eat her, at some point. Tomorrow. Any time he wanted, any time she was no longer useful.