Chapter 2
2. Caught Again
Hill opened her eyes.
In the silent room, the faint glow of a single candle wavered against the darkness.
“……”
A low breath leaked from lips she hadn’t even parted. A sob burst out reflexively. She bit it back, burying her face into the bed as she wept.
“Uh… ah…”
She failed.
In the end… She’s back here again.
Did you really think someone like you could escape him?
The self-mocking voice overflowed with self-loathing. She cried until every muscle in her body twitched.
Even when she heard the door open, her sobbing did not stop.
The door closed again. Soft footsteps sounded within the room. She didn’t need to look up to know the scene.
He was probably leaning against the doorway, watching her—indifferent, as if staring into the lifeless eyes of prey he had already caught.
The heat and bitterness that had choked her throat slowly subsided. She barely managed to gather herself and lift her head.
“You’re crying again.”
The man’s voice was so low it felt closer to a vibration than sound. Hill did not wipe away her tears, only stared at the blurred image before her. Even through vision smeared like half-dried dye, she could easily imagine what he looked like.
He walked toward her. His steps were slow, but his long stride brought him in front of her in no time. Rough, lukewarm fingers tipped her chin upward. Helplessly, her head tilted back further.
“What a waste.”
His lips landed on her wet cheek.
Warmth spread across her skin. A hot tongue licked at her tear-soaked face again and again, like a loyal hound. Greedy lips roamed as though they meant to swallow her whole, pressing against her eyelids and tracing along her closed eyes.
The persistence felt as though it might burrow straight into her eyeballs.
After replacing her tears with his saliva, his lips drifted downward again. Along the bridge of her nose, and lower still.
They followed her dry cheek and bit at her chin. After collecting the very last drop pooled there, he whispered low.
“Sweet.”
His breath brushed her lips. She said nothing, only closed her eyes.
His damp skin grazed across her face as he moved.
“You traveled on Bakhtiyan, didn’t you?”
“……”
She didn’t answer. From a short distance away, he spoke casually.
“Through Rozhan, then Nihre, Ashvel, and Raltantar.”
“……”
“You really didn’t make it easy for me.”
His voice, wrapped in a veil of gentleness, drifted by like the wind.
“I had to clean everything up.”
“…What?”
She couldn’t ignore that. Her voice—ruined and hoarse from crying—broke sharply.
The man smiled slightly, as though he had expected that reaction.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“Just now… what did you say…?”
Her broken words cracked like dried mud. He tilted his head, feigning confusion, then smiled as if he understood.
“Ah, ‘clean up,’ you mean?”
The way his red eyes curved with amusement made her feel like vomiting. Leisurely watching her trembling gaze, he replied,
“Since places unworthy dared to receive Hill’s footsteps, shouldn’t they be cleaned accordingly?”
“Don’t tell me…”
“Nihre’s Agandu was a shame. There aren’t many villages left that make such fine carpets.”
“……”
Dizziness washed over her.
“Don’t worry too much, Hill. After traveling that far, it was only three places. At most, three villages.”
“A… ah…”
“More importantly, your voice is in terrible shape. They say this tea soothes the throat and lowers fever. Why not try drinking some?”
Hill didn’t answer. She only trembled. Watching her, he smiled again and urged her gently.
“Why don’t you drink it, Hill.”
She wanted to fling the cup away. Lunatic. Madman.
But she couldn’t.
The thought of what might happen to the person who brewed the tea tightened around her throat like a mound of earth.
Her shaking hand reached for the cup—or tried to.
Crash!
Her hand trembled too much. She dropped it.
The teacup struck the edge of the bed and slid off, shattering loudly on the floor. She stared blankly, clutching the sheets, as the man picked up the teapot without concern.
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
“……”
“But since it seems difficult for Hill to even hold a cup…”
He drew out the end of his sentence, then tilted the spout. Murky tea filled his mouth. Without spilling a single drop, he held it there and slowly bent down.
Lips carrying the scent of salt and tea covered hers.
A tongue forced its way between her lips. Hill did not resist.
The tea surged into her mouth. His tongue invaded deeply, guiding the liquid down her throat. The act was gentle, like feeding a baby bird. But Hill felt nauseous. A reflexive, suffocating breath rose in her chest.
Because of that, a thin stream of tea leaked from the corner of her mouth. Still, she couldn’t pull away.
The man held her chin firmly and continued moving his tongue. Even after making her swallow the last of the tea, he didn’t stop. Hot, sticky breath filled her mouth.
Hill thought that she wanted to bite down on his tongue and swallow it whole.
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