Page 64 of Palingenesis

Chapter 34

Ilios

The human makes noises he cannot hear, his discontentment painted clearly on his pinched face.

“It is sustenance,” I press, both aloud and along the connection between our minds, though he resists me. Continuously. It has become infuriating. “Eat.”

His eyes dull even farther, his petulance ringing loud through his grunting noises and crossed arms. Defiance, if I have ever seen it, is a terrible color on my human. One that has an urge awakening inside me to force him into submission, though I resist it for the time being.

“You are weak,” I remind him and press the bowl closer to his face to which he scoffs.

Then flips his middle finger at me.

This one I have seen used by the humans before. It is not a nice gesture.

Curling my lip at him, I shove my fingers into the thick, sticky offering and scoop a hearty bite’s worth onto the tips of my talons.

I toss aside the bowl and grab my human’s jaw with my free hand, sharp-tipped fingers pressing into his soft, fleshy cheeks.

“Open.”

He clamps his lips shut and shakes his head as best he can with my unrelenting grip on his face.

The hummed response is clearly more rejection of me and my hospitality, and I find myself posturing, shoulders stiffening and skin tightening.

Patience waning.

He has no reason to fear my offerings and yet, he continues to do so.

Pressing it closer makes him squeeze his eyes shut.

"You need strength."

He hums again, shaking his head against my hold, pulling and yanking in an attempt to free himself. I hold him tighter.

"You must ingest."

"It's poison, I know it," he fires back, spreading his lips with barely enough space to get the words out, and I take the chance to shove the bite between them. He chokes, sputters, and spits it back in my face.

The scent of honey coats me, stickiness sliding down my nose and plopping onto my leg.

"Petulant."

His fingers pry beneath mine to shove me from his face, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand to rid himself of the mess of his own making "If it's not to kill me, then you eat it."

For a moment, my gaze follows the path of his hands as he tells me this, the fluttering of his limbs distracting me from understanding their meaning.

"You. Eat," he repeats, his signs more forceful than before, and I understand this to be more intense. As if the human is elevating his tone. Yelling, perhaps.

Snarling at his demand, and exhausted from this battle, I swipe the remaining streak of honey from my cheekbone and shove it between my own lips.

I suck the digit clean, then retrieve the bowl of berries coated in more of the nectar.

"Not poisoned," I tell him aloud, sneaking the words past his metaphorically closed mind.

He stares at me, top lip curled up in what I would suggest is disgust, except he cannot hide the rush of color to his face. The reaction that tells me he does not find my actions truly grotesque.

A gap opens in his mind, letting me slip past his barricade once more.