House of Hunger

by Alexis Henderson

To those whose stories are often told in whispers

If you cheated your way out of life’s hurts, you wouldn’t be ready for the next blow. And the next blow was always coming.

He encircled her in his long arm, pulling her to his chest like a child. He was warm, and to her surprise he smelled of pipe smoke and maple—a good wholesome scent, if a little strange for a blood lord.

True night is black too thick to see through. It’s a crescent moon and starless skies and the kind of cold that kills. You’ll know it when you feel it.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret that will serve you well in the North: The whole world runs on blood. Who has good blood. Who has bad blood. Whose blood is shed and whose isn’t. That’s what it all comes down to in the end. And you southerners like to pretend that isn’t true, but you’re just as bloodthirsty as the rest. Blood is everything in the South. It’s everything everywhere.”

It’s a strange thing to go from the hungry … to the hungered for.

Theodore with her. The poor cat looked so limp and dead-eyed that for a moment, Marion thought he was dead.