“Wonder who she came to fuck this time,” another says. Low laughter swells through their group.
Heat prickles on my neck. When I look back, I find the man who threatened me this morning. What the hell is wrong with him?
I ignore the rest of the group as the guards lead us to the eating station. A fire is lit this time, but most people disappear into their houses after getting their food.
The grainy, gray slop is still just as unappetizing as before, but thankfully, the sickly sweet smell of poison isn’t present. I shovel some into my mouth. The taste of tree bark and meat mashed together is disgusting, but at least it’s something after a long day.
“You were quick to eat that,” the crude man from before remarks as I head over to the large den where the men sleep.
My fists tighten while I think of what he said about Melisa. His head is cocked to the side as a bald man trails just a short ways behind him.
They were the ones who spoke poorly of Melisa.
I nod once, keeping the sneer of my face, and bring another spoonful past my lips. “It doesn’t smell off.”
“You can smell that?” His brown eyes seem to glitter.
I raise an eyebrow. I’d definitely seen other slaves throw the mash away. “You can’t?”
His intrigued expression melts into a glare.
“If we could, there probably wouldn't be so many dead." He steps forward, away from the trees. "I wonder where you picked up such a skill. Where did you say you were from again?”
The bald man from his cutting team stares at me through narrowed eyes, and a third joins them.
“The northwestern lumber yards,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “It was a massacre over there. Hundreds were slaughtered in one day between the fires and food. And yet you, a halfblood, survived... and came here. Interesting.”
Others start to pay attention. Not just his cutting team but old crones, young children, and shadowy faces of other men and women.
“I survived because I worked hard,” I say at last.
The man in front of me smirks. “We all work hard, and most of us still die. Who, exactly, do you work for?"
My teeth grind together. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Do you work for the giants or the humans?”
I purse my lips. Well, shit. I’m too tall, too strong, too suspicious.
“I came here because I found the foreman’s comfort woman and brought her back to him. I wanted out of my old area. Too much death.”
The man’s gaze shift, and he lets out one huff. “You brought back the whore?”
My fists tighten. “Don’t call her that. It’s disrespectful.”
His eyebrows raise. “Did you rut her, too? Be careful. Can’t trust the ones who work with the giants.”
More than anything, I want to smash the asshole's face. But I'm already standing on dangerous ground—ice so thin that if I don't tread carefully, I'll be plunged into the dangerous, frozen depths.
“No.”
The slave’s smirk grows wider.
“Ah, but you want to. I respect that. My name is Rodrigo—people look to me as their leader.” He comes over and claps me on the back. “Don’t do anything stupid in our pens.”
I remain unmoving as he turns back around and walks away with his group. The man who was leaning against the beam moments ago gives me one last up-and-down before he lets out a huff and turns around, too.