The howling wind outside the cave had grown into a profound, guttural roar, a constant reminder of the world's indifference. Inside, the last embers of the campfire had surrendered, leaving only a faint orange glow beneath a blanket of gray ash. Morning light, thin and filtered through thick clouds, seeped into the cave's mouth, painting the stone in shades of dull pewter. The cold had returned, a creeping, invasive presence that sought out every gap in their defenses.
Lucid swam up from the depths of a heavy, exhausted sleep. His consciousness returned first as a series of sensations. There was a firm, pointed pressure just below his chin, something smooth and cool. And there was warmth, a profound, encompassing heat that radiated against his entire front, far more effective than any campfire. It was a living warmth, pulsed with a slow, steady rhythm.
His arms were wrapped around something soft yet solid, his hands resting on a pair of pronounced, impossibly warm curves that fit snugly against his palms.
'A heated pillow,' his sleep-fogged mind supplied dreamily. 'A very nice, very warm pillow.'
Reality descended like an avalanche.
His eyes flew open.
He was lying on his side, and nestled against him, embracing him with a possessive tightness, was the Oni girl. Her arms were locked around his torso, her face buried in the hollow of his throat, the sharp point of her horn the source of the pressure under his chin. His own hands, in his sleep, had settled comfortably on the lush curves of her hips, just below the small of her back. The ragged fabric of her shorts was stretched taut.
A wave of heat, entirely separate from her bodily warmth, flooded Lucid. He was certain his entire face was burning a brilliant scarlet beneath the mist.
"Lucid, that is shameful..." Alice's voice cut through his panic, laced with theatrical disapproval.
The girl stirred at his sudden tension, a soft, low sound vibrating against his chest. It wasn't a growl, but a contented murmur. She shifted, and Lucid got a full view of her sleeping face, so close he could see every detail. Her inky black hair was a silken cascade across the fur. Her skin, once deathly pale, now held a soft, healthy pinkness at her cheeks and the tips of her ears, a reaction to the cold or perhaps simple vitality. Her lips were slightly parted in sleep, and her dark eyelashes fanned against her skin. She was, in her blunt, fierce way, strikingly beautiful.
And his hands were still on her hips.
He had, in his sleep, sealed his fate. He was now intimately cradling a creature from folklore, a being whose diet, according to legend, had a strict carnivorous diet.
"I pray for your soul, Lucid. I truly do," Alice intoned, her mental voice a mix of condescension and genuine worry.
"Wait, this is not what you think it is!" he shot back frantically inside his mind.
Before he could mentally formulate a defense or physically extricate himself, the woman in his arms moved. She lifted her head slowly, with a deliberate, languid grace. Tired, dark eyes blinked open and focused on him, taking in his proximity, his position, the way he held her.
'I am finished,' he thought, despair washing over him.
He loosened his grip, carefully moving his hands up to rest on his own sides touching the cold ground, as if that distance of a few inches absolved him.
"Good morning," he stammered, his voice rough with sleep and embarrassment.
She didn't answer immediately. She simply looked at him, her gaze intense and assessing, as if trying to decipher the secrets hidden behind the mist that shrouded his face. The silence stretched, filled only by the wind.
"Did something catch your eye?" he finally asked, the words tumbling out in a nervous rush.
In response, she raised a hand. Her fingers, cool as ice, passed through the obscuring fog around his face until they made contact with his skin. She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing just below where his dimple would be. Her touch was exploratory, firm.
Her own face, now soft and full, devoid of its previous hollow severity, was close. Her intriguing lips parted slightly.
She murmured, her voice a low, husky rasp that was somehow elegant. "Your face."
"I, I am a cursed child!" Lucid blurted out, a desperate, half-truthful excuse springing to his lips.
"Cursed," she repeated the word, tasting it. Her thumb stroked his cheek once more before he gently took her wrist, guiding her ice-cold hand away from his face. He was shocked by how frigid her skin was, despite them sharing the same heavy fur cover.
He began to extricate himself from the embrace, sliding out from under the fur coat. The instant he left its sanctuary and her cold warmth, the cave's cold assaulted him. It was a physical blow, sharp and stabbing, driving the air from his lungs in a gasp.
From behind him came a sound. A soft, pleading noise, almost a whimper. He turned.
The Oni girl was lying on her side on the fur, watching him. She had moved to face him fully.
"Come," she said, her tone flat yet undeniable. "It is cold."
She opened her arms, an unambiguous invitation.
"Let's share our heat."
"It is efficient."
The sight of her lying there, arms open, was profoundly disarming. The worn crop top and shorts did little to conceal the new, elegant curves of her form, the vitality his blood had restored. She was no longer a spectral figure but a woman of startling presence.
"No, do not worry," Lucid said, hugging himself against the cold. "I will start the fire again." He said shakily.
She glanced pointedly at his satchel, then back at his shivering form. "The wind is cold and harsh. You do not have enough firewood."
Her logic was sharp.
"You were touching me, human," she stated next, her head tilting. "Why did you stop? Come to me. This is more practical."
She gestured again with her open arms.
Lucid looked at his backpack, then at the dead fire, then at the howling white void beyond the cave mouth. She was right. His supply of dry tinder was limited, and this blizzard showed no sign of relenting.
'She is observant,' he conceded internally.
"Lucid, she wishes only to take advantage of your warmth and then eat you when she has had her fill," Alice pleaded, a spike of genuine fear in her mental voice.
"She has already had my blood. What is stopping her from doing worse now?" he thought back, his own reasoning grim.
Alice let out a soundless gasp of frustration.
With a resigned sigh that clouded in the frigid air, Lucid turned and slowly lowered himself back onto the fur. She immediately shifted, opening the coat and drawing him into the space she had vacated. He settled onto his side, facing away from her, and she molded herself against his back. Her arms snaked around his torso, pulling him close. Her legs tucked up against the backs of his. It was an intimate, full-bodied embrace.
His first, overwhelming thought was one of shock.
'GODS, SHE IS FREEZING!'
Her body felt like she was made of packed snow, leeching the heat from him through their layers of clothing. He stiffened, a small, involuntary shiver wracking him.
Then, something changed. Slowly, like a stone warming in the sun, her body began to heat. It was not a sudden shift, but a gradual diffusion, as if she was absorbing his warmth, processing it, and radiating it back in a more concentrated, shared bubble. Within minutes, the space within the fur coat was becoming tolerably warm, then genuinely cozy. He felt her let out a faint, almost imperceptible sigh of relief against the back of his neck.
"Thank you, human," her voice murmured, close to his ear.
A moment passed. Then she spoke again, her tone observant. "I feel your heart. It is beating very fast. Are you not relaxed?"
Lucid choked slightly on his own breath before managing a reply. "Yes. I am relaxed." It was the least convincing sentence he had ever uttered.
Another stretch of quiet passed, filled only by the wind and the sound of their breathing. He could feel the steady, strong thump of her heart against his back, a counter-rhythm to his own frantic pulse.
"I never asked for your name," he said, needing to break the intense, silent focus on their awkward moment.
"Name?" she repeated.
"Yes. Something to call you. Do the Oni folk not have names?"
"They do," she replied, her voice quieter.
"Then what is yours?"
She was silent for a long moment, as if weighing a decision or remembering something long unused. "My name is Ayame."
"Ayame," he echoed. "That is a beautiful name."
"Beautiful?" She sounded genuinely curious, as if the concept was applied to names was foreign.
"Yes. It is fitting for you."
"I see." She fell silent again, but he felt a slight shift in her posture, a minute easing.
The awkward intimacy of the situation stretched on. They were both fully awake, pressed together from shoulder to ankle for sheer survival.
"Thank you for your blood and warmth," Ayame stated bluntly into the silence. "I will need it again this evening."
It was not a request, not a question. It was a simple forecast, as certain as the sunset. A silent dread coiled in Lucid's stomach. What had he gotten himself into? A traveling companion who required regular blood donations.
"Why not consume it now?" he asked, trying to sound pragmatic. "You are still cold."
She flinched, a tiny, almost reflexive jerk of her body against his. Then she exhaled a soft, sharp breath through her nose, a sound of acceptance. "Yes. Efficient."
Her head shifted on the makeshift pillow. He felt her cool lips press against the side of his neck in a deliberate, soft kiss. Then, with practiced precision, her sharp teeth pierced his skin.
This time was different from the frantic feeding of the night before. She drank slowly, steadily, savoring rather than devouring. One arm remained wrapped around his chest, holding him close, while her other hand came up to rest flat against his sternum, as if monitoring the life within.
Lucid focused inward, activating the gentle, passive green glow of Alice's healing. It flowed through him, working to regenerate what was taken. The combination of blood loss and the constant, low-grade use of fate essence made him drowsy. The warmth of their shared cocoon, the rhythmic pull at his neck, the exhaustion from the previous day and night, it all pulled him down into a deep, dark well of sleep.
The last thing he was aware of was her voice, a soft murmur against his skin.
"Sleep well, hu..."
She stopped herself, correcting the word with a faint hint of something that might have been automatic. She finished, her tone returning to its usual blunt certainty.
"Sleep well, Lucid."