“No,” said Artiom very quietly. “I don’t like it. You haven’t seen what it’s like there. Don’t play at it. Please.”
She didn’t care; her lips continued to twist.
“Then I’m going to use you,” she said.
Slowly she crept from the couch, moving the stool that was between her and Artiom. The bread fell, the carrot rolled off, the mugs jumped, their sides ringing…
Then Galia shrieked very sincerely, completely not drunkenly. In her voice, there was such horrible fear that Artiom himself was petrified.
She was looking somewhere beyond the couch.
“Galia! What it is?” He called, getting up.
“You…” not finding any air, she breathed out the answer without a voice, evidently still barely coming to her senses. “You eat raw meat…? Have you gone completely mad, you jackal?”
Artiom finally saw wha
