"How long've you been making jerky?" I dig into the strip with my eyeteeth to tear a piece off. It's tough, but seriously tasty.

He shrugs. "Always. Parents taught me."

I nod. "How long does it take?"

"Depends on the meat." His eyes narrow appraisingly as he gives me the once over. My heart leaps into my throat, and a shiver runs up my spine.

"Which kind of meat?" I hesitate.

His finger slides along the knobby end of his chair arm, shaped like a femur.