EAT FIRST.
A small smile forces its way onto my mouth, and I try to hold back a laugh. How well he knows me after the few weeks I've been here is almost terrifying.
With a little more enthusiasm, I wander back into the kitchen for the food, taking a bite and thanking the gods above that somehow, in this wasteland, I can still have the world's besttacos. Under any other circumstance, this place would be heaven. I have a man—well, sort of— who cooks and brings me food constantly without me even having to ask. I work in isolation, no noisy neighbors fucking and banging their bed against the wall right where I'm on a conference call. I have access to a plethora of dangerous weapons downstairs should I need them.
After the delicious tacos and an hour of brainless reality TV, I start to wonder what else is downstairs. He only showed me the one room, but he said everything here is at my disposal. Does that mean every room? Did he just mean the common areas up here?
I'm sure if something was off-limits, he would have said so. He doesn't strike me as the type to mince words. Or maybe that's just the tequila making me feel a little reckless.
Try as I might, I can't focus on the TV any longer, the draw of what else might exist in this place getting stronger and stronger as the drinks I pour do. He said I would be alone for lunch but didn't say how long he would be gone. Dropping off dinner makes me think he isn't planning on coming back anytime soon. I could very easily do a little exploring. And if he catches me, I'll just explain that he never said I couldn't look around down there.
Abandoning the tequila and my phone, I slowly creep towards the terrifying staircase. Every time I see it, the survival instinct in my brain screams danger, the pitch black seeming like it's trying to reach up and swallow me whole.
Even with the lightness in my head, it scares me.
But I've faced far scarier things than the dark, so I proceed, freezing my toes on the metal as it groans an ominous warning.
One I'm obviously going to ignore.
Body Count
Eamon
Of all the boring, predictable fucks they could have set Isla up with, this one is undoubtedly the most pathetic.
Silas and his admirers sprawl across chaise lounges and couches so filthy even I could get a disease from one of them.
Completely entranced with each other and the white powder on every available surface, including a pair of comically large breasts, none of them even notice the monster lurking in the shadows.
A nasally blonde vies for Silas's attention, her bloodshot eyes pleading with him even while she tries to remain calm, begging to be the center of his world. Why, I can't imagine.
It's not that Silas is ugly by any means. He's simply... forgettable. Long dark hair pulled into a bun atop his head, brown eyes that dart from every spare inch of skin on display around him, never remaining still for too long as if he's unsure where to keep them. Or incapable of doing so.
The blonde tries again, dabbling a substance across her lips as she straddles his hips and leans in to share it with him. He allowsthe contact, hands wandering across her half-naked body, but his eyes wander aimlessly still.
I shouldn't judge. This isn't the first party I've seen like this, and half a century ago, I would have enjoyed something very similar. Anything to escape the memories that fractured my mind and controlled it whenever I had a single moment of sobriety.
What need does this pompous asshole have for escaping into depravity? He's from a hunter's family, given everything he could ever possibly need from them, so long as he marries and continues the bloodline. He wouldn't even have to give this life up if he did all that. Wedding, wife, babies, then he's free to do as he pleases. If he sires bastards outside of his sham of a marriage, even then, they'll continue to thank him for continuing to bring sacred life into this world.
My eye twitches at the thought of Isla upon finding out that while she won't even be allowed the freedom to walk to the fucking bathroom by herself, herhusbandwould be encouraged to stick his cock in whatever passing fancy pleases him.
A smile threatens to pull at my lips, knowing my little hunter would never allow such a thing. Even to her own detriment, she would fight against him, causing him just as much damage as he tries to do her.
Quite capable of taming your wild spirit, Isla's mother's words appear in the back of my mind, reminding me that while he may not seem like much to me, there's almost a guarantee that he takes pleasure in violence against those he finds weaker than him.
A shrill ringtone brings the celebration to a grinding halt, Silas shoving the blonde girl onto the couch beside him before standing.
With a sniff and wiggle of his nose, he snaps in the direction of a speaker blaring, silently ordering someone to stop the music.
Even once it stops, silence won't be found in a room like that one, too many bodies, too many substances, the laughter and whooping at full volume, missing his signals completely.
Instead of fighting against the cacophony, he stalks into the next room, out of my view.
I need to follow him, find out whose call was so important that he was willing to leave behind his court of coke-fiends.
The chances of getting all of them to leave are slim but not impossible. At least two others are hunters, their distinct lack of essence alerting me to them immediately. Three hunters in one house, even as fucked up as they are, will certainly notice me here before too long, if they haven't sensed me already.
As delicately as possible, I try to pry into the blonde's mind.Stephanie. No, Stefanie, with an F.
