COME TO THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON.
COME WITH AN APPETITE??????
Come with an appetite?Somehow, I don't think he understands what that means to me. But, fortunately for him, I won't be doing that. I just showered off the remnants of another adventure into the closest town. Another piece of shit looking for an easy victim. This one should survive, so long as the rapidly falling snow doesn't hide him and his car from onlookers. And if he doesn't, well, that's not really my fault.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispers that my logic doesn't make sense. Just because I leave my victims alive doesn't mean I'm not responsible for their deaths. But, as always, I tell that voice to shut the fuck up.
Stepping into some jeans—nice ones, as Fritz requested—and a new long-sleeve shirt, I run my fingers through the short strands on the top of my head, working a small amount of product into them.
There's no denying the sense of anxiety filling me. Not for Christmas, of course, but since Isla left the safety of the security team she doesn't know about, I haven't been able to keep an eye on her. Anything could have happened to her betweenthe timeshe left home and when I'll see her in a few minutes.
Logic tells me that if something happened, I would have had three distraught people calling me nonstop, but theymight not even know if the Sanctum plucked her off the streets of Vegas before reaching them.
I shake off the tension, grabbing the dark liquor and bouquet of flowers I procured for tonight. With a final check, I see the camera in the vase is entirely undetectable, exactly how I need it.
Arms full, I walk through the Aether and landmyselfdown the hallway from their hotel room/ apartment. Through the walls, I can sense a handful of people, hear chatting and bustling about. Though I can't sense her, I can hear Isla's angry voice already, and I fight back a grin. No one warned her I was coming, and now she'sfurious.
Balancing my things, I knock twice on the door, anticipating the fun that's sure to come. Kyle is awaiting a text from me to let him know he's safe to break into her apartment, and once that's done, I'll feel infinitely better about the eyes we keep on her.
The door before me swings open to Belissenda's too-big eyes, and a forced large smile greets me. Images of the wild animal she was when we dragged her back home flash through my mind, and a sickening sense of pity fills me. She didn't deserve a second of what she went through.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't admire her resiliency; most people wouldn't have recovered from that at all, much less so quickly. Maybe there's something to be said about the two demons she keeps for company, the way they've given her everything she needs to search for peace again.
Her eyes light up when she sees the flowers. She reaches for themas soon asI hold them out, mentioning how beautiful they are and laughing at the giant bottle of liquor. It looks infinitely larger in her hand, and I wonder if she might drop it until Caspian comes along to help.
I've been fighting it until now, but my eyes immediately drift past the other humans standing frozen, landing right on the person whose safety has been plaguing my every free thought for the last few weeks.
Fury, so tightly caged behind her casual posture and tequila bottle, radiates from her flushing cheeks. Her dislike for me only enflames me further, even though I'm unsure why. Something about pressing her every button sends a sick thrill through me.
Eyes locked on the prey before me, I stalk forward. Rather than shrink as most would do at the prospect of being my favorite target, Isla stands stock-still with her arms crossed in front of her, liquor dangling from her exquisitely red fingernails.
"Hey, Sweetheart," the taunting pet name falls from my lips as I find myself forcing my way into her orbit after only being able to watch her from afar for weeks. There's something so dastardly and delicious about knowing so much about someone when you've hardly spoken to them. Like being the only person in on a joke, except the joke is that I know how she likes her coffee, which restaurant is her favorite, and her running route when she jogs through the park.
"Eamon," she bites.
Ignoring the discomfort of those around us, I press, "How are ya?"Come on, little hunter. Take the bait. Fight with me.
She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Fine." Then she eases past me like I don't exist at all. As she does, her entirely intoxicating scent makes my head spin. There's an almost sickly sweetness to her, like white chocolate, but hidden underneath, it's all wildness and a feral scent like a chase and a fuck on the forest floor. I swear to god, I can even smell her blood pumping from here, coppery and magnetic. It's crystal clear, set apart from everyone else's, almost incapacitating, and I'm immensely grateful to have drained someone's artery before I got here.
While Biberé might not need to feed to survive, the need to suck someone dry is instinctual, a compulsion that's nearly impossible to fight. And Isla's rapidly drumming pulse is like a siren song created just for me, just for my ruination.
She plops unceremoniously between two men on the couch, gesturing to them without even looking at me, "This is Charlie and Mike. Charlie, Mike, Eamon."
For a second, the idea that Isla has the same proclivities as Bel occurs to me, wondering if these two are her boyfriends. As soon as the thought enters my mind and I ask how they know each other, I know it's ridiculous. I would know if she had one significant other, much less two.
Over the past few weeks, she's brought both men and women back to her apartment complex, walking hand in hand or with an arm slung around her shoulders. Right at the point where sheshouldbe inviting them upstairs, discomfort crosses her face, and she bids them goodnight instead.
The gentlemen tell me their story, Isla beaming at the happy couple just before Caspian announces it's time for dinner. Dinner is delicious and uneventful, aside from some awkward conversation concerning the nature of Bel's relationship with Cas and Fritz.
That is until Mike and Charlie announce they're having a baby. By all accounts, this should be wonderful news. Bringing new life into the world and to two seemingly wonderful men is a blessing. But the color and life completely drain from Isla's face, leaving the world utterly bleak.
She recovers miraculously, her beaming smile becoming too large, selling her joy like it's got ocean-front property in Arizona. When she excuses herself to the bathroom, my instinct is to follow. But it's not my place. Eleven minutes go by—12, 13—and nobody has bothered to go check on her.
Fritz's eyes dart to the bathroom several times, his concern growing as well. Without drawing attention, he alerts Bel and she disappears to find her friend. When they return, and all seems well enough, the night winds down with promises toreturn in the morning in the most ridiculous pajamas for presents.
The following morning, I face another nightmare.
The motherfuckers don't fit.
