I literally just closed up a case at work where a human and an orc were being messily horny in the office, like no one else could see it. I mean, there’s some pretty gnarly elevator footage, and no offense to Janice and Khent, but I wish I hadn’t seen it. I don't have a mating bond to blame, though, just a mountain of paperwork that means I should know better than to mix business with pleasure.
Ten minutes later, I'm standing in the middle of a coworker knot. And it’s significantly less fun than the kind of knot you might fantasize about being part of.
Bill and Angelica are supremely terrible at figuring out this puzzle. Jessica has disappeared to a conceptual restroom, and it seems like Vlad is doing most of the work in the group project.
“Alright, Bill and Gwen, move your hands over Angelica's head,” he says, gesturing with his chin to our clasped hands.
I do as I'm told, and duck so that Bill can step over my now crossed arms, and twist so that Vlad's arm curls around me, as instructed. I clear my throat to disguise the noise I make when my back makes contact with his very solid arm.
This is torture.
I can't exactly strain away from Vlad like I'm repelled by his overly professional aura. I'm sure someone would notice. But it would be a lie to suggest I'm not enjoying the ways I'm too close to him—my thigh pressed wholly against Vlad's, or my back to his chest, or any of the other ways I can lean against him without anyone else's notice. I could be helping along with the puzzle more, sure. But his hand flexed and tightened around mine when I first did it.
I shouldn't be taking advantage of this moment, this puzzle. I'm just digging myself a deeper grave. But the way his tail flicks with a newfound energy, I can't resist it.
Every opportunity afterwards, I know I shouldn't, but I do it again.
At one point, Vlad pulls me in against him and effectively lifts me, decisively and easily, over the joined fists of Bill and Angelica and sets me, breathless, back on the ground.
Just like that, our little group is finished untangling ourselves.
“Vladyr! You should have asked her first,” Angelica chides him, but my nethers are so very much about it. I would get back in line for that rollercoaster.
“It's fine. I don't know that I could have managed to step over you two in these heels,” I manage to say instead of trying to climb him.
Angelica scoffs again, but wanders off with Bill, probably to ask Lily what exactly the rules are.
I have to seize on this moment alone with Vlad.
“Um, just in case it ever comes up. Don't tell anyone what I am,” I say kind of weakly, snagging his attention.
I imagine he might think less of me for wanting to hide it. Not every monster has that available to them. But I can’t trust everyone with that.
“A Monster Resources professional?” His brow creases, as he glances around us and murmurs, “Or a siren?”
I chew on my lip for a moment.
I don’t know what he knows about my kind, but I know there’s a lot to debunk when it comes to sirens. We’re supposed to sing and seduce and lure men to their deaths. Well, any gender will get the job done. We feed off of sexual chemistry. Personally, I’ve never killed anyone from feeding off them, just drained their aura enough to give them a hangover-like effect. And some of us, myself included, are pretty clearly tone-deaf. I’ve never convinced anyone to sleep with me by singing to them.
But the whole siren thing makes it hard to get close to people. Humans often think you're one of them at first, only to think you're a wolf in sheep's clothing when they learn what you are. Most monsters regard you as some kind of bottom feeder. Either people have specific notions of what I should act like, or they think I’m just sleeping with them to feed on them.
“People look at me differently. It's just...” I shrug and kind of half-heartedly try to explain it, when Lily starts calling loudly over everyone's chatter that we're done for today, and there's a half hour before dinner in the banquet hall. “I would just appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.”
There’s a question hidden in his furrowed brow, one that he’s leaving up to me to answer.
Normally, I wouldn’t. I really, really, really, hate every bullshit after-school special that implies that in order to authentically “be yourself,” you need to share every little thing with people.
Like, what does that get you? Your identity stolen, usually.
But there’s a gravity about Vlad, that I can’t just break loose and leave it at that. I glance around, and thankfully we’re pretty much alone.
Before I know it, I’m sheepishly shrugging and rambling, “It's more baggage than I want to bring to work. One moment people are normal around me, and then...”
I can't finish the thought. The fact that I have to split myself into the person I am every day and the part that has to bear the worst of everyone's assumptions, just to exist among other people, is already emotionally draining.
“Do you think you have something to be ashamed of?”
I'm quiet for a beat.
