2. Dick-cember
Dick-cember
Eamon
My instincts to have Isla trailed were right, of course.
No less than three different Sanctum errand boys have been placed in her life.
And not local, low-level idiots. These are well-trained infiltrators. A regular at her favorite coffee shop, a pizza delivery man, and even one of her neighbors. Each one has been keeping tabs on her, sending her movements back to the head of the Sanctus Sculitis.
From the comfort of my fortress, I watch through the local security cameras I've hacked into. Each man makes a phone call or sends a text immediately after their interactions with Isla. While I can't tell exactly what they're saying, it isn't hard to guess.
This latest one from her neighbor across the hall makes me especially nervous. He ran into Isla in the lobby of their complex and offered to help carry her packages up to her room. Even through the camera, Isla's suspicion is evident. Smart girl. With her hands utterly full of whatever she's ordered, she still denies him with a polite, no-room-for-argument smile, turning on her heels before he can try again.
As soon as she disappears from view, he leans against the wall and pulls out his phone. While this isn't unusual, his phone call taking longer than three minutes definitely is. Without taking my eyes off my target, I reach for my phone and dial my most recent outgoing call.
"I'm seeing it," Kyle says as a greeting. "I'll get closer and see what he's saying."
Even now, I know it's useless. By the time Kyle can get close enough to hear anything, the conversation will be over. Watching this unfold from a distance isn't going to work much longer. I've searched into Isla's family history, but all of the Sanctum's families are hidden behind a privacy wall that even I can't get through. And all the while, they're getting bolder.
Isla's hunter senses are picking up on it, too. She stopped ordering from her usual spot, instead choosing to pick it up from a different shop altogether. She bought an extra security lock last week that can't be seen or picked from the outside at all.
Clever, but it's going to make our next steps infinitely more difficult.
"They're getting too bold," I tell him. "I think we need to take more extreme measures."
He chuckles, "Yeah, I thought you might say that." Kyle is my number one man, the one who has been with me the longest. "You want me to get Marissa on it?"
"Nah. Isla is already paranoid. Introducing someone new into her life isn't really an option. I need you to gain access to her apartment." The groan on the other line almost makes me laugh. He had to have known this was coming.
"And what am I doing in there?"
"Bugs. I need her computer, at least two cameras," my phone beeps at me, alerting me to a text. The banner tells me it's from Fritz, and I roll my eyes, directing my attention back to Kyle. "Just do as much as you can without getting caught."
"And when am I supposed to do that?" he asks a good question. Someone who works from home and just had her best friend move to another state while also not speaking to her family doesn't leave her apartment much. Fuck.
"Just— fuckin' wait for an opportunity, I don't know." While I trust Kyle with anything, not being there to do any of it myself is driving me up the fucking wall. But if I enter her orbit, she'll know immediately. And the last thing I need to do is push her into moving and changing everything like she's apparently done before.
Disconnecting the call without further pleasantries, I steel my patience and look at the text from Fritz.
WANNA COME FOR XMAS DINNER???
AND XMAS brUNCH?????
What the fuck? No, I do not want to come to Christmas with those three.
I leave the message on read, not willing to engage with him. I will happily answer the phone for Bel should she need me or have more questions about the soul-bond bullshit. I might even deal with Caspian because he seems to have a modicum of sense. But I'm not looking to become fucking besties with them.
ISLA'S COMING ??
With a quick text back to Fritz, a plan falls into place.
I'll be there.
Immediately, I pick up the phone to call Kyle back.
When the line connects, I don't wait for a greeting. "Isla's traveling for Christmas. That'll have to be your opening."
"And how am I supposed to get inside?"
"You'll figure it out."
This time, he disconnects without another word, his dismissal clear. Christmas. That gives him two weeks to prepare— more than he needs, but also definitely far less than he wants to have. Ensuring Isla is out of the house for several days will give him the best chance to get in there and plant everything without rushing.
And it gives me a chance to plant what I need on her phone. Christmas with the trio of idiots will certainly involve copious amounts of alcohol. Her hunter senses will be thrown off, surrounded by all three of us, giving me a chance to do what I have to without getting caught. And I can ask about her family, figure out just how much of a threat they are to her.
But I have to play the part. I haven't been part of a Christmas celebration in decades, but how hard could it be? Bring some presents, play nice. I ought to bring Bel a housewarming gift, too. While Fritz drives me insane, it's not her fault her soul-bond is a fucking moron. If I get an opportunity to bug their place, too… well, that's all the better.
Fritz has sent me far too many texts over the last few days.
DINNER IS AT SEVEN!!
DON'T BE LATE!
WEAR SOMETHING NICE!!! ??
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's furious.
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 she should be 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 to return in the morning in the most ridiculous pajamas for presents.
The following morning, I face another nightmare.
The motherfuckers don't fit.
Of course, they don't. The white and red striped two-piece monstrosity cuts into the skin at my hip, and the buttons only barely manage to close. With an exasperated groan, I accept my fate. It could be worse.
The morning flies by, flurries of mimosas and gifts and me trying over and over again to clue Fritz in as to why Isla's safety is so vital.
The first and only daughter in her family. So not only will she be tracked down and used to bloodlet for their weaponry, but she'll also be a glorified broodmare. Heat fills my skin, and red clouds my vision when I think of someone filling her stomach with child.
Fritz doesn't fucking get it. And I'm going to have to spell it out for him. How he's made it this long is a mystery to me. Maybe there's something to be said about just hiding out and drinking and fucking your years away. It seems to have worked for him up until now. He's flown under the Sanctum's radar for centuries, only to emerge suddenly and scheme to break out his girl from their clutches.
Interrupting my plans to tell him why Isla needs to be protected, he makes the dumbest mistake he's made thus far. Even considering breaking back into the Sanctus Sculitis is a suicide mission, and I tell him as such. Again.
My teeth grit as I issue what I hope will be my last warning. "If you even think about involving Isla in your group suicide, I'll make you wish the Sanctum got to you before I did. Do I make myself clear?"
The demon looks like he might just piss himself with fear, so I hope I got the message across. Leaving the final gift I have for her with him, I make myself scarce.
I already know him and the other two are going to think my concern is because I care for Isla. Let them believe it, I don't fucking care. At the end of the day, that's more likely to keep them in line than the truth. If Fritz wants to think I have feelings for Isla and I'm as much of a weakling for pussy as he is, then hopefully, he'll listen.
Isla needs to be safe from them because the world needs to be safe from them.
End of fucking story.