6. Bite Me
Bite Me
Eamon
I've never seen anything like this.
Four days.
For four days, she's eaten nothing.
She has to be miserable. I can hear her stomach growling from here.
Since we arrived, the entirety of her diet has been coffee and liquor.
She should be passed out on the floor, but through the door to her room, I listen in as she works like nothing is wrong. She's had conference calls, sent and received emails, andeven had one video call where she laughed and joked, set a timeline and expectations, and made plans to touch base at the same time next week, scribbling it into her calendar.
She has refused to make me a list of groceries, so I've been forced to run back and forth to get takeout, just for her to not eat that either.
And just like every day since we got here, the second her work day is done, she eases the computer closed, drags herself to the fridge to grab a drink, and disappears behind her door again.
Only today, she's going to be very disappointed.
The fridge slams closed, the first sign of genuine emotion she's shown in days. "Where is it?"
"Where's what?" I run my palm down my face as if I can wipe the smile away.
Her furious steps grow louder, the muffled sound of socks on concrete bringing her closer until she's standing between me and the game in her pajamas, draped in a robe made of the same shiny material. One hand on her hip, she gestures at the kitchen. "You know what. Where is it?"
"It's gone." I lean to the side until I can see the TV behind her. "Can you move? I'm trying to watch this."
A harsh breath leaves her nose, and I can feel her eyes trying to burn holes in my fucking forehead. "Gone."
"Yes."
A deep inhalation later, her steps resume, storming back into her room and shutting the door roughly behind her.
I'm tempted to chase after her, but it would be fruitless.
I don't give a flying fuck if she wants to drown her sorrows every night, that's her business. I'm tempted to do the same and give in most days anyway. But she won't eat, and that's a problem. I was ready to bargain with her, eat a meal, and she can have a cocktail. Eat a meal and have a bottle of water, two cocktails.
Instead, she's wasting away to nothing, hiding behind the designer bedding we brought from her apartment. Outside of her work hours, she's little more than a corpse, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. She doesn't even waste her time wishing I was dead anymore. At least when she did that, I could hear her thoughts as if she was projecting them directly into my skull.
Now the silence is overwhelming, and I wonder where her mind is, if it's somewhere I can reach her. My chances are not good, but Isla's misery was never the goal, and I can't let it continue much longer, or she's actually going to harm herself.
I groan, standing and gearing up for the fight I know is coming. But better a fight than another second of this wallowing, apathetic creature she's become.
Food in hand, I tap on her door with my foot.
The shuffling of her bedding behind it proves she's still awake, but she doesn't get out of bed, no intention of facing me. Well, too fucking bad.
Twisting the handle and tossing the door open, I watch as her head pops up from the nest of blankets she's created. "What?" Her cold eyes meet mine, the purpling beneath them growing more evident every day.
"You need to eat," I tell her, holding the food in her direction.
"Not hungry," she breathes, remaining utterly lifeless.
I feel my eye beg to twitch and take a deep breath. "Isla, you haven't eaten anything in days."
"I said I'm not hungry."
A furious chuckle leaves my chest, "Bullshit. I can hear your stomach all the way from the kitchen."
Her eyes flare in anger, but she doesn't relent. "I'm not. Fucking. Hungry."
Heat builds in my chest, my patience already close to snapping, "Isla. I'll make you a deal. Eat the food, and I'll let you have a drink."
Eyes narrowing as she glances at the plate of egg rolls and fried rice, she haughtily sniffs. "No thanks. I'm not some alcoholic, you can't use it like a fucking bargaining chip."
"Fine. How about this? You stand up, eat and I won't come over there and shove it down your fucking throat?" The threat comes out unbidden, but I mean every word of it.
The first sign of life lights up her face in challenge, "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," I goad, taking a single step towards her. I'm almost hoping she won't eat, just so I have a reason to fight her, trap her with my body, and force her mouth open to shove something inside it. The images of it set my blood on fire, sending goosebumps across my skin in anticipation.
For the briefest second, I think I'll get my chance. Then she takes all the fun out of it, sighing. "Fine. Leave it there, and I'll eat.
"No."
A brow raises in disbelief, "What do you mean no?"
I definitely can't tell her that I want to fight her, want to force her. So, I think of a lie as quickly as possible. "You'll eat in the kitchen, where I can keep an eye on you."
"You brought it all the way in here, just to not let me eat it here?"
Fuck. "I planned to leave it, but I don't trust you."
"What exactly do you think I'll do with it, Eamon?" her mouth wrapping around the syllables of my name makes my heartbeat quicken, even when she says it with nothing but disdain. "I don't even have so much as a trashcan in here to throw it away."
"Kitchen." I bite, turning on a heel and leaving the way I came. "If you're not there in the next 30 seconds, I'll make good on my promise to force-feed you."
Almost immediately, the rustling of sheets and the padding of her feet on the floor follow behind me, her labored movements all the more proof that she can't keep going on like this.
I place the plate on one end of the kitchen island, sliding a tall stool in front of it and pointing at it as she walks in. Then I take my place across from her, pulling a single beer from the Aether and planting my ass on another stool to watch her, just like I promised.
She eases onto the stool, her eyes not meeting mine as she takes the fork and begins to eat.
A breath of relief eases out of me, and I hide it behind another swig. A meal might not solve everything, but her eating is non-negotiable. I won't let Isla kill herself just to spite me.
After a handful of bites, she stands.
I snap my fingers and gesture back down, "You're not done yet."
Her furious eyes lock onto my hand, "Yes. I am."
"No. You're not. Sit the fuck down and eat." I'm playing with fire, pushing her too hard, but quite frankly, I don't care. She's going to cooperate whether she likes it or not.
"Fuck you," she starts to turn to escape again, but I'm on her before she makes it two steps, one hand around her waist and the other gripping the arm I already know would try to swing at me first. I forcefully deposit her back in the seat, narrowly escaping the pathetic blows she tries to throw at me. She shrieks at me, calling me a fucking asshole while I use a harsh grip on her shoulder to keep her in the chair.
She lands a single slap— hard— against my cheek, and before I realize what I've done, her long, silky hair is wrapped around my fist, freezing her fight completely. Her lids flutter as I tug on the strands, pulling her head back until she's staring up at me with glassy, hooded eyes, the gray and gold flecks disappearing as her pupils dilate. Her hands remain between us, against my chest, but not pushing me away. Certainly not pulling me closer, but utterly frozen in my harsh grip.
I beg my body not to look at her perfectly defined lips, not to watch as her chest rises and falls rapidly, not to catch the scent of arousal that neither one of us is equipped to face right now. But I notice everything she does, no matter how badly I wish I didn't. And the peaks of her perfect tits become harder and harder to ignore the longer we stay this close, breaths only inches away from each other.
Fury still radiates from her features, warring with her body's reaction to me. If I leaned forward just a bit, I could taste the rage coming right from the source. Could taste her delicious mouth again, force our tongues together in a dance so violent it steals the air from her lungs.
My hand flexes against my will, and a small whimper leaves her lips, sending a shiver through me and making my lower belly heat further, my cock growing painfully hard just from that tiny, pathetic, needy sound.
With more force than necessary, I release her hair, creating much-needed space between us and pointing at the food again before storming out of the kitchen, off to throw blows at a dummy downstairs. It's far less fun than fighting with Isla since the dummy can't hit back, but I also don't want to fuck it, so it'll have to do for now.
A handful of suspicious men have been waiting outside Isla's apartment since we left it two weeks ago. A frantic phone call from her stalker across the hall went out to his superiors when she didn't come home that night. From the camera I placed in her hallway, I could only hear his side of the conversation, but it certainly didn't sound good. I have no idea where she went. She vanished into thin air. Perhaps she went to Vegas again to see the one with two demons.
It's disconcerting to know that they still have eyes on Bel, Cas, and Fritz, but I'm sure they've learned at this point that the three of them are far more trouble than they're worth. Isla is the real prize, and they know it.
Which is why each day, another able-bodied man has subtly joined the fray, dressed like fucking frat boys and rich hipsters. A handful of them managed to even get into Isla's apartment, only barely missing Kyle throwing himself out the fire escape. Through the cameras, I watched them start to dismantle the few things we left behind, searching frantically for clues they sure as fuck won't find. Letting them take her things is probably going to add to the list of shit she'll never forgive me for, but maybe they'll take one of the cameras somewhere even more useful. Perhaps I'll even get lucky enough that they drop off one of the trackable ones in a compound. I'm not holding my breath for that to happen, but it would be nice to get a fucking win for once.
The longer I watch the false hipsters and frat boys, the more the niggling in my brain worries for Bel and Cas and Fritz.
They mentioned her onlyoff-hand,and really only because of her closeness to Isla. Still, paranoia gets the best of me, and I pick up the phone to dial the number of the demon in Vegas I can stand to listen to for longer than two seconds.
"Eamon," Caspian greets barely above a whisper. "Is everything alright?"
The one thing I've learned I can depend on Cas for is his no-bullshit attitude. After everything we've been through together, he knows damn well that if I'm calling, it's for good reason. He wastes no time getting to the point while somehow managing to hold a polite, aristocratic air about him.
"I'm fine. Everything is probably fine."
"But probably fine and definitely fine are certainly not the same thing," he supplies.
I nod, unsure if he needs to hear this or if it's something he already knows. "It looks like the Sanctum is still keeping an eye on the three of you. There don't seem to be any plans to make a move, but they're very aware of your presence there. It may be a good idea to make a change or lay low."
He sighs heavily, "Yes. I assumed that was a possibility. You don't think they're a direct threat to Bel any longer?"
A brief chuckle escapes me, "I think they've learned twice now that the trouble they'll get from your girl isn't worth any information they could get out of her. Isla's the one they want, the one they're focusing all their efforts into finding. For the time being, you guys are in the clear. I just wanted to touch base with you. Make sure you're keeping your eyes open."
"I appreciate that." He clears his throat, and the sound of rustling reaches my ears as he whispers to someone near him that he'll just be a moment. Sleepy, muffled giggles radiate through the line, followed by louder rustling and a small, feminine yelp. As the sound turns into a soft moan, it fades further into the background, thankfully. "Hey, listen. Is Isla doing okay up there? Bel believes something's terribly wrong and Fritz and I can only keep her... occupied for so long. She was searching for flights just yesterday morning to surprise Isla."
It can't be easy for Cas and Fritz to be keeping this from their girl. A secret like this could take a long while for her to forgive. And I don't have an answer that would help him anyway.
"She's alive and unharmed, which is a lot more than I can say she would be if I had left her there," I bite, unable to hide the resentment I hold for them allowing her involvement. I know she would have inserted herself into the catastrophe that was Bel's abduction one way or the other, but someone should have been keeping her from trying to kill herself.
A beat of silence awaits me on the other side of the line, Caspian not confirming or denying blame for any of it before he responds, "I don't fault you for doing what you felt necessary, Eamon. I would do far worse if someone were to threaten Bel. Again."
No. "Let's not get this twisted, Caspian." I explain, "You love Bel. Isla and I barely tolerate each other, but the consequences of the Sanctus Sculitis getting their hands on her would be nothing short of cataclysmic."
I can almost imagine the smirk lifting a corner of his mouth, his disbelief nearly audible through the receiver, "Right. Of course. I must have imagined the kiss and the coat and the-"
"You've been spending too much time with Fritz. His idiocy is rubbing off on you." His deep, ground-shaking laughter fills the line, and my teeth grind together before I can stop them. "Keep an eye on your girl, Cas. That's all I called to say. Isla is fine."
His laughter still doesn't stop, and I end the call because I'm not putting up with one more second of those lovesick demons.
Isla is fine.
She's just fucking depressed and devastated and trapped away from the sun and drowning her sorrows in tequila every night and not eating.
Perfectly. Fucking. Fine.
Speaking of which, I could have sworn I heard the spyware app on my phone go off.
Of course. While we were on the phone, Isla got an email. I stopped watching her and her stalkers for two seconds, and someone tried to reach her.
A Michael Schillot.
Michael. Michael. How do I know that name? One of her dates? No. Not a spy either.
Through the spyware I installed on her computer, I can see the subject line: Baby in Bloom.
What the fuck?
The baby.
With everything that's happened since Christmas, I almost forgot about the fucking baby. The reason Isla was so upset on Christmas Eve. Charlie and Mike are having a child.
Once again, flashes of sweet Arthur's face play on repeat in my mind as they do any time I see or think of kids at all. His tiny squeals of laughter, the way he didn't even cry the first moment we met or any time after. No matter how terrifying I looked, he'd just grin and try to call for me. Emon, emon. Took him an entire year to learn to say demon, those tricky d sounds eluding him until the name he gave me just stuck.
By the time he finally got it down, it—
Well, it didn't matter what he could or couldn't say anymore.
The Sanctum made damn sure of that.
Running my palm down my face, I quickly skim the email before marking it as unread. Hopefully, Isla will tell me all about it later so I don't have to pretend I haven't seen it. If not, well, she can't go anyway, so what does it matter?
She's already tap, tap, tapping away at work, with a meeting in an hour and another this afternoon, so she won't get to read it until this evening either way. Hopefully, by then, I'll have washed away today's aching remembrance of Arthur. The last thing I need to do is let Isla see the agony, let her have another weapon she can use against me while we're trapped here together.
Gearing up for the breakdown I know is coming, I turn on a game and step out to quickly get a spread of her favorite tacos, leaving them in the kitchen with the hope that maybe I could convince her to— to what? To spend fucking time with me? That's stupid. To do something besides wallowing in her room, thinking about the life her friends continue to live without her?
Nothing I do will help her, not until something changes.Until something breaks through, and I can give her her life back.