8. Coward
Coward
Eamon
For the past two weeks, I've found myself down here in the training room at least once a day. I've punched a hole clean through one dummy and am rapidly going towards destroying another. The bite marks on the neck prove that I'm becoming closer to the monster every day, madness sinking its fangs into me the longer Isla's here. I spent ten minutes picking fucking foam out of my teeth last night, and I'm well on my way to having to do it again today.
She might be eating, but she's still wasting away. She drags herself into the kitchen, eats whatever I've prepared like she's a robot, then disappears back into her cave, only leaving to use the bathroom or take her nightly shower. Or worse, to keep up the steady flow of tequila she pumps into her body. How can someone be so functional and yet so… not? There's something unsettling about how she moves through each day; perfectly charming and hardworking but without any life behind her eyes, no sparkle of any kind, like she's checked out completely, drifting from one vice to the other. Work and booze. Booze and work. Over and over again. And I'm the asshole that keeps supplying it because I've no fucking clue what else to do.
But that ends now.
Her things have been trickling in. Thankfully, we got the most important things shipped out to St. Paul before her parents decided to show up at her home. When she spoke about the email, she seemed resigned to the fact that this was just normal. The vague threats that, to the unknowing eye, would seem like a loving mother trying to guide her child.
But she and I know it for what it is. What that kind of language does to someone who's been indoctrinated and scarred by it. Thankfully for everyone else, I've never seen one of these "cleansing" rituals firsthand, but witnessing it full of terror and shame through the peeks in Isla's memory was enough to know exactly what they look like. Her mind is usually a fortress. Impenetrable. But in those brief moments where she's forced to face the reality of her past, the wall fractures, short snippets of the same memories playing on a loop, trapping her in them until she gets lost somewhere between the past and present.
I didn't get the name of Isla's first fiance, but the latest, Silas, is unfortunate enough that he's found himself as my newest target. The second child from a low-level hunter family, with a temper and a nasty coke habit. Through tracking the email back to her parent's house, I managed to maneuver myself into their other outgoing emails, one to a Silas Thurngood containing photos and a brief medical history of Isla. Within hours, I had found his home address thanks to a fortuitous trip to the club where he meets his dealer.
For now, I'll keep watch on him, and in a couple days, after I've set my plan into motion for Isla, I'll deal with him.
Rationally, I know it makes no difference. If this one vanishes, they'll just find another husband for Isla. And if I'm not careful, I'll give myself away. I need him gone for me, for Isla. But I have to play it properly, or else they'll know I'm on their asses again. I can't afford for them to figure it out and go into hiding again. I'm too close. They've gotten too brazen.
I'll deal with them soon enough, but for today, Isla has my full attention. And I'm about to have hers.
A giant ass speaker is the only thing she was somewhat excited to see arrived the other day, and it hasn't even been used once. Even her fucking box of toys is gathering dust in the corner.
The only time she seems somewhat alive is when I push her to the point of fury, which has given me an idea that I know already is a mistake. But she can't keep going on like this, and I can't let her.
She's awake but doesn't start work for another hour and a half, so I let myself into her room, not bothering to knock. "Morning."
Her suspicious gaze meets mine from her bed, looking up from scrolling on her phone for only a second before she resumes ignoring me. The speaker sits in the corner of her room, and I stalk towards it.
"Can I help you?" she finally asks.
"Nope, " I continue, fake calmness in my voice, "This is all I'm here for."
She blinks, looking at me and then the speaker. "You're not taking that."
"Why not?" I ask. "You haven't even plugged it in. And I could certainly use it to drown out all your wallowing."
Indignation twists her mouth, but she doesn't take the bait. "I just haven't had a chance to use it yet."
I lift the massive black speaker, knowing she won't be able to carry it back in here herself. "Well you can come get it when you need it, but for now, I'm gonna borrow it. There's a game in an hour and I could use the extra sound."
"No," she throws the bedding off of herself, her matching fluorescent pink sweats and sweatshirt assaulting my senses as she storms over and tries to grab the speaker. I hold it up over my head and her jaw drops, surprise and rage making her face match her outfit. "Are you serious right now?"
"Dead serious," I lean down, taunting her again. "If you can take it from me, you can keep it."
She makes one attempt at jumping to grab it, but we both know it's futile, and she's more likely to injure herself than succeed. "You're being childish," she accuses, jumping again and only managing to slap my arm. "Eamon!"
I should stop now. She's shown something worth fighting me for, gotten out of bed, done exactly what I came in here to make her do. But something about her closeness makes every rational thought leave my body, and I keep pushing. "Come on, little hunter. You can do better than that. Can't you take down one demon?"
The sound of her teeth grinding is my only warning before she really puts her effort into it; all thoughts of safety and even keeping the speaker from being damaged washed away in her anger. She jumps and wraps both hands around one of my arms, dragging it down with all her body weight.
She manages to pull it down a few inches before I adjust, keeping her off the floor, her legs dangling as she uses all her strength to try and drag us both down. Even if she hasn't done any training for it, her body was made to fight, her natural strength being more than a mortal womans should be.
But her fingers still slip, unable to keep a solid grip on my arm through my shirt. As soon as her feet touch the ground, she jumps again. Her tiny claws dig into the meat of my bicep, and her legs wrap around my waist, rendering me unable to even think. As many times as I've imagined her lush thighs cradling my hips, the fantasy of it could never compare to the real thing, even if it's only in anger.
For a split second, I'm frozen, staring down at her furious form as she tries to drag me down to the floor with her, her hips wiggling and hands yanking at my arm, muttering all the while. "You motherfucker." She pants, "I'll fucking kill you."
A wicked chuckle rumbles my chest, "Go ahead. Give it your best shot, Isla."
She stares at me, seeing the challenge in my eyes, the dare I desperately hope she'll take. I raise the speaker higher, making her grip come undone, and she lands hard on her feet, scrambling to regain balance. She stares at me, both of us waiting to see if the other will attack first. She heaves a hard breath, arms dropping to her sides in defeat. Disappointment flares in my chest. I need her to fight me, to hate me even, because at least then she'll be doing something besides letting the days pass her by.
Slowly, eyes locked on hers, I lower the speaker to the floor, watching her every panting breath and furious twitch of her fingers as she folds her arms.
Then I strike with all the speed I can muster, wrapping a hand around her throat and slamming us both against the wall. A small shriek leaves her throat, the noise sending shockwaves of pleasure through my spine. Body pressed tightly to hers, I run my nose gently down hers, the softness of the touch at odds with the rough way I've possessed her body. "Next time you make a threat, you'd better be ready to follow through, little hunter."
"Oh, bite me," she punctuates the insult with a sneer even past the pressure on her throat, shoving at my chest as if she could actually push me off of her— as if she actually wants me anywhere but right fucking here.
"Don't tempt me, Isla." The overwhelming scent of her sweetness, her arousal growing against her will, makes my head fuzzy, and I lick a stripe up her carotid artery before issuing my last warning. "It's just you and me out here, and if I want to turn you into my little blood-bag cum-slut, I fucking will. Grind that cunt against me again, and I'll stuff it full of cock so fast you won't have time to breathe, much less fight me off."
Against her will, images of me pounding into her body while she screams and fights against the pleasure, begging me for mercy even while she comes sobbing, fill her head. Her cheeks and ears redden further, and she freezes, unable to do anything lest she force me to make good on the promise I've just issued.
"You wouldn't dare." The three words are so deathly quiet I almost miss them, but the challenge in them drives my heart rate higher.
Keeping my hand locked around her neck, I bring the other down from the wall and drag it roughly down her side, slowly mapping every inch from where her full tits are pressed against me, all the way down the small of her waist and the full curve of her hip. Gripping her perfect ass with enough force to make her whimper, I rub the very hard proof of my desire against her lower abdomen. Her eyes flutter, and her breath hitches in her throat, lust and rage turning her features into a painting of gorgeous frustration.
"Believe me, little hunter," I whisper into her ear. "I would absolutely dare to bite you , fuck you into oblivion, and leave us both sated, coated in sweat and that delicious blood that I can hear pumping furiously through your veins."
"So why don't you?" she scoffs.
It's another challenge, and one my cock is weeping at the chance to take, but I came here to do one thing, and it's not this. Swallowing down a groan, I gently release her, stepping away and turning to storm out of the room.
"Coward." Her humor-laced voice reaches my ears and gives me a half-second pause, nearly stumbling over myself. If anyone knows how to push my goddamn buttons, it's this little woman, but I need to get the fuck away from her before I do something foolish.
With a slam of her door behind me, we both know she's won this round, but I don't fucking care because the second I've taken a few steps away, music finally starts blaring from the other side of the wall. A small smile lifts one corner of my mouth. I might be pissed— and hard— as hell, but I did exactly what I set out to do, even if it took a turn that almost couldn't be corrected.
Halfway down the hall, the idea finally hits me.
While it's definitely not the best idea I've ever had, it's something.
Maybe putting more weaponry in Isla's hands is going to be a mistake, but eventually, I am going to have to send her home. And even if, by some miracle, The Sanctus Sculitis have been taken care of for the time being, she's still going to be a woman living alone with no survival skills and all the rage.
If I don't hone those killer instincts into something useful, she'll find herself in a dangerous situation with no way out.
She'd make an incredible part of the team.
I shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. She's too valuable for the Sanctus to ever put her in their line of sight. No matter how small they become, there will always be those who follow, those who would happily bleed her dry and fill her body with kids against her will.
I won't use her against them, no matter the possible repercussions of that choice.
But I can still train her, make sure she's ready in case they do eventually come knocking.
A plan forms in my mind, starting with basic combat training.
Conditioning. Fuck, I'll have to go get a treadmill. I hold in a chuckle, knowing how livid Isla will be that I'm going to make her run every day on top of everything else.
After she masters all that, she can start playing with the weapons.
Visions of Isla twisting and twirling, stabbing enemies and slashing through them, coating herself in their blood, make my body heat, and I shake my head, trying to rid it of the sickening, delicious thoughts running rampant.
Isla holding a dangerous weapon is the most potent turn-on I've ever had in my nearly 100 years. I knew she would be detrimental to me the second she pointed a gun at me, and my cock stiffened, begging for a bullet like some sick masochist. I've always enjoyed doling out pain; never did I think I'd be craving someone to inflict it on me just as badly.
But I know I can not have her. Because if I make the mistake of sleeping with Isla, of giving into this maddening tension and all the violence that will come with it, I'll never recover from her. And her cool, detached demeanor will drive me to the point of actual insanity. I'll ruin everything I've set out to do over one mercurial, infuriating person.
And I've come too far, already lost too much. I owe it to everyone who the Sanctum has taken from this world to follow through.
His small, round face flashes into my head, the memories of him always arriving and tearing me to shreds at the most inopportune moments. His tiny body littered with bruises and gashes, leaving him alive just long enough to cause the most devastation when I felt his sparkling, bright soul leave this plane just before I could reach him.
"Fuck," I run a palm down my face as if I could wipe away the memories, smear them from where they're plastered behind my eyes for all eternity. I won't let Arthur's death be in vain.
I won't.
One way or another, The Sanctum's reach stagnates now. They'll never stop, but I can prevent them from getting their hands on Isla and using her to fuel their weapons. And if, by some miracle, I can use their desperate, sloppy attempts to find her against them, I'll do that, too.
In the back of my mind, I know that retaliating and trying to find their breeding ground will only enflame them further to track down Isla, almost ensuring she's forced to stay with me longer. But I really can't bring myself to give a fuck. Isla's life is essential, yes. But the quality of it... less so in the face of countless others' lives being lost.
If she tries, I know she can be happy here. Hell, I'd build an entire extra floor for the Vegas trio of idiots if she asked me to. How hard could it be to purchase a private jet? We would have no need for a landing dock; the land outside is so flat and barren. Fritz could easily persuade a pilot to overlook the trips, ensuring safety and anonymity.
In the summer, we could even go exploring. Fritz would probably love a trip out here, away from the constant barrage of everyone else's emotions.
Caspian could do some fishing and take it back to the restaurant for a seasonal special.
Bel... well, Bel would have time with Isla, which is really all she would come here for anyway. We could go exploring if the weather permits, and they can see the wild birds that have made a home here, Buntings, and Sandpipers that almost no human has seen before.
My mind wanders, considering it for a while before I shut the fantasy down. Bel would take one look at Isla's current state, her dull, pale skin, dark purple under eyes, and clothes nearly falling off with the weight she's lost, and she'd stop at nothing to get Isla out of here, a fight none of us want.
Maybe after she adjusts to her new normal and stops trying to drown herself in liquor, something could be arranged. But for now, she's too volatile and too consequential to allow even a slip in the careful protection I've built around her.
But I can hold in my mind the hope of a future where this isn't all necessary and pray to whatever merciless fuck is up there watching us to let me one day find it.