19. Cazimer #3
“Well, there’s plenty of beastly coffee—not a proper tea bag to be had in this house, but plenty of that paint thinner,” Quentin sniffs like a prized Persian cat, crossing one long leg over the other as Frank and Louise hobble down the ladder to join us.
Frank opens his mouth, a grin already spreading across his lips—a hand moving to grab his crotch in a lewd gesture.
“Francis Stone—if you make a joke about your scrotum on my face, I will make you regret it,” Q warns Frank—pinching the bridge of his nose delicately, as if he may faint like some Victorian lady.
Everyone bursts into laughter—the momentary mood of the room lightens before silence falls once again.
“So…” Louise breaks the tense quiet, shuffling to the open space on the couch between Seb and I. “You think that I might be immune to the Zeitnot virus? Like Q, because I was previously infected?”
Quentin leans to the fireplace and refills the cup in his hand before passing it down to Louise. Without thinking, I lean over and snatch another small chocolate bar from my pack and offer it to her. We don't have any milk, and Q and I haven’t found any sugar yet—though we didn’t look very hard.
Louise smiles weakly at me and squeezes my hand—our twined fingers still wrapped around the tiny bar of chocolate.
“We don’t know yet,” Seb admits, Frank’s expression darkening as he crosses his arms over his chest.
We spend the next hour or so discussing ‘the new plan.’ While we may have decided to bunk down here at the hunting lodge for Quentin and Louise’s imminent heat—we are also within an hour’s driving distance of the small but reputable Lakeside University, which has a decently outfitted lab in its biology and pharmacy sciences wing.
It’s close enough to the winter holidays that the fall semester has ended, the bulk of the University’s students gone home for winter break.
Though some faculty and doctoral candidates pepper the modest campus in these few weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s—this suits our needs just fine.
We can enter and exit the campus with minimal attention from security or students and faculty who actually have a real reason to be there.
While both Q and Louise insist they are not yet fully in heat, and thus capable and invested in being part of this undertaking—Frank dismisses them outright.
“No way in hell,” he grunts out impatiently, pulling a can of spam from the pantry shelf as Sébastien passes Q and Louise potatoes and an onion from the root cellar to sounds of protest from both of them.
“I don’t care how much you bitch and moan—either of you, it makes zero sense to let either of you two out in the open when you’re both already perfuming so much, I can hardly think straight,” he barks impatiently.
Both Louise and Q blush furiously. Just thinking about last night makes all of us glaze over slightly—lost in the hazy memory of pleasure; and none of us can argue with Frank after such a clear-cut demonstration—so that part of the conversation is over.
“Seb and Caz hit good old LSU, handle the tests—grab whatever they can in the way of supplies,” Frank continues solemnly—lifting the metal ring in the corner of the can of spam as he presses on. “While the boys are on campus, I am going to see about getting a meeting with the Red Bishop.”
This makes Louise snap to attention. Though we didn’t have much time to mince words before the raid, it’s clear she hasn’t forgotten the mention of the ‘White Knight’ and ‘Red Bishop’ from the recording of Susan Lowry.
Seb motions for me to take a seat between him and Q, producing a knife from his pocket—giving me an encouraging nod to start peeling the potatoes alongside him. I pull out my own knife warily as Louise sets her potatoes and onion down on the table tersely.
“Now hold on just a minute—you’re not going anywhere near this ‘Red Bishop’ character without telling me what the fuck is going on.” She snarls.
“I know we did a little kissy-kissy, fucky-fucky last night, Sweetheart, but don’t forget that I’m the leader of this ragtag gang of Saints—I’m fucking alpha,” he growls, pulling the little metal ring clear off the corner of the can of Spam in his frustration.
“You don’t give me orders, Little Lucifer,” he warns, his hand moving to the back pocket of his jeans—slung low on his hips, looking for his knife.
“If you know who these fucking chess name motherfuckers are—especially the one who killed my parents, and you’ve decided not to tell me.” Louise’s hackles raise, her own sigma aura expanding against Frank’s in a battle for supremacy.
Frank produces a switchblade, flicks it open, and plunges it into the top of the can of lunch meat—wrenching the blade away at an angle—ripping away the pop top of the can as the blade withdraws.
“Or you’ll do what?” Frank barks with his full alpha voice, making all of us jump before he slams his blade down into the wooden table—the knife standing upright as he slams the can down beside it.
“You’re a good lay—some of the best pussy I’ve ever had—sure; but I’m not about to roll over and cede this entire operation to some little girl who’s barely five years outta Quantico—platinum level pussy or not,” he growls.
“You’ll have plenty of time to follow through on your ultimately unsatisfactory little revenge fantasy later, but right now we have bigger fish to fry; the Zeitnot virus, your parent’s involvement, your potential connection—why you and Q aren’t currently on death’s door—and that’s just for starters. ”
Louise lets out an anguished scream and pulls the knife from the table.
For a split second I panic that she’s going to just stab Frank, but she just grips the handle of the switchblade as she screams directly into his face.
Once she’s finished, she turns away from him and plops down onto the wooden bench beside me, resigning herself to peeling a potato—her eyes shiny with tears of rage.