Chapter Eight #2
“Look, I get it, but your personal situation has no bearing on our missions. Get your head out of your fucking ass, Hack. Our missions are important, our responsibilities with the marshals and their lackeys are important.” His signature grunt echoes in the sitting room facing the sparkling blue waters of Lake Oconee, where we spend most of our free time when we’re not riding our horses.
“I’ll figure it out.” I think. I have to or else I’ll lose my fucking mind.
“The three of us will handle this lackey problem. Meanwhile, you use this time to get your shit together.” Like it’s that simple. But realistically, I do need to get a plan together and that won't happen in the blink of an eye.
“Yeah, that works. Thanks.”
“And Hack?” Slay is right there, inches from me. “We only get one chosen one, so if you have to, you bring her back kicking and screaming. Don’t fuck it up.”
To say I’m stunned is just a gross understatement. For a second there, it sounded like he cared. Maybe the apocalypse is coming after all.
“Aww, Death, are you worried about me?” Now I just sound like Slash and he’s going to hate missing this great opportunity to bust Slay’s balls.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“You cooking tonight?” I ask as we walk out of Slash’s home and start in the direction of our own houses around the lake.
The way we had them built allows us the privacy we love and cherish without any considerable distance between us.
If we all sit on our own back porches, we can wave hello to each other.
Except, most times, we’re all together anyway.
“You fuckheads need to learn to take care of yourselves. I’m not your fucking mother.”
“Harsh but fair.” Good thing Slash is a pro with the grill. With a pat on his shoulder—nobody takes Slay’s grumpiness to heart—I rush back to my place with a seed of an idea that’s starting to grow roots.
If there was one person I didn’t expect to get an idea from, it was Slay, since he makes it a point to stay out of our private lives.
Just as I burst into my home, I feel the heavy weight of solitude pressing down on my shoulders.
My house is the biggest, and there’s a reason for that.
I expected to find Aiyana sooner and fill our first house with babies, as many as fucking possible.
When we chose this land almost three hundred years ago, my first thought was that she would love it, just as she loved her first life in Alaska, even though she constantly complained about the weather.
Here, she has the water, the mountains, and only some of the cold weather with much longer summers.
We transformed our homes from simple wooden structures to the massive rich asshole mansions they are today. Except for Slay. His house is just a normal rich asshole mansion.
About twenty years ago, I added numerous bay windows, knowing damn well she’d love the view of the lake from every angle.
It’s perfect for her. Hell, it was all built for her. The deck, the stables. I even keep a horse for her at all times. When it dies of old age, I get another and keep it with the hope of her riding it alongside me. Our children, too.
Yet, here we are…still living in empty homes enjoying only the company of each other and random females for the others.
They all fuck as often as they can, even Pierce, who feels the need for a connection and mutual respect, still takes the time to find a release.
Me? I can’t. I tried. I forced myself to have a release but the only time I feel whole is in the rare moments throughout history where I was able to feel her body flush against mine.
There is no substitute for that.
So, here I am, upstairs in my bedroom, contemplating every nook and cranny.
Seeing the master suite from her eyes. It’s big.
Bigger than necessary for a room used only for sleep.
In my mind, it is where I’d spend most of my time with her.
Memorizing every line and every inch of her body.
Worshipping her from head to toe and telling her in every language of the world what she means to me.
Problem is, she can’t even look at me without contempt and disgust, and I have no idea how to change that because it’s never happened this way before.
This cosmic connection we’ve had for two thousand years doesn’t come with an instruction manual so I’m navigating these rough seas like a blind man at the helm of a floundering ship.
Maybe I’m going about this all wrong.
I exit the room, cross the hall in a straight diagonal line, and walk into the bedroom she decorated herself so long ago.
“Hey, asshole! Where the fuck are you?”
This is why Slash is the most annoying of our whole brotherhood. Instead of calling out through our bond, he insists on using his real voice when he yells because, and I quote, “The acoustics here are fan-fucking-tastic.”
I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he was the king of the dramatic.
Without bothering to answer, I trot down the staircase with renewed pep.
“That was quick. What did you do to Oziel?”
Slash picks up a vase, turning it this way and that, his brows slanted in a deep frown. “Is this new?”
“I wouldn’t call it new. It’s nine hundred years old.” He’s right though. It’s new to me.
“Don’t be a swollen vagina.”
“What does that even mean, Slash?” Fucking hell, every decade his expressions get worse and worse. Back in the sixties, every insult he used had something to do with acid.
“You’d know if you ever fucked anymore. A swollen vagina is difficult to navigate.
On the one hand, it’s great for hugging my hard, needy dick, but at the same time, I’m not an insensitive asshole and don’t want my fucktoy to be in pain.
” He frowns, tapping a finger to his chin.
“Scratch that.” He grins and does a little backward dance like he’s rewinding his words.
“I don’t want my fucktoy to be in any pain I haven’t caused on purpose. ”
Then this fucker winks at me like he’s got an inside joke going and I’m supposed to be privy to it.
Obviously, Slash is into some shady shit, but we ignore and we don’t judge. Mostly because we don’t want the visuals.
“I swear to the Moirai, you exhaust me. You didn’t answer my question. What happened to Oziel?” I grab the vase, put it back in its spot, then land my heavy hand on Slash’s neck, pulling him outside with me.
“You love me like your favorite masturbating sock.”
I hate this asshole.
The day has turned to evening and I’m just now realizing that I’ve been upstairs prepping and preparing for hours. “What time is it?”
“Time for fucking dinner, which is why I came over. We're barbecuing at my place. Pierce has the meat, I’ve got the sides, well, mostly potatoes and salad, and Slay…I don’t fucking know what he’s doing but I’m sure he’ll show up.”
We stand on the patio and I lose myself to the sight of the setting sun.
“Yeah, I’ll bring dessert.” I smile at the thought. “Something with strawberries.”
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
I turn to look at Slash and frown. He’s confused, his eyes roaming my face like he’s trying to figure out quantum physics.
“Question is, what the fuck is wrong with you? We’ve been wondering for centuries, so if you have any insights, we’re all ears.” Slash doesn’t even react to my jab, knowing full well he’s uncontrollable on a good day and downright psychotic when he wants to be.
“You have a plan, don’t you?”
I grin, then focus back on the lake. “I fucking do.”
The force of his slap to my back sends me stumbling forward but I catch myself before I fall over the railing.
“Well, you gonna tell me? Do you need any help? Oh, there are some good tutorials on YouVid. I’ve got them saved and downloaded.” He’s fishing out his phone but I stop him with a hand on the side of his face, like I’m petting him.
“Brother, I’m about to let my chosen one know who’s in charge here.” We both grin as I bring his forehead to mine and we grunt like the Vikings before a battle.
“The Moirai are, and there’s nothing we mere immortals can do about it.” At Slash’s words, I grin like a fucking lunatic.
“Not a damn thing.” When we step away from each other, Slash nods and we walk back to his house where we all have a great dinner on the lake and I marinate my plan to perfection.