Fox
Elsbeth’s laptop is protected with encryptions but it’s no match for me, a few lines of code, and two cups of coffee.
Her entire school life is now splayed out before me.
To kill time until she finds me in the study, I’ve been sifting through the months’ worth of research she’s done for the many classes she’s taking.
Her calendar to keep tabs on us pops up first. Several reminders and alarms for the last day invade the screen the second I get through.
That last reminder included all of us, likely one of the only events that she would have seen me out of the house. It’s part of our post-transfer tradition to carb load with pasta and rich desserts—especially after seeing Asher’s father.
It doesn’t take long for me to find which of our scheduling she’s hacked to gain access to all this information.
She must have taken an opportunity at the gym to install a hidden app on Thorne’s phone.
He keeps meticulous notes on his own schedule, nutrition, and health.
He’s also the one that the coven expects to take responsibility for the rest of us and our whereabouts.
Her computer is only about a year old, and she hasn’t changed the background or many of the settings. I’m assuming whoever gave it to her wants it back at the end of the mission they’ve set her on. Perhaps she doesn’t expect to survive it so there would be no point in customizing it for later use.
I open up her music app and look through the playlists she’s created:
Cram session hits
Workout mix
Daily meditation and motivation
Coffee shop
Baddie radio
I open up the last one and look through the catalog of music she’s found worthwhile.
It’s an assortment of songs from Cardi B, Chappel Roan, Vana, and a few other artists I recognize.
Her workout playlist looks a lot like my usual mix; it’s mostly bedroom metal and punk rock.
Nothing like sad emo boys screaming in your ear to get your blood pumping.
Right as I close out of the app, the door to the study creeks open and our little spy steps inside. “Fuck.” She sighs when she realizes she’s not alone.
“Nice to see you, too, venom.” I smile up at her from the desk as she crosses the room to stand in front of me. “Did you enjoy the self-guided tour?”
Elsbeth remains stoic as she drags her finger across the edge of the large desk. I fight the smile pulling at my cheek when she inspects it for dust.
“I didn’t get far,” she says nonchalantly and levels me with a salacious look. “I ran into Asher in the pool and got a bit . . . distracted.”
That was over an hour ago. Once I realized she wasn’t going to try to leave, I came to patiently wait until she found me. It doesn’t take an Ivy League diploma to know that to her, books are the flame to her fluttering curiosity.
“The sight of him in his tight swim trunks gets the best of us.” My statement doesn’t receive as much as a snicker, but she shifts on her feet and that’s enough.
Her eyes fall to her laptop sitting in front of me, then shoot back up to my face.
I expect her to reach out and try to take it from me, but she only stares at me with a challenge.
This time, I show how her defiance amuses me.
I smile and tap the top of her screen. “Take a look around, I’m almost finished here. ”
She steps back and gives me another surveying glare. A moment passes before she turns her head toward the wall of books.
“You’re not going to find anything,” she says, wandering over to the closest shelf.
The legacy library contains a collection of hundreds of years of diaries, reference volumes, family histories, and grimoires.
It’s an impressive sight that I often pause to appreciate.
But what catches me off guard in this moment is that, against the wall of floor-to-ceiling tomes, Elsbeth seems so small and innocent.
It’s also a stark reminder that not only are the four legacies temporary, but the perceived threat of this beautiful outsider will only be a smudge of ink in the coven’s history.
I reel myself back to present duties and tap out another search code then relay the results to my computer on the edge of the desk. “You’re a bit optimistic considering your position.”
“I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m untouchable. It’s not hard to prepare for your own downfall if you know it’s imminent.” Her retort lacks bite, and I look up to see why.
Her nose is already in the middle of one of the older books, her fingers weaving through the next few pages for quick scanning.
“You’d be surprised what I can find useful in your digital footprint.” I click through her location settings to find the history. “Worst-case scenario, I could always use your homework as leverage.”
She glances over the old diary. “Now who’s the optimistic one?”
Of course, she has copies of her work. The many versions of her assignments and extensive notes make it obvious that she’s not just an overachiever, but competitive.
Not that it comes as a surprise. Thorne, Asher, and Maddox are the same way.
It’s an essential personality trait to have for the Ivy League crowd. One that never took root in me.
“The legacies sure are chatty,” she says, not looking up from the dusty pages in her hands.
“‘Johan Corey, 1793, June. I’ve come to find the new sacrifice to be more beautiful than the others. Her bosom is as plump as the sacks of wheat at the end of harvest. Her womb will be ripe with my seed by year's end and forebear many of my children, as long as her father permits it.’ I’d say it was romantic if it weren’t for the use of ‘seed.’”
“I haven’t read his accounts. We tend to stick to our own lines,” I reply without looking away from her screen before I send a copy of all her files to my computer.
“So, you don’t know what’s in all of these?” She pans across the wall. “That seems like a waste.”
“The coven has them all scanned and catalogued for historical purposes. But otherwise, spending too much time looking back takes us away from stewarding the future.”
She replaces the diary before plucking another to flip through its pages.
“‘Lives of great men all remind us, We can make our lives sublime,’” she begins, stealing my attention from the work in front of me. “‘And, departing, leave behind us, Footprints on the sands of time.’”
It’s a phrase my father has told me countlessly. The comfort of Longfellow’s words are meant to inspire the four of us to fall in line with what’s expected of us, but have always reminded me that to be a great man worth mentioning, we would have to break free of our chains.
“There are plenty of footprints in the sand,” I quip.
“That’s evident,” she replies, shutting the book and tucking it back on the shelf.
Has her curious mind been sated or just subdued for the time being?
I make a mental reminder to ward the door tonight before I go to bed.
Though I doubt there’s anything worth her time in these brittle pages, we are long past underestimating her abilities to use information to further her intentions.
She crosses the room to lean against the edge of the desk next to me. My eyes follow the length of her legs up to the hem of the T-shirt at the middle of her thigh.
“If your coven doesn’t care to study the lives of your most prominent men, then why house them here?”
“Where would you suggest we keep them? They’re safe here, and they serve as reminders as to how our place is both vital and ephemeral.”
Her brows knit together as she considers me.
“Why do you spend your time locked up with them? Why not have some fun?” She almost sounds sincere, if it weren’t for the undertone of condescension.
“My ailment comes with . . . perks.” I clasp my hands behind my head and swivel my chair slightly to face her fully.
“Like what?”
“It may sound ridiculous, but it gives me purpose. I’ve never had to question my place in the world because it was predesigned that we have positions bigger than most. I’ll never worry whether I can protect my family or friends.
Whatever terrors lurk in the shadows, I know I’m worse.
The things that we’re capable of together . . . No one stands a chance.”
She stares at me. There’s no challenge or worry in her eyes, but I swear there is a gleam of hope or something close to it.
“And we have a kick-ass dental plan.” I smile wide and she laughs. It’s like a sunbeam filtering through her usual wall of storm clouds.
“That’s all you get out of this? A life to live for others?” She teases at a loose curl and moves a little closer. “Even Gandhi wasn’t that selfless.”
“When you’re part of something like this, you don’t look for anything else.”
“I would think an entire coven of women fawning over the four of you would be part of the appeal. A lot of men would kill for that arrangement.”
Her gaze wanders down my face to my chest before tempting lower.
“We aren’t like other men,” I say and lean over to plant my forearms on my thighs so that she has to look me in the eyes again. My fingertips brush her calves, settling against her warm skin. “We’ve learned how to separate quality over quantity.”
“Are you sure about that? Asher doesn’t seem to harbor the same sentiment.”
She shifts into my hands until the lean muscle of her leg is cupped in my palm.
“Asher is more driven by his appetite, but I promise, the women we share are highly regarded in our circles.”
“Share?” Another slight movement brings her ass to the edge of the desk until my hands and knees are angled between hers. “I didn’t think you were capable.”
“Selfless, remember?”
The triangle of black lace panties at her apex makes my breath hitch.
The wider her knees get, the tighter my sweatpants get.
I pull my arms back and place them on the armrest of the chair.
If she’s trying to push me to a breaking point, she’s getting close because the coiled anticipation in my gut is dangerously close to the edge of forbidden territory.