There’s tension in the way Brixton’s speaking to me, but it’s not condescending in the way that Corbyn talks to me. “Did you ever question why the Stones would bother killing someone so random? How a Demon like him, with all his wits about him, ended up in a place like Gentle Hands?” “He has dementia, he-” “Does he.” It wasn’t a question, but the silence after made it too uncomfortable not to answer. “Of course he does. Why else would they put him there and strip his powers-” No. Trent wouldn't be that cruel. He wouldn’t put him there… with me… as a constant reminder. “Whatever you’re thinking, Sweetness, it’s probably worse. Surely Trent, your very protective fiance, gave you a valid reason as to why he neve
“I thought you said we were training?” “You can’t train without eating,” Brixton says, pushing the plate of food closer to me. The plate in front of me is full. Not a nicely put-together plate, but a plate where all the food is touching. They roasted the chicken to perfection, and beside it the mashed potatoes have a pool of melted butter on top, leaking under the chicken and vegetable medley beside it. “Where’s yours?” I look up, but it's never easy to feel his full attention on me. There's already warmth spreading to my cheeks as he half barks out an order. “Eat, Devlin.” His eyes are still locked onto mine as the familiar weight of a utensil is shoved into my hand. The hand that’s still covered in blood. The utensil clinks against the plate as I press away from the makeshift table he set up in my room and dash towards the bathroom. Strong arms catch me from behind, pulling me into a warmth that's easy to get lost in. Luscious, delicious, juicy grape invades my space and m
“If my son has a problem with it, he can discuss it with me once he’s home.” Gavin leaves no room for argument, pausing as if he expects Brixton to continue. He won’t. I was summoned here late, after hoping that I’d escaped Gavin’s attention another day, but he was just busy. Something he’d be a lot of over the next few days, and he doesn’t want to leave our conversation any longer. In his absence today, however, Brixton was going over the importance of keeping my head about me with him. He stressed that he can’t intervene unless he thinks my life is in danger, and was worried that this would happen - that I would be separated from where he can see me. He’s not going to give Gavin any reason to remove him from my guard. “Trent won’t have a problem,” I smile sweetly up at Gavin and take a step to
*** Slap after slap, my feet hit the hard ground running. The silence is so deafening, yet so loud, as it calls out to me in the darkness. It's urgently pulling at me, propelling every step I take, but something else in the silence is there too… watching me. There’s a prickle along my skin, raising tiny bumps of awareness along my arms as it works its way to the base of my neck. I can’t pinpoint where it’s watching me from, seemingly everywhere, but nowhere all the same. Does it realize that I know it’s watching me? It makes no difference, giving me zero advantage to knowing when I can’t see a thing. Darkness layered with more darkness lies in front of me, every step a gamble as to whether it will land on solid ground or not, and yet here I am taking leaps of faith as I run towards the only thing giving me direction. Like a magnetic force, drawing me closer, it could be dangerous, and it just might be, but it doesn’t feel like I’m in danger. It feels like it’s calling me ho
The sandwich hits my lips, but all I can taste is her sweetness. She's enjoying this. Watching me with the same rapt attention that’s present during each feeding. It’s the only reason I allow it. It's the same look she's going to wear when Trent's blood is coating her skin. The small tastes she's giving me is enough to keep the cravings at bay, but she doesn’t understand what kind of monster she’s keeping. I had every intention of turning her attempts at feeding me away, but I can never keep myself from her for too long. It’s becoming a problem. ‘Don’t fuck this up, Pierce.’ I pull back abruptly, but not without feeling the sting of her sadness over it. Those black depths of hers look me over, but I also can't be this close to her for long. There’s no place in between for me. I need to be all out, or all in… except I can’t be either… so while the war wages inside of me, I’ll take full advantage of every lick of her skin I’m offered. ~~~ She’s refusing to look at me.
My back hits the mat and hot embarrassment floods into my cheeks. My foot is still caught in the mesh, and the only thing that has me opening my eyes is the promise of his lick-able grape hands helping me out of this, but I’m met with hazel eyes instead. Heaviness in my chest lands harder than I did, my stomach twisting up my insides as the worry swirls around. “Trent!” I scramble to my feet, my heart racing with my mind as I hope he didn’t witness anything that came before the graceful actions that landed me stuck in this mesh and still staring at the roof. “Dee,” he sighs, helping me up, untangling my foot for me, but letting go of me as soon as I’m standing on my own. “You’re back early,” I smile, moving toward him, but his face bunches up as he looks at me and backs up. “What… what’s wrong?” The shame I felt over my foot’s betrayal seems so minor compared to what's flowing through me right now. It’s uncomfortable as I shift on my feet and I wish I was anywhere but here. Th
My eyes open, but the distinct sound of a girl screaming is sending waves of chills down my spine. Turning my head slowly to the side, Brixton is pacing in my room and maneuvering a tiny knife under and over his fingers. How hasn't he cut himself? How- The blade stops, cradling between two of his fingers and when I look up, his frosty hues draw me in, taking any ability I have of speaking away from me. It's so silent between us, so silent in the room… was the screaming just in my night- The distant plead’s of a girl interrupt that thought, telling me otherwise. I slide out of bed, but when I reach for the door, it's locked.
My nose burns with the smell of rotten fruit. The acidity of it burns my lungs with every breath I don’t want to take as I look at Brixton. He’s looking past me to where Trent is standing, and to anyone who doesn’t know him, he looks calm and collected, but I see the storm behind his icy blues. I see the way his shoulders are flexed, holding more tension than they normally do, and how his mouth is open slightly, allowing room for if his canines drop, without revealing that to the room. I see the way his eyes are shifting shades of blue so subtle that it’s easy to miss. The storm in them is raging, begging to be unleashed as his hand flexes over an area I know he strapped a knife to earlier. I know I shouldn’t be looking at him, watching to see what he’ll do, as his words from this week are on a