#he needs a creepy looking bird that’s intimidating as hell and likes to eats bones

[shyravenns]

Been thinking about a daemon au, and I genuinely believe that Nikolai would have this beautiful gal as a daemon

[kestrelsarethebestrels]

Employer termination.

-PART 1-

It wasn’t easy at first.

Not the part that involves eating people, of course. Alex had no qualms about that. He wasn’t burdened by things like “morals” and “ethics,” and that silly thing called “introspection.” No, it was the process of taking them apart and storing the pieces which he found difficult. Oh, and of course - getting the bodies in the first place. After the aggression of the initial avian assault, the store had been nearly picked clean and there weren’t a whole lot of surviving humans.

There was one single advantage in his possession. Intelligence? Nope. Skills? Naw. It was the element of surprise. That was assisted by arrows. Lots of them (fletched by the other employees). Oh, and the pocketknives, of which he had pocketed a few for himself in the before-times. From time to time he reminisced about the particularly gruesome ones, which were intentionally coworkers he had deeply despised. Like Gary, for instance. Always bossing him around, that son of a bitch. Thought he was way better at being a bow technician, just because he knew how to properly tune a bow and cared, for some stupid reason, about customer service. You’re not my real boss! he often angrily thought, when Alex’s mistakes were pointed out to him.

Well, he took care of Gary first, that quiet old man. That one was rather messy, but the goal of the inaugural kill was to make a statement, not to keep it simple. It terrified the others, but at that point Alex had already stockpiled any usable weapons and had trapped the rest in the conference room. From then on, the order was his immediate boss, the owner, and then anyone else on a whim. 

Preparing them was also an ordeal, as Alex had never once cooked in his life, unless you count putting a frozen pizza in the oven as cooking. He had burned that the first four times in his life too, but he got the hang of it eventually. The grill at the 4U Cafe should have been simple to operate, but he had spent the better part of a day trying to light the flame. Imagine a man desperately flailing a mini Bic lighter around what he thought was the flame source, but was in fact just the edge of a grate. That was the scene about three hours into his struggle. Two hours after that, it finally occurred to him that he had never turned on the gas in the first place. He still considered that an overwhelming success. There was a bunch of leftover onion ring breading in the kitchen storage room, and being a good ol’ boy from the land of fried foods, he created his own version of deep frying the meat. Serve that up with a side of decade-old expired ketchup, of which there were gallons in the kitchen, and voila. It’s a hell of a wonder he never got scurvy, but thanks to Gary’s immense stash of Emergen-C packets, the minimum amount of sustenance was just barely achieved. For shits and giggles, he had even tried deep frying brains. It turned out pretty good, in his opinion. (Remember, this is the same guy who thinks frozen pizza is the height of culinary mastery.) He liked to pretend he was a zombie whenever he got to those pieces, which was always saved for last.

He savored (both literally and figuratively) in the fact that he had finally proven himself to be an alpha male by being the last survivor at H&H. He didn’t miss anyone, sentimentally speaking, after the apocalypse started. Friends were far and few in between before that, anyways. Alex incorrectly chalked that up to the idea that mere mortals were intimidated by him. Men envied his souped-up super duty F250 and camo everything, and women were… well, he didn’t know anything about women, so anyone who didn’t respond to his creepy Tinder messages (which was all of them) was definitely a bitch. Everyone else outside of that gender binary didn’t exist, or else they were “goin’ straight to hell,” as he liked to remark to anyone who’d listen.

As for the birds, he took the hero’s route and bravely stayed indoors almost the entire time, only venturing out to find fresh water and pilfer dry ice from the businesses up near MacArthur and 29th. Dry ice - why, you ask? Well, that walk-in freezer had to stay cold somehow. What with all the body parts and such.

Except now, in early 2042, the people-food had run its course (pun totally intended). Occasionally he was able to lure down a highly dull and unintelligent bird to the front entrance and shoot it with his bow (missing his mark about half the time, arrows sent clattering over the parking lot asphalt), but in his attempt to prove his dominance over all of god’s creatures, he opted to use broadheads. There wasn’t a whole lot left that was edible after that, but goddamn did he feel good after a good bird kill. Revenge, he thought. Revenge for the humans (though, again, “humans” defined a universe that included himself and himself only). Eventually he ran out of functioning broadheads, which slowed that food source to a trickle as well. It turns out that missing your target and hitting the concrete sidewalk or parking lot surface really messes with the integrity of the arrow. Who would’ve thought?

Anyways, he was running out of ideas, flesh, and also vitamin C packets. On one cold morning, he woke up as usual (fatigued and cranky as all get out). He shuffled slowly, bundled up in other people’s jackets, exited the warmer interior room and made his way towards the cafe for the very few morsels that were left of his last victim, a pathetically obese bluejay that had gorged itself on too many rancid leftovers from the nearby Denny’s. His bulky elbow caught a stack of decaying papers on the shop counter, which fluttered disorganizedly to the ground (is there any other way for paper to fall to the floor?). Something caught his eye. An invoice? Painstakingly, he bent down to pick it up.

JASON MILLER - INVICTA 37 SVX PINK SATIN FINISH #3 MOD SET

Hah. Jason Miller. He vaguely remembered that name as being attached to a fussy asshole who was constantly pestering him about the “status” of his order. Like he cared. Looks like Chris was the one who placed this order. Chris: former manager, also formerly alive. His current position was now part of a haphazardly balanced pile of bones behind the cash register.

The journey to the cafe would have to be interrupted for now. He gripped the invoice tightly with a sense of anticipation. Alex knew there was a giant stack of boxes that had arrived from Hoyt, Mathews, and Elite in the back room, and he was pretty sure those people were still waiting to pick them up (deceased status pending). If he knew anything about statistics, his confidence in that information would have been within a 95% confidence interval, because after failing all of his other responsibilities, it had been his sole job to contact those people to let them know that their orders had arrived. This task, like most other things, was consistently shirked as well.

He mustered his last few brain cells and remaining muscle mass and awkwardly sprinted to the back room, if you could call it a sprint. He ran a pen, as a pointer, from top to bottom of the stack of cardboard boxes… slowly… slowly… there it was. The Invicta. He silently congratulated himself, as usual, and quickly returned to the main shop.

It had been a long while since he had used the landline, seeing as how he had no friends to check up on. A tone immediately greeted him upon picking up the phone, much to his relief. He located the phone number on the invoice from earlier, rehearsed a few lines beforehand, and then made the call. Shockingly, the person on the other end responded.

Cool.

Now the plan had been set in motion. It was time to play the waiting game…

-PART 2-

He couldn’t stop marveling at his good fortune. He also couldn’t stop laughing, either, but that was a side effect of the starvation delirium. While that chump in the back room was getting excited over his new bow, Alex silently retrieved one of his own, which had been hidden earlier behind the counter. Pushing aside an assorted mix of Gary and Chris to grab an arrow, he loaded up his second-to-last broadhead and stayed low. No sense in alerting the other guy right now, who was probably still futzing around back there. He closed his eyes, gripped the bow, and attempted to wish the hunger pangs away. The anticipation was too strong. With his index-trigger release already attached to the string, Alex peered from behind the shelves and into the backroom to catch a glimpse of his next meal.

Shit. Where’d he go?

“You lookin’ for someone?”

Now standing, he frantically searched for the source of the sound and was blinded (again) by that stupidly bright flashlight beam. With the last of his strength, he drew back the bow. It came back down. Too weak that time. He drew back the bow... nope. Still needed more force to get all the way to full draw. All right, this time for real… he drew back the bow and once again failed to overcome the peak draw weight.

“Struggling a little there?”

Ah, that fucker was taunting him. Alex had no reply - speaking drained too much energy. He could mutter crazily, though, and he sure did. Exasperated, he angrily drew back the bow one more time and his own shoddy workmanship failed him. 

A great shattering noise was followed by a clattering of pieces. In his enthusiasm, Alex had torqued the bow while drawing it, de-aligning the strings (which he had never waxed) and popping the main cable right off of the cams. He blankly and pathetically stared at the only thing that remained in his hand, the compound’s riser. (The moral of this story: don’t shoot a PSE. Just kidding.)

The other voice spoke. “Wow. I almost feel sorry for you. Almost.” He heard the subtle click of another bow being pulled to full draw. “I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time, and I mean this in the most genuine way -

Alex, you’re the worst.”

In a final moment of brief clarity, right before Jason’s fixed-blade arrow passed through his skull, a thought occurred to him for the first and certainly last time in his life: Oh. I fucked up.

-PART 3-

It wasn’t that hard, in the end. A 20-yard shot, Jason guessed. He was pretty close, too - the other man was just shy of 22. 

The bit that tipped him off was the sudden quietness from the main room. Very suspicious. By then, Jason had already tied a d-loop onto the Invicta and threw on an arrow rest. No sense in dilly dallying while ol’ Hannibal was still out there. His camping pack had included a whole bunch of archery tools. Added some extra weight to his already hefty bags, but it was worth it. And he packed arrows. All of them, but especially the hunting arrows.

Jason didn’t take too kindly to people-eaters. He made sure to double-tap too, just in case. 

He kicked one foot for a response. Nothing. Dug his foot into the shoulder. Still nothing. Kneeled down to check the carotid artery… no pulse. And since this isn’t a zombie story, it’s safe to say the guy on the floor was now totally, comprehensively, holistically, well-n-good dead.

After loading up on more tools from the shop, he made his way back to the entrance and took one final glance towards the dark, haunted western corner of H&H. This time, he wasn’t leaving empty-handed. The gorgeous and garishly pink bow would turn some heads, to be sure, but most likely they’d be heads with beaks on them, and maybe now they’d leave him alone for a while longer. He sighed deeply, this time with satisfaction.

It had been a good goddamn day.

[spiteandalice]

Judas Touch Pt 5

Sincerest apologies for my scatterbrain. Whenever I sit down to write this my brain goes BUT WHAT IF DAUNTLESS WERE WEREWOLVES! WRITE THAT! Or I get ideas for the second story which is actually my first that I never continued past the basic outlines. 

SMUT warning, language warning and also violence warning because this character has a lot of violent thoughts.

tagging, as per request: @beautifulramblingbrains @beltz2016

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR Fuck Eric and his stupid face. Fuck Max. Fuck the fucking infirmary and all the wretched staff. They conspired against me and that is so not appreciated. I fell asleep on the ride back and when I woke up I was in the infirmary. Handcuffed to a cot and sedated. For my own good. The second I get out of these cuffs I will be leaving a trail of limbs behind all the way to the leadership offices.

Lucy, my nurse who is most definitely strung out on Amity serum, comes in with that chipper smile and bounce in her step that instantly sets my teeth on edge. She is the one that informed me that they had to run some tests before giving me a healing serum or anything other than small doses of the harmless painkillers half of our faction eats like candy. Because, you see, I had unprotected intercourse and could be pregnant.

For that alone I will cut off his balls with a rusty butter knife.

“Doing good I see. We will get you some good food in a bit, you need more nutritious meals in your diet after what you've been through, especially given the circumstances.”

She smiles at me as if we were best friends talking about our crushes during a sleepover. If she tries to braid my hair or paint my nails I will put her head through the nearest wall.

“But first, you have a visitor. Quite a few, actually, but you're supposed to rest. Can't send Max away though so he'll be in shortly.”

“I think we should take that rest thing very seriously, don't you think. Just have someone shoot everyone that tries to disturb me. Even better, just give me my gun.”

That giggle is the most terrifying thing I have ever heard and I have heard my own bones break.

Unfortunately my suggestion fell on deaf ears, because Max strolls in minutes later, looking like the pompous ass that he is. They have some strange birds out in Amity that are strutting around as if they owned the place and I named the fattest of them Max. They roasted him during my last ambassador visit and he was rather tasty.

“Mina, it is good to see you are up….” Max has one of those faces that seem completely blank at times, making it a bitch to read for me. But he looks at my cuffed wrist and chuckles, that isn't hard to decipher. Dauntless men are a bunch of sexist pigs. “Eric enjoyed that a little too much.”

“Yeah, wait until I get out of here, he will find that even more enjoyable.”

Our grand leader raises an eyebrow at me and instantly makes me feel like a child throwing a tantrum, which I can ignore like a pro. I was raised by the most intimidating bitch this faction has seen before I came along, he has nothing on that. Max strolls over to the tiny window with his hands clasped behind his back, something I feel he would have picked up from an old book if I thought he was truly capable of reading. We are not the brainy faction and reading is somewhat of a shameful little vice people do behind closed doors - funny, because I can’t count all the semi-public blowjobs I’ve walked past in my years here.

“I realize that I shouldn't have sent you out so soon, so part of this mess is on me. You were absolutely reckless and ill prepared to deal with surprises. Never, ever go out on a mission without your phone, Mina, that's one of the first things we teach our fledgling soldiers. You need a way to contact us at all times in case the radio fails. How you didn't think about having one of your team get back to us… it shows me that you aren't fully ready to lead our groups out there.”

I open my mouth, ready to start the angry retorts, but he holds up his hand.  Without even fucking looking at me, how creepy is that?

“However… you handled yourself well, given the circumstances. All of yours came back relatively unharmed. Which, of course, is a testament to their training as much as your leadership. I realize that you have been through a lot lately, which is why you will continue to focus on our initiates for now. It will take two days for the test results to come back, you will rest until then. We will decide how to proceed after we have news on your… status. Although, to be honest, it's about damn time. The new ruling was passed just around the time you disappeared so we cut Eric some slack, but since you are back, well.  That saves us some time.”

I'm not often speechless but I'm positively dumbstruck. What the actual fuck? He is the one who sent me on this supposedly easy trip. Just days after I got back from being tortured and all that fun shit. Now he's telling me I'm not fit to do my job? That is rich. And not one word about the patron saint of sanctimonious assclowns who decided that I was some fucking damsel in distress? That Nose has read way too many old books about knights and secretly virtuous bandits saving helpless womenfolk in need. And then… hold on.

“What new ruling?”

It is nearly impossible to look any more condescending than Max right now, but he seems to remember that I've only been back for a few days and can't possibly be up to speed on everything that has been going on.

“There's been talk about how to improve birth rates, they are low all across the board. It's now a prerequisite for leaders and higher ranking members of all factions to be married and have children. Ideally before they are chosen, which doesn't apply to those already holding a position when the ruling came to effect, of course. They have a certain time frame to find a suitable partner, which was suspended in Eric’s case due to his age and circumstances back then. And we made an exception for you for now since it's only a matter of time that you two make it official, especially if you really are pregnant already. Two birds, one stone.”

And with the most aggravating smug expression he drops some papers onto my bed and saunters away.

Yep, going to kill them. All of them. Slowly.

In what has to be one of the most amateur moves of the century Max actually left stacks of paperwork held together by paperclips. I was born Dauntless, we handcuffed each other for fun in daycare to see who could get out the fastest.

So I am currently on my way to my alleged betrothed, head held high as I limp around the compound barefoot and bruised in nothing but sweatpants and a tank top. People move out of the way in spite of my pathetic appearance because hell hath no fury like a Dauntless woman on her way to smite patriarchy.

The raven haired chick that's supposed to be Eric’s assistant doesn't even bother to try and stop me so I make a point of remembering her name.  Raven, oh dear. But Raven shall receive a generous gift basket soon. Maybe we'll share it sitting on a pile of heads. She inclines her head towards the closed door and smirks at me, I can hear him snarl at someone. This should be good.

There is a certain beauty in the sound a door makes when it is opened so forcefully it ricochets off the wall, even more beautiful when it's accompanied by the various sounds of shock a group of five already intimidated grown men is capable of producing. I look them over and growl.

“Out. NOW!”

They scurry away like spooked little kittens before Eric can say anything to the contrary and I silently dare the little bastard to say something. To give me one more reason to fucking maim him. But he doesn’t, merely looks at me with that cold, slightly disgusted look of his he bestows on mortals. Asshole.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“What did you say? You want me to crush your skull? That can definitely be arranged.”

As an afterthought I kick the door shut, I can at least pretend that we are trying to keep this quiet. At this point I don’t care if we do this in the middle of the Pit on a Saturday night, since everyone is up in my business already anyway.

“You’re acting like a fucking child.”

He is still sitting behind his desk, arms folded in front of him, looking strangely tense. Eric is always so nonchalant, even when he gets angry, but this is different. Not that he would like it if I let on to seeing the difference, he likes to be the unreadable one. The aloof leader. My ass.

Even though moving hurts, a lot, I manage to hobble to his desk and shove it towards him. It’s relatively solid, but I know that one of the legs on his side has been wobbly since I spent some time bent over the thing, it was shaking considerably. Luck is on my side and the leg breaks, sending his computer and neat stacks of paperwork flying.

Finally, a reaction.

Grinding his teeth hard enough for me to hear Eric slowly rises out of his chair and fixates me with his patented stare that is supposed to make me submit on the spot. All it does is annoy me, and make me a little wet. His nostrils flare, too.

Maybe a little more than a little wet.

“So when were you going to tell me about your little schemes, there, leaderboy? Do you honestly think you could trick ME into this shit? I don’t want to get fucking married and I don’t want to breed, for fuck’s sake. They can take their leadership position and shove it up their collective asses for all I care, I’d rather go back to listening to Amity’s crop problems.”

The computer screen crunches under his boot because he is too busy staring at me having my outburst. This is usually more fun when the other party actually responds though, and he’s beginning to creep me out. Without a word he grabs me and slams me against the door, I think we’ve been here before, not too long ago. My brain isn’t working properly right now. Might be the lack of oxygen because he’s got a hand over my throat, pressing down just far enough to make my vision a little blurry around the edges. Might also be because the blood flow to my brain has been slowed down in favor of sending more blood rushing through my nether regions.

“I'm not tricking you into anything. You neglected to take care of birth control so I informed them of that. And you might not give a shit about your position but if I want to keep mine I have to get married and at least pretend to adhere to the new rules. Matter of fact, Jeanine has suggested a few suitable  candidates I didn't bother to look at yet.”

Of course she did. Something inside me tries to protest at the idea of Eric marrying some dumb Dauntless bimbo for appearances. Truly a dumb move because at this point nobody would believe that he actually wants her, not after… this. Maybe he has a point. I will not admit that even if it would save my life. It is a fact that he can’t stand about 99.9% of the population of this city and that is a very generous number, all things considered. The thought of having to share a place with someone, even just for appearances, makes my skin crawl. Married people don’t live in separate apartments, do they?

“So you didn’t try to knock me up on purpose?”

My words sound squeaky since he is still trying to strangle me. Eric still looks angry but he raises an eyebrow at me and something about his face is completely off. It’s not anger, there are several shades of that everyone here is very familiar with. It’s not lust, either, although somewhere deep inside he would probably not object to fucking me right now. Not quite sad, either. Disappointed? Why would he be disappointed.

“So you really think I would trick you like that.”

Eric has a talent for making it sound like he is not asking questions and that he wouldn’t be interested in the answer if people still took it as one. But I am beginning to realize that he wants me to trust him. After all, I sleep when he is around, more or less. I’m naked. Granted, I have developed a habit of waking up with my gun in my hand, but that is a recent development. So me assuming the worst, just like everyone else would, is pretty much the opposite of what he expects of me.

“Excuse me for not being able to read your fucking mind, I will get right to practicing that.”

I do notice that the pressure around my throat eases just that little bit that makes all the difference between life and death and I gasp, desperate to take advantage of the once again relatively unrestricted airflow. But Eric still has that strange look and it bothers me more than it probably should, being a friend with undeniable benefits and all. I sigh and try to gather my wits.

“Look. I’ve been kidnapped and tortured. I come back to this clusterfuck, am made a leader and almost killed once more, excuse me for being in a mindset where expecting the worst is kind of the thing to do. It has nothing to do with you, Eric.” There it is, his face looks a little less miserable, but that glimmer of hope hiding behind the frown is almost worse. Definitely worse is the urge to protect that little spark at all cost. “And I guess you are the best choice for this marriage bullshit, out of everyone I hate you the least and your chances of surviving the first three months are pretty good. I’ll think about it, alright. I just… need to sort through shit.”

If I didn’t knew any better I’d think he looks relieved, but it is quickly replaced with his trademark smirk. “I can work with that…” His hand yanks down my sweatpants and much to both our surprise I am not wearing anything underneath. Who the hell undressed me in the infirmary? They sure got an eye full. The new underwear I bought is uncomfortable and I’ve always preferred going commando, as they say.

Coming back to my senses I push off the wall and shove Eric backwards until he is in his chair again, before I can straddle him he has his pants unzipped and is ready for me to slip onto him. Not a single sound can be heard from inside this room as I lower myself slowly, torturing both of us inch by inch until I am fully seated and Eric grabs my hips, trying to urge me to move. It’s always like this, fast and hard and relentless but maybe I’m in the mood for something new. If the guy can fucking spoon me all night he can let me have this moment.

And he does, even though I can see he doesn’t like it much, at least not until I dip my head to catch his bottom lip between my teeth and lightly tug on it. It gives him something to focus on and the bruising grip on my hips loosens a little when I suck on his tongue, Eric even groans, a strangled little sound but it’s there. Another follows when I begin to slowly roll my hips, not lifting myself up at all but grinding against him instead.He wraps both arms around me and I half expect him to try and take charge, which he could easily do given his clear physical advantage. Instead he just leaves them around me, holding on to me and steadying me at the same time. It’s kind of nice.

Somewhere outside people are talking in hushed voices but I only hear them as if I’m under water somewhere, distorted and distant. All my focus is solidly tethered to where we are joined, my tightening muscles and the feeling of my skin sliding against his in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. The friction of coarse hair against my sensitive flesh is soon gone, soothed by sweat and the wetness pooling at the apex of my thighs whenever he just so much as raises an eyebrow at me.

Then his phone rings and he holds up his hand. Is he fucking serious?

“It’s Jeanine.”

Of course he is fucking serious. I watch, undoubtedly with my mouth wide open, as he picks the damn thing up and greets that witch, at least he has the decency to sound annoyed. Good, he is currently balls deep in his probably, maybe future wife.

“Eric. You still have not answered my message so i decided to be a little more proactive, after checking your schedule I saw that you have an opening right now. The most suitable candidate i personally picked should arrive at your office any moment…”

My eyes widen but before I can snatch the phone away eric blocks me with his free arm and scowls at me. In response I tighten my muscles and he hisses.

“No need for that Jeanine, you know that.”

Good boy. I begin to slightly rock my hips back and forth, thoroughly enjoying his grimace. And I am very much looking forward to his retaliation as soon as he gets off the phone.

“Please don’t tell me you are still hanging on to the foolish notion that that savage woman is a good match for you. If you think that you have to, given the circumstances, I can evaluate the test personally, I’ll have someone bring her samples up to me this instant. Even if she should be pregnant, we could…”

Within seconds Eric’s face switches from mildly annoyed to murderous.

“Don’t even say that. My answer has been, is, and will be no, no matter how often you bring this up. I am very happy to accommodate you on a professional level, but this concerns my private life and I decide who I marry, if I do and when.”

This man is a god and I don’t think I have ever liked him more than in this very second when he is telling my least favorite person in existence to shove her ideas up her ass. Which, considering how stuck up she is, should be ready to burst already with all the sticks up there. I grind my hips harder and Eric growls, but he is grinning at me.

The Matthews woman is going on about how, as a leader, he has a duty to his faction 24/7 and how the perfect match for him should reflect him in the best way possible but I can tell he lost all interest in the conversation a while ago.

“I’ll have to let you go, I am currently in a meeting with a very savage woman that is demanding my attention. Have your assistant contact my assistant about our next official meeting. I’m done with this bullshit.”

And he hangs up, drops his phone to the floor and gets up, all within seconds. I’m firmly wrapped around him and not sure if he’s grinning or snarling, but I don’t think even he is very sure about that.

“You fucking bitch”, he hisses and sends shivers down my spine, that man has a way with words that makes at least this savage woman swoon.

There is some rustling and crashing as he flings away things that have fallen off his toppled desk to make room on the floor, I may or may not be laughing about his urgency, but once he has me on the floor and the admittedly pretty loud sound of flesh slapping against flesh can be heard that laughing turns into barely muffled moans and it doesn’t take long before we both cry out in unison, muffled by each other’s necks, jaws locked and tender flesh caught between our teeth like two dogs fighting over a bone. We will be walking around with teeth marks, both of us, but that is nothing new. Maybe we can make that our form of engagement thing, most here get a tattoo when married and do a little trinket exchange before that to signal that they are off the market. I like this better, the skin on my neck an angry red, teeth indentations clearly visible, a little bit of blood trickling down.

When we stumble out of his office, both in a suspiciously good mood, me pulling up my pants, he just zipping up his, Raven sits behind her desk and bites into her fist, barely hiding her amusement. There is a girl, and she is really barely more than that, sitting on a chair waiting, wearing her best little dress and too much makeup. Eric looks her over and mutters a ”Hell, no.” that, embarrassingly enough, makes me giggle. Which, in turn, makes him smirk at me and slap my ass. I guess we’re doing that thing with touching in front of others now?

Raven leans forward and clears her throat. “Sir, I will call maintenance to have someone check your intercom since it doesn’t turn off anymore.”

I look at Eric, he looks at me. So… they could hear everything. Every muttered curse, every slap, every hiss. I shrug, he grins. I was born without the part of the brain that lets you feel embarrassment.

“Thank you, Raven. Take the afternoon off, clear my schedule.”

And with that he throws me over his shoulder and walks towards his apartment. Our apartment. For once I’m not inclined to protest, instead I practice my regal wave when he passes a group of gawking initiates.

PART SIX