Last Snow - Chapter 3: Seeing Red
A/N: Hello everyone! I have finally completed Chapter 3 of Last Snow. And since I'm an evil author, I decided to tease you all the more with more suspense keke. However, please note, this chapter contains a short smut scene at the end. If you are not of age or do not have parental consent/approval, please do not read. There is a reason why this scene is included in the chapter. There is a reason why it's here. Let's see if you can tell
Chapter 3: Seeing Red
I studied the picture for hours, taking in the feminine curves, the creamy skin, and the way the light fell on her shoulder in a gentle shower.
She was without a doubt a beauty, and there was an edge in her persona that promised she would be a force to be reckoned with if crossed.
I fleetingly wondered if she was one of them, a vampire.
She had to be if she was living with them right?
Then again, she could be just as much of a hostage as me. She looked harmless enough in the picture, but…she had potential.
Plenty of potential.
A beautiful killer.
My throat tightened at the possibility. Even if she looked harmless enough, it was probably best if I treated her like the rest of them.
Until I got some answers.
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Taemin entered exactly on time, jolting me from my book. He was carefully balancing a lunch tray in one hand as he closed the door with the other. He looked almost more miserable than before if that were possible. He set my tray down by my feet as I straightened from my place on my makeshift bed. I closed my book and shoved it under the mattress. I crawled over to my meal, shoving the blankets aside.
Taemin assumed his stationary position by the door as he always did, once again pulling out another piece of weaponry for a quick polishing. This time it was a dagger, with an ancient handle, and a steel blade.
I stayed quiet as I ate, shiftily glancing at him through my lashes. He looked almost like a lost child staring at the room with clouded eyes. I clinked my spoon hard against the base of my bowl as I spooned out some soup.
I inwardly smirked at successfully redirecting his attention to me.
“Still not finished with that book?” He asked, his voice breaking through the silence.
My cheeks burned in the dark. Had I not been too embarrassed over the fact he had caught me in the act I would have realized this was the first time he had ever talked to me first. A small triumph for me in my tiny prison.
“Which one?” I asked playing innocent.
He gave me a small smile, the edges slipping into a smirk. “The one you shoved under your mattress. The Forever Man,right?” He asked.
My cheeks burned two shades darker. I was never more grateful for the dark abyss surrounding me.
“It’s a good read.” I said, which wasn’t entirely untrue. It was a great book. It was just the picture in-between the pages that had really garnered my attention.
“I’m glad you like it.” He said softly, a faraway look on his face.
I hesitated.
“Was it hers?” I asked quietly.
“What?” He exclaimed, startled out of his trance.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, treading carefully. This was forbidden territory. Unfamiliar and new.
“The girl, the one who's dying, is this her book?” I asked, pulling out the book for him to see.
He looked at me with confused eyes, not comprehending where I was going with my question. So I took a leap of faith, placing the book on my lap, and opening it to the page where I had last tucked away the image.
The pages parted around the photo like a curtain, and the girl in the picture gleamed.
I looked up at Taemin, breath catching in my throat when I saw his eyes becoming an angry red. He growled, eyes flickering with emotions as he glared at the photo. He snatched the image from the book, glanced at the brown haired angel and snarled.
At me.
The sound was feral, and I slowly backed away.
I knew I shouldn't have brought it up. It was a sensitive topic. I knew. But at the same time I didn't know, and I wanted to.
The movement caught his eye and he bolted to his feet. He grabbed my arm, tugging me closer to his frame. His hand fisted a clump of my hair and pulled my head back and up so he could see m eyes.
I had never seen a vampire's face up close, but now I understood what my father meant when he said it was provoking. It was beautiful. His skin was unmarred, a plain of white milky skin. But his eyes. They were the eyes of a killer - two large rubies glimmering with rage.
“Where,” He started, his voice deadly and eerie. “Did you get this?” He shoved the image in my face, the edges becoming wrinkled in his tight grip.
I swallowed, my eyes staring up at the red pools staring down.
“I found it in the book.” I explained, voice timid and scared.
His eyes narrowed. “Did you find it, or did you go hunting?” He hissed, the words permanently engraved in the air.
My legs quivered at the dark promise in his voice, and I found myself unable to speak. I was entranced by his eyes and his smooth skin. My eyes followed his lips as he spoke his threats. I was provoked.
“Stop it.” I suddenly hissed. I shook my head, clearing my mind of the hazy blanket smothering it. “Stop provoking me!” I demanded.
Provocation, also known known as the process of getting a rise out of someone; trying to make them angry, trying to make them rise to the challenge, or in the case of vampires, trying to subdue their victims.
It wasn't a very common ability. Few vampires had such control, and those handful of vampires were known to be ancient. Not young, full lipped redheads like Taemin. They were older.
So how could he do it?
Taemin smirked. “Or what?”
“I'm not your food!” I snapped. “I'm not like her.”
I shouldn't have said her name, but I did, and the price I had to pay for my utterance was deadly.
Taemin's eyes became one of the darkest shade of red I have seen to this day, a muddy crimson. The color of death.
He wanted to kill.
'He wants to kill you,' My mind whispered.
I whipped around and ran.
The room was small, yes, and there wasn't much of an area for me to run in, but I wanted to put as much distance between me and the killer as possible. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to close my eyes and never wake up. I didn't want to die.
My eyes grew wide, back still to the vampire, and the sound of a blade darting through the air. I screamed and the blade hit its target.
It was the sleeve of my blouse.
I collapsed to the floor, the silver dagger cutting into the floor. I trembled as I stared at the silver handle. From where I was sprawled, the dagger was awfully close to my face, and the pounding in my chest grew louder and faster as I heard Taemin walk closer. He bent down and I shrank away. He grabbed his dagger and twisted the fabric of my sleeve painfully around my arm. I squeaked.
“Don't you ever mention her again. These weapons aren't just for show.” Taemin said, cold breath caressing the shell of my ear.
I nodded my head mutely.
He relented, pulling the dagger from my sleeve and releasing me from the floor. I didn't bother getting up. I was too scared. My vision blurred and only then did I realize I had been crying. I bit my lip to hold back more tears.
I heard Taemin cross the room, shoes thudding lightly on the floor and signifying is fury. The faint flutter of paper suggested he had already collected the book and photo from the floor, and the stirring of metal silverware signaled the end of dinner.
Taemin opened the door and paused.
“They won't let me kill you. You're lucky, because if it weren't for them, you'd be dead.”
The door closed and the familiar sound of a lock being set in place echoed in the room, reminding me I was still their prisoner.
That was the last book he brought me.
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There were pastel blues and dark navies; a collection of warm hunter browns with plum ribbon markers; a short series of reds with gold lining, and even the occasional bright yellow or pink scattered in between.
The pages within each cover told a different story, each one unlike the last, each one more beautiful. The text inked across the pages was neat and feminine, and the pages themselves were worn from the several times they had flipped and read. They all had read the novels, more than once. Each and every one of them.
Taemin smiled fondly at the titles, memorials begging to be brought back to the surface. Memories he didn't want to see.
He shouldn't have been in there in all seriousness. Onew didn't like it. It reminded him too much of what she was like when she was...well.
It bothered Jonghyun just as much.
The only other people who ever visited were Key, to do the occasional dusting and the changing of sheets (“Do you honestly think I would let my baby sleep in such a dirty room?” Key challenged when Onew brought the topic up. But Taemin knew it wasn't just to change the sheets. He faintly recalled all the times he had caught Key curled up in the sheets and sobbing her name. He knew because he too had joined him on a frequent basis and sobbed in Key's arms.), Minho, and himself.
He wasn't sure why Minho kept returning, but then again Taemin wasn't quite sure why he did either.
He just felt compelled to come; compelled to remember. And he did.
He sighed as he touched the books, lightly running his fingers over the spines. It was almost as if he could feel her fingers flitting across them with him.
He stopped and frowned at one particular branch in the line of books. He fingered the blue novel carefully, a finger slipping into the loose gap between the book and it's partner. There was a book missing. He frowned.
“My, my someone is getting awfully bold.” A voice said sarcastically.
Taemin didn't even flinch, sparing a glance at the door to see Minho leaning against the door frame.
“Has someone other than you and I been in here?” Taemin asked.
“Key?” Minho quipped, cocking his head to the side.
Taemin shook his head. “Anyone else?”
Minho inhaled slowly, eyes slipping shut. “Jonghyun.” He said suddenly, reopening his eyes.
Taemin hummed softly. “That is a pleasant surprise.”
“Imagine mine when I opened one of her books and found the scent of our precious prisoner on the pages?” Minho said tightly.
Taemin stiffened and then sighed once again. “Yes, I imagine that must be rather surprising.” Taemin murmured. He continued to read the through the titles of the remaining books, fingering each one as he went. It was comforting.
Minho said nothing.
“Where is Key by the way?” Taemin inquired.
“Feeding Onew. He refuses to feed or hunt.”
“He'll waste.” Taemin reprimanded.
“Tell him.” Minho said, his voice tired.
Taemin stilled and faced him. “There's not much I can say. There's not much any of us can say. He only listens to her.”
Minho grunted in agreement, crossing the room and joining Taemin by the bookshelf. He leaned against the wall stabilizing it, watching Taemin run his smooth fingers over the bindings of each story.
“What are you doing, Taemin?” He asked quietly
“Remembering.” He responded, closing his eyes as he touched a few tender hearted books. His own heart clenched unhappily.
“That's not what I meant, and you know it.” Minho chastised.
Taemin's eyes flew open. “What about Jonghyun? Where is he?” He asked, evading the question at hand.
“He's preparing. He's going hunting.”
“Hunting or something else?” Taemin asked, giving Minho a pointed look.
Minho rolled his eyes. “He's restless.”
“He's careless.” Taemin retorted, returning to the books. “He can't keep tracking the Hunters. If he gets too close, that's another goodbye we have to say.”
The air grew thick at the solemness in Taemin's voice. His disapproval was apparent and unyielding.
“Why are doing this, Taemin?” Minho repeated. He spoke to him affectionately this time around, being careful not to upset him. He had always had a soft spot for the maknae and he always would. He didn't want to disrupt that balance.
“Why do you keep returning?”
Minho sighed, knocking his head into the wall behind.
“Her scent still lingers.” He responded truthfully, words flowing out of his mouth like water. “And yous?” Minho asked.
“You wouldn't understand.”
“I'm not Jonghyun, nor am I Key. I won't terrorize you for going to the girl. I simply want to understand, why?” Minho pressed.
Taemin spoke after a lengthy pause, his voice coming out as a whisper. “Someone has to read her books Minho. Someone has to remember.”
“Or perhaps it is rather that she reminds you of yourself.” Minho claimed.
“Perhaps.” Taemin murmured quietly.
Minho watched him with careful eyes. “I wouldn't have taken you as the rule breaker, home wrecker yes, but never the rule breaker.”
Taemin scowled. “I'm so sorry for not meeting your expectations.” He said, sarcasm dripping from his every word.
“Taemin, you provoked her.” It was a statement, not a question. “I felt your Talent with my own. You know Onew hyung said to leave her untouched. Why else do you think he doesn't let Jonghyun or Key bring her trays?'' Minho stressed.
It was true. Taemin was one of the calmer seethe members, which was why he had been tasked with feeding their temporary prisoner. But she had brought it upon herself. He had to subdue her. He couldn't risk the secret getting out.
“She came across something she shouldn't have seen.”
“Oh?”
Taemin stuck his hand in his back pocket, removing a wrinkled photo. He handed it to Minho wordlessly.
Minho inspected the glossy surface.
Silence ensued and anger bubbled in Taemin's stomach, courtesy of Minho's emotional Talent.
“Onew will not be pleased.” Minho said knowingly, a mixture of anger and worry in his voice.
“She won't tell.” Taemin said.
“She shouldn't know.”
A pause filled the room.
“Or maybe,” Taemin whispered, “She should.”
Minho's eyes narrowed. “Don't start something we can't contain.”
“Containment isn't the issue.” Taemin promised. “It's un-containment that is.”
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I slept on the floor that night, red eyes glaring down at me from my dreams. I woke up with a fright and sweat painting my body. I sighed, heart still pounding wildly in my chest.
It was the same nightmare, consistently on repeat for the past four nights. Four nights since I almost pushed Taemin over the edge.
I blinked away tears as the fear gripped at my heart.
It sounds stupid doesn't it? The daughter of a Head Hunter unable to keep herself together, just because of one little scare. But you aren't me. You weren't there, under his gaze, under his hands. You've never been that close to dying. And with no weapons, I am nothing.
A trickle of sweat curled around my neck, and I lifted a hand to wipe at the wetness. Another drop rolled down, meeting the other and I scowled. I kicked away the sheet tucked around me, making my way to the bathroom.
The bathroom was surprisingly clean, fully stocked with a few towels and several rolls of toilet paper. The lights were my only issue. They were dim yellow beams that barely provided enough light for me to do my business. It was aggravating, and more than once I had slipped in the tub.
Luckily I had gotten better at showering without the yellow light over the dureation of my stay, and chose to leave the switch off.
I pulled back the curtain and turned on the shower. The water was deliciously cold against my heated skin and I pulled back. It was ready.
I popped open the button of my jeans, tugging down the zipper, and sliding them down my legs. My panties followed and I kicked the pile to the corner of the bathroom. My shirt and bra were added to the pile as well.
Pressing a hand to the wall as a guide I stepped into the tub, the water kissing my skin. The fire burning brightly in my chest faded, welcoming the relief.
I stooped down and grabbed the bar of soap resting on the edge of the tub. I rubbed it over my skin, lathering my body.
The routine was old, something I could do without having to put much thought into. It was a distraction. I hummed softly as I washed.
Random thoughts swirled in my head, one sticking out from the other: food. I was their food. My heart throbbed.
The shame of becoming their toy was stabbing.
'Dad, please, find me.' I thought, and I sent a silent prayer to whoever was watching over me.
The water grew colder, quenching my body's desire for more. My eyes drifted shut, and I pushed all further thoughts from my mind altogether. I would save those for a rainy day, where no one could tell where my tears began and where the rain ended; where they wouldn't see.
Vaguely I felt my mind fog over, letting the water take its toll on my body. It was as if there was a thin layer of flimsy guaze hugging it.
The water melded into a piercing cold stream, and my mind grew numb.
(START SMUT SCENE)
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“Move your body.” Came the quiet order. It was like what honey would sound like if it could speak; sweet and sticky.
I swayed my hips, and lithe arms craddled my body. Strong; his arms were strong, and his hands were naughty, I decided. They danced over the curve of my spine, rubbing and engraving an inivisble pattern into my skin. His tongue licked the side of my neck.
Arousal warmed my body.
“More.” He said, voice gruff.
I arched my back, pressing my front against his naked body, chest to chest. The lone moon's silver light bathed our forms, and in the back of mind I wondered where the light had come from. I didn't have much time to ponder, the man was insatiable. He dipped his head, lips pressing kisses to my breasts, sucking and licking eagerigly.
I met his eagerness with my own, cupping his cheek and brushing wet lips across the smooth skin. The attention on my chest grew more aggressive, and another wave of arousal warmed me. The man noticed, pushing my back forcefully against a tiled wall. He cupped my bottom appreciatively, kisses traveling up the column of my neck.
I moaned.
I whipped my head to the side, hips gyrating sexily against his, drops of water hitting the tiles with a . It was something I would have never thought to have been capable of doing. I felt wanton.
A free arm hooked itself underneath my knee, throwing it over his hip. I threw my head back in delight, savoring the feel of the hardness pressed against my lower body.
Not wanting to be undone, I pressed back, nipping the junction where his shoulder and neck met. He growled, low and ineffable.
He pulled away from me and his eyes connected with mine.
The pale light of the moon, reflected enchantingly over the smooth planes of his face. I stared at his dark eyes, and reflected back in them I could see the image of a beautiful woman, brown eyed, and brown haired.
It wasn't me.
I screamed and the scene shattered.
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(END SMUT SCENE)
My eyes shot open, mind going into hyper drive. Indistinctly the door slamming open registered in my mind, but I found myself too preoccupied to notice.
It wasn't until the shower curtain was pulled back that I realized I was still in the shower.
And so was Minho.
I screamed.
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(Chapter 4)
Chapter 3: Seeing Red
I studied the picture for hours, taking in the feminine curves, the creamy skin, and the way the light fell on her shoulder in a gentle shower.
She was without a doubt a beauty, and there was an edge in her persona that promised she would be a force to be reckoned with if crossed.
I fleetingly wondered if she was one of them, a vampire.
She had to be if she was living with them right?
Then again, she could be just as much of a hostage as me. She looked harmless enough in the picture, but…she had potential.
Plenty of potential.
A beautiful killer.
My throat tightened at the possibility. Even if she looked harmless enough, it was probably best if I treated her like the rest of them.
Until I got some answers.
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Taemin entered exactly on time, jolting me from my book. He was carefully balancing a lunch tray in one hand as he closed the door with the other. He looked almost more miserable than before if that were possible. He set my tray down by my feet as I straightened from my place on my makeshift bed. I closed my book and shoved it under the mattress. I crawled over to my meal, shoving the blankets aside.
Taemin assumed his stationary position by the door as he always did, once again pulling out another piece of weaponry for a quick polishing. This time it was a dagger, with an ancient handle, and a steel blade.
I stayed quiet as I ate, shiftily glancing at him through my lashes. He looked almost like a lost child staring at the room with clouded eyes. I clinked my spoon hard against the base of my bowl as I spooned out some soup.
I inwardly smirked at successfully redirecting his attention to me.
“Still not finished with that book?” He asked, his voice breaking through the silence.
My cheeks burned in the dark. Had I not been too embarrassed over the fact he had caught me in the act I would have realized this was the first time he had ever talked to me first. A small triumph for me in my tiny prison.
“Which one?” I asked playing innocent.
He gave me a small smile, the edges slipping into a smirk. “The one you shoved under your mattress. The Forever Man,right?” He asked.
My cheeks burned two shades darker. I was never more grateful for the dark abyss surrounding me.
“It’s a good read.” I said, which wasn’t entirely untrue. It was a great book. It was just the picture in-between the pages that had really garnered my attention.
“I’m glad you like it.” He said softly, a faraway look on his face.
I hesitated.
“Was it hers?” I asked quietly.
“What?” He exclaimed, startled out of his trance.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, treading carefully. This was forbidden territory. Unfamiliar and new.
“The girl, the one who's dying, is this her book?” I asked, pulling out the book for him to see.
He looked at me with confused eyes, not comprehending where I was going with my question. So I took a leap of faith, placing the book on my lap, and opening it to the page where I had last tucked away the image.
The pages parted around the photo like a curtain, and the girl in the picture gleamed.
I looked up at Taemin, breath catching in my throat when I saw his eyes becoming an angry red. He growled, eyes flickering with emotions as he glared at the photo. He snatched the image from the book, glanced at the brown haired angel and snarled.
At me.
The sound was feral, and I slowly backed away.
I knew I shouldn't have brought it up. It was a sensitive topic. I knew. But at the same time I didn't know, and I wanted to.
The movement caught his eye and he bolted to his feet. He grabbed my arm, tugging me closer to his frame. His hand fisted a clump of my hair and pulled my head back and up so he could see m eyes.
I had never seen a vampire's face up close, but now I understood what my father meant when he said it was provoking. It was beautiful. His skin was unmarred, a plain of white milky skin. But his eyes. They were the eyes of a killer - two large rubies glimmering with rage.
“Where,” He started, his voice deadly and eerie. “Did you get this?” He shoved the image in my face, the edges becoming wrinkled in his tight grip.
I swallowed, my eyes staring up at the red pools staring down.
“I found it in the book.” I explained, voice timid and scared.
His eyes narrowed. “Did you find it, or did you go hunting?” He hissed, the words permanently engraved in the air.
My legs quivered at the dark promise in his voice, and I found myself unable to speak. I was entranced by his eyes and his smooth skin. My eyes followed his lips as he spoke his threats. I was provoked.
“Stop it.” I suddenly hissed. I shook my head, clearing my mind of the hazy blanket smothering it. “Stop provoking me!” I demanded.
Provocation, also known known as the process of getting a rise out of someone; trying to make them angry, trying to make them rise to the challenge, or in the case of vampires, trying to subdue their victims.
It wasn't a very common ability. Few vampires had such control, and those handful of vampires were known to be ancient. Not young, full lipped redheads like Taemin. They were older.
So how could he do it?
Taemin smirked. “Or what?”
“I'm not your food!” I snapped. “I'm not like her.”
I shouldn't have said her name, but I did, and the price I had to pay for my utterance was deadly.
Taemin's eyes became one of the darkest shade of red I have seen to this day, a muddy crimson. The color of death.
He wanted to kill.
'He wants to kill you,' My mind whispered.
I whipped around and ran.
The room was small, yes, and there wasn't much of an area for me to run in, but I wanted to put as much distance between me and the killer as possible. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to close my eyes and never wake up. I didn't want to die.
My eyes grew wide, back still to the vampire, and the sound of a blade darting through the air. I screamed and the blade hit its target.
It was the sleeve of my blouse.
I collapsed to the floor, the silver dagger cutting into the floor. I trembled as I stared at the silver handle. From where I was sprawled, the dagger was awfully close to my face, and the pounding in my chest grew louder and faster as I heard Taemin walk closer. He bent down and I shrank away. He grabbed his dagger and twisted the fabric of my sleeve painfully around my arm. I squeaked.
“Don't you ever mention her again. These weapons aren't just for show.” Taemin said, cold breath caressing the shell of my ear.
I nodded my head mutely.
He relented, pulling the dagger from my sleeve and releasing me from the floor. I didn't bother getting up. I was too scared. My vision blurred and only then did I realize I had been crying. I bit my lip to hold back more tears.
I heard Taemin cross the room, shoes thudding lightly on the floor and signifying is fury. The faint flutter of paper suggested he had already collected the book and photo from the floor, and the stirring of metal silverware signaled the end of dinner.
Taemin opened the door and paused.
“They won't let me kill you. You're lucky, because if it weren't for them, you'd be dead.”
The door closed and the familiar sound of a lock being set in place echoed in the room, reminding me I was still their prisoner.
That was the last book he brought me.
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There were pastel blues and dark navies; a collection of warm hunter browns with plum ribbon markers; a short series of reds with gold lining, and even the occasional bright yellow or pink scattered in between.
The pages within each cover told a different story, each one unlike the last, each one more beautiful. The text inked across the pages was neat and feminine, and the pages themselves were worn from the several times they had flipped and read. They all had read the novels, more than once. Each and every one of them.
Taemin smiled fondly at the titles, memorials begging to be brought back to the surface. Memories he didn't want to see.
He shouldn't have been in there in all seriousness. Onew didn't like it. It reminded him too much of what she was like when she was...well.
It bothered Jonghyun just as much.
The only other people who ever visited were Key, to do the occasional dusting and the changing of sheets (“Do you honestly think I would let my baby sleep in such a dirty room?” Key challenged when Onew brought the topic up. But Taemin knew it wasn't just to change the sheets. He faintly recalled all the times he had caught Key curled up in the sheets and sobbing her name. He knew because he too had joined him on a frequent basis and sobbed in Key's arms.), Minho, and himself.
He wasn't sure why Minho kept returning, but then again Taemin wasn't quite sure why he did either.
He just felt compelled to come; compelled to remember. And he did.
He sighed as he touched the books, lightly running his fingers over the spines. It was almost as if he could feel her fingers flitting across them with him.
He stopped and frowned at one particular branch in the line of books. He fingered the blue novel carefully, a finger slipping into the loose gap between the book and it's partner. There was a book missing. He frowned.
“My, my someone is getting awfully bold.” A voice said sarcastically.
Taemin didn't even flinch, sparing a glance at the door to see Minho leaning against the door frame.
“Has someone other than you and I been in here?” Taemin asked.
“Key?” Minho quipped, cocking his head to the side.
Taemin shook his head. “Anyone else?”
Minho inhaled slowly, eyes slipping shut. “Jonghyun.” He said suddenly, reopening his eyes.
Taemin hummed softly. “That is a pleasant surprise.”
“Imagine mine when I opened one of her books and found the scent of our precious prisoner on the pages?” Minho said tightly.
Taemin stiffened and then sighed once again. “Yes, I imagine that must be rather surprising.” Taemin murmured. He continued to read the through the titles of the remaining books, fingering each one as he went. It was comforting.
Minho said nothing.
“Where is Key by the way?” Taemin inquired.
“Feeding Onew. He refuses to feed or hunt.”
“He'll waste.” Taemin reprimanded.
“Tell him.” Minho said, his voice tired.
Taemin stilled and faced him. “There's not much I can say. There's not much any of us can say. He only listens to her.”
Minho grunted in agreement, crossing the room and joining Taemin by the bookshelf. He leaned against the wall stabilizing it, watching Taemin run his smooth fingers over the bindings of each story.
“What are you doing, Taemin?” He asked quietly
“Remembering.” He responded, closing his eyes as he touched a few tender hearted books. His own heart clenched unhappily.
“That's not what I meant, and you know it.” Minho chastised.
Taemin's eyes flew open. “What about Jonghyun? Where is he?” He asked, evading the question at hand.
“He's preparing. He's going hunting.”
“Hunting or something else?” Taemin asked, giving Minho a pointed look.
Minho rolled his eyes. “He's restless.”
“He's careless.” Taemin retorted, returning to the books. “He can't keep tracking the Hunters. If he gets too close, that's another goodbye we have to say.”
The air grew thick at the solemness in Taemin's voice. His disapproval was apparent and unyielding.
“Why are doing this, Taemin?” Minho repeated. He spoke to him affectionately this time around, being careful not to upset him. He had always had a soft spot for the maknae and he always would. He didn't want to disrupt that balance.
“Why do you keep returning?”
Minho sighed, knocking his head into the wall behind.
“Her scent still lingers.” He responded truthfully, words flowing out of his mouth like water. “And yous?” Minho asked.
“You wouldn't understand.”
“I'm not Jonghyun, nor am I Key. I won't terrorize you for going to the girl. I simply want to understand, why?” Minho pressed.
Taemin spoke after a lengthy pause, his voice coming out as a whisper. “Someone has to read her books Minho. Someone has to remember.”
“Or perhaps it is rather that she reminds you of yourself.” Minho claimed.
“Perhaps.” Taemin murmured quietly.
Minho watched him with careful eyes. “I wouldn't have taken you as the rule breaker, home wrecker yes, but never the rule breaker.”
Taemin scowled. “I'm so sorry for not meeting your expectations.” He said, sarcasm dripping from his every word.
“Taemin, you provoked her.” It was a statement, not a question. “I felt your Talent with my own. You know Onew hyung said to leave her untouched. Why else do you think he doesn't let Jonghyun or Key bring her trays?'' Minho stressed.
It was true. Taemin was one of the calmer seethe members, which was why he had been tasked with feeding their temporary prisoner. But she had brought it upon herself. He had to subdue her. He couldn't risk the secret getting out.
“She came across something she shouldn't have seen.”
“Oh?”
Taemin stuck his hand in his back pocket, removing a wrinkled photo. He handed it to Minho wordlessly.
Minho inspected the glossy surface.
Silence ensued and anger bubbled in Taemin's stomach, courtesy of Minho's emotional Talent.
“Onew will not be pleased.” Minho said knowingly, a mixture of anger and worry in his voice.
“She won't tell.” Taemin said.
“She shouldn't know.”
A pause filled the room.
“Or maybe,” Taemin whispered, “She should.”
Minho's eyes narrowed. “Don't start something we can't contain.”
“Containment isn't the issue.” Taemin promised. “It's un-containment that is.”
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I slept on the floor that night, red eyes glaring down at me from my dreams. I woke up with a fright and sweat painting my body. I sighed, heart still pounding wildly in my chest.
It was the same nightmare, consistently on repeat for the past four nights. Four nights since I almost pushed Taemin over the edge.
I blinked away tears as the fear gripped at my heart.
It sounds stupid doesn't it? The daughter of a Head Hunter unable to keep herself together, just because of one little scare. But you aren't me. You weren't there, under his gaze, under his hands. You've never been that close to dying. And with no weapons, I am nothing.
A trickle of sweat curled around my neck, and I lifted a hand to wipe at the wetness. Another drop rolled down, meeting the other and I scowled. I kicked away the sheet tucked around me, making my way to the bathroom.
The bathroom was surprisingly clean, fully stocked with a few towels and several rolls of toilet paper. The lights were my only issue. They were dim yellow beams that barely provided enough light for me to do my business. It was aggravating, and more than once I had slipped in the tub.
Luckily I had gotten better at showering without the yellow light over the dureation of my stay, and chose to leave the switch off.
I pulled back the curtain and turned on the shower. The water was deliciously cold against my heated skin and I pulled back. It was ready.
I popped open the button of my jeans, tugging down the zipper, and sliding them down my legs. My panties followed and I kicked the pile to the corner of the bathroom. My shirt and bra were added to the pile as well.
Pressing a hand to the wall as a guide I stepped into the tub, the water kissing my skin. The fire burning brightly in my chest faded, welcoming the relief.
I stooped down and grabbed the bar of soap resting on the edge of the tub. I rubbed it over my skin, lathering my body.
The routine was old, something I could do without having to put much thought into. It was a distraction. I hummed softly as I washed.
Random thoughts swirled in my head, one sticking out from the other: food. I was their food. My heart throbbed.
The shame of becoming their toy was stabbing.
'Dad, please, find me.' I thought, and I sent a silent prayer to whoever was watching over me.
The water grew colder, quenching my body's desire for more. My eyes drifted shut, and I pushed all further thoughts from my mind altogether. I would save those for a rainy day, where no one could tell where my tears began and where the rain ended; where they wouldn't see.
Vaguely I felt my mind fog over, letting the water take its toll on my body. It was as if there was a thin layer of flimsy guaze hugging it.
The water melded into a piercing cold stream, and my mind grew numb.
(START SMUT SCENE)
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“Move your body.” Came the quiet order. It was like what honey would sound like if it could speak; sweet and sticky.
I swayed my hips, and lithe arms craddled my body. Strong; his arms were strong, and his hands were naughty, I decided. They danced over the curve of my spine, rubbing and engraving an inivisble pattern into my skin. His tongue licked the side of my neck.
Arousal warmed my body.
“More.” He said, voice gruff.
I arched my back, pressing my front against his naked body, chest to chest. The lone moon's silver light bathed our forms, and in the back of mind I wondered where the light had come from. I didn't have much time to ponder, the man was insatiable. He dipped his head, lips pressing kisses to my breasts, sucking and licking eagerigly.
I met his eagerness with my own, cupping his cheek and brushing wet lips across the smooth skin. The attention on my chest grew more aggressive, and another wave of arousal warmed me. The man noticed, pushing my back forcefully against a tiled wall. He cupped my bottom appreciatively, kisses traveling up the column of my neck.
I moaned.
I whipped my head to the side, hips gyrating sexily against his, drops of water hitting the tiles with a . It was something I would have never thought to have been capable of doing. I felt wanton.
A free arm hooked itself underneath my knee, throwing it over his hip. I threw my head back in delight, savoring the feel of the hardness pressed against my lower body.
Not wanting to be undone, I pressed back, nipping the junction where his shoulder and neck met. He growled, low and ineffable.
He pulled away from me and his eyes connected with mine.
The pale light of the moon, reflected enchantingly over the smooth planes of his face. I stared at his dark eyes, and reflected back in them I could see the image of a beautiful woman, brown eyed, and brown haired.
It wasn't me.
I screamed and the scene shattered.
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(END SMUT SCENE)
My eyes shot open, mind going into hyper drive. Indistinctly the door slamming open registered in my mind, but I found myself too preoccupied to notice.
It wasn't until the shower curtain was pulled back that I realized I was still in the shower.
And so was Minho.
I screamed.
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(Chapter 4)