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Taking my shirt with me, I venture into the rest of her apartment. From the building plans, I’m familiar with the layout but I haven’t bothered to break in, opting for an organic opportunity instead.
As I enter Wren’s office, I have a brief moment of disappointment. Perhaps I shouldn’t have killed the troll. Then I could thank him for creating the perfect opportunity to strengthen Wren’s trust and grant me entrance to her home. The image of the troll hunched over Wren, her fear radiating from her, threatens to cloud my vision in red again.
No, he could not live. Being a monster myself, I recognize that darkness in others. Not even Ambrose could fault me for giving in to my constant craving for violence against the troll.
Had it been Eloise in Wren’s place, Ambrose would have done worse. He likes to pretend to be above it all, to lord over a denizen of degenerates and criminals from some moral throne. It’s as if he wants to pretend he hasn’t spent centuries feasting on the blood of others, as if he forgets how crazed the first few years after being turned are. When we’re worse than animals. They only hunt when they’re hungry.
Newly turned, a vampire’s only thoughts are to feast and fuck and slake an unquenchable thirst for flesh.
All vampires do as we age is learn control, to ignore those urges until they’re nothing but a rare indulgence.
Even without the head injury stealing my capacity for true emotions, the Nightshades would deem me a psychopath. For no other reason than I refuse to forget about the monster I am. Since I refuse to forget, I’m a constant reminder of their own monstrous nature.
That is the true reason they hate my presence.
Dismissing the animosity of my clan, I focus on the task at hand. I wasn’t expecting the opportunity to have access to Wren’s personal computer, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take full advantage.
I’m a collector for the Nightshades, and without the distraction of human emotions, I’ve acquired many skills around technology.
It’s only a matter of a few command lines as I boot up her Mac before I’m granted full administrative access. Keeping an ear out for the shower, somewhat difficult thanks to the impressive sound-proofing of the walls, I pull up the web browser and navigate to my personal dark site. A few more clicks and I’m downloading the program that will grant me complete remote access to this computer and any of her devices connected through her accounts or networks. It’s a program I created a few years ago, making sure to keep it updated with each advance of technology. With the right credentials spoofed, the computer will never flag it as a virus because in truth, it isn’t one.
The truly brilliant part of the coding is that it will replicate itself to any device Wren uses that’s connected to this computer. Considering she uses this computer to work from home at times, I’ll have access to Benoit Tech’s computer network within the next twenty-four hours. If she visits her father’s residence and uses his Wi-Fi, I’ll have access to his personal network.
As soon as I have that access, I can determine the best way to steal and destroy the relic keeping Oberon alive.
The sound of running water disappears and I log off after ensuring every trace of my access is erased properly. By the time I hear her soft footfalls in her bedroom, her heart beating rapidly for a moment, I’m in her kitchen and opening her large freezer drawer. As I suspected, there are pints of various flavors of ice cream dominating one side, the other side being taken up by frozen meals that make me wrinkle my nose in distaste.
Surely Wren can afford to eat better than these barely nutritious meals. I have a mind to throw them all in the trash before ordering the staff at the clan house to prepare more nutritious, filling options for her. Telling myself that urge is nothing more than my dislike for the current contents, I select a chocolate ice cream and close the freezer before it can irritate me into actually sending such a request to my mother.
Her kitchen is laid out logically and it only takes two tries before I find her cutlery, then the glassware, which I fill one with water and a slice of cucumber I find in her fridge. Fortunately, her refrigerator is stocked with fresh foods and I don’t have to chide her for not taking care of herself.
Even as I make my way to the large, overstuffed cobalt couch, I tell myself that my concern is nothing more than ensuring my plan’s success. If Wren collapses from malnutrition, I won’t gain access to her father’s computer network, which will make infiltrating his residence more annoying. If it means I must ensure she is taken care of properly until I succeed, I will do so.
Her living room is like her bedroom: full of vibrant colors and life. It is not the standard display of wealth I’ve witnessed among Topside’s elite. Wren has clearly decorated her home to be exactly that—a home.
I set the ice cream and water on the low, live edge wooden table in front of the couch and slide my hands into my pockets. I pull out the cracked cell phone that I’d picked up from the alley and study it with amusement. The screen is black, a chaotic spider web of cracks branching out from the lower left corner. It’s not the same phone I’ve seen Wren with, which means my little bird has secrets of her own.
Her footsteps precede her into the living room, despite the thick, fuzzy socks I’d set out. I look up as she turns the corner, her damp curls hanging low over her shoulders. The moment her spring green eyes meet mine, her heart rate fluctuates and she wraps her arms across her stomach, shifting her weight as if uncertain.
“This is certainly not how either of us expected the evening to go,” I say and tilt my head towards the ice cream pint and water. “I figured you might want the ice cream you claimed to be indulging in.”
She nods, her thoughts distant as she stares blankly at the tub while a drop of condensation slides down the side to pool at the base on the table. I step forward, ready to retreat for the evening, and her wide gaze snaps back to me, a blast of fear coming from her, sour and itchy. Her eyes narrow, focusing on my chest, the fear disappearing as her brows draw together.
“Are you wearing my shirt?” Her voice is incredulous, which is an improvement over timid. “Is that my phone?”
I raise the cracked phone in question and make a show of studying it. “Is it? I don’t recall your phone being this model. As for the shirt, it seemed prudent and this was the only one within your closet which would fit.”
She snorts and strides forward, some of her confidence returning, and holds her hand out for the phone. I raise my brow but place it in her open palm. “That shirt is giant on me. I bought it because Niamh dragged me to a frat party where all the girls were wearing university tees as dresses. It makes a good pajama shirt, though.”
I snort in amusement, absolutely ignoring the desire to turn back time and remove the eyeballs of every man who saw her so scantily dressed. Now that the software is installed on Wren’s computer, it’s only a matter of time before I have everything I need to begin Oberon’s downfall. She’s served the primary purpose of our interactions, though as I watch her move from me and sink onto the cobalt blue couch, the color making her strawberry blonde hair richer, I surmise that it wouldn’t be prudent to take my leave of her life so quickly. I should ensure this part of my plan is completed successfully, which means spending more time with Wren.
She tries to power on the broken phone and with a sigh of disappointment, she drops it carelessly on the low table before grabbing the ice cream and spoon, ignoring the water completely. She brings her legs up on the couch, crossing them under her and cradles the ice cream in both hands. Wren brings her eyes to mine; the sour scent of fear is faint but there nonetheless.
“Are you leaving?”
I don’t allow my amusement to show at the change in tone. Her fire from moments before has dampened and now she looks once again uncertain. I slide my hands into my front pockets, and shrug. “Do you want me to leave?”
I’d told her before she showered that it’d be in her best interest to send me away and never allow me to see her again. It’s the truth; I am no good for her. For anyone. I’ve never hidden from my nature, my desires to control, consume, and ultimately destroy what I possess. Seeing Wren so vulnerable does create a want to shelter her, but it’s nothing compared to my desire to hurt her until she’s crying, bleeding as I break her apart, to make her pain sing sweetly from those tempting lips of hers. The thought alone has my cock filling, my cold blood warming with lust.
