Page 30 of Before We Burn

“You fuck him, and I’ll watch.”

My eyes nearly bulge from my head. “No, Connie. Are you crazy?” I shift in my seat uncomfortably, and she raises her brow, smiling brighter than before.

“Listen, he turns you on, and there's nothing wrong with that. There are plenty of vampires who have sexual relations with humans. Myself included. A slim few kept me wrapped around their fingers, or should I say their clits and dicks.” She wiggles her brows at me like we were having some fun girl talk, but none of this is fun to me. None of this is something I want to be part of. My sense of duty brought me here, and that’s it.

“I don’t like him. At all, Connie. I just had a moment. That’s it.”

I don’t know who I’m trying to convince—her or myself.

Everett comes back to the car, key in hand and a smile on his face. He points Connie in the direction of the room, and I keep my head down as we drive. I’m not embarrassed that I got aroused, I’m embarrassed that all it took was one intentional look from Everett and I was practically putty.

We pull up to the last room at the end of the building. It doesn’t look like anyone else is staying down here, too close to the abyss of darkness if I had to guess a reasoning. I can’t blame them for it. How are they supposed to know vampires don’t really want an unwilling victim anymore? It becomes too messy and expends too much energy fighting the person to the ground, making it impossible to enjoy the feed.

We all slide out of the car harmoniously. I hate to agree with our human shadow, but getting out does feel good. Plus, there’s a shower. I desperately need a shower.

Everett unlocks the door, a warm breeze brushing my face as the scent of vanilla assaults my nose. Everett steps in while Constantine and I wait at the threshold. I don’t think he realizes we can’t come in, because he’s too busy yapping about how well-kept the room is.

I clear my throat, bringing his attention back to us, and he instantly looks confused.

“Let us in, dumbass,” Connie says, grumpily.

I thought he would fight her more, maybe make her beg and plead to come in, but instead he moves to the side, bowing a bit, and says, “Please, ladies of the night, enter this room at your own risk.”

I muffle a laugh. He’s funny, I’ll give him that.

“I’m going to take a shower. Try to rest, because when I get out, we’re cutting that thing out of you.” I close the door behind me so I don’t have to deal with him telling me no, but also because I need a moment for myself.

I don’t know what it is about Everett. Maybe it’s the way he assimilated with Constantine and myself. I mean, he doesn’t get along with Constantine, but no one really does.

I stand there with my back against the door, surprised that the bathroom is in decent condition, everything clean and well kept. I hate that Everett was right, so that’s one thing I don’t like about him.

There’s also the fact that everything is always a joke with him. There was never a moment he could be serious unless he was preaching about his trauma. Like we all didn’t have some sad sob story.

I undress and shower quickly. I have limited supplies, so I do what I can with my hair. My tight coils fall around my face, and I notice the short pieces in the front have grown, now touching my thick brows. I hate the feeling but love the style.

I stand in front of the mirror, looking at what should be my reflection, but it’s only the picture of the room around me. Sadness diminishes whatever spark I gathered. Reality is never a pretty thing to deal with, especially when you’re already in a shitty situation.

Arguing comes from the room, and I take that as my sign to exit the bathroom and put the children in separate corners. I just didn’t expect to open the door to Everett pinned on the bed and Connie holding a knife to his neck.

“Oh, by the creator. What’s happening?” I move to pull Everett away, but I hear it, too.

There’s a low whine, like feedback from an old electronic. It sings in my ears, making me disoriented. I take a step backward, and the sound gets more distant. I look at Everett, who’s struggling against Connie’s hold, and grab my other knife that was sitting on the table. It’s still covered in that other soldier's blood, but we don’t have the pleasure of being sanitary.

“No, no, no! Please! At least clean it!” Everett screams. I don’t care.

I move closer to him, listening carefully. The ringing gets louder the closer I get to his body. I slide down the waistband of his pants as he attempts to fight me off, but each time his hands find mine I slap them down, getting stronger with each connection.

“Can you stop? I don’t need you to do it for me,” he groans.

I look up at him, the amusement I had a moment ago gone. “Either you let me do it, or I punch you in the face, knock you out, and I hold that over your head for the rest of your life.”

There was an exaggerated silence. Everett actually considered fighting me for a solid moment before he thought of the pain he would have to feel. Getting punched in the face sucks enough as it is, but getting knocked out is a whole other level.

The sound is piercing now, and my eyes feel like they’re vibrating in my head causing a true roll of nausea to hit me. I glance at Connie who looks just as uncomfortable as I feel.

“Cut it out!” she calls out as she holds Everett still.

I try to find the exact spot, searching for scars—something that will show an incision. I pull his pants down a tad more, his pubic hair now peeking out, and that's where I find it. Right on his pubic bone. A small ‘X’ staring me right in the face. It’s so small that I know he didn’t know it was there. They must’ve done this to him as a child.