Ten
<-nine eleven->
Black coffee, acidic and bitter, was the only reason Ifrit bothered to ever get out of bed. He had, however, expected it to be much more difficult this morning, given that Thomas had spent the night. After having such a warm body to nestle up to the entire night, it was a small shock to find the bed entirely empty at dawn.
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Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Iris to wake up, and the harsh sound of her bedroom door slamming shut snapped Ifrit back into reality. When her short frame stood pouting in the hallway, Ifrit raised his mug to her and smirked.
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“Morning, Rissy.”
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“You’re so annoying!” she shouted back, nearly screaming.
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He sipped his coffee nonchalantly, barely bothered by her displeasure.
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“I know, I’m sorry,” Ifrit said, gesturing to the oven top behind him. “I made you breakfast.”
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With a gasp, she was next to him in a blur.
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“All is forgiven, brother.”
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Cinnamon rolls, orange icing-- Iris’s favorite. He didn’t care for them much himself, but he knew exactly what he was doing.
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“Is Thomas still sleeping?” his sister asked through mouthfuls.
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“Surprisingly, no.” Ifrit shrugged. “He left before I got up.”
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Upon hearing such a strange turn of events, Iris stopped eating, her eyes full of genuine worry. “Is he okay?” she asked.
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“Probably.”
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There was something off in the air. They both felt it. Seeing the concerned expression stubbornly clinging to his sister’s face, Ifrit cocked his head.
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“Are you okay?” he asked.
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“Yeah. I just have a weird feeling, that’s all.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But it could just be because I’m so tired.” Then, she smiled at the cinnamon rolls. “And hungry.”
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--
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Sometimes, the answers to complex questions were simple. Sometimes, they looked simple on paper, but were deceivingly difficult. Shutting out his thoughts to numb his mind, Thomas was unsure which category his current answer would fall into: Running away.
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In spite of his overconfident personality, Thomas was afraid of most things. Some might have called his decision selfish, but in reality, Thomas knew nobody would ever care about him as much as he cared about himself. It was preservation; a basic human instinct. Well, maybe a basic instinct in general, no matter the species.
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There was a time that Thomas debated having a proper send-off before he skipped town, but that seemed dangerous for more than one reason. In addition to the fact that it might alert his assailant where he was going, it would also plague him with the hassle of trying to comfort his friends when they were inevitably in denial about his plans. He had worked out the conversations in his mind already and refused to let them play out in real life. This was the easiest option.
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His last day in town had been spent in the woods, passing time with the local fey. It was the most innocuous way he could creep farther and farther from the familiar houses and apartment complexes of his soon-to-be-former friends. The familiar thicket, after all, always seemed to be his go-to shortcut wherever he was heading. Besides, it was always easy for time to slip away when conversing with the fair folk, and slip away it did. Before Thomas knew it, an entire day had faded away in what only felt like a couple of hours. It was time to head towards the main road.
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Dusk was, perhaps, the perfect time to start anew. The sun was still setting when Thomas had emerged from the woodland and reached the end of town, shining brightly in the distance. It wouldn’t be hard at all to become someone new-- after all, he was a changeling. Having multiple identities should have been his specialty, and he was getting too cozy in his current life anyway.
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There was moisture clinging to the grass and evening fog hanging low to the ground. A glimmer of hope rose up with him as he breathed in the clean air, but despite how pleasant he felt, his legs betrayed him and started to quiver. The hairs on his neck stood tall, prickling his skin with a soft omen.
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The faerie froze in his tracks. From the grass, Thomas’s eyes slowly lifted to the road ahead where he saw the familiar silhouette emerging, standing directly in his path. The rabbit ears gave it away immediately. Unfortunately, getting close enough to see the stalker in the dense fog meant that they were already incredibly close-- far, far too close.
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“Oh god damn it, are you serious right now?” Thomas lamented, almost laughing at his own bad luck.
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He rubbed his eyes with his palms, hoping he could wipe the apparition away. When he opened them again, it was even closer. Thomas protested emphatically, writhing where he stood. He rubbed his eyes once more, and upon seeing the same result, threw his hands down in defeat. Alarmingly, Thomas saw the figure’s hand emerging from the cloak and caught the glimmer of an iron axe.
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“A fucking axe?” he panicked, his movements becoming hysterical and restless.
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Knowing it was futile, but unaware as to what else to do, Thomas took a few clumsy steps backwards. He grabbed a knife from his pocket and hurled it at the figure. The head of the axe moved up swiftly, knocking the weapon away. It clattered on the ground. Thomas grabbed another knife from his pocket and another from his shoe, throwing them one at a time. He kept plucking the knives out of their hiding places and whipping them desperately at the threat. As he did so, he heard Elon’s voice asking him where they were all coming from. The memory of her was bittersweet.
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The stalker knocked each of the knives away, barely even moving to do so. After this had repeated about a dozen times, Thomas was left panting, his useless weapons glittering on the ground. Seeing that the faerie was done with his failed onslaught, the mask tilted to the side.
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“Are you finished, then?”
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It was the first time Thomas had heard the figure speak. He recognized the dark voice from somewhere deep in his own subconscious. Internal whispers told him he knew who was in front of him, but Thomas shut them down stubbornly, refusing to listen to his own paranoia.
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The cloak lifted away from the figure’s raised arms, holding the axe high in the air. Thomas’s mind was racing, urging him to move, but he felt trapped, wide-eyed, in the shadow of his would-be murderer. It was only when the axe made its downward descent that Thomas was able to jerk himself out of the way. There was a grinding crash as the iron blade struck the road instead. They were both still for a moment. Thomas was shaking and leaning away from the axe. The assailant was bent over the weapon, leaning downward. Thomas watched as the rabbit mask robotically turned towards him and felt all of the blood drain from his face.
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“This one is too slow, is it not?” inquired the somber voice, muffled by the mask.
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Thomas yelped as a sharp pain burst through his body. Instinctively, his hands shot to the offending spot below his ribcage. He hadn’t even noticed the body in front of him move, but found himself gripping the gloved hand, attached to the knife that was now sticking into his body. He choked on the pain, feeling sick, as the attacker’s hand slowly retreated from the hilt.
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In what must have been the most microscopic victory, Thomas noticed the blade was one of his own, and therefore not iron. He looked up, desperate, and noticed the figure winding up for another swing of the axe. Thomas gaped and jumped out of the way, which translated more into him tumbling clumsily towards the ground. Without thinking, he closed his eyes, held his breath, and pulled the knife from his lower abdomen. The blood followed. He swore frantically and pressed his hands to the wound. He looked up at his looming attacker, who took a few steps closer, dragging the axe. The head scraped and screeched against the pavement.
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“I have been waiting to see you grovel like this,” remarked the voice behind the mask. “The axe was just to disturb you. I do not intend to end your life so quickly.”
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True to his word, the figure tossed the axe aside. It fell with a heavy thud. He crouched down, bringing his masked face closer to Thomas’s own. In response, the faerie wriggled backwards, though he was fruitless in his escape.
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“You are completely immobilized from one puncture,” remarked the rabbit. Thomas could hear his disgust. He watched as a black hand reached up from the cloak and grabbed onto the mask.
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Swallowing hard, Thomas tried to regain some sense of decency. He sat up, still shaking, but steeled his expression as he watched the figure in front of him remove the mask. His heart skipped a beat.
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All of his composure was lost once again. All those warning signs he had ignored came back in full swing, knocking the breath out of him.
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“There’s no way, there’s no way--” Thomas stammered, laughing nervously. He was quiet at first, but became more and more delirious the longer he gawked at the face in front of him. “There’s no fucking way, this is a prank, get away from me!” He was all but shrieking at this point.
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Thomas easily recognized the face in front of him. It was his own, but corrupted by its time in Limbo. His eyes were black, his skin a deathly white. He immediately knew the ghostly twin. The human child whose entire life he had stolen was standing in front of him.
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---
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Nightfall meant freedom at last, and the impressive crowd downtown hummed their agreement with indistinguishable chatter and music. Once again, the clubs and bars lining the street were alive with their alluring neon and noise. Though she wasn’t particularly proud of it, Eden frequented the downtown scene since drunks were easy to take advantage of. It was low risk, which tended to make things a little boring, but she had eventually found herself growing attached to the taste of alcohol in blood. Sometimes, she came with others. Today, she was alone, and silently thanked that fact when she spotted someone who looked remarkably like Isaac when she entered one of the familiar bars. She certainly had a type, after all, and wasted no time at all crossing over to where he was, slinking through laughing and dancing bodies on the way.
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Upon closer inspection, she was startled. It wasn’t just someone who looked like Isaac, but rather Isaac himself, in the flesh, wobbling where he sat unaccompanied at a bar. She stared at him, unblinking. Isaac never went out alone this late at night. He knew better.
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After regaining her composure, Eden approached the boy and sat next to him at the bar. He hardly paid any attention to her. She wondered if it was because he wasn’t aware that she was there, or if he was no longer affected by her uncanny ability to appear wherever he was. He downed the rest of the dark liquid in front of him, making her think it was likely the latter of the two options.
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“Why are you here?” she asked when he finally gave her a sideways glance.
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Isaac sighed and rested his cheek on his hand. He closed his eyes.
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“I don’t know,” he said so quietly she found herself struggling to hear it.
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Eden had noticed Isaac acting strange the last few days— maybe even the last couple of weeks, if she thought about it— and saw him being self-destructive in ways she had never seen before. This, however, benefitted her, as the way he had placed himself in front of her now was one of the most dangerous, ill-advised things he could have done. She smiled at the thought, wondering if today was going to be the day she had waited for. Ideas were beginning to spring up in her mind.
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“Come on, Isaac,” she said finally, sternly. “I’m going to take you home.”
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To her own surprise, Isaac nodded as if he had expected her to say that. He even stood up before her and obediently followed her out of the bar. She could hardly contain her excitement. She had a nice-looking room set up in a vacant apartment building and so many plans.
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--
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Quiet wasn’t always the first choice for Kit, but it was certainly an appreciated one tonight. He was curled up on the floor -- sometimes, the floor was the best place to be -- with his back against the front of the couch and a controller in his hand. The television in front blared a colorful image back, some cruel platformer demanding all of the boy’s attention.
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Behind him, Vivianna was perched on a colorless loveseat. She never seemed to know how to sit in chairs properly, deciding this time to sit atop the backrest with her feet curled up underneath her. It was a wonder the seat didn’t topple backwards, but Kit wasn’t about to reprimand her for not using the couch correctly, whatever that meant.
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On the screen, the ground was pulled away, and Kit clacked at the buttons with a string of denial leaving his mouth. The screen went black, the familiar notes of failure playing, and Kit huffed. Defeated, he leaned back against the soft furniture. Viv blinked at him from above. She didn’t understand video games, but they interested her nonetheless.
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Kit closed his eyes and groaned. “This game sucks. I can’t get past this level.”
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“Were you closer this time?” Viv asked.
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“Yeah,” he mumbled, “a little.”
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She smiled. “Progress!”
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He smiled back and parroted her. “Progress!”
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Suddenly bored of the game, Kit set the controller down and shifted so that he could better see Viv without straining. As always, she watched him silently, but this time he watched her, too. Something seemed off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. He wasn’t the best at reading people in general, but Viv especially had a bulletproof façade when she was trying to hide something.
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If for no other reason than to pass time, Kit tilted his head to the side. She mimicked him.
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“Did you find out what that weird black stuff was in your woods?” he asked, watching her recoil at the sudden question. It really was a wonder the seat didn’t topple backwards.
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“Heavens, no!” she gasped. “I am avoiding that place like the plague until the Nephilim boy resolves it.”
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At the mention of Isaac, Kit frowned. “Why didn’t you just ask me for help?”
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“Because it might be dangerous,” she responded in her theatrical fashion, “and I would never send you to your doom.”
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“That’s nice to hear,” he said. There was another brief pause before he continued. “What if it’s not resolved?”
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Her eyes glimmered. “Have faith, darling.”
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While the sparkle seemed to originally imply Viv was being coy, the conceding tears that streamed down her cheek made Kit jump to his feet. Silently, he swore at how difficult it was to read her, and when more tears overflowed, he swore at himself for asking too many prying questions.
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“Oh! Hey-- are you okay?” he stammered, hands hovering between them awkwardly. “I was just joking, I’m sure they’re going to fix it--”
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Viv waved a dismissive hand. In fact, she seemed entirely undisturbed aside from the stream of tears falling down her face.
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“I am not perturbed by the darkness in my woods--” she said with barely a sniffle. “This is something else. I cannot control it.”
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“What’s wrong?” he asked. The initial panic was subsiding, but he still felt incredibly awkward and inept seeing her cry.
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The faerie shook her head, wiping away some of the moisture. “I do not know, but I am afraid, Kit--” Her voice hitched. It actually sounded like she was crying now. “I am very afraid.”
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--
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Gaping at the unmasked memory in front of him, Thomas felt himself go cold all over.
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“You can’t be real,” he kept repeating to himself. “You’re dead, you’re dead…”
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“You know, they called me Thomas, too, when I was under the roots.” He sneered. “Alas, I knew that was the name you had stolen from me. I knew it was no longer my own.”
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Thomas’s doppelganger reached over, plucking the bloodied knife from where the faerie had carelessly left it. He watched helplessly as it was pushed towards his throat, lifting his chin as the point pricked his skin.
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“It is suiting then, brother, that I should become Cain, is it not?”
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A bead of sweat formed on Thomas’s forehead. “You’re very clever, yes,” he said anxiously, cracking an inappropriate smile as though it could defuse the whole situation.
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Cain pulled the blade away from Thomas’s throat. A small trickle of blood was left behind. He moved upward and swiftly brought the knife down towards the ground where Thomas’s hand was propping him up. It slid through easily, poking out of his palm on the opposite side. Thomas let out a blood curdling shriek. Curling himself into a fetal position, he yanked the blade from his hand and squeezed the injury. Cain watched silently, bemused, as the faerie shuddered, sobbing softly.
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“You should revel in the pain you feel,” he said, though Thomas did not seem to hear him. “At least you know you are alive. For a while longer, at least.”
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Finally, Thomas glared up at Cain. “Will you stop pitying yourself and get it over with, then?” he asked through gritted teeth. He saw a glimmer in his adversary’s onyx eyes.
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“Very well then,” he said, standing up. “I shall grant you one final wish, brother.”
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Heart pounding, Thomas watched as Cain turned to retrieve the iron axe he had tossed aside. The second he saw an opening, he leapt to his feet and ran in the opposite direction as quickly as his trembling legs could carry him. The gash on his side burned with every step, but the adrenaline in his body pushed him forward, deeper and deeper into the nearby woods. When the pain became too much, he crumpled against a thick tree trunk, panting.
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Satisfied with the distance, and certain he had lost Cain, Thomas began to tear off strips of his outer cardigan. He wound it tightly around his bleeding hand, but was unsure how to address the injury below his ribcage.
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Without much allotted time to think, Thomas screeched and ducked as the axe appeared out of thin air and cracked into the tree trunk, splitting hairs. He scrambled around to the other side of the tree and peered from behind it. Cain was already standing there, his cloak and mask now missing from his person. He was pulling at the axe, which had stubbornly lodged itself into the tree, with both hands.
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Feeling otherwise optionless, Thomas gathered all of his strength and lunged at Cain from behind the tree. He tackled him, pushing him to the ground, away from the murder weapon. Cain proved to be much stronger than him, however. Tightly gripping his arms, Cain flung Thomas backwards. He felt his back slam against the grassy ground, knocking the wind out of him. He rolled over, propping himself up on his hands and knees, but Cain was already back on his feet. Thomas thought for a moment that he saw him sway, but assumed it was due to his own starry vision.
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Cain’s blackened hand, which Thomas was only just realizing was not gloved, seized the collar of his shirt. He hoisted him up, suspending him in the air for a moment, before Thomas could feel his feet back on the ground. The faerie stumbled backwards a few steps until he felt another one of the surrounding trees against his spine. Before he even realized what had hit him, his cheek erupted with pain. He steadied himself against the tree so as to not fall over before another fist came at him. His arms shot up to block the strike. Something about it felt weaker this time, but Thomas didn’t have time to think before he saw a white hatchet slashing at him. He crouched to evade it. Above him, Cain brandished the new weapon. It was made of bones, Thomas noted, and looked broken in with various dark, unnerving stains.
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“Look at you,” Cain spat. “Cowering in your grave, immobilized by the fear of your own mortality.”
His rival crouched, pressing his blackened palm to Thomas’s chest as he held him securely against the tree. With his other hand, he held the hatchet, poised towards the throat of his captive.
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“Do you know the difference between us, Thomas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
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Thomas nearly laughed at the absurdity of the question. “I don’t know,” he stammered, “you’re a psychotic fucking murderer and I’m not?”
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Unfazed, Cain didn’t miss a beat. “You fear your own demise, you let that fear destroy your entire life--”
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“A-are you monologuing?”
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“--running away from everything, everyone. But I--”
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Thomas’s eyes grew wide. Cain lifted the hatchet.
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“I am already dead.”
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Barely able to process what Cain was saying with the buzzing inside his head, Thomas winced, closing his eyes as he quivered in place. Tense, he waited for the final strike. When it did not come, Thomas opened one hesitant eye, noticing that it was Cain who was shaking. His dark hand became lax, loosening its grip on Thomas. He looked up and saw Cain bowing his head, the hatchet slowly lowering itself.
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It started with a soft choking sound. Dropping his hatchet and falling to one knee, Cain swiftly covered his mouth as he began coughing. No longer able to hold back the fit, he stooped over, convulsing as he hacked up dark fluid. Thomas recoiled, now holding himself against the tree. His eyes opened wide, but his jaw was set.
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Cain’s fit had died down, but he was still shaking and swaying, balled up with his hands on the soft ground. Thomas blinked at him, and within moments, he had keeled over, dropping face down onto the earth. He was as still as ever.
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Realization set in slowly. The longer Cain remained motionless, the longer Thomas’s mind began to spin. He reached out and lightly pushed his doppelganger to his side. He was entirely limp. His black and white hair obscured most of his face, but he could make out that his eyes were shut. His expression was deceivingly peaceful.
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Assuming he had the greatest luck in the world, Thomas let out a relieved laugh. He gave a triumphant whoop, which was followed immediately by a startled shout when he heard Cain groan softly and inhale a ragged breath. Thomas had suspected the attacker was dead, but the subtle movement of his chest told a different story.
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Acknowledging that he had done all he could, Thomas sighed deeply. He relaxed against the trunk and slid down, indulging in the sensation of being able to close his tired eyes. His body felt heavy and broken. He sheepishly opened his eyes and looked around at the quiet woods, wondering if it was the right location to be in. A flash of long white hair in the branches overhead confirmed his theory. Stretching and closing his eyes once more, Thomas grinned.
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“Hey Viv,” he began, weakly. “Not to be dramatic, but I think I’m bleeding out.”
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Sleep was creeping up on him and he felt his body beginning to tingle. Somewhere nearby, leaves rustled. A tall shadow crossed over his vision. It was only then that Thomas allowed himself to doze off.
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--
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The commute to Eden’s room was quiet. Neither she nor Isaac spoke. Eden knew the boy wasn’t a big drinker, recalling that the most intoxicated she had ever seen him was the night he had apparently been drugged. He was usually so cold and in control. Seeing him stumble and sway felt incredibly foreign to her. Still, he seemed lucid enough to realize she wasn’t taking him to his house, but rather somewhere further away. There were no protests, only silent compliance.
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When they finally arrived, Eden held open the door as Isaac walked in before her. She closed it with a soft click behind her and glanced at him, delighted that they were finally alone together. He turned towards her and met her gaze. His features were shadowed and his jaw was set. Within an instant, he had moved towards her and, to her bewilderment, pulled her towards him and kissed her deeply.
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The room faded and disoriented itself as the familiar rush of endorphins flooded her body. Angel blood was like a drug to vampires. In its fullest form, it was far too potent and would burn them from the inside out. That’s why the Nephilim were so sought after; their angelic blood was diluted enough to only have positive effects. This made everything about them incredibly intoxicating, from their scent to their kisses.
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Isaac was profitable. Eden had tried and failed in the past to collect his blood, but settled on selfishly hoarding it— hoarding him— when he escaped. The only reason the others had allowed her to do this was because she had promised to bring him back to them. He’d be there to stay, she insisted, and he wouldn’t even fight back when she was done with him. And now, here he was, willingly alone with her and out of his mind.
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She came back closer to reality as Isaac moved his hand to the nape of her neck, tangling his fingers in her long hair. While the intimacy wasn’t new, Isaac had never been the one to initiate it. He had never been so feverish about it, either. For a moment, he broke away and looked at her with a softness that unnerved her.
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“I love you, Eden,” he said quietly.
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She hadn’t been expecting him to say it, especially not so sincerely, and she definitely didn’t expect to hear her own voice saying it back to him with the same sentimentality.
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“I love you too. I always have.”
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They were back together in a blur, the taste of alcohol and electricity returning to her. She pulled off his shirt, he did the same with hers, and they stumbled back towards the bed. Expertly, he scooped her up and laid her carefully on the bed. She watched as he climbed on top of her, remarking at his skin. He usually hid it from her, and she couldn’t blame him; he definitely had a reason to. Yet, here and now, it was exposed, and she could see the dozens of scars no longer concealed by his clothing. Her eyes found a few of her own doing. Several bite marks lined his neck primarily, but there were a few faint ones on his forearms. Seeing that she had made permanent impressions on him made her grin, but she froze and cocked her head when she caught him staring at something above her clavicle. His eyes looked strangely sober.
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With deliberate and slow movements, Isaac lifted his hands and carefully placed them over her neck. His fingers aligned perfectly with the discolored scar he had left on her so long ago. He was being delicate, his fingers only lightly tickling her skin, but it made her fearful nonetheless. She swallowed reflexively when she saw his eyes darken.
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“Is it weird,” he asked, his eyes beginning to narrow, “that even now, part of me still wants to kill you?”
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There was a brief silence before Isaac’s body relaxed, his downcast eyes softened, and he slowly dropped his hands away from her throat. His face was still so close to hers. She still felt dizzy from the attention he had been giving her.
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“No,” Eden said when she finally responded. “You should.”
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As if she couldn’t help herself, Eden’s body lifted and her arms sprung out to pull Isaac closer. Her mouth found his neck as it had so many times before, but the giddiness she had been feeling made her sloppy. Her usual careful nature had left and she bit down roughly, tearing the skin more than intended. She felt Isaac wince and go stiff as he made a choked sound. His hands tightened involuntarily, the knuckles going white. He was clearly in a lot of pain, but the blood that was flowing into her mouth removed her from the situation, intense ecstasy flooding through her.
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Isaac was all she had ever wanted. She had denied it for a while, but in that moment she felt fully in love with him as he clung desperately to her, as if she would be the one to drive away the pain rather than cause it. The fact that he had willfully followed her away from safety this time proved to her that he was fully hers. She reveled in the feeling of ownership over him, her chest swelling with accomplishment.
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She bit down harder and he inhaled sharply, flinching yet again. His breathing was ragged as he shuddered in her grasp. She was fully engrossed in the moment, knowing there was nobody to intervene this time. She had already drunk in more than she had ever been able to in the recent years, his blood flushing her skin, sharpening her senses, and strengthening her. She felt as though she were alive— more than alive, even— as Isaac’s heartbeat hammered so close to her own chest, making the pulse feel like her own. She could taste adrenaline and fear in his blood.
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Her eyes were blissfully closed now, but she could still see his face in her mind, his eyes fiery and passionate, his jaw set stubbornly. He had usually only directed smirks or scowls towards her, but remembering the sincerity and kindness in his expression when he had looked at her tonight made her heart flutter. Or, perhaps, it was his heart that was fluttering against her. She imagined a life where they were both simply humans that had met each other, a life where they could actually be together without one serving as a danger to the other.
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Again, her jaw clamped down cruelly. He didn’t cringe this time, and she was acutely aware of his quieting heartbeat. Eden felt warm, enthralled by the sensation he gave her. She noticed he had been holding his breath when he released it, drawing in rapid, shallow breaths. His eyes were fluttering and she felt him going limp. She wondered if it would be worth it to kill him in order to prolong the experience just a little bit longer.
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Clarity hit her when she imagined a lifeless Isaac, and she swiftly detached from him in a panic. The place where she had torn into looked horrible. Instantly, she shredded up the nearest piece of fabric she could find to try and bandage it, shaking as she applied pressure. She knew that even if he was alive right now, he wouldn’t be for long. He had lost far too much blood for a human to survive. She had one hand pressed on the wound on his neck and had reached down to grab his wrist where it lay at his side. Her thumb pressed into the bottom of it, searching for a pulse, as she pressed her ear to his chest to hear his heartbeat.
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Relief filled her when she found that she could still hear the soft murmur of his heart, but she knew it wasn’t much. Eden was silent and still as she remained there, listening to the sound in dread as she realized it was slowly getting fainter. His skin felt cold and clammy. His breathing was incredibly shallow and sluggish, and then, it stopped. Horrifyingly, his heart continued to slow until it ceased altogether. Her eyes welled with tears, blurring her vision as she remained there, frozen in disbelief, and then—
She heard it again.
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As though willed back to life, Isaac’s breathing slowly returned and his heart continued its rhythm. It took a while, but eventually, they were both quickening and becoming more pronounced. Eden remained in stunned silence until it sounded relatively normal again, Isaac’s face contorting uncomfortably as he made an unconscious groan. A tear flooded over and fell from her face. Another one followed, and another, over and over again until Eden was fully sobbing as she buried her face in his bare chest.
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When she had finally reclaimed her own emotions, Eden realized how cold Isaac still felt. She thought she noticed him shivering and knew her own body must not have helped him warm up at all. Carefully, she pulled over a few blankets in an effort to warm him. He responded, shockingly, by turning over to his side and curling up. Perplexed at the movement, Eden furrowed her brow. He should have been dead, and yet, here he was, shuffling as though he had just fallen asleep. It was as relieving as it was strange.
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Eden remained near his side, watching as he slept peacefully, marveling at how vulnerable he looked. She could still feel his blood coursing through her and allowed herself to marvel at the feeling for a while longer. When the excitement began to wear off, she sighed. Knowing she had to deliver on her promise, she looked back over at where Isaac was nestled in blankets.
<-nine eleven->