Wicked Roommates (MxM/MxF) TEMP HIATUS

9. Drop It

Freya

"Run, dear granddaughter. Run into the apartment, for the vampire cannot enter! Light is your weapon against the elf!" The voice, that still small voice urges me to move, and it sounds like...my crazy grandma. As in my crazy paternal, thinks-she's-a-witch grandma Silvie? I'd only ever met her once when I was seven, and mom thought she was nuts. To be fair, I thought she was kooky too at the time, and haven't thought of her since. There's no way I can be hearing her voice though...right?

I rack my sluggish brain as I try to make sense of the voice, and my legs feel like they're made of Jello. All my muscles are trembling with a mix of fear while an adrenaline rush threatens to overwhelm my senses. Brad groans, cursing under his breath, and a wicked look flashes across the elf's face; a look that makes my stomach churn.

Once again, however, the voice presses. "Run, Freya, run!"

Do I heed it? Could it really be her? I've only seconds of time to deliberate and know I must decide quickly.

Fuck it, what do I have to lose?

I fight my hardest against Brad's oppressive presence and will myself to take off in a dash for my apartment, only to feel the grip of a large, cold hand wrapping itself around my mouth. Brad moves like lightning, his movements unnaturally fast and no more than a blur in my peripheral vision. He tosses me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing, and my heart threatens to stop beating.

Hot-Brad-who's-actually-a-vampire whisks me over the threshold into their dimly lit apartment, and just like that, my voice dies. I'm shaking too much to even think straight, and I know fighting him won't make a difference. As of now, I'm this creature's prey, and there isn't anything I can physically do to get myself out of this. Brad stops abruptly, gently dropping me onto a soft couch.

He lets out a displeased sigh, gazing past me. "I guess you win, you blood-thirsty psycho."

"Oh, hush Bradley. We should have killed this female the very first time, and you know it," Nal purrs, his voice dripping with a blend of amusement and malice.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, elf, now hurry up and pick a weapon to finish the job, you sick little fuck." Brad grimaces, his dark eyes fixed on my trembling frame.

"You can be such a gods-forsaken bore, Bradley. More fun for me, anyway."

"You're fucking insane, you know that? Just get me some duct tape while you're at it." Brad barks, and a roll soon bounces off the side of his head. He hisses and bears his fangs, those beautiful hazel eyes now overtaken by cruel, empty blackness.

His cold hand steadies my limp body as he tapes my mouth shut, then binds my wrists, ankles, and knees. Hot tears dribble from my tired eyes. I can't help but consider that maybe this fate better suits me than working myself to the bone in a thankless, over-inflated economy—the kind of economy I could've never hoped to retire in anyway. I can only pray Nalfain will give me a quick death, but I suspect he will argue for something excruciating.

The irony is that Brad seems to openly loathe, yet accept the idea of my death, while clearly Nalfain revels in it. At least he's rather true to the stories I've read of Drow. That elf is a homicidal asshole like the rest of his kind supposedly is, and the very idea of countless Drow like him living deep within the earth below my feet is a terrifying thought; in fact, it makes my skin crawl.

I exhale shakily, watching Brad set the duct tape aside before he plops down next to me on the couch. I notice this time that he is far gentler than Nalfain was—he hasn't made the bindings too tight; in fact, my joints are more comfortable than before. At least I'm not in pain at the moment.