Wicked Roommates (MxM/MxF) TEMP HIATUS

10. Deus ex machina

"Teyoll, my cursed one. I know you hunger..." Nal purrs, drawing the dark scimitar from its sheath. I struggle for breath, the reality of my impending doom suffocating.

He's going to kill me; I'm going to die.

Nalfain gives his blade a few twirls, then draws his attention back to me. "This blade consumes souls, Freya, and I look forward to adding yours to my collection."

"Well fuck you I'm a redhead, I have no soul!" I snap.

Nalfain tilts his head, eyeing Brad in question, but Brad simply waves him off. "I'll explain later—she definitely has a soul."

Nalfain huffs smugly in response, and with that, Brad rises, mood shifting from aroused to somewhat practical, and grim.

"Clean kill, Nalfain, and don't make a mess," Brad instructs.

"Do not tell me what to do!" Nalfain snaps.

Distraction, bargaining? What do I do? It feels as if my lungs are gasping for air as my death rapidly approaches—I must think fast.

"Wait!"

Nalfain throws his head back. "Spare me the begging human; what in the Nine Hells could you possibly have to say now?"

"Let's hear her out," Brad interjects flatly. "Last words and all that."

I nod. "Y-yes, thank you, Brad. Um, so... are you sure you want to kill me? Because I think I have some uses. Could be useful to you and all!" Nalfain exhales a dismissive laugh; Brad says nothing.

"W-well you're always hungry, right, Brad? What if I fed you consistently?! Sort of like having a blood bank for a neighbor?" My voice quivers, betraying my desperation. I glance at him, trying to read any sign of consideration in his stern expression. "I promise I won't say anything!"

Nalfain shifts restlessly and moves to the coffee table, his elegant movements belying his impatience. He sits down, resting his chin on the hilt of his scimitar, while his red eyes fix on me with an unsettling intensity. Chaos and darkness emanate from him, and his controlled posture only reminds me of the age-old phrase, "calm before the storm".

My heart is racing, and the silence that follows is arduous, causing me to bounce my bound legs rapidly. Brad remains unnaturally still for what feels like an eternity, but I swear I could see the cogs turning in his head as he weighs his options. Finally, he sighs, a sound heavy with unspoken thoughts. "Sounds enticing, and I'll admit your blood went down like a fine wine, but the risk just doesn't outweigh the benefit. Besides, I'll be sipping on your blood pretty soon here, and as to a living blood bank—well, that's Nalfain's job."

I don't miss the smirk in Nal's eyes, cheeky little bastard, and suddenly, more hazy memories grace my tired brain, memories that might help my position.
"You say that Brad, but does he not fight you on it? I seem to recall him using me to dodge his apparent obligations on the night you two kidnapped me."

"I'd like to point out he kidnapped you; it wasn't my idea." Brad says defensively.

"Yeah, but you didn't set me free. Anyway, does he dodge his obligations regularly, or am I incorrect here? Because I'd be a far more reliable food source than your little boyfriend here."

Nal only scoffs, and Brad frowns in thought, eyeing Nalfain knowingly as he thinks. My assumption seems right—Nalfain doesn't let him feed regularly. A few seconds pass, and Nal leans to whisper something in Brad's ear. Brad nods in response but appears reluctant, apologetic even for only a moment.

"Freya, I did let you go," Brad responds. "As to Nalfain, he's more than sufficient a meal than you would be on a regular basis."

I give him an incredulous look, but Brad's expression only hardens.
"Whatever, but let's not pretend that you only freed me after you had me for 'breakfast', fucking dick... What kind of Sheriff are you?" I say, and
Brad's exterior cracks ever so slightly, and he averts his gaze briefly as if he's ashamed of himself. Good, he should be.