Fated (Bloodhound x Eve (OC))

Secret

Eve immediately stood from the couch, her vision blurred as moisture began to swell at her lash line. Her hands balled into fists as she stood before Bloodhound, a hundred questions racing through her mind. She wanted to scream at them, to grab their shoulders and shake them, ask them why and how and when—

They knew.

Their words had cut through her, their admission sinking like a weight to the bottom of her stomach. Her mouth dried and her throat tightened, a suffocating feeling threatening to choke her. How could they have held her, hugged her, kissed her, fucked her, through her worry, hiding the fact that they had the answer?

This couldn't be real.

Eve swallowed down the rude words that gathered at the tip of her tongue, threatening to be drawn out by her pain. She turned away from Bloodhound before she said something she regretted and walked toward the kitchen, barely seeing where she was going, but needing to do something , focus on literally anything else to keep herself grounded. She strained into her tiptoes and fumbled for a glass from an upper cabinet, hands shaking as she went to fill it with water, trying to listen to the sound of the running water.

Every breath felt like she was sucking it in through a straw, while bile rose in her throat trying to take the place of what air she could draw in. She took a few small sips of water, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to calm the anger and hurt welling up inside of her.

They knew.

She set the glass down on the granite, a quiet clink of glass on stone, a fresh wave of anguish clenching within her. Her stomach curled and twisted painfully around the cool sips she'd just given it.

"Fyrirgefðu mér." Bloodhound's hand descended to Eve's shoulder as she leaned against the counter. "Little one..."

"Don't 'little one' me," Eve snapped as she wrenched her body away from them, twisting from their grasp. "Do you not trust me at all?"

"I do trust you," they said, reaching for her hand then thought better of it and let their arm fall to their side. "More than anyone else."

"Then, why didn't you tell me?" she asked, taking a step back from them as they watched her carefully, gauging her reactions.

"I did not want to tell you until we had confirmed our suspicions and figured—"

"We? Our?" Eve cut in incredulously. "Fuck, Bloodhound, who else knows?"

"Walter," Bloodhound admitted. "He has been assisting me."

Eve backed up further until her back bumped against the counter. "You both knew and didn't tell me."

It wasn't a question, but an accusation, a statement of fact that hung heavily in the air all around them both. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, betrayal and rage roiling within her chest. She hastily swiped away the moisture with the back of her sleeve. Bloodhound's gaze rose to meet hers, green eyes muted, contrite. Eve opened and closed her mouth, trying and failing to say what she needed; nothing she could think of properly conveyed the hurt, the anger, the depth of what she felt. She had opened herself up to Bloodhound and Walter, trusting them completely with her worries, her spirit, her body, allowing herself to be vulnerable — and they did not do the same for her.

"It was not ever my intent to hide this from you," they started.

"Then why did you hide any of it from me?" she asked, stepping away from the kitchen, increasing the distance between the pair. "Gods, I'm so stupid."