Wicked Roommates (MxM/MxF) TEMP HIATUS

9. Drop It

"I'm sorry..." he says simply, reaching over to brush some hair out of my face, a cold thumb wiping tears from my eyes. "You seem like a nice girl, but we just can't let you live. I'm not sure how, but you seem resistant to my manipulation and, as a result, have remembered everything. It's a shame."

"Hang in there, Freya." The voice echoes softly, and I cling to it desperately. I have so many questions, like how is she talking to me, and is it really grandma Silvie? This world is full of mysteries, and this is just another to add to the list, I guess.

"Freya, did you hear me?" Brad asks, furrowing his brow apologetically.

All I can do is sniffle and blink at him, struggling to make sense of the brief, linear journey that has been my life. What about Markus? What will he do? I send him money every month to help pay for his insulin. Ugh, I should've purchased life insurance...

"Now then!" Nalfain stalks back into the room with a wicked grin, and several cruel, otherworldly blades in hand. I've never seen weapons so beautiful, but I can only imagine the vast quantities of blood he's spilled with them.

"Bradley, you will help me choose from among these for I cannot decide," he hums, gently laying them out on the coffee table in front of us. My eyes follow his graceful, lithe figure, and he settles on Brad's lap—Brad says nothing, only yawns.

Nalfain is truly beautiful, but he reeks of chaos and evil. He's probably a Lolth-worshipping sociopath with a taste for vengeance, ambition, and blood, which makes me no more than a toy to him. He must have been using some form of magic to mask his elven appearance earlier—his skin is once again that beautiful dark violet-like obsidian hue, and his silky hair is the most striking silver, spilling across his shoulders. Gone is the bronzed skin, black hair, and dark eyes he sported at the doorway—clever bastard.

I guess everything I thought I knew about the world we live in was a lie or an incomplete truth, at the very least. Standing before me is proof of magic and creatures I'd thought only existed in fantasy. If this were a smutty novel, I'd get fucked by both these beautiful creatures—but nope, I'm about to get axe-murdered and eaten. Reality sucks, and so does my life.

Nalfain plucks a sleek, delicate dagger off the coffee table. He furrows his brow, red orbs watching the blade curiously as he tests its balance. My gaze wanders down his dark body, and some amusement overcomes me as I realize that he put on a pair of joggers when he disappeared into their room. Without a thought, a dry laugh emanates through my taped mouth because he'll at least be clothed when he cuts off my head or whatever. Nothing could beat the embarrassment of being murdered by a naked elf, his balls dangling there as he makes the killing blow... my last thought would probably be about how weird balls look, which is so awkward.

"What's so funny, human?" He gives me a dirty look as he sets the dagger down, proceeding to unsheathe the rest of his weapons. I just shrug, mustering a sardonic chuckle.

A surreal fear grips me, mingling with an absurd sense of irony. 'This is it, then?' I think. I had always imagined a more mundane end, maybe in my old age and most likely in a shitty nursing home, not at the hands of a mythical being straight out of a fantasy novel! It's ridiculous, almost laughably so that Nalfain, that elven twunk is going to off me.

"I asked you a question..." He hums darkly.

I shrug my shoulders and stare at him, unsure how he expects me to explain.

"I will not ask again, speak!" Nalfain hisses, pressing the dagger to my throat. I catch my breath, the sensation of warm liquid dribbling down my neck. I must be bleeding a bit, but the blade was so sharp I didn't even feel the nick itself.