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.
"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.
Brad groans, and while I'm careful not to move my head, my eyes find him rolling his voids around—at least, I think that's what he's doing.
"Dude, her mouth is taped shut; she can't answer. For somebody so smart, you're fucking stupid sometimes."
Nalfain huffs angrily and withdraws the dagger—in fact, I think he may even be a bit embarrassed—then rips the duct tape off my mouth roughly.
"OW, dude!" I yelp, pressing my wrists to my mouth. "You couldn't have been any gentler? Fuck!"
I'm a bit surprised by my outburst because I should probably play it polite with these two so as not to set the elf off more, but at the same time I'm relieved the words came out. I don't want to die silent; I'd like to have some last words at least.
"Spare us the whining, for you have such low pain tolerance, female," Nalfain sneers pulling his silky hair into a bun, a sick grin spreading across his dark face, the kind of grin that makes my skin crawl. "Perhaps disembowelment would be a fitting end for you."
Brad scoffs and swats his boy-toy upside the head. "Absolutely not! You either make this a clean kill, or I'll do it. We are not torturing A102."
Nalfain hisses. "But I wish to see if human innards are the same as Drow!"
Brad groans, exasperation washing across his face. "No."
My mouth falls open in realization—these two absolutely are going to argue with one another about how I die, just as I predicted. I could use this to my advantage, maybe stall for time.
"You know they're the same, you dismembered that asshole last night, and his head is still on your nightstand."
Holy shit, the Walmart guy!
"But it was rushed, Bradley. I did not get to savor it!"
"Hold the fuck up, you killed the Walmart guy?" I interrupt.
"Indeed," Nalfain flashes an impossibly white toothy grin my way. I raise a brow and glance at Brad to see what he thinks about it and find him shaking his head.
"There were other ways we could've dealt with him, you know. Could've fed him to me," he shrugs.
"I do not know, Bradley!" Nalfain pouts. "That pathetic creature practically asked for death the moment he approached me. It was my right to kill him."
These two get easily distracted! They've shifted from discussing my death to arguing over the Walmart guy—this might work in my favor.
"What did he do?" I interject, trying my best to sound as interested and un-revolted as possible. Nal smirks and casually drapes himself across Brad's lap. "Wouldn't you like to know, human?"
Brad sighs. "Guy was sexually harassing him, tried to hurt him."
Nalfain hisses, and in a flash, that beautiful little dagger is being plunged into Brad's throat. He yanks it out callously, brackish thick blood spilling down Brad's chest and splattering the floor.
"It looks so weird..." I mumble softly; morbid curiosity piqued as more blood spills out of him.
Nalfain huffs, a look of dark satisfaction tugging at his lips. "Yes, because he's dead, human."
Brad glares at Nalfain, holding his neck as the wound heals rapidly. It's both disgusting and fascinating.
"The human was simply what Bradley calls an 'asshole'," Nalfain responds flatly.
Brad groans wiping his bloodied hands on his pants. "Great, now I need to fucking mop again. For fuck's sake Nalfain, that's the third time today! You know it fucking hurts, right? Asshole..."
If I can pit these two against each other, perhaps I'll have a second chance at life. Nalfain sighs and shoots Brad a cryptic look. If I knew that stupid elf better—which I don't want to—I'd almost think it was an expression of vulnerability if one could even call it that. He's both expressive and nearly impossible to read at the same time.
Brad throws his hands up in question. "Dude, what?"
We sit in awkward silence for several moments while the pair eye one another, until Nalfain finally breaks it with a form of sign language. I'm fluent in ASL, but I've no clue what he's saying. The longer I watch him sign, the more it makes sense that his kind would use a form of sign language—no doubt it would make it even easier for them to plot behind one another's backs in the darkness of their homeland.
Nalfain's hands dance skillfully as unhappy expressions grace his ethereal face. Every sign is fluid, perfectly expressive, and the visual result is ironically beautiful coming from those wicked hands. Brad appears to understand him and responds in sign, although he doesn't appear as proficient. I struggle to glean much of anything from the conversation, but ultimately, I decide this looks like it may be nothing more than a lover's spat. After a few more minutes of this, Brad nods and gently moves some hair out of Nalfain's face, brushing his fingers across his cheek as he drops his hand. I fully expected the Drow to stab him again, but he accepted the gesture, scowl softening ever-so-slightly in response to Brad's touch.
What the fuck is happening? Do these two hates or love each other? I've never encountered a more chaotic pair—they haven't even decided on how to kill me yet.
"So....I'm like, still here?" I shift uncomfortably.
"Obviously," Nalfain rolls his eyes, balancing the dagger on his fingertip. "Now, I again request you tell me what you were laughing about."
"Bro, what?" I look incredulously at Brad, almost as if I want him to back me up here. Nal is still on about why I laughed? Brad only sighs, shrugging apologetically.
"Speak, pathetic creature!" Nal barks.
"First, I have a name—use it. Second, it's not that deep, dude. Drop it."
Maybe my attitude will get me killed, but I'm emotionally drained and fed up. I'm confused, exasperated, scared; I've probably run the gamut of human emotions in the last half hour.
"I shall drop nothing, for I am not a clumsy being, Freya," Nal says as he taps the dagger impatiently against the palm of his hand. My mouth sort of hangs open, and I am not sure how to respond. He doesn't understand what I mean.
"Nal."
"What vampire?"
"The term 'drop it' is a colloquialism—means to stop asking about a point of conversation because it's either too personal, or not worth further inquiring about," Brad explains.
I stifle a soft smile as Nalfain flushes in what looks like some embarrassment. A deeper color washes over his cheeks briefly, and he purses his lips in silence. "I see. Thank you, Bradley, for enlightening me further upon the intricacies this inferior language."
Brad nods but looks away as if to distract himself—it's almost like there's laughter in his voids, but he knows better than to laugh openly. Nalfain continues toying with the dagger with an adept hand. "Despite your request to 'drop it,' I cannot. I must query what could have been so funny to you despite your precarious position." His tone seems a bit more controlled than earlier, but his body language is extremely tense. Ugh.
"It really wasn't a big deal," I shrug. "Just thought it was ironically nice of you put on some pants on is all. I mean, how shitty would it be to have to stare at your swinging balls while you behead me? What an awkward way to go."
Both monsters watch me in silence for several seconds, and the silence is almost suffocating. Nal's expression has become impossible to read, which freaks me out even more. What do I say? Is he even more offended now? Fuck!
"Uh...I m-mean, not that it's bad, you've got a nice set-up down there from, um, what I've seen and everything. It's just that I'd prefer my last thoughts not to be about how strange balls look..."
To my astonishment, Brad throws his head back and lets out a belly laugh, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "Holy shit, that makes total sense, Freya." He pauses to suck in a breath, laughter fading. Nalfain looks totally unamused.
"Thank you, Brad. I'd like to think it'd be preferable for my last thoughts not to be about his balls."
Brad exhales a laugh. "You're kind of funny, you know?"
"I do know."
Nal scoffs. "'twas not that funny."
"Brad thought it was."
"Who cares what he thinks, human?"
"I think you do," I retort. "Seems like you care an awful lot—it was totally you whom he was fucking earlier this morning, wasn't it? You seemed real into it, so I'm assuming you do care."
Brad's mouth gaped open a bit, and an enraged scowl spread across Nal's face. "Enough! You are stalling female; do not think I am unaware of this."
"Hey, you asked why I was laughing, and I answered—don't blame me."
Brad smirks again, covering his mouth quickly as his gaze darts between his boy-toy and me. Nal doesn't miss Brad's expression this time and shifts his position before driving the dagger into Brad's thigh. A pained hiss leaves Brad, his pale hand grasping Nal by the hair roughly. "You little fucker," he growls, cursing more under his breath as he pulls the blade out of himself.
"You deserved it, vampire," Nal says flatly. "Now release me!"
Brad growls, and jerks Nal's head backwards roughly. "I've had enough of your behavior, Elf. You don't get to order me around. Say 'please' like a good boy or be a bad boy and there will be punishment. Choose."
I can feel my cheeks flush because as the domineering words spill out of Brad's mouth, I can see a bit of an erection form in Nalfain's sweats. A naughty little smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as he tilts his head slightly, making eye contact with Brad. "Let me go, you bastard."
Dark satisfaction spreads across Brad's face, and with that, he releases Nalfain. The Elf rises to his feet, red eyes burning, intent more than clear. "I don't know if you like pain, Freya, but I like pain—I enjoy receiving it, I enjoy giving it. And now, I shall very much relish ending your pathetic life. I have had enough of your so-called 'funniness' and stalling. You shall meet your end now, for Bradley and I have... business to attend to after this."
His lithe figure stalks over to the coffee table, fingertips brushing across the blades laid out earlier. Brad wears a satisfied look—I think he's looking forward to punishing Nal, but now more than ever, I'm desperate for him to intervene. I can't die, not yet! Please, not yet!
Nal hums a soft melody to himself as he settles upon a black blade—and the moment he picks it up, my stomach drops. He continues to hum, and despite everything, I can't help but feel an ironic sense of appreciation for the beauty of his voice.
How can someone so evil be so beautiful at the same time.