Hell en Pointe | Alastor ✓

chapter 29

"Mmm," Alastor moaned into his cup. He slurped his black coffee in delight, sinking back into his quaint little seat at the local café near Harvard you dragged him to. You stared at him in distaste, swishing around your mug.

"It's not that good," you sneered. "Especially with no sugar."

"It's an acquired taste, darling," remarked Alastor wisely. He set his mug down and allowed his gaze to linger around, observing a new generation and era of people contradictory to his era of life.

"Must be," you said dryly, taking a gulp of your sugary caramel macchiato. You liked coffee sometimes, you guess, but you preferred tea.

Sirens blared through the highways at maximum speeds and volume, dashing past traffic and weaving in and out cars and trucks alike. It's been like this for about five minutes — bustling silence and then ambulance and police sirens screaming in your ears and disrupting your peace inside the cozy cafe.

"You think they'll close down the college?" you said, making conversation.

Alastor hummed. "Because of that little cunt? No, my darling, it is Harvard!" He grinned, folding his hands over each other and resting his elbows on the table, leaning forward. "They're far too prestigious to close their campus full of intelligent young men and women and high-end professors this early on in the day."

You stared out the window silently. "Fuckin' hell. I don't get it. The world has no empathy for its own people these days."

"Ironic, love."

You rolled your eyes. Yes, yes, I'm a murderer. How many times is he going to remind me of it?

A barista sashayed into your vision suddenly, impossible to be ignored because of his familiar tall body and thin, yet muscular frame, his tanned skin and perfect hair. He smiled smugly, crossing his arms over his apron. Mortified, you slowly let your eyes trail up his form. They landed on his name tag.

Val.

"Are you fuckin'-"

"Ah, well, hello! The hairless moth slut decides to make a grand appearance," Alastor said, feigning delight and waving jazz hands. He set his hands back down and casually folded them over one another. "Here to kill us, I presume?"

Your heart thumped relentlessly in your chest. Fuck. You knew you'd run into Vox or Valentino one eventually, but not here, not in this dingy little cafe. It caught you off guard, and you were completely unprepared for his arrival. Shit shit shit.

"I have hair, thank you very much, you ignorant whore-thing!" growled Valentino, additionally running a hand through his luscious locks. He then broke into a grin. "And you'd be right, cocksucker. Have fun dying in this little caffeinated white-girl shithole."

"Oh, I thought I was exempt from that, baby," you said, Southern drawl rolling off your tongue. "Sum'thin about kidnapping me or whatever? Taking me into custody?" You leaned forward, teasing the taller man.

"And I thought I was to be tortured!" added Alastor to your teasing. He clicked his tongue. "How disappointing.."

"Shut the fuck up," said Valentino feistily. "Beggars can't be choosers, perra." He put his hands together, faking sweetness. "I will allow you to finish your coffee before you are brutally taken care of. ¿Entiendes, hijo de puta?."

This motivated Alastor to stand, pushing his chair gently back from the movement. He exhaled deeply from his nose, his hands clutching the table, his eyes closed. He looked very calm and peaceful, and it left you unnerved.