𝗪𝗵𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 || Karl Heisenberg

Chapter Eight: What the Cat Dragged in

Ésme looked down at her wrist when she heard the click of the cuff falling off her arm. Not looking up from her book, she smirked lightly. "What was it, a dog?" The door swung open to reveal Heisenberg standing there with somebody slung over his shoulder. Her eyes widened, and her face went from smug to shocked in an instant. She stood on instinct, backing into a corner to assess the situation at hand. "Oh, dear, is he dead?" she asked flabbergasted.

"It's your lucky day, kid," Heisenberg said as the person slung over his shoulder began to stir. Ésme let out a sigh of relief, glad that Heisenberg hadn't dragged in a dead body like a cat would with birds and small rodents. "You get a room for an undetermined amount of time," he continued, dropping the waking boy unceremoniously onto the ground. "You know this guy?" Karl asked as the boy let out a quiet groan. Ésme's face morphed into alarm.

Plunging to her knees immediately, she shuffled over to the boy, sweeping his blonde hair out of his face while eyeing up his bloody nose worriedly. Karl let out an inward sigh, he hoping she didn't care much for the boy he had knocked out. "Oskar," Ésme said quickly, tapping his cheek with her hand rapidly yet gently. "Wake up, Oskar," her voice cracked with concern. Karl felt a strange pang in his gut watching the interaction with pity. Ésme's teary eyes hardened as she turned to the man standing before her.

"What did you do?" her voice rasped with accusation.

"He's fine," Karl rolled his eyes as Ésme grabbed Oskar's jaw once more and shook his head lightly, prompting the boy's eyes to flutter open. Ésme turned back to Heisenberg, glowering. "Sucker has a strong nose though," Karl added, shaking his right hand, annoyed at the dull pain in his knuckles.

"Why?" Ésme asked darkly, not even turning her head to Karl. She just intently stared at the stone wall in front of her.

"He showed up, started saying and asking things I didn't quite want to answer," Heisenberg explained with a shrug, as if this were a casual Tuesday for him. Ésme stood and walked over to him, puffing out her chest and raising her chin high, trying to seem less small and more proud than she felt as his eyes gleamed like embers, staring nearly through her.

"That didn't mean you had to knock him out!" Ésme stamped her foot and pointed to the boy on the ground who was slowly yet surely coming to.

"Would you rather I left him for the lycans?" Karl stepped closer to her, towering over her as she craned her neck to glare at him. His tone wasn't loud or theatric like it normally was; it was dark and almost quiet, if not for the natural reverberation his voice seemed to have.

"Why is that the only damn two options?!" Ésme asked aggressively.

"Because I fucking said so!" Karl yelled back at her, making her flinch slightly.

"You sound like a child," Ésme growled. The Lord's face changed, his molten gold eyes growing angrier as he took another step impossibly closer to the upset woman, his chest less than a centimeter away from hers.

"Get out," Karl nearly whispered.

"No!" Ésme stubbornly protested. "You hurt my friend and expect me to just-"

"I SAID GET THE HELL OUT!" He bellowed. Ésme took a step backward, her grey eyes becoming teary once more. Karl's chest heaved as he stood, looking at the girl with unimaginable hostility.

"Ésme?" Oskar called out, more of a whimper. Her head whipped around to look at him, and Ésme opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it.

"Wait in the hall," Karl demanded. Ésme shook her head in disappointment and unbelief as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Now." The Lord would've raised his voice again, but judging by the jumpy atmosphere she had when he did it the first time, he decided against it. Ésme gave Oskar one last look before she went into the hallway, hyperventilating slightly. But not enough to make her light-headed or have her cheeks tingle from lack of consistent oxygen. Her worry about what would happen to Oskar outweighed her anger at the arrogant man who had injured him.