CONQUEST • Negan

Whiskey

A hard thump, followed by a deep groan, had me jolting awake.

Was this going to be my life now? Waking up every day with loud bangs and bumps?

A hushed curse muffled through the space and my mind instantly focused, washing away any haze of sleep.

Peeking open a single eye and holding myself very still, darkness greeted me.

So it was still night time then.

And there was an intruder in my room.

No. Not yet inside my room. They were jiggling with the door handle, trying to get inside my room. And whoever it was, the bold bastard wasn't even trying to be quiet about it.

The men in the forest?

My heart stilled and honed in on those hunter instincts I typically tucked deep down inside myself for moments like this; when I needed to keep a clear head and forge myself the upper hand even when it wasn't apparently mine.

I couldn't predict how many of them are out there.

My hands tightened on the blades I had hidden beneath my pillow, and I slid out of bed quietly creeping towards the door like a wraith on silent footsteps, all whilst also holding my breath so whoever was outside couldn't be alerted that I was awake.

They had a key, I realised as I listened to it tumble around in the lock, and grinding down on my jaw, I rolled my eyes at the invaders stupidity for not knowing how to use the goddamn thing. Surely it wasn't that difficult.

And then I paused to remind myself that this was a good thing. It gave me the upper hand I needed.

Another hard thump of... yup, that was definitely a body—then thudded on the other side of my door and I paused. Their effort to open the door halted.

It was quiet for a long moment.

Had they given up?

Had someone caught the intruder before they could make it into my room?

Or had their attention moved onto something else—someone else?

I clenched my hands painfully tight around my blades as one, single name chimed through my head with a cold, stark terror I hadn't felt in months.

Negan.

Loud alarm bells began hollering between my ears and suddenly I was—I was panicking.

I was fucking panicking.

Me, Eurydice Marlow, who hadn't known a flicker of anxiety in years out of sheer defiance against allowing such a useless emotion hinder my decisions—for fear could never serve me—was fucking panicking over Negan.

Of all people to shock that part of my brain back to life, of course it had to be Negan-fucking-Smith.

God, he was ruining me.

With a deep breath and a smooth roll of my shoulders, I tore open my door, prepared to sprint down the halls and scream out his name in hopes I could find him that way; in hopes I could make it to him in time to protect him—an instinct I would dissect later.

But when I opened the door, all of that energy winding up my muscles, readying myself to run, to fight, just... fizzled out.

I slumped against the doorframe releasing a deep sigh of relief because... here Negan was, right here; right in front of me.

Unharmed and in one piece.

Not a single nick marring his flesh, and yet a satisfied thrill purred through me at the sight of those matching bruises on his neck, curtesy of me.