Wolfsbane

52. I get "left on read" in person

I pressed the glass of cold brew to my lips, staring down at the maps on the table. We'd been looking over the maps for months, filling them in with every full moon. It was a working project. We were marking out the murders, with each full moon they increased, some were on our territory, others weren't. However, despite this, the killings all seemed to happen in the same way, the same level of decorum and showmanship was appointed to each killing. It was more like an exhibition.

The killings hadn't even stopped when I had been kidnapped.

At this point it was clear who was behind the killings, and who would continue to kill.

Felix was asleep, he'd woken once since we'd put him down in the afternoon, he was quite the heavy sleeper.

It did benefit us though, I didn't think that Hayes would appreciate us working around his kid. Even though Felix was a couple of months old, what were virtually "crime scene photos" would probably have some form of a lasting impact on his psyche.

I placed the glass back down on the table, careful not to spill any of the remainder onto the months of hard work which sat before me. I fixed my eyes upon the intricate lettering of Luca's small handwriting. I'd missed that handwriting.

I leaned back in my seat, my eyes were fighting to stay awake. I was much more tired nowadays. Getting sleep was nearly impossible when coupled with the anxiety of it all. I fixed my eyes upon the digital clock which sat neatly on top of the tv stand. 9:30, was written clearly in florescent red script. I let out a soft grumble. It wasn't even that late and I was still exhausted.

"I think you've reached your limit"

It was Luca of course, he had been sat beside me so quietly that I'd forgotten that he was there. I glanced lazily towards him, looking as quickly as my eyes would allow. He, of course, was alert and was glancing over newspaper reports on his laptop.

"Shut up" I grumbled, "I don't have limits"

To that, he laughed. He shut his laptop, placing it on the copy table. Unlike me, he hadn't been careful placing his belongings back on the table. He'd almost knocked my glass over in the process which was highly unlike him.

He shifted towards me, staring me down, sizing me up. I crossed my arms over my chest, self-consciously.

Slowly, his hand began to travel towards my face, cupping my cheek with his hand, running his thumb over my skin softly, as if he was trying to knead a smile out of me. I uncrossed my arms, reaching a hand up and wrapping it around his wrist. I placed a tiny kiss onto his palm, something small, miniscule. A gift.

Permission.

He placed two fingers beneath my chin, drawing me close. He pressed his lips against mine. Warmth spread across my smile.

He dragged his hand across my face and down my back, running his fingers up and down my spine in an attempt to unravel me, completely.

Suddenly, the kisses became more and more demanding. There was less and less space between the breaths. The hand that was tracing my spine was lowering my back down against the couch cushions.

As though I was being manipulated by a third party, I felt my hands gripping at the base of his t-shirt, bargaining for skin. With every moment, I was able to receive an inch of warm flesh against my fingertips. Slowly, I pushed the soft fabric halfway up his spine. Unravelling him as he had tried to unravel me.