The Night Children

Chapter 30

Edited. 

I clung to the shadows, pressing myself close enough to the boxes to indent them. Isaac followed suit in a more dignified manner, his eyes narrowing onto the main entrance. Reaching my bag, I snatched it from the ground to twist it onto my back while Isaac moved to place the open box back in its place on the shelf.

"Don't," I whispered sharply. He shot me a questioning look. I ignored it to hoist a small pistol from the box, shoving it into my bag without a word.

"I see you're taking after Aaron," Isaac hissed, his lips thin. I swallowed but didn't acknowledge the venom in his words.

I could've died tonight. Pincel made that very clear. At least now I could defend myself, even if I knew deep down I would never press the trigger.

Isaac still said nothing when I dropped a handful of bullets into my bag, he only regarded me with his catlike eyes. It was the same look he wore when he used to watch me from across the oval. The considerate, calculating gaze. The gaze of a predator.

Putting the now empty box back, I straightened up. Isaac's attention had shifted to the main entrance. I could see the stiffness of his body, his muscles wired with tenseness. A vein outlined his neck as he gritted his teeth.

I was instantly struck by the nature of his figure. The way he stood, eyes locked towards the front, his curls lightly blowing in the breeze that managed to sneak its way into the aisle. He looked like he belonged in the shadows, his ghostly white face a beautiful juxtaposition to the gloomy darkness of the warehouse. I could see, in the yellowed light of the building, the bruises ribboning his neck, outlining his jawline, under his eyes, snagging underneath his T-shirt.

And yet, he was still beautiful. In his own crumbling, shattered way, he was every bit as glorious as he was when I first met him.

I gingerly remembered the last time I had seen him, his limp fingers cradling my sheets, curls spread on my pillow. Despite everything, I felt my cheeks flush.

Isaac turned to meet my gaze, his pupils narrowing. "What are you doing? Let's go."
Ducking my head, I nodded absently and neared the entrance. Isaac reached forwards, fingers brushing the door frame. After several seconds, he moved outside, never glancing back to make sure I followed. I attempted to copy his movements, pressing myself to the shadows, avoiding clumps of crackling leaves, dodging dirt where my shoe prints would show.

Isaac ducked under a low branch, just entering the undergrowth bordering the warehouse. I followed, only to feel my jeans hook on a spiked bush. Stumbling, I managed to let out a curse before a hand caught me, skin hot against mine. Immediately my heart rose into my throat.

Regaining my footing, I glanced up to meet Isaac's gaze. He was watching me, studying me with those tricoloured eyes. There was something in his gaze, something hidden and barricaded. Isaac's eyebrows drew together, and then he withdrew his hands, leaving me to balance on my own.

Clearing my throat, I thanked him softly. I was stepping forwards to continue when Isaac's voice stopped me.

"What are you doing here?"

I halted, mid step. "I thought I was the one asking the questions."
His lips thinned. "You could've gotten yourself killed," he elaborated roughly. I noticed, as I studied him, that his curls were ruffled almost like he was asleep. They swept across his face, curling against his skin. They softened his face. Everything about him was sharp. His tongue, his jawline, cheekbones, mouth, eyes, however his curls were a bridge between intimidation and intimacy. Like a soft creek flowing between jagged peaks.