Vīgintī ūnus

Oakley

I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. She is a witch. She's an enemy. So why can't I get my body to behave in her presence? Why does every bit of training and knowledge that's been beaten into my head for the last twenty years of my life suddenly go out the window when I'm around her?

My trainers kick up the loose gravel on the side of the winding mountain roads I tear through and a particularly ruthless jog. The woods are still moist from yesterday's rain, leaving the smell of wet earth lingering in the air. Sweat drips a deep V in my grey shirt, and Blue Oyster Colt's - Don't Fear the Reaper blares through my earbuds. My muscles burn in that calming way that reminds me I'm alive and in control of my own body. For now at least, until the next time I see Sunday again.

I know that part of the reason I'm still running is less about the fact that I need the mileage and more about the fact that I don't have a fucking clue how to face my brother. Like, "yeah, I know I'm supposed to kill the witch, but when I"m around her I just really want to fuck the shit out of her," is not going to work for me, and it's definitely not going to work for Branson.

At least I've made it past the portion of the tale where I lie to myself about what I want from her, and what my intentions are going forward. I know that I want her. Hell, part of me feels like it needs her. I'm drawn to her in a way that I can't explain, and not all of that is about my dick.

Who the hell am I if I can so easily set aside everything I've ever known just to touch such a dark beauty like her? The feeling I get any time my skin presses against hers can only be explained in one way-- complete and utter euphoria.

I'm so fucked.

Branson has been getting increasingly shirtier the more days we're here and she's still breathing. He's a goal-oriented man, just like I am. He applies a singular focus to everything he approaches, whether it be a job within the Guild, a slay, or a woman. He lines them up and knocks them down.

I, on the other hand, tend to be a bit more methodical about it. We both end up at the same place, but we think about things differently. We may be brothers raised by the same people, but the fact of the matter is that we approach situations very differently, and up until now he's respected that I've wanted to take my time with Sunday. He's not one to ask questions as long as the job gets done, but me? Well, that's another story.

The more time I spend with Sunday, the less I see this evil that The Guild sent us to eliminate. They gave us enough information to distinguish the fact that she is definitely the target, but that's it. And we're expected to do what we're told because that's what we were trained to do. What we were born to do.

Despite her hard candy shell she seems to be growing, she's an incredibly soft woman. She's just discovering the second part of her life, the life you live when you begin being authentic to yourself. Most people don't figure that out until they get away from the cliques and drama of high school, but she managed to fly that particular coop a little early and there's something endearing about that. Something endearing about her.

A girl has never gotten under my skin the way she has. Of course, the fact that she has the tightest ass I've ever seen and the face of an angel doesn't hurt her case, either. Just the sight of her makes me grow stiff between my legs, my baser instincts taking over. And maybe that's all it is. My lizard brain is attracted to her beauty and pheromones. Either way, I'm in a fucking impossible situation.

The last few steps up the driveway to the house are the hardest, telling me without a shadow of a doubt that I've overdone it. Making my way to the fridge as soon as I breeze through the door, I pull out a fresh water bottle before cracking the lid off and chugging half of it immediately. My headphones are still in so I don't hear him approaching before he taps on my shoulder, causing me to jump.

"Whoa, bro. Didn't mean to surprise you. Just weren't responding."

I point to the earbud I just plucked out of my ear to hear him speak. "What's up?"

"So how was the homecoming dance? Make any headway?" His eyes dance with mirth but he's holding his face in a firm expression of consternation.

I clench my teeth, my run apparently still not long enough to drive the tension from my body. Having this conversation with Branson over and over again is getting harder every day. "I don't know. The football player was stuck to her like glue."

Branson tuts quietly, before slipping an arm into the refrigerator and snagging bottled water for himself along with the carton of eggs and a package of Canadian bacon. "I can't believe you let that meathead steal your angle like that. It would have been a lot easier if you could have gotten her to date you. Getting her alone would be a fucking cakewalk. Now that she's figured out who we are it's going to be a hell of a lot harder."

I still haven't explained to Branson that she is basically a block of hardened alabaster when it comes to stabbing her or injuring her in any way. Even if I did want to go through with the original plan of eliminating Sunday, I don't even know how I would begin. All the witches and supes we've come across in the past– and this is the first time we've encountered this specific problem that I wouldn't know where to begin to solve.

Branson got exceedingly more irritated about the situation after Sunday's pyro act. Now that he knows our cover is blown and he knows that she knows where we live, which I can't really blame him for. I would feel the same way in his shoes. She isn't like a vampire who can't come in without an invitation. She could walk into our house at any time and slit our throats in our sleep. Not that she would. Would she?

God, my mind is a fucking mess. After playing her initially, I can only be so upset at the idea that she might be doing the same thing in return now. Turnabout is fair play and all. All is fair in love and war, I'm just not exactly sure which of those directions we're taking. And love? Jesus. It's a little early to be thinking about that. I've never loved anyone outside my family in my years, and I don't intend to start now, and especially not with my target.

I lick my lips, my nerves lighting while I mull over my next thoughts carefully. "Has The Guild ever made a mistake?"

The question draws his attention away from the eggs he was beating in a bowl as his eyes assess me beneath furrowed brows. "What? No. The Guild doesn't make mistakes. They've been doing this for centuries."

I shift my weight from one leg to the other. "Yeah, but they get their information from witches. Doesn't that strike you as a little hypocritical? Obviously, not all witches are evil– and even if they were, isn't it possible that a mistake was made?"

"Dude, where is this coming from?" he questions, dropping his bowl of eggs to the counter more aggressively than necessary. "If you have a hard-on for the girl, fine, bang her, but her death warrant has been signed, sealed, and delivered. She's on borrowed time."

The irritation and vitriol in his tone are not unexpected. We've been raised not to question The Guild or their orders. To be fair, I never have before. I've never questioned my birthright or the desires of those that I answer to before now. "Yeah, yeah, of course. I just– she doesn't seem evil. She's just a girl."

Branson snorts. "Yeah, a hot girl. Don't let her beauty fool you and stop thinking with your cock. Her soul is as black as the rest of them. Do you know where the witches that help The Guild come from? They're captured and forced to do their bidding. They're the best of the best. The seers? That's what they do. They see things. They've seen what she will become. The future is set in stone, Oak. Don't get distracted by her hot pussy magic."

He pours his eggs into the hot frying pan, as I whirl around and make my way upstairs to a hot shower that I've more than earned. Deep down, I know that he's right. Sunday can't be trusted. But more than anything, I'm not sure that I can be trusted, because the idea of taking her out sits like a rock in my stomach. Fuck. Where do I go from here?