Now, he faced the first one.
“I, uh, have to take your picture,” he said softly, pulling out his burner phone. He had one for every day of the week.
She turned towards him, scowling. “Why?”
He snapped a picture without warning, and her frown deepened. He sent it to the number already put in his phone, the only one on it. A ding rung out to confirm that it had sent.
“Who are you sending it to?” she asked.
“To the man that… wants you,” he replied.
He could tell that the taser bracelet was concerning to her. He could tell that finding only one bed in their hotel room was concerning to her. But of all the traumatic things she’d experienced, he could tell that this response was the most upsetting, and deeply so. Robin turned away from him, concealing her face. He saw the outline of her shoulders trembling, and looked away as a courtesy, busying himself with her bag. He picked it up and brought it to the bathroom.
“You probably want a shower,” he said, opening the door. “Here.” He pressed a button, releasing the bracelet. It fell to the floor and Robin jumped like it was going to explode.
She watched him cautiously, eyes flicking to the bathroom, and to the door that sat right next to it.
“Don’t,” he warned calmly. “I’ve thought it out – this room is the furthest from both the stairs and the elevators. you won’t get anywhere, and I’ll have probably have to hurt you to get you back in here. Save us both the trouble.”
He saw her tense and knew that she’d be causing no problems tonight. He suspected as much. She was smart. Painfully, astronomically in over her head, but smart all the same. The smart ones waited, biding their time and looking for the right opportunity, rather than any opportunity. He’d already mapped out potential locations or situations where she might run for it or execute a plan.
While she was in the shower, he searched the room, moving everything away from her side of the bed (the further one from the door) and then waiting, allowing himself a moment to relax. So far, things were going smoothly.
A few minutes later, Magnus sent a response message. Vampires hated texting, or technology in general, so the responses were always short. This one was longer than his normal replies.
‘Good Job. Looking forward to your return. Friday, no later.’
Reykon stared at the words, finding a sense of disdain welling up inside of him. When he’d agreed to the assignment, the idea of taking a picture of Robin and sending it to the vampire who was set to own her, to abuse her, and probably to kill her, seemed fine. But after doing it, he felt dirty; cruel, even. He wasn’t sure why the assignment was bothering him. Normally, he had no problem compartmentalizing.
The sound of the shower turning off pulled him out of his thoughts. He rose, grabbing his backpack and the set of high-tech gauntlets that acted as souped up handcuffs. They were thicker, and less painful.
A few minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, toweling her hair. She wore a pair of leggings that he’d gotten from her dresser and a soft gray t-shirt, short sleeve. She watched him, looking for a prompt.
Reykon stood, walking over to the bathroom. She took a couple steps back, inside, and he closed the door behind him.
“My turn,” he said, turning to her and setting down his backpack. “Arm, please.”
She frowned, and he reached for her wrist.
About a foot away, his hand stopped mid-air, staring at both of her arms.
“Wow,” he said, a little off guard.
He was referring to the red marks, jagged and sharp, that seemed to swirl up both arms, faintly resembling the pattern lightning makes across a jet-black sky. The patterns immediately reminded him of his own markings, which were actually magical runes, not jagged strikes. But the idea was similar.
“Where…?” he faltered, a confused expression. “I don’t remember those…”
Robin glared at him. “Industrial strength tattoo concealer.”
“Oh,” he said.
“I was on a first date, remember?” she snapped. “I should have just stayed with him.”
He put the handcuff around her wrist and connected the other side to the towel rack, forcing himself to look away.
“Where did you get those?” he asked.
She looked at him like he was stupid. “It’s a birthmark.”
“Oh,” was all he could say. It could have been natural, but it resembled his own markings in a strange coincidence. Except that weakbloods shared no traits from the strongblood side – they were all completely human.
He began undressing.
“What are you doing?” Robin demanded.
“Taking a shower,” he replied, his voice tinged in amusement at her concern. “You don’t like it, look away.”
She did look away, quickly. “Couldn’t you have cuffed me out there?” she hissed.
“I’m very cautious. Eyes at all times – that’s my motto.”
She grumbled to herself, keeping her eyes fixed on the bathroom door, sitting on the toilet lid with a tense, rigid posture.
He stepped into the shower and laughed softly. “Shouldn’t make you that uncomfortable; you were nearly ripping my clothes off last night.”
He glanced through the clear shower curtain and saw her blush. It made him smile even wider. She kept her eyes trained forward, obviously uncomfortable. “I didn’t know you,” she muttered.
“That didn’t seem to bother you at the time.”
She let out a huff of frustration and slumped against the wall.
Reykon finished his shower, keeping his amused half-smile, and walking out of the bathroom with his backpack and clothes. Robin let out a sigh of distaste as he walked in front of her, in her line of sight. She quickly turned to the side.
He donned a pair of athletic underwear and then unhooked the gauntlet from the towel rack and led her back out into the room. She was only slightly less uncomfortable with his choice of clothing.
He pointed to the far half of the bed. “You’re on that side.”
She pulled
