Chapter 3
754 Words
Thaddeus
A week passes. I send Orion to watch her, dig up anything he can, and each day, he returns with the same answer: nothing. He even compelled the girl she works with, Lisa, I think her name is. She provided no useful information either. Two years working beside Evelyn, and Lisa knows almost nothing about her. Just that she lives in the caravan park a few blocks away and always shows up for her shifts. That’s it. No deeper insight. Nothing personal.
It makes me wonder—what exactly is she hiding?
Today, while she’s at work, Ryland and I plan to find out. Orion managed to swipe her keys while she wasn’t paying attention and had them cut. Now we wait for his call, confirming she’s at the café. As soon as he gives the go-ahead, I grab my keys, striding toward the apartment door with Ryland close behind. Both of us are wired with the same gnawing curiosity about our little mate.
The drive to the caravan park doesn’t take long. The place is a ghost town—only a handful of old vans remain, and the front office looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. We spot her van easily. A rusted tin can, sitting at the far end of the row. As we pull up, an old woman in a faded cardigan eyes us from her porch next door, cigarette smoke curling from her lips.
Ryland watches her as we head up the steps. She doesn’t look away.
“You’re not worried she’ll tell her?” Ryland asks as he unlocks the door.
Her scent hits the moment we step inside. Warm. Subtle. A blend of strawberry shampoo and something uniquely hers. It wraps around me like silk, calming every muscle in my body.
“You can deal with the woman when we leave,” I murmur.
He nods, closing the door behind us, his eyes still tracking the nosy neighbor.
The inside of the van is sparse. Clothes, a few bills with her name on them, a makeup bag, a hair straightener. No photos. No mementos. No clutter. It’s like she lives here but doesn’t belong to the space. I open a few drawers, find nothing of real substance. Ryland flops onto her bed, then quickly jumps back up.
“God, she might as well just sleep on the springs,” he mutters, rifling through the bedside drawer.
I crouch and spot a shoebox beneath the bed. Pulling it out, I lift the lid. A few folded bills, maybe five hundred. Tucked beneath the cash is a yellowed newspaper clipping. I unfold it carefully. An old photo. A nun cradling a baby outside a church. The headline reads: Abandoned Infant Found on Steps of St. Agnes Church – Seeking Information.
“I wonder why she has this?” I ask, holding it up.
Ryland glances over and shrugs. “Waste of time,” he grumbles, moving on to the tallboy.
A low growl escapes his throat, and I raise an eyebrow as he turns, dangling a pair of lace panties from his fingers.
“Seriously?” I mutter, snatching them away and tossing them back into the drawer. He pouts like a kicked puppy.
We put the box back, reset everything, and lock up on our way out.
“What now?” Ryland asks.
“Hungry?” I say, already knowing the answer.
He nods.
I’m tired of waiting.
Since we first saw her, I haven’t stopped thinking about her. That look in her eyes—pure fear—and the urge to have her... it unsettled me. The mate bond is ruthless. She invades every thought. Every breath. We all agreed—she’s ours. One way or another.
Orion tried the gentle approach. Tried talking to her, softening her up. She’s shown no interest. No flirting. No curiosity. Just clock in, work, and go home. No hobbies. No socializing. She barely talks to anyone except Lisa.
Why? Why does she hide like this? Is she running from something or someone? Or is she just that mundane? Even that possibility doesn’t make her less captivating. In fact, it makes her more so, like a locked door begging to be opened.
We pull up outside the café. Through the window, we spot Orion sitting at the counter, Lisa chatting animatedly with him. Evelyn isn’t visible—she must be out back.
I lean forward, eyes narrowing.
She thinks she can stay hidden.
No one can hide from us.
- Writer
