* THE SECRET KEEPER !

    It happens before Larissa quite knows it is happening, in a series of moments so intimate they take her breath away: Gemma taking her wrists, Gemma sitting her down, Gemma slipping off her shoes, Gemma unpinning her hair, Gemma straddling her lap. She's breathing harder already, her heart pounding, a flush gathering fast under her skin, and her body awake, instantly awake, and aching from the moment Gemma's lips find the side of her neck.

    "I... You..." This is so very distracting. Larissa would like to say something smooth and sensual, but how does one do more than whimper, under these circumstances? Should one have any composure left, really, with Gemma in their lap? She struggles, tries again, though 'smooth' and 'sensual' are both very far away, as far as adjectives go: "You don't have... It isn't that I don't want... I..."

    (She's trying to say I like taking care of you; in fact, I love it, and there's no need to reciprocate--although I would certainly enjoy it--when you've had a long day managing the difficult and, frankly, irritating people you work and socialize with, and I'm a retiree who does very little, and my stressors revolve around the couch in my rental not being quite long enough for me to stretch out my legs. She is accomplishing none of it.)

❝ i know i don't have to. ❞ she says between peppered kisses along the woman's jawline. but larissa is still trying to stutter out words that are supposed to dissuade gemma. ❝ stop. ❞ she insists softly , drawing back to look at her big blue eyes , ❝ i want to take care of you , baby. do i look like the type of woman who does anything she doesn't want to ? ❞ she strokes blonde hair and smiles , holding onto the moment while she can.

her head dips down , sucking on larissa's pulse point and drawing it softly between her teeth. gemma likes making her partner feel good , certainly there are times when she uses that ability to her advantage , easily warping her husband actions by withholding or offering affection. generally , it's a game to gemma. another chess piece. but not here. it's genuine with larissa. and she can't deny that she thoroughly enjoys watching color rise to the woman's cheeks , her breath hitching. she savors their moments together , even prefers them. so much so that she's spun another web of lies to justify spending the day away from her family for the second time this week.

she enjoys feeling larissa's hands on her , but refuses to let it distract. she's goal-oriented , dedicated to making today about her partner. she was going to make her feel good , make her come apart at the seams. stop being so damn proper for two fucking minutes.

    "Hm. Pinot noir." She's finished pouring a healthy dose into one glass, and puts it down on the counter so that she can tip the box back and read the information on its face. "Notes of cherry and oak. Rather enticing."

    The other rather enticing thing is the kiss Gemma put on her neck. It's difficult to ignore her; there's simply no getting away from the warmth of her body against Larissa's back, the press of her breasts, the distinct shape she makes with her hips against Larissa's--well. As it always does, Larissa's skin lights up at all the sensation. It wants more immediately, wants everything right now. She wonders if there's a medication she could take to make it all stop feeling so much. Surely an SSRI...?

    But she doesn't need help from anything tonight: she has the memory of Gemma's panic. That's cold water on her desire. I'll make it up to you. That's ice.

    She pours into the next glass. She wants to tell Gemma about Nevermore suddenly: her apartment adjoining the principal's office, with the wine decanter she'd had because it was a gift from a teacher, to mark her fifteenth anniversary as an educator, and she'd felt sort of silly, wondering if that was how she came off, an aloof snob who decanted her wine. She can almost hear Gemma say, Yeah, sweetheart, I don't know what to tell you. That's exactly how you come off, and can nearly hear Gemma's laugh at the whole thing.

    She's told Gemma that she was the principal of a boarding school. She's even mentioned living on campus. But telling a story to make Gemma laugh feels somehow beyond acceptability just now, because it would be so transparently a ploy: an attempt to make tonight a normal night together. A girls' night. She's heard Gemma say that to Clay before, "We're havin' a girls' night." But it isn't a girls' night, wine and film aside. There's something else happening here, and they both know it.

she doesn't take it as the polite no-harm refusal that larissa intends. her hands drop away , turning to face the abandoned box on the counter while she hides her expression. she's biting down on her lip , gripping the edge of the counter tightly as she takes a few shaking breathes. it's one of those moments where she would have kicked the guys out of her office , locked the door so she could have a solitary moment to express her feelings. but she's in larissa's kitchen , and the moment that they have apart is all she's getting to compose herself.

the rejection stings , as though larissa could tell she was damaged goods just by looking at her. she could tell that something was broken. soon to be tossed away like a barbie doll the dog had chewed on. she couldn't serve her main purpose. what would it be like when she learned the truth ? there's no way she would want to continue whatever this was.

gemma smooths out her shirt , takes a deep breath , and follows into the living room. she seats herself in the corner of the couch , curling her legs up underneath her and reaching for the glass of wine. ❝ no , of course not. ❞ she says , straining to maintain a light tone. ❝ he hasn't been home much lately. busy with the club. ❞ the last part is a lie. and she can hear the jokes ' trouble in paradise ? she isn't exactly trying to give a peek into their strained marriage , so she states it simply. she takes a rather large sip of the wine , searching for anything that will dull her senses.

All those lies you told yourself. This was supposed to be a crusade, a holy mission, revenge, bloodshed, simple, untainted, but you've done it again, haven't you? Ripped it all up, you're starting again, digging your horrible jaws in, you're a parasite, bloodsucker, you're a pig in shit, you'll never be clean, you'll always be filthy.

Took him around 4 months of dicking around to seize a sizeable chunk of New York, and all the various dealings they had elsewhere. He's in the weeds, the dicey business of revenue streams. Thing about Jimmy, he does all his shit himself. He's not got a crew anymore, it's just him running this shit. He's a busy man. He's lost track of time, flying all over the country on a private jet, still, he looks vaguely unhoused, unwashed, got that travelling stank on him.

˚₊‧꒰ა 🤎🚪💛 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> HEAD FALLS BACK AGAINST .. the pillow. her hands fall back to her sides. resting on the mattress. fingers digging into the fabric of the quilt. she's trying to bed good. to not touch. like gemma had asked her not too. her breath was shallow. short. panting almost. swallowing the lump that had formed at the back of her throat .. ellie couldn't help but lift her hips. following the older woman's touch. if she couldn't touch her - she will make sure that she touched her. ❝ w - why not ? ❞ ellie questioned. her tone came out in a slight whimper. pathetic. ❝ why can't i touch you ? ❞

the cold water shocks her, a sharp contrast to the feverish heat that’s been building beneath her skin. bella barely registers the woman's presence at first ⸺ she's much too focused on the red that won't wash away, the way it seems to cling to the lines of her palms like it belongs there now. taunting her, tempting her.

she lets herself be guided, lets the cold paper towels be pressed into her hands, and she scrubs. mechanically, desperately, like she can undo something if she just tries hard enough.

“i didn't...”　her voice comes out wrong, the sound trailing off as her mind struggles to form a coherent sentence.　“there was a woman.”　she tries again, this time the words come out in full even as her voice is small and trembling.　“in the alley. someone had... i don’t know ⸺ i’m not sure. but it was already too late when i got there.”　she looks down at her hands, at the faint pink that still lingers under her nails and in ever slight crease on her skin despite her frantic efforts, and something in her chest cracks open. the compulsion is still there, that aching need to intervene and help, and it has nowhere to go. no one left to save. just her and the blood and the hollow echo of a life she couldn't protect.

she doesn't look up. can't. gemma teller’s presence is too big and strong for her to even attempt to fool or manipulate, even when there is little bella would not be willing to be honest about.　“i didn't hurt anyone,”　she manages, and the words feel small, insufficient, although painfully sincere.　“i tried to help. i just... i was too late.”

❝ okay , fine , you didn't hurt anyone. ❞ she turns and gathers a bunch of the paper towels , closing the distance between them and turning the water off , covering bella's hands with the towels. gemma turns the girl to face her , a harsh , serious gaze locked on her expression. ❝ did anyone see you ? did you talk to anyone ? ❞ the more witnesses there were , the more difficult it would be to keep the cops away from her. that was the last thing they needed , detectives sniffing around after some murder that wasn't their fault.

    Gemma, crumpled, cowering, gasping for breath. Larissa's teeth throb. She lifts her head to the wind and breathes the scent of the smoke to avoid the smell of her blood. "He's the blond one, isn't he?" Her voice is too businesslike, too aloof for the moment, Gemma with one hand limp, someone else's blood on her face. "Wait here."

    She slips back over the edge of the roof. Back over the fence. Back across the lot. Somebody is screaming with senseless intensity; Larissa picks him up by the back of his vest and turns him over. Not the one. She puts him back down to writhe on the asphalt. A vampire hisses at her over a slack, bloody shape near the doorway glowing with fire. She waves him off.

    Room by room, corpse by corpse, faster than any human could move. She finds a light-haired man but his patch says 'prospect' on it, and the hair doesn't look right, so she drops him back to the floor. The rest of the bodies are mangled, but none of them hint at the face she remembers, the sharp chin like Gemma's, the cheekbones, the incongruous cherubic blondness.

    Once again into the lot where she sees no sign of the club's prince. Over the fence, up the facade of the building, back onto the roof.

    "He isn't there." She is conscious of herself standing, enormous and very strange, over Gemma's hunched body. Larissa stoops, then goes further, to her knees. "I know you're afraid for him. He isn't there. There will be time to find him. But just now..."🧃🧃 Her hands resting on her own thighs, leaning forward, trying to find Gemma's gaze with her own. She feels incongruously like a camp counsellor (she's heard of these things, and watched plenty of 'television') trying to coax a crying child.

she remains crumpled on the roof , watching anxiously in the direction the blonde woman had disappeared towards. she still isn't sure what exactly is going on. only knew that bullets weren't effective , that those things were stronger, faster. they seemed impossible to beat. and the blonde woman she's met before ― she was like them. her heart remains in her throat until the woman returns onto the rooftop. she brings the fear of the unknown surging in gemma's chest.

jax wasn't there. that meant hopefully , that he was still alive. that this was some kind of random attack against the clubhouse and he was safe elsewhere. the other woman kneels down , leveling her with the matriarch. gemma is still hesitant , leaning away from the blonde. she doesn't want to let her help. but there aren't a lot of other choices. gemma wasn't even sure how to get down from this rooftop on her own. if she was left here , she'd just be waiting for one of the other's to attack.

the words stop her , as though she hadn't realized she was injured. she takes a quick inventory of the damage. her palm is pulsing , the blood from her hand is dripping down her fingers , leaving splatters on the concrete beneath her. there's blood smeared on her clothes and splashed on her face. her shirt is torn at the shoulder and in another spot by her ribs.

❝ i'm fine. i ― ❞ the explosion goes off nearby and gemma recoils , raising her hands to shield herself. she peers over in the direction of the noise , flames licking at the night sky. she hesitantly looks over at the other woman , shaken. ❝ are we safe here ? ❞ am i safe with you ?

A QUICK CELLPHONE CHECK HAS HER SOMEWHAT PREOCCUPIED THOUGH ONLY MOMENTARILY. She's trained to multitask, and the woman's words somewhat amuse her for some reason. Perhaps for the simple appreciation factor that regardless, Stella would have been well taken care of even if she had been stranded further up the road. ❝ That's very kind of you, thank you. ❞ She says as phone is slipped back into the confines of her coat pocket while following the woman into her office.

Glancing about the place, she takes a seat when instructed to do so, fingers running through blonde hair while waiting for the mentioned forms. The word husband rings heavily and she knows she shouldn't be surprised, nor disappointed, but there is a slight shift in expression that even she almost doesn't detect within herself before she's reaching for the pen and clipboard.

❝ homicide ? ❞ she asks , as though it surprised to her to hear of such a thing inside the borders of charming. she wasn't , of course. at least half the bodies that fell were a direct result of the club's actions. she clears her throat , ❝ figured something like that would be big news. we hadn't heard of anything going on. ❞