worst part of m e

“Dangerous. Sure. Sure.” Was that answer reckless? Maybe, but in her defense she wouldn’t have been his older sister if she didn’t latch onto every chance to tease him as possible. At least she wasn’t being serious. She might call him very insult under the sun, but not a single one of them stood merit. He was her family. “I am a raging bitch-face, but pms has shit all to do with it.” Try the ticking time bomb in her eye socket. It didn’t get wet like her real one. She tried to hide but was relieved by the pattering of little feet that gave her just enough time to open her arms and catch the hurtling child. Dilyn staggered back a half step, more by surprise than the actual weight of her niece. “Zoey!” She cooed, spinning the child around in circles. Mr. Invisible Wall was nothing if not an opportunist, and he took the munchkin’s arrival as the perfect opportunity to tip-toe away from the middle of the room and the pillow at his feet to shuffle silently closer to that luscious specimen of a man, drawn in by that flush even more than that virile intensity. Muscles like that just begged to be touched, so his wandering hands were the real victim here, magnetically attracted to those lovely abdominal obliques. It was a crime they were covered by a t-shirt. Auto squeezed, still invisible — although it was growing increasingly more difficult to concentrate and keep it that way — as he leaned in, lips ghosting against the stubble of the other man’s warm cheek, tauntingly close to his ear and whispered, “I like when you flush.” “Grappling partner?” Dilyn repeated, both in amusement and shock as she set the likely dizzy Zoey down — hell even Dilyn was mildly dizzy, though that could have been from finding out Donny had a secret male friend. “Why no, I haven’t yet.” Dilyn winked down at her niece, ruffling the child’s long hair and shooting a far too pleased glance over Zoey’s head towards her all but celibate father. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to, her expression said all kinds of shit, ranging from since when to a what the fucking hell why didn’t you say shit? Mostly though, she wanted to know how exactly Zoey managed to find all this out, and so with a wicked grin turned back to her niece and asked, “When did you meet him?”

        Some days, he wanted to hate her—he really did. 

                       But sibling love proved a detriment in allowing such a useless emotion to fester for long, especially not over things said in the heat of the moment. 

                 Or ever. 

“Yeah, well, your raging bitch-face needs a day off every now and then,” he muttered, arms folded behind his back as he watched his giggling daughter, all fifty-four pounds of her, latch onto Dilyn, dark eyes shimmering with eagerness—delight too, for this unexpected visit. Since her birth, the girl had been unusually attached to his sister, often asking if she could spend the night with her. Of course, Donovan would nearly always compromise by inviting Dilyn over for the evening—because there was no way in hell he was letting his daughter out of his sight for an entire night. Yet, despite the numerous invitations, the woman still had a tendency to drop in unannounced, without hesitation or a care in the world ...

Fingers brushing against the hard ridges of his stomach, masculine lips grazing his cheek as a honeyed whisper sounded near his ear.

Sucking in a startled breath, Donovan subtly and skillfully evaded those clever fingers—would have even gone so far as to tell the invisible wall to take a timeout if Dilyn hadn’t chosen that particular moment to ask the one goddamn question he’d hoped she would steer clear of out of respect for his position as the all-important brother. And Zoe—she was oblivious to his restless state, plowing ahead with a beaming smile. “Last night.” She preened under her aunt’s affectionate attention, ignoring the faintly grimacing expression on her father’s face in favor of a chance to waltz into the spotlight. “Daddy was hugging him—a complete stranger!—but he said it wasn’t hugging—that he was demon ... demonstrating a tech ... technique.” She frowned then, little brows puckering with confusion. “But the man looked like he was sleeping. Daddy said—”

“Pancakes,” he hastily cut her off, lunging forward to press a hand over her mouth in a rather futile attempt to prevent her from further digging his grave. Thanks, baby girl. “How do pancakes sound?”

Zoe’s eyes widened, and she gave an enthusiastic nod. 

            “But only if you beat me at the silent game. Deal?” 

        Another nod.

“Silence. Solitude ... Upgrading security features. Certainly not touchy feely, invisible walls who go around sticking their hands where they don’t belong.”

There was someone behind him, the intensity was closing in, chills crept up his back akin to the sensation that made you run up stairs because something was at the bottom. Autolycus looked back, squinting through the dark but saw nothing of note.

                                                 Then he heard it. The growled threat.

Jerking, genuinely started by the deep voice that crackled the air in front of him, Auto whipped his head towards the sound, long strands of dark hair getting tangled with lashes as he seemingly materializing on the spot. It stunned him, getting caught, and for a second the thief blanked, gaze sweeping up that ridiculously built body to find the most intense stare he’d ever seen. Oh yeah. They matched the voice.

“Five seconds,” he repeated, unblinking as fear made him quiver but rather than take the defensive Lycus batted his lashes and shamelessly eye fucked the shit outta him. He smiled, silky, charismatic and breathed out a suggestive, “I can make that work.” Hell, for a man who out muscled the Greek Gods, he could make anything work. 

An eyebrow cocked. Cheeky. “But it’d be a shame to rush things…” Coy, his right hand ghosted close, knuckles just barely teasing across the ridge of what had to be rock hard abs. Zeus almighty. Fingers tingled, warm from the electric spark, and curled fruitlessly in and out with the need to clench skin instead of air.  

You really think you can flirt your way out of this one?

                                                                                       Honestly? 

He didn’t. But one look at the built motherfucker told him all he needed to know.

                                                                                                There was no fighting his way out.

So he angled his body closer, seeking the warm intensity the other projected rather than shying away. “You’re tense,” he purred, breaking the eye contact to glance at those brawny forearms, momentarily mesmerized by the ripple and jut of veins. Shit was he vascular. “Easy there, I’m only admiring the architecture— ” Hah! Claimed the man who hadn’t glanced at the manor since Mr. Tall Dark and Brooding showed up. 

Enemy was a concept he understood well, his instincts honed to near perfection in order for him to quickly and efficiently identify potential threats before they had time to act. Man of few words, they’d laughingly called him. But what need had he for words when action painted a much clearer picture? 

Eyes narrowed on the disturbed patch of grass—several blades twisted and curled under what looked to be the invisible weight of a trespasser’s foot—Donovan sent his finely honed senses outward, searching for concrete evidence of an intruder to confirm what his instincts were already telling him. Someone of unknown allegiance had infiltrated the premises, one whom he suspected harbored ill intentions given the nature of his arrival. 

       To creep implied a desire for nondetection, and an unseen enemy often proved the most dangerous enemy of all.

              Unseen? 

        For now. 

Then, as though his silent determination had finally paid off—or maybe the strong energy pulses passing all around them had rendered the intruder susceptible, no longer immune to the intensity of his determination—the man known as War watched as the source of his suspicion and unease took physical form, incarnating into a seemingly coquettish male of unknown age, long, dark hair framing a face that most would deem ... attractive. 

“Don’t,” Donovan growled, out of impulse—a subconscious reaction to the man’s close proximity—muscles spasmodically tensing as he struggled to reign in his agitation. Despite the sly way the tips of his fingers feathered over his stomach, a mere ghost of a caress, he felt ... singed, that sizzling crackle of heat simmering between them nearly shocking him into taking a step back. But that feeling —that uncomfortable, tingling sensation rippling over his skin, giving rise to goosebumps—roused his wariness, far more intensely than before. 

“Don’t lie to me.” A warning, delivered in a low, glottal voice. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for mere admiration.” 

Firm lips pressing into a flat, hard line, his gaze saturated with skepticism, Donovan cracked his knuckles, then his neck, as if the sound would drown out the sound of his own heartbeat—a constant thump-thump-thump in his ears that had grown louder with every step taken that brought the intruder closer; a threat to his unflappable, sagacious nature. “Whatever it is you’re after, whatever has brought you to my door, I suggest you turn around and leave now—before you regret it.” 

    Only one thing awaited trespassers who didn’t know to leave well enough alone—

                 —death.

“You’re both males,” Dilyn argued with a pointed smirk and an eyeroll, ultra vague because fuck that no way was she alluding to the dirty details forming as the shaky foundation to her newest last ditch, aka this better fucking work, plan. “That’s enough to lump you in the same catego- “ her nose wrinkled, eyes widening mid-word. Proud indigence at it’s finest. “Excuse me.” every syllable rolled with disdain, “I only need two.” The hybrid fucker didn’t count. Neither did War! War who was-shit, willing to risk everything for her ass. Well shucks. The sides of her lip twitched, ghosting into the start of a smile, one stubbornly bit back. It’s not that she ever doubted it, that her brother cared, but they didn’t exactly go around say i love yous. That’d be weird.

Still she caught his eye, the significance of his offer shining bright in her own. Shit she even felt choked up, not that she let it show. Not with a stranger in the room. Did he really think she was that dumb? “Dude, fine. Since when do you have an invisible wall in the middle of the living room? Ain’t that like a major child safety hazard?” Rolling her eyes, Dilyn strode without warning towards the pillow that lay conspicuously in the middle of the floor and, after eyeing the empty air above it which heat was totally radiating from, surprisingly didn’t say a word as she bent to scoop up the pillow. War could keep his secrets. For now. Whoever was there wasn’t a threat. She even turned her back on him, facing her brother again instead. “You think you could get the drop on him, if he’s distracted?”

“Careful,” Donovan warned, not even a hint of amusement in his low baritone—because, as it stood, he was being serious. Not nearly as serious as a heart attack but close enough. “You’re treading on dangerous grounds.” That once crossed could not be uncrossed. “You wouldn't want me lumping you in the same category as a raging bitch-face on a PMS kick ... Would you?” Women and hormones just didn’t mix sometimes. And Dilyn—when she got going, it was hard to shut her down. But blaming hormones on every little problem would be stretching it quite a bit. They might play a part in intensifying a problem, but they weren’t the sole reason for it. “Yeah, yeah—on a good day.” He snorted at her brief show of disdain, in tune to every nuance of emotion, no matter how small it might prove to be, in her arsenal. He’d give her points for trying, though. “But that’s why you have me.” Brother to the rescue. Anyone who wanted a crack at his family would have to go through him first. “We stand a better chance of taking him down together.” 

And it was obvious by her reaction—even if she did her best to hide it—how much his offer affected her. Emotional was the last word he’d ever use to describe her, but even with her seemingly limited range of emotions, he could tell how much his support, freely given, meant to her. “Nah.” Mindful of the other presence in the room—his nape prickled, as if fingers had ghosted along his skin—Donovan crossed his arms, an arguably defensive posture to some, and shook his dark head. “Zoe knows her way around the house better than I do. If anyone can avoid an invisible wall, it’s her ...” But then—as if saying her name aloud had conjured her image, he heard the soft pitter-patter of little feet, running feet, dashing down the hallway ... before the exuberant, dark-haired girl rushed into the living room in an excited whirl of kremlin slip and lace. “Aunt Dilly!” She cried out happily, launching herself at her beloved aunt with all the determination of a young girl on the cusp of tweenhood. “Did you meet Daddy’s new friend?” It was an innocent question but one that set his cheeks ablaze. Shit. “He’s his new grappling partner!” Uttered with pride, a mere recitation of the explanation he’d given her last night when she’d discovered them in a rather ... compromising position. Sighing, Donovan considered distracting her with promises of an ice cream cake. 

But the damage had already been done. 

“Might,” she agreed. “If it can trick you.” Too bad a pillow didn’t hurt, and wouldn’t stop the bastard from retaliation. She’d gotten lucky with War, the same couldn’t be said about that goddamn unstable hybrid. “The trick angle isn’t a bad one, though.” Catching the thing unexpected might be her only hope in hell. Crazy as it was, it even had her considering real desperate measures: playing femme fatal. Hybrid or not, the thing was still male wasn’t it? If she could get it to bed… No way Dono would consent to that plan. Dilyn stared at her brother dumbly, then at the heat signature that was most certainly not his, even if it was behind him. It was a foot away from his body, and it was way too big to be little Zoey. Nevertheless his furrowed brow and owlish who made her question her hardware. Had she fried a circuit earlier? Getting hit in the face? With a skeptical brow Dilyn stood, reaching to tug the throw pillow free of her brother’s hands, whipping it immediately in the direction of the heat source. The pillow sailed through the air before suddenly stopping, as though hitting an invisible wall. “Ah-hah!” She declared triumphantly, shoving a single finger against her brother’s sternum. There was totally an invisible intruder, and curiously Donovan was nowhere near as tense as he should have been over it.

“Did you just compare me to that thing?” Donovan harrumphed, soft enough to go unnoticed; but having a sister like Dilyn almost guaranteed she’d pick up on it right away. “Five-second advantage - that’s all a good bounty hunter needs,” he retorted, his tone deadpan. A really good bounty hunter would only need two, but he wasn’t nearly stupid enough to say as much. There were very few people he trusted at his back - even fewer whose opinion he truly cared about - but she’d scored the golden ticket there. He’d rather forgo the whole cold-shoulder, silent-treatment, looks-that-could-kill spiel from her if he could. “You don’t have to go at it alone.” A pointed look - proof that he was more than willing and prepared to help her capture that thing, alive if need be.

Staring pensively ahead – situated so her stare shredded conveniently just shy of his side – Dilyn shrugged but the edge of her lip wavered a hint. ”It’s cute that you pretend I have a choice.” For a heartbeat she let their matching eyes realign and felt like a kid again, back when their biggest concern had been taking the neighborhood bully in kick the can, back when they’d schemed like little brats to get out of everything from chores to homework, back when their stupid, wild and ridiculous schemes actually worked. While their eyes were locked, before she could even blink, Dilyn whipped a throw pillow at his face. Immediately, maintaining her frown became much more of a challenge. “You’re right. Maybe I should get him with a pillow.” Dilyn taunted, losing the battle against the smile and jerking across to the other side of the couch only to freeze before clearing the reach of retaliation, the mechanics of her eye whirling and shifting to focus not on her brother, but an invisible heat signature behind him.

“Who the fuck is that?”

He wished he could tell the government to fuck off - wished he could shield her from the consequences of their greedy demands - but doing so would most likely result in retaliation ... of the fatal kind. He could handle dying for his family, especially if his death would set them free from their inhumane clutches. But what he absolutely refused to consider was the possibility of them dying because of him. They’d already seized Zoe once, with the intent to prove just how easy it would be for them to snuff her little, fragile life out. And Dilyn - they’d done something to her, probably affixed some kind of kill switch to her brain like they’d done to him. Fucking government. But that thought had no time to settle - because, at that exact moment, the woman-in-question managed to catch him slightly off guard with a throw pillow to the face. Instinctively lifting his hand to catch it before it could fall to the floor, Donovan shot his sister a peevish look. He had to hand it to her, though. She came up with the most interesting plans. “Might work,” he grunted, his lips nearly curving but the twitching muscle not quite able to form the gesture. “Doubt he’d see it coming.” He certainly hadn’t.

Goddamn. Dilyn kicked her feet off the couch turning her half-assed sit into a proper one, knees bending at a 90 degree and arms sprawling out across blanket covered thighs as she sighed.  Thickly. A loose strand of hair got caught in the updraft and blew from one side of her nose to the other. It tickled yet hands remained white-knuckling the crushed velvet. Don’t throw the towel in? Hah. Like she even had that choice. Dil snorted, nostrils stretching wide to intake the much needed breath of sanity. More like breath for sanity. If only the answer was as easy as death. Dying wasn’t an option. Neither was failing. She’d just have to bring that fucker in. Somehow.

With another breath she forced her fists to unfurl and then slowly cocked the shallow of her gaze upon her brother’s face. Trust the brat to call her out on being avoidant, she who’d sooner brazenly charge the flames. “What happened?” She started, with no other option now but to answer, and snorted, rolling her eyes before going through a whole gambit of emotions: frustration, self-loathing, guilt and even a turn at anger. The torrid mix in no particular order but rather seemed to swirl through them all unsettled, like a dial being turned one way than the other. “He let me go.” 

Standing with his feet braced slightly apart and his arms folded across his chest, Donovan regarded Dilyn with a thoughtful - but austere - frown, trying to think back to the last time he’d seen his sister in such a poor state. Poor for her, at any rate. She was a woman quite accustomed to bringing in a successful haul, after all, skillful at handling the most difficult of cases - and the hybrid they’d arrogantly and foolishly sent her after would certainly qualify. But to see her so bedraggled and weary, her gaze alight with a mixture of raw, negative-based emotions - those of which he could easily read in the various expressions that flickered across her face, one after another, eliciting a furrowed brow from him - did something to him ... something unpleasant; it threatened to set fire to the embers of anger and frustration that he had no choice but to keep a tight reign on. Because, without that kind of tight control, collateral damage would be the least of their problems. 

It never escaped her notice that she got away with hell in a hand basket when it came to her brother. Fuck, anyone else who’d tried a throat grab would end up with broken fingers, if not a totally dysfunctional hand. It was a sign, more than anything, of how much the grump actually trusted her. “Little secret brother,” Dilyn mused, the mechanics of her eye buzzing as she shifted focus, “I never actually think I can take anyone.”  

“But I do.” She shrugged, like that fact was wholly insignificant and after a beat, winked. Though typically one to toot her own horn, with Donovan – at least in the rare moment – she could admit half her success was pure luck. Her cheek hurt, and she could taste blood but she waved off her sibling’s concern, the truth of the matter was she shouldn’t have even been breathing. He’d gone easy on her. Only her pride had been beaten down to an inch from death. Snorting, Dilyn squeezed the poor velvet throw nail-bitingly tight and averted her gaze. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

He was tempted to give her forehead a good thumping - it’d get his message across, loud and clear. But seeing her bruised, battered, and weary stilled his hand; more than words ever could. His sister had obviously been put through the wringer ... Should’ve known her bounty would reduce her masterful hunting skills to rubble the second she texted him the details, vague as they were, of her job. Because if the bastard had been easy prey, the damn fools would’ve gone in for the kill themselves. But they’d chosen to send another one in - collateral damage for their greed. Even Donovan, for all his combative knowledge and skill, would have found that particular target hard to handle. “Don’t throw the towel in just yet,” he replied with a calmness that was at odds with the intensity of his energy - a gift from the very government he’d faithfully served for years. “Once the towel goes in, the light goes out.” As his only sister - and the only family, aside from his daughter, he had left - he had a duty to ensure her safety ... no matter the means necessary to get the job done.

It was a sign of the times that her hand went straight for his throat as eyes jerked open, but her palm fell short of its actual target, white knuckling the velvet throw instead. “Shit,” it came out airier than she’d like to admit, tailing on the hinge of a gasp. This wasn’t some treacherous alley with a hybrid. She was safe. At home. Well, Donovan’s home. Close enough. “You tryin’ ta get yourself killed?” Dilyn grumbled, blinking the sleep out of her eye and absolutely refusing to admit he’d just woken her from a nightmare. Still. The poor bitch was white as a ghost.

For a hard second Dilyn just glared, then shook her head and with an intentionally dramatic sigh, hoisted her sore as shit body up into a half-assed sit. “So? What’s so important you had to wake me?”

It was a testament to his foresight - and knowledge of the nature of his sister, who hunted for a living - that he didn’t even blink despite the dangerous swiftness of her movements ... How close had he come to a near choke-out over the numerous years he’d found her camped out in his living room, too exhausted to move a single step past his front door? Too damn many times to count. But then, he was responsible for teaching her not only how to properly defend herself at a young age but to kick the ass of anyone stupid enough to threaten her. So it was only natural that he’d, at the very least, recognize some if not most of her moves. “You’re a hundred years too late if you think you can take me,” Donovan replied simply, closely studying her face under the muted sunlight filtering through the heavily curtained windows. There was a bruise on her cheek - and was that blood?

Dilly: Hah. Remember you said that.

Dilly: Um no?

Dilly: Sorry man. That yknow, it's so bad.

Donny: Only on days my mind's one hundred percent there and not lost in the gutter somewhere.

Donny: Don't worry about it.

Donny: But you better fucking call me if anything goes wrong.

Fixing the occupied couch with a peevish frown - how many times must he ask her to use the guest bedroom whenever she chose to crash at his place for the night? - Donovan considered grabbing the edges of the grey, plush velvet throw blanket clutched tightly in her hands and giving it a hard yank, uprooting her from her comfortable nest of blankets and pillows. But he wasn’t too keen on the idea of waking Zoe so soon after he’d managed to put her to bed, their unexpected visitor only adding to the business of a night that should have been quiet and unassuming.

Dilly: Are we talking about the same Princess Buttercup? What? You training her to take the whole project down?

Dilly: Ignorance is deadly, but in this case I still don't want to know.

Dilly: I could sign you up for anger management classes. or yoga maybe, take up some meditation, find your inner zen. Totally know what I'm getting you for Christmas now. A huge, outdoor zen garden on that massive property of yours. How about it monk?

Donny: / If / she's trainable ... But something tells me that's a no-go.

Donny: Smart girl.

Dilly: I mean, nieces still make good collateral, in case the whole bomb in the brain starts to look like a peaceful end.

Dilly: Do I even want to know why you have so many?

Dilly: Because war and peace just seem like opposites, but I had no idea it was that bad.

Donny: Only if you agree with yourself ...

Donny: Bastards really know how to get their way. But you and I both know karma's a bitch. It's only a matter of time before she throws herself at them.

Donny: ... Probably not. Ignorance is bliss.

Donny: Peace is the ideal dream, forever unattainable. But fuck if I don't wish for it every day. A peace of mind at least ...

Donny: When walking into a goddamn convenience store for a pack of cigarettes suddenly turns into a brawl, you / know / it's bad.

Dilly: I don't know about everyone. They don't threaten to kill you off to keep me in line.

Dilly: You're totally pulling in an owed favor, aren't you?

Dilly: Peace? / Y O U / want peace?

Donny: You're a sister. Sisters are genetically programmed / not / to listen. It's a fact.

Donny: How / are / they keeping you in line?

Donny: ... I have many - might as well make good use of them.

Dilly: Sometimes i'm not so sure their expectation / is / success. I'm expendable, you don't send a valuable asset on suicide missions.

Dilly: Rumor has it he's very particular who gets to touch his guns.

Dilly: Hah. Not true though, I'm just more vocal about it.

Donny: Yeah - you may want to work on that a little more. Impatience can be deadly in our line of work.

Donny: / Everyone / is expendable to them. No one is safe.

Donny: Fact. Be mindful of that rumor, and you'll be fine.