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Framed Part Four

Fugitives

By Ivy WynterPublished 3 years ago 11 min read
3

Frederick cleared his throat as he glanced about his meager apartment. "It's, uh, not much," he muttered. "But we won't be here long. Just need to get a few things." He pocketed his transporter medallion, shucked off his coat, and tossed it over the back of the recliner. “You can, uh, just...relax on the, uh, couch, I guess, and I’ll...pack some things.”

The little witch he’d just whisked away from the precinct stood in the center of his living room still clutching her familiar and book to her chest. Many emotions warred within him at the sight of her in his territory: pride, pleasure, lust, unsurety, guilt. Especially guilt. But that didn’t stop him from thinking that she was the most brilliant splash of color against the monochromatic theme of his living room, even with that lost expression on her face.

“I, um,” Vivian turned to glance at the couch. “A-Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said.

The little witch took her bottom lip between her teeth and began to worry it, looking for all the world like she thought the couch might swallow her whole if she sat on it. His beast churned uneasily underneath his skin. It didn’t like seeing her so uncomfortable in his presence or in his home, and quite frankly, he didn’t either. Not that there was anything he could really do about it though…

“I shouldn’t be more than a half an hour,” he told her as he turned to head down the hall to his bedroom, but he paused when something occurred to him. He spun back around to face Vivian and ask, “Oh! I should probably ask, do you, uh, want anything? To drink? Eat? I keep a few things stocked for when Borris stops by.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.

Vivian stared at him with a confused grimace on her face. “Uh…” She swallowed loudly. “No, uh, no thank you. I’m alright.”

“Right...Okay.” Frederick internally cringed at the awkward tension that settled over the room. “I’ll just go pack...then.”

He muttered one more ‘right’ under his breath, shook his head, and turned to flee down the hallway. When he reached his bedroom, he shut the door with a soft click, and then practically melted against the wood.

Oh my god…” he groaned, dragging a hand roughly down his face.

Relax on the couch? Do you want anything to eat or drink? Seriously?! Frederick moaned in embarrassment.

What the hell had he been thinking?! Within the last forty-eight hours, he’d met Vivian, arrested her, and then, convinced of her innocence, took her from the precinct to his home where he’d then offered her food and drink; as if they’d had a good start to their relationship and that she trusted him. There was no way she trusted him whatsoever; which had been evident in her expression and demeanor in the living room.

The beast that made up half of him whined pathetically in his head, and he struggled to swallow back the sound as it tried to make its way up his throat. He half snarled, half grimaced at his empty room. What was wrong with him? The constant rush of emotions was beginning to stretch him thin.

Frederick had always led with logic first and then his instincts, so this whole ‘instincts overriding all logic’ thing was throwing him for a fucking loop. He’d literally helped the suspect of several murder investigations escape the P.I.U. precinct (not that she’d been planning to in any way, shape, or form) because the half of him that was a blood sucking beast deemed her worthy as a mate. But! - he couldn’t find it in his human half to disagree. Frederick truly believed that Vivian was innocent and incapable of killing, and maybe he was an idiot for that, but he couldn’t care less.

Sighing, Frederick threaded his fingers through his hair, and refocused on his room. “Okay…” he mumbled. It was time to pull it together and pack up before agents began busting down his door. “Okay.”

With a grunt, Frederick pushed away from the door, and crossed the room to his closet. He shouldered open the door, and rummaged through his shelves until he found the only travel bag he owned: a ratty, old duffle bag. Humming Frederick felt a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He traced his name and the P.I.U. emblem that was embroidered onto the bag's front with the pad of his thumb. He remembered the day his Aunt had gifted him with the bag as if it were yesterday.

It had been the day he’d graduated from the Academy. She’d been working on it for weeks beforehand, and he recalled several of her fingers had been wrapped up in bandaids from stabbing herself so many times with the embroidery needle. His Aunt had been so proud of him that day… If he brought the bag to his nose and took a sniff, he knew he’d be able to smell her rich honey-cinnamon scent that still lingered in the stitching, but he couldn’t do it.

The breath that Frederick took instead was a little shaky and smelled of his dusty closet. He couldn’t think about any of that right now though, he had other things to worry about, so he shoved the memories aside.

“Alright,” he said, mentally shaking himself out. “Let’s get what we need. Shirts, pants, boxers…” He rattled off his short list, stuffing several of each item into the duffle bag as he said them.

When he deemed that he had everything he needed from the closet, he moved out to the main space of his room, and looked at his bed and single nightstand. There wasn’t anything he’d need from under his bed, and the only thing in his nightstand was an empty notebook he’d never written a damn thing in. So...That’s it in here he guessed.

“To the kitchen then,” he said quietly to himself.

Frederick hefted the duffle bag over his shoulder, and stalked down the hallway to the front half of the apartment. He paused at the threshold of the kitchen to glance over at Vivian. She’d taken up his offer to use the couch, but she certainly didn’t look comfortable. She sat at the very edge of the cushion, her back painfully straight, with her book of shadows balanced precariously on her knees because her weasel was curled up on her thighs. Her head though, her head was turned towards the end table between the couch and recliner, where she was staring at the only framed picture he had in his apartment.

“That’s my Aunt and I,” he told her. The little witch jumped at his voice, sending her book toppling to the floor, and upsetting Slink, who shifted to glare up at him.

He gave her, and the weasel, an apologetic grimace. “Shit! Sorry!”

Vivian waved him off as she bent to gather her book from the carpet. “It’s, uh, okay. No worries,” she said, her voice a little breathless.

“Uh, if you say so,” he said with a slight grimace. It certainly didn’t feel okay… Neither he nor his beast liked how easily she was startled by his presence.

“You,” her voice caught at the end, so she cleared her throat. “You said that’s you and your Aunt?” She gestured to the picture with a wiggle of her finger.

Frederick nodded, “Yeah. I think that was taken when I was about twelve or thirteen.” He moved to pick up the sleek oak frame, doing his best to ignore the way she tensed at his proximity, and gave a strained smile to the image in the glass. “I had finally gotten control of the vampire half of me, so my Aunt had surprised me with a trip to the local winter festival. I’d always wanted to go, just never could until then. We went every year after that.”

The woman smiling back at him from inside the frame was beautiful in a motherly sort of way. She had lush strawberry-golden hair pulled back into a severe ponytail at the crown of her head, and her lips, painted with her favorite honey flavored lip gloss, were stretched into a brilliant smile. Her arms were draped over a tiny, lanky Frederick as she hugged him close to her side. They were surrounded on either side by bundled up humans, festival vendors, and snow. If he thought hard enough, Frederick could still hear the sound of laughter and ringing bells, and his skin prickled with the chill of the winter air. It had been, and still was, one of the best days of his entire existence.

“That sounds like it was an amazing day,” Vivian whispered gently, bringing him out of the memory.

He looked up from the picture to find the little witch watching him with a soft expression. “Yeah,” he agreed with a fond smile. “It really was.”

Without much consideration, Frederick tucked the picture frame safely away amongst his clothes inside the duffle bag. It was probably best he bring it along; just in case.

“I’m gonna pack up some food and drinks for you real quick,” he told Vivian. “Then we’re gonna head out of here.”

Vivian gave him a single nod and a soft ‘okay’ as he moved towards the kitchen. It took him no time at all to shove what little he had in regards to human food from his fridge and cupboards into the bag. He wasn’t sure how long this all would last her, but he hoped it would be for a couple days at the very least. As he made to shut the fridge door, he paused, and glanced at the stash of O negative he had in one of the drawers.

“Should probably bring those too,” he muttered as he snatched them from the drawer, and dropped them into the bag as well.

Okay then… Frederick went over the list of items in his bag one more time as he shuffled back into the living room. “I think I’ve got everything,” he said slowly. “So, are you ready?” He lifted his gaze from the bag to Vivian, who was struggling to get to her feet with both her book and Slink in her arms. “Oh, uh, I can store your book in here for you?” he offered. “If you want.”

The little witch glanced down at the book she was attempting to juggle alongside her familiar. “Um, yes, please. That would be nice.” Frederick blinked, surprised at her easy acceptance. “Thank you,” she mumbled as she handed over the book.

He took it and carefully tucked it away beside his picture frame. “Y-Yeah, no problem.” Vivian gave him an awkwardly hesitant smile without actually meeting his eyes. “Okay, well, we sh-,” Frederick cut himself off mid-sentence, and held up a hand to stop Vivian from making any noise.

He waited with bated breath, head cocked to the side, as he listened to the heavy heartbeat and snorting breaths that had appeared on the other side of his apartment door. His heart did an odd shimmying squeeze. Oh, hell

He motioned with his fingers for Vivian to remain quiet, and with silent movements, Frederick slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out the transporter medallion. The moment he took a step towards the little witch though, his partner's voice filtered through the door.

“Freddie?” Vivian sucked in a near silent gasp, her gaze clouding with fear. “I know yer in t’ere.” Tears welled up in the little witch’s eyes, and Frederick could hear the wet, frantic beating of her heart. “Don’t make t’is any ‘arder t’en it already is.” His partner shifted his weight, and something brushed against the door. “We can ‘elp yeh. Ta witch musta cursed yeh or somet’in, but we can get t’at fixed right up.” Frederick tossed an offended scowl for both himself and Vivian at the grey wood. As if he’d let himself get bewitched; he wasn’t some damn rookie. And how dare he insult his mate in such a way! “Yeh just gotta open ta door.”

Frederick crossed the remainder of the living room to take Vivian’s hand in his own. “I ain’t bewitched, Borris!” He felt the woman beside him jerk at the unexpected sound of his voice. “She didn’t do it! I know she didn’t!” Frederick looked down into Vivian’s watery eyes as Borris shouted obscenities from outside the door, his fists pounding against the wood. “And we’re gonna prove it!”

The little witch who’d turned his world upside down and inside out was staring up at him with such an open, vulnerable expression that it set his heart to racing and his beast to purring. He would figure this out, for her, no matter what it took.

“We’re gonna prove it,” he told her solemnly. “I promise.” At his declaration, a tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and she tightened her grip on his hand.

“FREDDIE!” Borris burst through the door with a roar, and Frederick looked up just in time to cast an apologetic glance at him from over his shoulder as he, Vivian, and Slink were swept away with a pop.

Series
3

About the Creator

Ivy Wynter

Ivy Wynter is an aspiring novelist who has finally gathered the courage to share her work with the world, starting with her short stories first. You can find updates on her work by visiting her Instagram page: Ivy.Wynter.Author

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