Chapter Ten
'Mitchell, you can't just walk out!' pulling her grey cardigan tight around herself, Annie raced out of the front door, walking hastily after a stalking Mitchell. He strode with great purpose and meaning and yet both knew he had no idea where his feet were taking him. He just needed air. To be alone.
It was too damn suffocating sitting in that house, listening as Arianne bumped around upstairs, smashing whatever belongings Annie had once owned while they stifled laughs and grumbles – though sometimes ones of hilarious meaning – when she drew pictures of George in awkward situations. Mitchell didn't know if he should laugh with her, or yell at her, tell the young vampire the seriousness of the state she was now forever entrapped in. But he wouldn't face her, hadn't spoken to Arianne since the day he'd aggressively dragged her up the stairs and barricaded her inside the small bedroom. A cell made of brick's and mortar. A hell with nothing but the thirst.
Both had snapped and snarled aggressively as Mitchell had tried to wrestle the freshly-fed Arianne up the stairs. Annie watched them twist and wind on every step, marking their footwork, expecting one of them to slip and falter but both were determined to keep their strong stances; only a frail human would be stupid enough to fall, after all.
George stood anxiously partway between the kitchen and lounge, constantly craning his neck to glance at the small television still playing The Real Hustle. Maybe he should have argued, defended his right to separate their worlds. He went out of his way to keep the werewolf from their sight and yet here was one of Mitchell's killings, destroying his happiness. The thought swirled in his head before a bang of a bedroom door decided the fate; lips sealed George returned his attention to the programme.
Already around the corner, Mitchell was out of Annie's sight before she could utter another word.
She was standing there, watching the empty space before her when she saw him – a stranger. He stood leaning against a lamppost with such a suave manner that it was undoubtedly arrogance that warped his features, hands pushed firmly into the depths of a suit pocket and dark hair slicked man from his face he was unquestionably a handsome man. Acute hazel eyes watched Annie with such a certainty that there was no mistaking he could see her, and was purposely watching her.
It felt bizarre, intimidating almost to have someone staring so intently at you after such a long period without notice. And the way she was being observed made Annie feel on edge, nervous, waiting for a deduction to be made about herself by the stranger. Yet in a blink he was gone, around the corner perhaps, or into the van that had just pulled up inches from the lamppost. A mistake, a mere coincidence that someone had been watching the spot where she stood. Nothing more.