Page 92 of Five to Love Him
The hive poured himself two cups of coffee, drinking it black while he said, “Hawthorne has a number of capital offenses that are punishable by death, and this certainly qualifies. Normally, one petitions them, and they send someone to get it done.”
“I guess we haven’t covered that yet. I’ll have to write a letter of complaint to Instructor Arick.”
We waited, our toast having cooled, for Leo to ask why we had never made such a petition. We knew we could have. Many courts had the option. But when we had been free again, had found a place where we could live in peace in the underground, we’d just never seen how it would be worth it to get this verdict when it meant telling others what had happened.
The hive was watching us, leaning against the counter and doing the dishes while wiping down a cutting board they had used.
“Mr. Conrad is very law-abiding, and the principal holds a position of respect with the Lords Hawthorne.” They frowned. “However, we had no idea they had a mound. If we’d known that—”
The doorbell rang. Leo looked up from his coffee. “Are they back already? That was quick. I’ll go look.”
We took Leo’s hand and stood with one. “Let us. We should…we should thank them, perhaps. And you have done enough.”
He grumbled about not having done anything as we went to the door, thinking that our past might soon really be our past. We’d have to face the fact that knowledge of what we had endured had spread to others, to Coral and Xander, then Leo’s vampire boss. That was a different kind of terror.
We opened the door, wondering how best to thank them for coming to offer their help even when it hadn’t been asked for.
Leo had once told us that he always checked the peephole and never let in anyone he didn’t know. He’d said it was because he was such a loner, and we’d complimented him on knowing to keep himself safe.
Cruel irony—no, foolishness—meant we’d not taken on that habit.
It was that human on the other side of the door. We could see the surprise on his face when he saw us, and within the fraction of a heartbeat, surprise turned into foul desire.
“Boy,” he said, using the name he had called us.
Back in the kitchen, we started retching.
forty-one
When we’d been young, we’d been very sheltered. Hivelings, much like the thumblings from the fairy tale, are always born small, and our human mother was protective. She would count the ten small fingers and ten small toes on each of us while our father-hive stood by and cradled us, their eyes filled with love for our mother.
We’d never realized that we could be considered different. Yes, our mother was a singular, our father-hive had told us this, but at the time, it meant no more to us than that her hair was black as ours.
When we grew older and more adventurous, our parents taught us, and they helped us learn how to appear like a singular among singulars. We’d learned it late, we knew, and we were curious, venturing from our childhood home and into the world at an earlier age than most other hives might.
In the room with the two beds and the locked door, we’d spent much time thinking about how our recklessness had been the reason we were there, how we had failed to listen to our parents’ teachings.
“Humans and many other singulars aren’t like we are. They are one and very alone, and when darkness touches them, they don’t have the strength of a hive to shake it off, to keep kindness in their hearts,” our father-hive had said.
They were prone to exaggeration and followed what might be described as an alternative lifestyle, homesteading near the polar circle with our mother, but they’d had a point.
When humans went dark, they went really dark. A hive would never understand because cruelty wasn’t in our nature like it was in theirs.
“Hive!”
Leo’s voice.
The hive dropped their black coffee, and we saw the cup splinter and stain the kitchen floor brown.
“We called Conrad. They said they didn’t find him. They said he wasn’t there,” the hive said.
“No,” we said with the one at the door.
“Didn’t think I’d get this lucky. Come on, boy, be good now, don’t make me hurt you.”
He pulled a taser from his pocket. If he’d known us better, had understood us just a little, he would have threatened Leo and the other hive, but he didn’t—couldn’t—think that far.
He reached for us—we flinched, the thought of his hand touching us repulsive. In the kitchen, we grabbed Leo with one, slung him over our shoulder, and dashed out the back door, following with another.
