the military?" I offered, trying to get a general picture of what they would have to do. "You'll be like Everett, who picks up the missions or assignments he wants and goes away for a few days and then comes back, right?"
He didn't answer.
"A few weeks?"
Again, his expression was cold, and my heart dropped.
"Did you guys agree to join?"
He knew I wasn't going to put up with a silent answer for this one.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Earlier when Margaret was talking with us."
"I didn't hear you guys talking about any of that," I pointed out.
"Snakes have the ability to change what is being heard around them. Margaret must have made it so it sounded like we were talking just about the kidnappings. Plus, you zoned out for a bit, didn't you?"
"Don't turn this back on me," I grumbled.
"Cass."
"When do you guys start?" If they were going to tell me last minute, I'd kick the shit out of them.
No. That's too easy. I'll give them the silent treatment for weeks. No, months! Then they would see...and I'll use their toothbrushes to pick my teeth! I'll hide all their favorite things and—
"Tomorrow..."
My diabolical plan screeched to a halt, my eyes staring back at him in devastated shock.
"T-tomorrow?"
"What they want us to do is urgent. This kidnapping thing...there's something more to it, and we can't—"
"Tell me," I demanded, my deadpan voice making him frown.
"Cass—"
"Were you guys even going to tell me? Or did you figure a human like me didn't deserve to know?"
"Cass, we wouldn't use you being human against you."
"That old hag does exactly that every single time she comes to our house bearing news for only you guys. She decided I wasn't worth being a part of the conversation that you guys are joining the Supernatural fucking Society and ditching me tomorrow for who knows how long."
"Six months."
"Six fucking months?!" I always swore when my temper was rising, and the second bomb had just erupted. "You guys are leaving for six months and decided that I didn't deserve to know until now? No, let me rephrase that, you guys weren't going to tell me, but as we were dancing you probably felt pity for me and decided to grace me with the news, am I right?" His frustration was obvious, but he remained silent, which only made me let out a huff. "Un-fucking-believable."
"That's not a word," he muttered.
The glare I gave shut him right up, and I unhooked my arms from his neck. "I'm going home."
"Cassandra."
"Fifteen years," I whispered, my voice filled with anger. This was a betrayal. The four men that I cared about were leaving me for six months and they truly didn't think I was worth telling.
"Fifteen years and you guys don't think I'd be okay with you leaving? That you couldn't tell me right when you found out? I'm going to be by my lonesome self for six months, and you're only telling me out of pity."
"It's not out of pity," he interrupted, but I shook my head.
"Then why wait? What stopped you from telling me? It clearly isn't hurting you or the others. We just had an amazing dinner in celebration and what? You'd wait till were home, relaxing in front of the fireplace, and then you'd drop the news?"
I took two steps forward, until my face was inches from his, my eyes burning with what I knew were tears. "Or would the four of you have left me with nothing but a farewell note — all for my safety." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice.
He swallowed, his usual guard falling and allowing the bits of vulnerability and sadness I knew he fought not to share with anyone, not even his bros, to peek through.
"Cassandra. You're...important. To us...to me."
His words hit home, and again, I was reminded about that tiny part inside me that wanted more than just 'this.'
Whatever 'this' is.
There were moments with Otis that felt different than the rest. Times when I got lost in his purple eyes that sometimes turned red the longer I looked into them. The way his presence seemed to wrap around me, and how I'd quietly wish we were more.
That we could put aside our personalities and...love.
I'd experienced those moments with the others, too. We'd get lost in each other's eyes and wish that one of us would let go and break whatever internal promises we'd made to ourselves.
I didn't want to be the one to break this. To risk a friendship that had blossomed into a nearly unbreakable bond.
But