He was not, by nature, a truly deep sleeper. To many years spent in too many battles assuring a part of the stallion was inclined to wakefulness and yet tonight, amongst the darkness and rolling fog and threat of oncoming rain, with that chill so potent in the air, the man was entirely asleep. It was rare he had the house to himself and yet with Claire visiting family, Scarlett staying in the city centre to organise her affairs Edie occupied with Kato and Nadya at her home with her children the snowy haired man had so taken the opportunity to enjoy a pack free evening. The vast majority of it had been spent within his office all the same, the man pouring over those records and files of information he'd obtained, a number of letters from home scattered amongst that collection of paper. His fingers reached almost reflectively for that single medallion about his neck, thumb brushing over that carved surface as his thoughts lingered in places he hardly wished them to remain as a sigh was forced from between his lips. His head rested in his hands, fingers lifting now to rake though the white blonde of his hair before letting it fall back into place and over those violet eyes once more. So much to do and so little time. He needed to go back and yet he needed but that final piece, so close and yet so far, yet wasn't that always the way? Wasn't that the very motto of his life? It was near ten in the evening when he'd left that study, one letter, from his Mother, held within his hand as he drained the last of that black coffee from his mug and left it upon the kitchen counter as he passed. He strode easily into the living room then, one hand held upon the kindling in the fire place until the sheer heat from his touch saw the wood ignite. Frost at last settling back into his favoured chair, turning that letter over and over. He was running out of time.

It was not till nearly midnight that he'd at last tossed that letter into the fire, burning away that evidence, replacing his reading book on the shelf before heading up those stairs and shutting the door behind him. Frost, for the first time in months, collapsing into sleep. He was awoken some time later by an almost colossal bang, violet eyes flicking open, staring blurrily into the darkness as he contemplated rolling back over. Claire. It had to be Claire coming home. Half the things in the house were bolted to the wall because of her. Clearly she'd found the one thing that wasn't. Either that or Kato and Edie were fighting again, ruining his lounge room like they had the last time. Frost effortlessly reaching for those bonds that tied him to each being under his command. None of them were nearby....none of them were even awake as far as he could tell. He sat up at last, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before reaching for a pair of faded jeans to pull on over his boxers lest one of the girls prove to be downstairs all the same, the man hardly bothering with a shirt, his hair mused in all directions from sleep.

"Hmmm?"

He had taken barely two steps before his bare feet pressed on something soft, almost silky, something he was assured had not been there before. His mind was still thick from sleep, one hand reaching down to snatch that flower from the floor. It must have been on his shoes when he came in tonight, his mind seeking that entirely logical explanation, tossing it back on to the floor to worry about later. The man flicking the light switch all the same. One flower, perhaps, might be explained, even two or three- but not twenty. His floor littered with them. For several moments the man merely stared, attempting to comprehend what he was seeing.

"What the fuck?"

His voice was barely a whisper, the man shaking his head softly, the loud noise suddenly remembered as he moved to step out of his room only to find a trail of those purple flowers. Nightshades- he recognised them now, leading down the stairs. Either Edie thought this was a brilliant joke or Nadya was attempting some sort of truly bizarre romance idea he was not assured he appreciated at this time of the night. His bare feet pad easily downstairs, carrying him to the living room, the stallion not having failed to note the flowers seemed to be leading outside. This was becoming- odd. His attention for now however was upon the collapsed bookshelf within his living room, books and papers scatted all over the floor. How the hell had it fallen when it was bolted to the wall? All the bolts could hardly have broken at once. He crouches down beside that toppled case then, his own scenes extended, tasting the air around him- searching for the scent of anyone else and yet the scent of those flowers masked almost everything.

He rose easily once more then, eyeing that bookshelf a final time before stepping back out into that hall, following that trail of flowers now towards his front door before, momentarily testing that lock. No one had forced their way in, of that he was sure, the door opened then as he eyed that dark, empty street and too that carpet of flowers now covering his front lawn. Fucking hell. What was this madness? He shut the door once more, turning back to face the empty flower strewn hall behind him. His senses extended again, listening for even the faintest sound within the house, searching for indication someone was home. His words addressing his pack mates by name even if he so suspected that someone else entirely was in his house. They had well and truly picked the wrong man to rob if this was the case. Yet he had to be sure, first, that it was indeed not one of his girls playing the fool.

"Alright. Edie? Claire? Whichever one of you thinks this is a game I am tired of it."


f r o s t
we built this city on broken glass