Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Sixteen◼️▪️

I taste blood.

The copper droplets trickle down the inside of my cheek and mix with my saliva.

I swallow away the taste of metal and the memories tied to the thought of blood. The taste, the smell, the color. All of it makes me queasy.

I release my inner cheek from between my teeth—that's now an open, aching wound—and pick up the glass of water the waitress just placed in front of me.

It's a bad habit that I find myself doing when I'm anxious. I can't count the amount of times my teeth have worn away at the inside of my mouth, nervously.

The dull ache is nothing more than a temporary distraction from the real problem sitting in the seat across from me.

He's everything that's currently wrong with my life but I have no idea what to do about it.

I chug the entire glass of water.

I wash away the bitter taste in my mouth, wishing I could make him disappear just as quickly, before setting the glass back down on to the table.

My lips feel as dry as the Chara Sands. They are chapped and on the verge of bleeding. My tongue is scratchy and my throat is sore. I'll need more than this measly cup to satiate me.

I lift my gaze up in the hopes of catching a passing waiter's attention, to find my kidnapper glaring at me.

My eyes widen.

How long has he been looking at me like that?

His eyes are pinched and his mouth's pressed into a firm line as if he's devising a way to kill me right here at this table without any whitenesses. I'm sure he'd make it slow and painful too, if he had a choice.

He's sitting back in his seat with his hands casually clasped in his lap. His head's tipped back slightly and he's frowning at me through the bottom slits in his eyes.

I explore his features brazenly, in the same manner he's boldly scrutinizing me.

His eyes remind me of a green python's scales the way they seem to change color with the slightest movement. His scar beneath his eye appears deep and jagged in the sunlight and his shoulders are wide while his posture's rigid.

He must not have shaved this morning because his jaw is covered in a shadow of dark stubble.

I wonder if he's aware of the dark, menacing air he exudes?

The sheer violence that flows from him like an aura is disturbing.

I can tell he's pissed about me running out of the boutique the way that I did and he's trying to communicate so through his piercing stare.

His eyes are currently shooting daggers into the spot between my eyebrows. I can practically feel the heat from his glower burning a hole into my forehead.

Well too bad for him, I'm just as pissed as he is. Did he really think I'd just go along with dressing up in sexy lingerie, especially when I discovered it's intended for Borkov?

"What?" I ask bluntly.

I cross my arms not letting his lethal countenance get to me this time. I won't tuck my tail between my legs and cower, not with this.