Epsilon [Werewolf]

Chapter 13 (✓*)

I chewed on my nails, watching the clock anxiously as the minutes ticked by. I'd been meaning to look for the library, but every time I neared the door, an immense wave of panic would freeze me to the spot. Even now, sitting in the safety of my bed, I felt the cold weight of fear within my bones. I stared at the golden latch of the door, half-expecting the chain to snap at any second, for a werewolf to charge in and kill me.

I swallowed, turning to face the curtains. I hadn't found the courage to look out the windows, so I'd drawn the curtains instead. Maybe I'd thought that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me. Or maybe I'd finally found comfort in the darkness, in the shadows that could hide me. But no amount of darkness would rid me of the knowledge of who lurked outside, nor the fear that came with it. So, it was safe to say I'd chosen the fragile sanctuary of my room over searching for a library.

Unnerved, I fingered my Pelta's material for comfort, the sensations odd and new to my skin. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before, as though I were twiddling water in my hands. I was staring at the shimmering blue material when a knock sounded at my door, startling me upright.

I stood there for a few moments, staring at the door as my stomach knotted. After a few moments of hesitation, I crossed the distance, placing a tentative ear against the door.

A familiar, muffled voice came through. "It's me, Kyra-dear. It is time for the Feasting."

I huffed a sigh of relief, though a nagging anxiety persisted as I undid the latch and opened the door. A pair of cerulean blue eyes greeted me on the other side, and I found myself transfixed again.

Azriel's eyes raked slowly over my frame, widening slightly as they took in my choice of clothing. I'd gone for a white shirt and what looked to be black combat pants. Nothing special, and hopefully nothing that would make me stand out. Even so, I felt anything but unremarkable as Azriel looked me over, and I quickly found myself fighting a blush.

Finally, Azriel's gaze returned to mine, his smile small. "I am pleased to see you wearing your Pelta, dear. It suits you well."

I blinked, staring at the black cloak that hung from his own shoulders. Golden thread hemmed the edges, but I couldn't crane my neck far enough to see what might lay on the back. I stared at his midnight blue vest and black dress pants, so proper compared to my attire.

"You think?" I asked, distracted. I couldn't take my eyes off him, especially not as a thin sheen of midnight blue glowed on the black strands of his hair.

"Of course. I want nothing more than for you to settle in, dear, and it seems you are doing an exemplary job thus far." He offered his arm, and I found myself gaping. He smirked. "Come, dear. Allow me to escort you."

With shaking hands, I grabbed his arm and held on to it for dear life as he led me down the halls. As we passed the other werewolves, their ethereal beauty glowing even in their human forms, I didn't bother with dignity; I clung to Azriel like a drowning sailor would a raft. A raft full of snakes, for as much as I wanted to trust Azriel, as much as I knew I could, something in me balked every time I remembered just what he was.

As we walked, I noticed how my presence demanded attention. Murmurs started up in my wake, ones my ears couldn't quite pick out. Not to mention the stares I could feel burning into the back of my head.

I kept silent as we made our way down winding halls. The night air kissed my face as we emerged into the main lobby, stepping out into the courtyard. The sun had set, leaving me to guess at what the dark shapes and shifting shadows could be. I closed my eyes and breathed, trying to calm the persistent anxiety that had seeped into my bones. If Azriel noticed, he didn't say a word. Then again, I suppose feelings such as fear were below him. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't feel fear at all.