Heath (discontinued)

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FIVE

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His pitch black eyes bored into mine, the anger swirling in them pinning me under his gaze.

I swallowed the dry lump that had formed in my throat, nervously anticipating his next move.

The tension in the air hung heavily over us like a cloud of fog, making my skin prickle uncomfortably under his heated gaze. My heart was racing in my chest, and blood was pounding in my ears, amplified by the dead silence of the room.

I prayed that werewolf senses weren't sharp enough to pick up heartbeats, because mine was racing so fast it felt like it could leap out of my chest any minute.

Heath abruptly took a step forward, closing the small distance between us and I nearly took a step back out of surprise, but I caught myself just in time.

I steeled myself, stubbornly planting my feet to my spot, refusing to show any signs of fear or intimidation. I glared up at him with as much ferocity as I could manage, a scowl on my face.

I tried not to pay attention to how close he was, and instead transferred my attention to something else.

With our proximity, I noticed things I hadn't before. Like how there were a few barely noticeable freckles dusting his nose because of his naturally tanned skin obscuring them, and how his eyelashes were extremely long and dark, and whenever he blinked, they would look like the sooty wings of butterflies brushing against his cheeks.

His eyes, I realised, weren't actually black but a deep shade of blue, like the colour of the ocean at night, and they were speckled with hints of black and gold.

I've never seen eyes like that.

They were enrapturing and captivating, a beautiful mesh of colours, a stark contrast to my dog poop coloured eyes.

It was ironic how monsters could be beautiful.

The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I felt anger clench me once again.

Unwanted memories came flooding back into my mind, memories that I've tried to lock up for the past three years.

His kind were the ones who took my parents away from me; these monsters were the reason why I'd been fighting for my life, to live, ever since I was 15.

I would never be able to forget how my parents got ripped away from me and slaughtered right in front of my very eyes.

I would never forget the look in the wolf's eye as he ripped their throats out. Narrowed, a dull yellow, and very much inhumane, they had been filled with malice and glee, as if he enjoyed killing. As if he took pleasure in making other suffer, as if he took pleasure in their screams.

The haunting images flashed in my head, scenes flickering through my head nonstop after one another, and I did what I did best. Shut off.

I forced the memory to the back of my mind, my skin feeling hot and cold and cold sweat forming at the back of my neck.

I blinked back into reality, my hands shaking ever so slightly, and I released my clenched fists.

Heath's gaze bored into mine heatedly, and I, too caught up in my thoughts had failed to notice that he had took another step forward, our faces only mere inches apart.

He was so close, I could feel the heat emanating from his body, his every breath fanning across my forehead, his nose brushing the top of my head lightly. I could even smell him. He smelled intoxicating, like the nature and the forest, mixed with the rich scent of spices and cologne.