All the Wicked Bonds

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏: 𝐅𝐢𝐱 𝐌𝐞

He isn't a normal person. He's a killer. A heartless killer who wouldn't bat an eyelash before snapping anyone's neck. A bead of sweat cascaded down his forehead. King Alpha went to wipe it and hissed when one of the pens stabbed his already bleeding cut on his forehead.

"Fuck." He held his forehead with his palm, looking more irritated.

He wasn't healing.

"W-what happened?" I asked, my voice visibly shaky and breathy.

His eyes briefly met my face, making me want to curl into myself from his intense gaze, before he looked back at his desk, putting the pens back in their place and snapping the one which stabbed him into two halves.

"You're not healing," I said voicing out my curiosity and folding my shaky arms in front of me.

"Well, that's what happens when you get stabbed with silver, blondie." He said in an irritated tone which made me somewhat flinch, "Boo-ya to them, I stabbed them back with their own silver and then chewed them good knowing that Mister Butcher pants was looking through his blue globe thing."

"What?"

He sighed in frustration, proceeding to unstack then stack his papers, "This crazy warlock has something against me and tried to attack me today with his minions having silver laced weapons. Foolish of him to think I'd scream at the sight of silver. They tried stabbing me, I played a game, stabbed them back and ta-da, here I am with this stupid bitch on my forehead." He brought his hand up to his chin and another flicker of irritation flicked through his face when his finger touched the dried blood, "And look at what they did to my shirt. This had come from Italy handmade, especially for me. Why am I even wearing this—" He slid his shirt from his body making my eyes almost pop out of my sockets looking at his magnificent, rock-hard body.

My breath got stuck in my throat and my eyes strained to keep themselves somewhere appropriate. Hard muscles bulged from everywhere. Not like Drew though. Drew was short and bulky. King Alpha had a towering height with a lean and muscular physique.

I forced my eyes to stray themselves, but it was impossible for some reason. My new high senses observed every little detail, every little aspect and every little element.

"Can I help?" I blurted, part trying to distract myself, part trying to busy myself.

"Sure, bring me a dead person. That might cheer me up."

I gave him a flat look, "I didn't mean about your mood. I meant about that blood."

He turned his icy narrowed gaze at me, "It won't heal."

I shrugged, "Your supernatural abilities won't always help. Sometimes, acting like a human works too."

"The only thing acting human brings me is plain boredom."

"Have you ever heard of a first aid kit or do you always rely on your abilities?"

He frowned, "I never needed a first aid kit."

"I hope your brain does," I muttered under my breath then widening my eyes when I realized he heard me, 'cause his eyes narrowed into slits, "I think I saw it in your bathroom - the first aid kit that is. I'll go get it." I rambled and made a quick escape to his bathroom, fleeing his intense gaze.

Once inside, I let myself take in a deep breath and blinked my eyes twice. I placed the heel of my palm on my forehead, feeling every beat of my heart pulse loudly.

Whatever happened to blow him away with my rage?

The heaviness of the situation in that room still weighed me down. With my body still stiff, I timidly walked towards the shelf where I think I saw the first aid kit somewhere in the corner.