My Mate is a Greek God

21: Wakey wakey

A/N: I feel my writing has improved so much in this chapter, lmk what you think 🥹

Enjoy, I love your support and reading comments 💕

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Scrunch.

Indistinguishable scrunch as legs bend and strain against the taunt threads of coarse denim skinny jeans.

An insignificant sound.

Yet— within this very moment, has the power to raise thousands of tiny hairs at the back of my neck like proud little soldiers. This scrunch has metamorphosed symbolically into the roar of a great war horn before the start of a bloodstained battle.

Because it's him.

He's crouched in front of me, hasn't he.

Omega Tyler,

destroyer of happy endings,

murderer of god mothers.

"Thank goodness you're safe now!"

His words,

too near.

His attempt at a comforting hand upon my shoulder,

too similar a vice grip. 

A wicked chill runs through me. My veins singe, trail blazing beneath my soft flesh. Then flash— lightning strikes, and gnaws its way up the glass pained window. I don't flinch, my limbs having gone entirely too rigid.

A hint of warmth finds my cheek as the sun sinks farther down the horizon, drawing my orbs up to sharp slivers of light beaming through the cracked glass.

Sharp slivers of light that happen to be scattered all over that stupid Omega's face.

I spring back to my feet and drag him up with me, his collar gripped tightly in both my hands.

I wonder... just what would those casted haphazard patterns would look like as bleeding gnashes.

"My-my Queen, your orbs."

Within the frenzied pools of their orbs my two beautiful blood-moon ones reflect back in them, glittering in the teary rims. Then, snap, crack and pop of white knuckles and tendons— precursors to a fresh set of claws.

Yes. My fresh set of claws.

"Well well, sweet little lydia finally decides to play, huh?" Wolfinia toys amiss my splintering mind, licking her figurative canines.

Popping a lung, hooking a talon into a pattering heart, it would be easy. Extremely fashionable— delectable, even, and the perfect candidate is right here, shaking pitifully within my grasp.

Omega Tyler. Destroyer of happy endings, murderer of god mothers,

fashionista maker.

My breaths are slow, heavy, wavering, "You... you."

They gulp. "Killed the sex-"

"— My f*cking fairy godmother!" my voice rattles the chandelier way down the hall.

"No!" Spit sprays my face, a tear finally slips down their cheek, "They dare defile my Queen. Their true nature was very clear, your highness!"

Splattered blood. Slicked sweat.

Neither cold enough now to cool the flames of rising murderous intent within me.

"Don't believe me? Then let's observe together as this wicked beast turns to ash!"