Only Human

Mr Michaels

CHAPTER SIX

The sound of a forced cough drew my attention to what was directly in front of me. A large table, fit for over ten people. Though only five occupied it. Two on the left, two on the right with one sitting at the head of the table facing me. I pursed my lips slightly as I took in the five men that stood behind the five sitting. Did I just interrupt the mafia?

"Who are you?" One of the two sitting on the left spoke and it lured my eyes towards him. Each of them were dressed in some form of formal wear. This man had a black tie loose around his neck with the first two buttons of his white shirt undone. He reclined back in his chair, dark green eyes lazily watching me beneath a mop of curling black hair, though in the light some strands gleamed blue like a raven's.

"I need to speak with Dean," I answered in a tone that was more seeking permission than demanding. Internally, I cringed at myself as I continued to peer at this man.

"Oh? What's this? A jealous lover?" the man opposite green eyes taunted. I flicked my gaze to him and noted how he still had his suit vest on over his deep blue shirt. His hair glistened red in the sunlight and his eyes were as green as the uniform worn by a traditional Irish leprechaun. Little freckles dotted across his nose and I was half tempted to join them together and see what they created.

The door creaked behind me just then. I could feel a hand suddenly clench on my shoulder, those same manicured nails digging in once more. I knew she had her nails done, that's one thing I got right at least.

"Let go of me or I'll break that nose," I spat, shrugging her off of me.

"What is a human doing here?" came the gruff growl of the man sitting next to Leprauchan eyes. Unlike the other two that watched me with growing amusement, this man glared. His obsidian eyes made me want to run and hide. His dark skin contrasted against his white shirt in such a pleasing way. Unlike the others, the hair on his head was shaved short to the scalp. And while they appeared in their mid-twenties, he gave off an air that made me think he was older.

Human? I frowned, my brows pushing together before I shook the thought away and jutted out my chin. "None of that matters, I want to speak with Dean."

"You are," the last of the four sitting opposite each other chimed in. His eyes reminded me of a grey sky that thundered warningly before the story. Though his lips pulled up into a side smile when he caught my eyes. He seemed younger than the others, less official in his plain white t-shirt. As one, the men looked to the fifth man occupying the head of the table. "There he is, speak."

The one they acknowledged as Dean, was reclining back in his chair. Dark hair was cropped close to his head as his brows furrowed together unwelcomingly. He too was in a white shirt, top few buttons undone revealing a stretch of tattoo that rested against his collarbone. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up off his forearms as he rested his hand on his jaw, idly scratching some stubble as he watched me.

His eyes were intense, and like the rest of him, they weren't at all expressive. They were cold, like ice. Light ice found kissing the water, such a bright blue they were almost white. Most blue eyes were so captivating you'd think that you could sink into them with the peak of awe nipping at your facial features, but when I peered into his frozen irises I felt an electrical chill run down my spine, making my features numb, like ice. Multiple shades of incandescent striking white-blue clashed together to make his eyes seem like they were a wild sea. As if there was a storm eternally raging within his gaze.

I had been right to think time would have changed him. He didn't seem like the carefree flirty guy I'd met five years ago. A part of me was curious as to what had happened to turn him into this man before me.