an everlasting caress (on hold) (#2)

She Was Dead (5)

Avathara

     She sat up in bed, slapping her hands down on the blankets. She'd had enough!

     Even back with her old pack, she didn't going this long without talking to at least somebody.

     Avathara just couldn't take it anymore and got out of bed. Her scars protested, still sore and barely on the mend. Her determination took control, commanding her to ignore this discomfort. She was quiet as she closed her bedroom door behind her and made her way down the hallway.

     She was terrified and excited. Avathara could sense that he meant no harm, but as she knew very well, all people were capable of terrible things. Her newest instinct to expect the worst from people was not unwarranted. 

     Her breath caught in her throat as she got to the edge of the hall, allowing herself to see what she was afraid was untrue. He was there. 

     He was eating her food. She was forced to cook countless of times for her pack, but this, this was different. This satisfied her. His back was to her as he was seated at the kitchen table. When she recognized the size of him, even as he sat there, she suddenly had the intense desire to run. How did she possibly think she could talk to a creature of his size? 

     Idris stopped. She quieted and knew she had somehow given up her position. Why couldn't she ignore her frustration and remain in the safety of the bedroom?  "I'm sorry," she immediately apologized. "I shouldn't have-"

     "Come." His voice was deep, raspy, yet something about it was very calming, soothing even. 

     She was too scared to refuse and approached as commanded. She kept her eyes cast downward, even as she was dying to see his face. Anyone who was ever trained to become inferior in mind knew this was a part of that training. Never meet the eyes of the superior. Not unless the lesser being desired punishment. She certainly didn't. 

     "Sit."

     She did, right across from him. His feet were nearly by hers as his legs stretched far in front of him. Yes, he was a giant. 

     "Well?" It was obvious what he wanted just by that one simple word.

     Avathara breathed in deeply before finally lifting her eyes upward. She gasped at what she saw. She couldn't help it. So many scars covered his face. Dark brown hair fell over his forehead. It was fluffy and soft looking, without much shine to it. Multiple slashes went through both of his eyebrows, but this could be said for most of his face. Nothing was untouched, not even his eyes. The way the lines went from the his eyebrow bone to down his cheeks gave the impression that he was trying to become a sadistic-looking clown. And his eyes. They must have been brown before. Now? A milky shade, with a curious ring of faint red.

     "What happened?" She was embarrassed that she couldn't contain her own inquiry. 

     He gazed straight into her soul. He was unflinching. Proud even. She admired it. "Whatever it is that you think, I'm sure."

     She tilted her head. "Can you see me?"

     "Depends." Obviously not a man of many words. 

     "On?"

     "What state I am in."

     Her eyes widened and she sprung out of her chair. "Werewolf!" A chill went through her. The last time she dealt with werewolves, they were torturing her, trying their damndest to kill her. She couldn't help but feel that she was standing in front of the largest possible threat. To her? She wasn't sure.