❝She kills without second thought.❞
•
Micajah's PoV:
"Ah!" I shout out in pain, unable to hold it in any longer. I clutch my hand to my injured leg and cry out desperately when another blow is landed to my other leg. Tears of pain gather in the cor...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter 11 -"No One Ever Calls Me Micajah."
When I was a kid, I'd once teased Nora relentlessly, when she'd blushed like a tomato at Tim Call's blinding, toothpaste-advertisement-model-like smile, saying that she was crushing on a boy, who was apparently gross at that time. After that, even if she wasn't mad at me, she had refused to meet my eyes for three hours, always averting her gaze and acting all self-conscious.
That is exactly what's happening right now.
Seneca is not mad at me or anything, but I can almost feel her embarrassment whenever our eyes meet, and I so badly want to tell her that 'It's okay, I'm the same as you,' but whenever I make an effort to do so, she makes an escape, leaving me frustrated.
After her grand exit of storming out, my laughter and happiness at her embarrassment had slowly died away, leaving behind a territorial and angry Wolf, who'd wanted—still wants—to smash his fist into Beta Ezra's face. But I'd controlled him with Herculean effort, and had quelled the urge to beat Beta Ezra by trying my damnest to beat him at training. I'd gotten a sparse three punches, but otherwise, Beta Ezra's defense and offense guard is impossible to penetrate, and it just gives me more fire to fight against him.
After the two hour mark, at 7:00 am, we'd decided to wrap it up and that's when Beta Ezra had left his pride on the floor to come forward and apologize.
"I did that to make you angry and that was the only reason behind it, you know that, right? 'Coz, I definitely don't see Seneca that way, and—Eugh! She's like my sister, man!" He'd had the gall to look repulsed by the idea.
"So, you go around kissing sisters?" I'd asked, raising a brow haughtily.
"C'mon, Aleph! You do know that if I hadn't done that, you would be still stuttering to me and refusing to throw a decent punch!" He'd exclaimed defensively, glaring down his blue eyes.
That'd made me hesitate and with a jerk, I'd realized that I hadn't once stuttered during the rest of training. I'd felt so proud of my self and despite the lingering anger, my chest had expanded with inexplicable gratitude, for helping me do what I couldn't do in the 18 years of my life.
Yes, I'm eighteen. Long story.
I'd paused and nodded at him, showing him my thankfulness. "You're right. I'm thankful, but my Wolf is still on the edge. Please don't push it too much."
He'd smiled so bright, for a second I'd been completely stupefied. Is this the same person I met five days ago? I'd thought and bade him a goodbye, retreating to my room.
Two days later, On the breakfast table on Monday morning, Seneca is absent and yet to speak a full sentence to me.
Finally, when I'm about to finish my omelets, Beta Ezra comes in, dragging a disgruntled Seneca by the arm.
