❝She kills without second thought.❞
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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...
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Chapter 17 - "What Are You Sorry For?"
I don't know how long I'm sitting here.
I just know that it has been quite a while.
I sigh heavily and stand up, flexing my protesting joints.
Crack, crack, crack.
I stretch my arms once again and fist my fingers, trying to get rid of the kinks. I glance at the slightly open black door a few feet away, contemplating whether to go in or not.
'Please go, I want to check if Mate is okay,' My Wolf begs, catching me completely off-guard. That's because, my Wolf never pleads. He's always been a little rude and bold, yelling at me and forcing me to do things if I resist. I nod mentally to him and slowly walk back to the room, not having an idea of what to expect.
When I reach the threshold, I push the open door a little wider, trying to give me enough space to sneak a peek.
Oh.
The two of them are fast asleep on the huge bed, and Beta Ezra's light snores fill the room. Seneca is sleeping with her head close to the headboard, on the right corner of the bed. Beta Ezra is sleeping with his legs facing the headboard — that is, they're sleeping head-to-toe — on the left corner.
There is about a feet distance between them.
Phew.
Since this might be the last time I ever get to be here — who knows when Seneca will allow me to come here when she's awake — I take this opportunity to get a good look at my Mate's room.
The walls are a pristine white, with the one against which the bed has been pushed to being painted in swirly designs of black. The study table tucked into the corner, the expensive-looking leather couches with the small glass table beside them, the dresser and the closet are all black.
Different shades of black.
But even if the room is decorated enough, something's lacking in it.
The same something that wasn't there in the blue designed bedroom I was given.
A personal touch.
It looks like a decorator or a planner of sorts had done it, and had forgotten to ask the tastes and preferences of the person who's going to live in it. There are no picture frames, no dresses or things thrown anywhere, nothing in this room looks like someone uses it.
