A beat of a second passed before he slowly pulled away from me, the suffocating heat withdrawing with him as he straightened up. My eyes lifted to meet his as he released his hold on my knife, and I flicked my wrist, flipping it with ease so my hand...
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It feels so right to be here with you oh
This chapter is dedicated to my readers that have stayed even after five long months. You da real MVP. (Really though, I seriously love all your asses for loving my flaky ass)
Just to warn all of you, this story is 80% different from the previous version of Heath you have probably read so bear in mind 80% of the things that happened in that version won't be remotely appearing in this version, so you can rest assured you won't be reading the same ol' shit one more time. And I can very safely say this book will have a solid plot with no instant love, love triangle (no offence to those who love love triangles but I seriously loathe them), a fucking badass female lead, a male lead who eventually opens up his heart and curses a lot in languages other than English (wink, wink), a lot of punching and stabbing, a search for something very lost for a very long time, and moments where you will feel like throwing your phone out the window and driving you car over it the number of times I kicked your asses with plot twists to space and back.
I just dropped so many major hints lol. This journey will definitely be a more hellish one, and feel free to predict what will happen next (but I doubt yall will be able to figure it out. Ooh, challenge issued. Are yall feeling the heat now? Ready to prove my arrogant ass wrong?)
Also keep in mind there are still rather important things I have yet to reveal, so don't be too quick to judge and jump to conclusions because things don't always turn out to be how they seem.
Light my comment section up if you're excited af because I am.
For the second and last time, let's begin.
Wheeeeeeeeee.
✡ One ✡
If you ever see a wolf, take this knife and drive it through his heart.
I looked down at the knife I was slowly turning over in my hand, my fingers moving with practiced ease. The grip of the handle felt smooth and warm against my palm, the slight depressions that had formed with years of use matching perfectly with the way my fingers wrapped around it.
Every hunter had a favourite knife, and every hunter's favourite knife was like their personalised fingerprint. The faint dents in the handles were one of a kind, unique to their owner. Only one person in the world has the exact strength, length and width of each individual finger to fit into the faint outline of five fingers curling around the handle.
That was why smart hunters didn't bring their favourite knives to kill things they didn't want people to know they killed. That was why I wasn't a smart hunter.
