The Exiled Alpha | ✓

05 | She Hurt You

My eyelids flicker open, just barely enough to recognize the blurred blues, blacks, and whites of the night forest. I immediately notice the burning, sharp pain that's lighting my neck on fire with discomfort. Like there's canines sinking into my flesh and winning a tug-of-war match with gravity.

I'm... being carried? Like a fucking wolf pup?

Cold wind blows against my face, cutting right through my clothes and causing me to shiver.

Blindly I reach my hand out, trying to feel for anything at all. Warm fur tickles my palm, sending a jolt of electricity through my chest.

I remember what I saw. A giant wolf leaping out of the woods, roaring louder than any monster ever could.

A sort of drugged, calm fear comes over me. I don't want to face this thing, whatever the hell it is.

So I close my eyes and let the safety of the darkness seep back in.

• • •

I wake up to a pounding ache in the left side of my skull, right above my temple. My eyes open, which makes the pounding worse. Out of instinct, my hand reaches up to the source of the pain. Instead of oozing blood like I'd expected, I'm surprised to feel the soft gauze of a bandage wrapped securely around my head.

I roll my head to the side to take in my surroundings. Through the trees, in the distance, a bright orange flicker stands out against the night.

The bonfire. I can barely see it through the trees. How did I get out here so far?

Sitting up, I close eyes close tightly as I wait for the spinning to stop and the nausea to pass. When I finally open them again, my heart stalls.

Staring straight at me is a complete stranger. Though strange is far from the word I'd use to describe him.

As soon as my eyes lock with his, all of my senses immediately pulse in unison, shaking me to my core. All my attention is on him and only him. His smell, his looks, and even the pleasant rhythm of his heart in my hyperactive hearing. Or maybe that's just mine beating violently out of my chest.

He's sitting cross legged on the forest floor, leaning forward as if to get a closer look at me. His eyes are a pure obsidian color, and they hold an uncanny resemblance to the glowing red ones I vaguely remember. His messy hair is a brownish copper, which matches the thin layer of clean cut stubble on his perfect jawline.

Even with the small bit of distance between us, it's clear that his build is larger than an average person's. Not to mention three times as muscular.

I can't even try to think straight. He's attractive in a way no one person should be allowed to be.

His fingers flex in and out, the tendons in his wrists popping up along with some veins in his forearms. Judging from the raw power stored in that action alone, it would be ridiculously easy for him to take a life away.

Those hands look like they could bring death in a dozen different brutal ways— and I feel like they have. Yet for some reason, I yearn to reach out and touch them.

The pulsing sensation gets stronger, making my focus on him so heightened that everything else is dull.

My lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead it gets stuck in the front of my mind, lingering at the tip of my tongue.