"I'm a psycho at the bottom of the pack, and you're a warrior built to kill. Isn't it a weird mix?"
He shrugs, a wicked grin plastered to his face.
"I think it's the perfect mix."
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*Completed *
Klepto is a werewolf, an...
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Klepto POV
"You," He said, "are a terribly real thing in a terribly false word, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain."
I stare at the words with a determined focus, glaring at the ink with an unquenched vengeance. My thumb brushes the top corner of the page in thought.
My eyes continue to rake the passage over and over again, I hold the book a little too tightly in my grasp.
Alice in Wonderland is an absolute classic, and a personal favorite of mine, but it's words and messages have never seemed to hit home more than they do now.
The temptation arose to fling the thing across the room, to feel the satisfaction of hearing it thud melodically against the wall. I shove down the thought, knowing that would only draw some undesired attention. That's all I need right now... attention.
I can't stop remembering what happened last night. The bonfire blazing as my pack mates talked and laughed freely, my little brothers jittering about with excessive energy. I had felt happier than I had in a long time, and then it was suddenly ripped away when I spotted him of all people.
His extravagant gaze that was the shade of butterscotch, glowing eerily in the setting sun, and fixated solely on the wicked creature that is Tabitha. I can't describe the overwhelming horror that took hold of me in that moment.
Everything around me seemed frozen and unimportant, as if a hazy lens was forced in front of my eyes. All I could see was my mate and my sister, flirting like no one was watching. I felt completely helpless as I looked on.
The raw image of his hand on her neck, the intimacy of his touch lingering on her upper thigh was forever branded in my memory, and I know I'll be cursed to remember it every single day for rest of my miserable life.
That's why I'm here, alone in my principles, sunk into an old musty chair in the pack library. My only refuge from life is hiding here, knowing that books hold a better, happier version of life.
Sometimes fantasy worlds are much better than reality.
Okay, that's a lie.
They're always better than reality.
My reality is harsh and cruel, and there is no escape except for the intoxicating words of authors than lull me into a false state of peace. It's one of my only comforts.
After a few minutes, the image of Ezra and Tabitha pops back into my head to remind me that everything isn't kittens and rainbows.
