The Blood Wolves | Vol.3, The Eldenarian Artifacts ✓

16.

The shadows protected Makaela as she and Dorian navigated through the forestry. She had donned her robes again, using the black cloth to camouflage in the darkness. Dorian was leading the way to the hunters' camp, his red eyes wide and alert as he tip-toed across the dirt floor.

Makaela found herself watching him the entire time.

His complexion reminded her of precious ebony sparkling underneath the moonlights glittering rays. Scars and tattoos decorated his sculpted back. Most of the markings were of wolves or the moon or words in an ancient language. A crimson brand—the symbol of the Redfang clan—stood out against his left shoulder blade.

Her gaze shifted downward. A blush crept across her dark cheeks upon realizing his prison jumpsuit was barely more than a loincloth. She wasn't complaining, but she was sure he didn't enjoy being half-naked in the forest.

Or did he? After all, he was a werewolf.

"You're going to need some new clothes," she told him.

He glanced down at himself and shrugged. "Huh. I guess you're right." He continued forward, his nose slightly lifted in the air.

"How far away from their camp are we?"

Dorian stopped at Makaela's question. His eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air. "There are a lot of different scents in the area so it's a little difficult to say." He took one more whiff of the air around them. "The Nightlings have a very potent scene, though. They're about a mile due south of here. I'm guessing that's where the camp is."

Makaela was awe of his keen sense of smell. In fact, she was in awe of him.

He was a beautiful creature with many talents. He was unlike anyone she had ever met. Despite being a member of the most dangerous werewolf clan to ever exist, he was kind and attentive toward her. And the way he looked at her with those scarlet irises filled her head with thoughts that could give a nun a heart attack.

"You know," he said, with his head facing forward, "I can feel you staring at me."

Her cheeks burning, she averted her gaze to her dirt-stained shoes. "No, I wasn't... Why would I be staring at you?" She scoffed at him and scowled. "Get over yourself."

"I was merely making an observation."

"Yeah, yeah."

Now he was starting to remind her of Sebastian. The boy could be so full of himself sometimes.

A scowl morphed into a frown at the thought of him. She quickly pushed him out of her head and continued following Dorian through the forest.

As they went, Makaela's mind lingered on the ambush carried about by the Children of Eden. How had they managed to get so close without Dorian or the Nightlings picking up their scents? And did they find them in the first place?

So many questions, yet no answers.

The face of the man who had cornered her and Dorian invaded her thoughts. Even though she hadn't seen Dorian kill him, she could see his mangled and bloodied body in her head. She shuddered as a chill slithered across her skin.

She glanced at the werewolf ahead of her. While she was happy that she hadn't seen him kill the hunter, she was glad that he did it. It was what they deserved. She wondered what it felt like to watch the life drain from their eyes as they pleaded for their lives underneath the might of a being much stronger than themselves.

When her Nightling was still alive and well within her, she could recall a vague sense of power and superiority whenever she lost control. But she almost never had any recollection of her actions afterward.