Alpha Noah ✔️

Chapter Thirty Three

Word Count: 1827

~Abella

The moment I see him, I know it's him.

All the memories I lost from the moment I died flooded back to me. Not to mention the other night, where he came into my room and marked me with that demon mark. He is just as frightening, and not because of his impressive stature. The way he looks at me casts a shadow of fear within me, especially knowing he is the one who killed me.

"What are you doing here?" Noah questions, putting himself between Stace and I. Whoever Stace is, immortal or not, doesn't seem at all bothered by an Alpha's demand. Instead, he's focused on my leg, which is outstretched in front of me, blood still pouring out through my jeans.

"Get out of my way," Stace demands, brushing past Noah with ease. I can see the concern on his face, but no one in this room is about to question Stace.

Neither of us really knows what he is.

He looks...normal, to a degree. His hair appears brown, curled slightly, his eyes darker than pure obsidian. But up his neck, stopping at his jawline, are sworls of strange, foreign tattoos, black from a distance, until he comes closer, and in the light, I see a violet hint. I'm not sure how that's possible, either his choice, or magic. Either way, I've never seen anything like it.

"You need to remove your pants so I can get access to your skin," he says, kneeling down in front of me. His fingers reach up to the leg of my pants, but he doesn't touch me. His gloves are a dark velvet, leading up to a black jacket that hides the rest of him away from my view.

I glower at him, despite the pain, despite how confused I am about everything, I can't help but feel one overwhelming feeling.

Anger.

"You did this to me. You did this to me and you come in here trying to get me to take my pants off. I don't even know you, or what you want with me," I growl. I have so much more to say to him, but I can't get it out. Just saying those words left me breathless, arching my back as pain lances through me. Never have I felt pain this overwhelming.

"I'm trying to help you," he mutters. He sounds bored, tired even, as if he has better places to be than here, dealing with me. His accent sounds foregin, too, like something I swear I've heard before, but in a dream. It's deep, rough around the edges.

Noah watches, face pale, expression impassive. He isn't interfering, almost like he is seized with panic, or maybe because he knows something I didn't.

"I'm not taking my pants off for a stranger," I snap.

A breath loosens from Stace's mouth, before he reaches up, grabbing at the fabric of my pants, ripping it away. It exposes nothing but one leg, but I'm mortified, the pain too much for me to move away from him. Pulling off his gloves, he places his bare fingertips just below the wound. I want to scream at him to pull away, to get himself off me, until the pain suddenly starts to ebb away.

I watch a purple glow spread from his fingers, appearing under my skin before it disappears into the wound. I want to gag, to pull away, but the immediate feeling of relief that consumes me has me leaning more into his touch. In less than a few seconds, the wound begins closing up, the blood vanishing, leaving nothing but a thin scar along my skin.

A reminder of what just happened that will never leave me.

Collapsing back onto the bed, I relax all my limbs, feeling the adrenaline pump through me. As it slowly goes a way, I come to terms with what just happened. I've lost all energy to curse at him, to even inquire into who he is. I just want to sleep upon these covers.