Aurora
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"πΉπππ... ππ ππ.."
π¨ππππππ πππππ, πππππ, ππππππππ, ππππππ πππππππ πππ ππππ: "πΎπππ π ππ πππ ππππ π π?" π΄ππππππ ππππππ ππππππ πππ ππππππ . π° ππππ ππ πππππ, πππππππ ππππ, πππππππ ππππππ πππππππ.
βπ΅ππππππππ ππ π±πππππ
βββββ-
Someone is following me.
He's tall, lean, and I've felt his eyes burning into my back ever since I came out of the bathroom. I just... don't know who he is.
He could be one of my brothers' friends, trying to play bodyguard, or one of Dad's people making sure I don't wander too far. It's hard to tell, and we're in a pub outside of our territory, so it's very unlikely to be either of them.
Either way, my stomach keeps tightening, warning me that something isn't right. Lily, bless her, is on her sixth shot and hanging on by a single brain cell.
Her voice is slurry, her pupils glassy, and she's two shots away from passing out faceβfirst into the table. Which means running isn't an option, not unless I want to drag her like a sack of potatoes.
And honestly, she'd probably apologize to the floor on the way down. So I stand, slow and steady, pretending like I'm just going to stretch my legs.
My heart is punching my ribs like it's trying to escape first, but I make sure to keep my face looking perfectly calm. Neutral and serene...Β even if I'm about thirty seconds from breaking into stress-sweat that could drown a toddler.
There are so many questions in my mind. What if he's human? Then this is just a really creepy coincidence, and I can handleΒ a human.
But, if he's supernatural....well, that opens aΒ wholeΒ new catalog of "things that can kill me faster than I can blink," and that list is embarrassingly long.
Slowly, I head toward the private rooms. The hallway is dim and quieter. With each step I take, the sounds of the bar fade behind me and take me deeper into the shadows.
Every hair on my arms rises as I step into the new territory.
The darkness doesn't bother wolves, and if this guy is pack, he'll have no trouble seeing me.. and that could end very, very badly- for me
But something about him, the tall, lean, too much like a swimmer kind of figure, doesn't scream wolf. Though his movements are reallyΒ precise and light like a predator, there are some differences.
Maybe he is a very determined stalker who watched too many detective shows???
Anywho, I don't have time to figure outΒ whatΒ he is. Nor do I have an about what the hell I'm going to do.
I'm a decent fighter, and being alone in a dark room means fewer people between me and either an exit or...you know... a fist to his face, which would give me a decent window for escape.
Whichever happens first.
Everything I have learned through training flashes through my mind as I slip into the dark room and press myself against the wall.
The moment he crosses the doorway, the second he steps inside, I'm swinging hard enough to make his ancestors feel it. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll cut his throat before he realizes I moved.Β Yup, sounds like a plan.
This is the point of no return, the part where I either prove I'm braver than I feel... orΒ I get very dead very fast.
By the time I reach the first door of the private rooms, the fear has transformed. It's still there, sharp and alive, but now it's paired with something stronger: careful, deliberate courage. Slowly, I push the door open and step inside.
The room smells faintly of old wood and spilled whiskey, the scent clinging to the colder air. I force myself to inhale quietly, letting it fill my lungs, and then, without warning, a dark, unbidden thought claws at my nerves. What if this is the last time I ever draw a full breath?
If I die, I'm taking him with me.
I curl my fingers around the paper knife in one hand, the pepper spray in the other. Not exactly the arsenal you'd want against supernatural strangers and definitely not a premium-grade weapon.Β But hey, pain is pain if you aim it in the right place.
I take one last, deliberate breath and lower myself toward the wall, letting my heels press against its rough texture.
Good. At least I'm not giving away my position.
And then I see it. His shadow.
Tall and strong, stretching across the floor. There is a tint of white, almost pale, where the light catches it. Every step it takes feels like a drumbeat against my ribs.
Closer.Β Closer.
I look at the shape of the head, the broad shouldersβ
Something is not right.
His shadow looks different. His shoulders are too wide for someone so lean.
Why on earth does his shadow look bigger than he is?
Β©ππ-πππΎπππ (ππΎππΆ πππππΆππΎ)