Moonspell (1) Werewolf Romance

03. Traces

M.

"Where are you going, little doe?"

The voice resonated in the depths of her soul. It sounded like crystal, ice, and eternity.

Shit! Did he see me do something in the previous club?

Mila gazed up to conclude that the rest of him matched the voice. If she had to imagine an angel it would be quite like that man: beautiful and frightening. Even in that dim-lit hallway, his colors were extraordinary. Silver hair was cascading to his shoulders, white skin was shimmering like silk and his eyes were sparkling with mischief in a thousand shades of blue. Everything about him was ambiguous from his demeanor to his features, strong, yet still smooth with a touch of feminity emerging from the curve of his full lips and the majestically elongated lashes, which made him even more beautiful.

He was smiling, revealing perfect teeth, still, the smile was anything but reassuring or inviting. It was like the sun reflecting on snow, mesmerizing but still burning your eyes.

"Dance with me," he said, lifting the hand he grabbed to his lips.

No. No. No. I have to go. Mila's consciousness was screaming, but what she did was... Nothing.

She did not protest when he lead her into the room with the dance floor, nor when he wrapped his arms around her. Her better judgment was oblivious to reason and her body limp in his embrace.

She just looked at him in awe, like you look at a painting or at the rising sun. Silver beads were braided in his almost hip-long hair and the dark blue velvet jacket he was wearing was tight on his slender torso in all the right places. On his neck, Mila noticed a crescent moon pendant, and peaking from under his shirt were the lines of a silver tattoo.

The eccentricity of his look didn't diminish his natural elegance. It was hypnotizing to watch him. All his movements seemed so perfect and all his smiles plainly disarming. He was a walking work of art of frightening perfection.

Where did this very... unusual guy come from?

He pulled her closer, while the first chords of a song resonated in the room.

...before the night is through...
I wanna do bad things with you...

Those strange lyrics sounded like an ironic warning.

His cheek was now on her forehead, awfully close. It was frightening how much she enjoyed his closure.

"Oh goodness, it is more intense than expected, and it might not even have reached its full extent," he whispered into her hair.

"What?" she said, her breath panting slightly.

"Your smell, little doe."

He lifted her chin to look her in the eyes.

"So, so alluring," he whispered, more to himself.

Mila felt hypnotized by him or paralyzed with fear, she was not sure which. Or maybe it was a wild mix in-between.

To her own surprise, she leaned closer.

The hand he was holding was raised slowly to his mouth, and he moved his lips smoothly down the back of her palm. Mila trembled when he traced with his tongue the cut on her finger. A soft moan escaped his throat in tune with her own arousal throttled by fear. Then he bit his own lip until a thin rivulet of blood bloomed on ivory skin and moved it over the cut.

That fleeting moment when his bleeding lip touched her finger felt like a lightning strike. The tingle she felt was spreading through her whole body. Goosebumps built up on her arms and her nipples hardened under the soft fabric of the dress.