Hello, dear reader! Thanks so much for dropping by. I just wanted to let you know that this is the very first novel I wrote, which means it's old. As in, over 10 years old. The first couple of chapters have been redone, but the remainder is exactly the way it was written by my teenager self - the first incredibly rough draft. It's a interesting look at the journey my writing has taken, especially once you get into the sequel, Raven's Will. Regardless, this story holds a special place in my heart, and I hope you enjoy it.
Cheers,
Alex
(KurokageJS)
***
The monster sat on his chair like it was a royal throne and he a benevolent ruler. His black gaze glimmered with condescending amusement as if the man standing before him was a young child rather than a grim warrior holding him captive at gunpoint.
The man's grip tightened on the gun, its muzzle shaking slightly as it pressed against his enemy's forehead. His finger twitched against the trigger as every fiber in his being screamed for him to pull it. He wanted nothing more than to end this black spot of a man's existence. His lavender eyes narrowed, a burning hatred bubbling up within . . . yet, he hesitated.
The man in the chair seemed to know this, for his lips curved in cold bemusement. "What's the matter, boy? I thought you wanted to kill me."
The young gunman snarled and shoved his weapon forward. "Oh, you have no idea," he hissed.
A dark brow arched. "Then get on with it. This is becoming rather tedious."
The gunman froze at those words, stunned by the easy dismissal. It was like the gun wasn't even there. It was like he wasn't a threat, but a mere child getting in the way of an adult. A child. Cold rage slammed into him, a low growl forming in his throat.
He was no child. He was Death, and he was going to shove this monster off the cliff and into the pits of fiery oblivion. His finger curled around the trigger, mind and body trembling as he prepared to fulfill his greatest desire. Steadying his arm, he looked into that black gaze and sent the message to his trigger finger. Do it.
The monster smiled.
And the gunman remained still, muscles quivering in tension, gun digging into the enemy's skin. His finger refused to move, refused to do the thing he spent years trying to do. He'd planned and imagined and anticipated and when he'd finally got the opportunity to do it, his finger refused to move.
He sucked in a sharp breath, throat constricting as he suddenly realized something.
Slowly, his muscles relaxed and he lowered the gun to his side. With a stony expression, he turned and stalked away from the monster, ignoring the dark chuckles that arose behind him.
For as much as he wanted to, he couldn't quite bring himself to kill his father.
***
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**
Copyright © 2015 by Alex J Wynter
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
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