Capture (Book 1 in the Wolfen Brethren Series)

Devils and Witches

This has been edited but there may still be mistakes 

Neema eyed the tall beastly man with a calm façade, she knew that her earlier behaviour had made him weary of her. She really wished he hadn't seen her acting like that but, such was life. Her treatment of the nurse was minor compared to the absence of her siblings. Maybe it would serve as a warning to him.

Neema's mind ran wild with all the possibilities of what could be happening to them, she knew they wouldn't be tortured like her but what if they had been sent away. Sent to some sick wolf facility that brainwashed children into believing their warped views of life. Gods forbid her siblings wouldn't recognise her by the time she dealt with the bulky man in front of her. She couldn't bare to think of what could have happened to them and that poor little girl.

Her body was so small and frail, there was no way she could have fought off a wolf if they tried to take them from her. What if they decided to take the little girl and breed her? The poor little angel wouldn't be able to survive in this harsh world, not alone.

Clearing her throat, Neema realised that the tall beastly man before her still hadn't answered her question. Instead he just stood by staring at her with a hint of humour in his eyes, as if he found her predicament funny. Neema tried to control the rage she felt building inside her at his mocking. She wanted to bring him to heel but his aura suggested that he was not some weakling who would take demands or her lashing out at him. So she bit her lip and plastered the sincerest and most apologetic look she could muster on her face. She even batted her lashes to show she was not as feral as she seemed. Deep down though her blood was bubbling with the need, the hunger to attack him.

His silence was nerve wracking but she had to be patient.

Neema watched him with her keen eye. Her dad had told her that a quiet person was one who should be treated with caution. In all her 22 years of life she had never imagined that she would ever agree with her father, until this day. She could tell that the dark haired man was a force to be reckoned with, one who did not take prisoners. No, he would crush resistance in the palm of his hands like it was nothing but a nuisance, a pesky fly. Neema could tell he was dangerous. She could tell it in the way the air vibrated around him, with untamed energy. The way his strong arms flexed across his chest and in the way his eyes flickered between that hauntingly hazel colour and furious red.

He stood by the door casually leaning on the frame but his sharp eyes never remained still. The hazel of his eyes shining with a cynical glint, a clear indication of the power he wielded.

His posture said he was bored but his aura screamed violence, carnage... Destruction. She would heed his warning. For now.

His eyes and his aura demanded attention. If one could overlook the two, which Neema was having great difficulty with, you could almost call him handsome. Not in the boyish and clean ways of what her mother referred to as "models" in her tales of the old world. Nor was he masculine in the way of Victus and the hunters in her compound. No he was otherworldly. He was ridiculously tall and imposing, with shoulders like tables and arms just as thick. He reminded her of an untamed bear. His deep chocolate skin glistened with health and warmth, framed by a wildly un-groomed beard. The dark hairs covered his chin, and shrouded most of his face.

Neema found his lips appealing. From what she could see they were thick and wide. Impossibly thick. Lips that were possibly more suited to a woman but did not deduct from his masculinity. Somehow they enhanced it, making him more tempting. From her distance they looked chapped, as if he had been dying of thirst, and he looked at her as if she could quench it.