Alessia Stocklin and Ezra Withers are polar opposites, but they can certainly agree on one thing: their mutual hate for each other.
He's an Alpha deadset on killing every rogue he comes across, while she's a vigilante - known as Nightshade - intent...
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After guiding Ezra to our last destination, the pack dining hall, I said a short goodbye and then made a beeline for my bedroom. As I neared the comforts of my bed, a weight lifted off my shoulders, and, for a second, I breathed lighter. However, that serene feeling was fast and fleeting.
Soon, my breath came in and out in frequent spurts — never allowing myself enough time to fully catch my breath. My vision began to fog, leaving me stumbling through the hallway. My hands frantically glided over the walls in an attempt to ground myself. My attempts were useless.
Despite my increasing panic, I was able to maneuver myself into the nearest bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Without much thought, I leaned over the green countertops, forcing my eyes shut. My mind circled around one thought.
I killed someone.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since my jaw ripped through another person's — albeit a Feral's — neck, taking their life in the process. I had never killed before. The closest I ever came to ripping someone's life away before was my attempts on Ezra's life.
Being an Enforcer meant I was not often put in positions where killing would ever be the solution. I liked it that way; ever since most of Meridian was slaughtered, I couldn't fathom murder being a good remedy to any problem. That meant I had never given much thought to what it would be like to take someone's life, even if I longed for Ezra's head on a silver platter.
I shivered, images of me murdering Ezra popping into my mind. Swallowing the bile in my throat, my body recoiled at the thought of killing my mate – no matter who it was.
Like a beacon, it was as if my thoughts summoned Ezra.
"Alessia," Ezra's unmistakable voice muffled behind the bathroom door. I did not answer, my hold on the countertops intensifying. Opening my eyes, I looked at myself in the mirror, breaths still labored. Surprised to see my reflection was not an image from a horror story, I bit my lip, trying to find the right thing to say to get Ezra to go away. Ezra pressed further, asking, "Alessia, what's wrong?"
Before I was given enough time to answer his question, the door to the bathroom opened, and I cursed myself for not locking the door earlier. My stomach twisted in knots, head aimed downward, afraid I'd catch a glimpse of Ezra's concern in the mirror.
"Are you hurt?" He inquired. I shook my head, my shoulders drooping. I tried my best to stand up straighter, hands still firmly latching onto the counter, like it was my anchor point. The heels of my feet teetered back and forth.
Trying to stabilize my breath, I whispered, "I killed someone."
"You've never killed before?" There was a tinge of surprise in Ezra's voice.
"No," my voice grew sharper.
I could feel Ezra move closer — so close I could tell it was almost as if we were touching."Explains why you were so bad at your attempts on my life."
