Abused And Rejected By The Dark Alpha [18+]

03. The Green-Eyed Stranger

ERIN

He scowled on seeing me, a deep frown that narrowed his brows. I wondered what he was going to do to me now – I just saw him smash a chair with minimal effort.

I quickly rose from my crouched position, getting up on my feet and gulped, swallowing nothing. "H–hello, I just uhm…I got lost." Nervousness gripped my throat, and I just spluttered whatever blabber that came to my lips.

However, to my surprise, he simply scoffed, shrugging his shoulders in unconcern and then he looked away from me. 

    I released a breath I didn't know I was holding when I was free from his intense stare and then I could finally have an inner gush about how beautiful his eyes were.

Sea–green aquamarine eyes, they shone like two emerald crystals yet held attached to their gaze, a sinister appeal. Yet, they were the most gorgeous pair of eyes I had ever seen, adding even more to the mystique of his enigmatic aura.

I figured that I should be leaving now and returning back to the ball, Alpha Axel may have returned by now and I need to relay my message and start heading home.

   But just as I was about to leave, something on the man's hand caught my eye. A splinter of wood.

It was stuck in his palm and I could see it sticking out, blood dripping from the injury as well. Was he not feeling the pain?

I changed my mind, deciding to walk up to where he stood at the middle of perimeter. He turned to face my direction as soon as he heard my footsteps, his scowl deepened even further at my nearing presence.

I got to him, picking up his injured hand. Now that I was closer, I saw that he had busted knuckles too.

They were freshly bruised and stained with blood, definitely indicating that he had either gotten into a fight or punched something hard.

"It's bleeding. You have a splinter." I pointed out and he looked down on it, showing no reaction whatsoever. "Your knuckles are also bruised, did you fight?"

He didn't say anything and instead flicked his hand away from mine. All he did was wipe away the dripping blood with his other palm and went back to smoking.

I furrowed my brows, wondering what kind of stoic person this man was, what his father must've said to upset him so much? What had caused his busted knuckles? And why he didn't even bother to take out the splinter?

I looked up at him, the smoke from his cigarette emitting and quickly fizzling away in the chilling night air.

He seemed present yet so far away, those green eyes of his stared blankly at the night sky, not even paying mind that I was right beside him.

All he did was take in drags of the cigar, puff out the smoke, insert it back between his lips and repeat.
 
I have never smoked before, my father has a strict policy against vices like this that I have to follow.

However, I've always been inquisitive – they say it makes you so high that you can temporarily forget about your problems. How much power does it have?

"Why do you smoke?" I asked. A moment passed and he didn't even make a move, his eyes still remained fixed at the moon.

"To forget about my worries." He answered, his back still turned against me and the first time he had uttered a word since we met.

His words confirmed the popular notion from people about smoking and his voice was low and measured. It was hoarse, like a stone grinding against the floor but in a nice way – those were the only words I could use to describe the flow of his voice.