Pulse (On Hold)

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

I freeze in Logan’s arms. I close my eyes. I hold my breath. It feels as though every nerve ending in body is alive and buzzing with static fear. My veins are pulsing with energy, my skin is prickling with anticipation and my heart is hammering so loud against my chest I know that he can hear it too.

I’m in grave danger, I know that know. But this adrenaline rush is telling me to act.

“Is something wrong, Emerald?” Logan’s voice is calm and collected, but his stiff body betrays him. He knows I’m terrified. “Look at me,” he commands, but I don’t dare meet his unnerving, ferocious brown eyes just yet.

I feel Logan’s tense arm pull away from my waist and he releases my wrist from his strong grip. He takes my chin between his large fingers and tilts my head backwards so I’m forced to look up at him.

Logan’s face is stern and his smouldering eyes stare at me with so much intensity my heart begins to throb in my throat, practically choking me.

“You’re scared,” he confirms, as he searches my orbs for answers. “But I don’t understand why.” His voice is now filled with worry and something else. Guilt maybe… “I would never hurt you. You know that right?”

‘Yes you would,’ I think dryly, as my mysterious stranger’s unnaturally crimson eyes cloud my mind.

I can still picture with perfect clarity just how bright they looked despite the darkness of the night. They were so beautiful, yet so dangerous at the same time with their subtle flakes of violet. Just like Logan’s brown eyes have traces of now.

I wonder how he changes his eye colour? Would it have anything to do with his mood swings that are giving me whiplash perhaps?

“We’ll meet again in the darkness.” My voice is really low, barely a whisper, but I know he can hear me. He always could. “I know who you are, Logan. You’re the man with the red eyes who attacked me in that alleyway.”

Logan’s hand falls away from my chin and he flinches away from me. I watch in an eerie silence as his body turns to stone, like an impenetrably hard statue. His hands are by his sides in tight fists, knuckles turning white as he squeezes the blood out of them.

His long, dark eyelashes flicker only for a short moment before he closes his eyes. His face is hard, jaw clenched and thick eyebrows knotted. In spite of the anger coursing through his veins he still looks beautiful. Especially with the fairy lights dancing against his pail skin and his midnight black tuxedo.

“How…?” Logan trails off, completely dumbfounded and lost for words.

“What are you?” I ask feebly, as I take one brave step forward and rest my small hands on either side of his face. Begging for him to open up to me.

As soon as our skin makes contact, a sharp, tingling frost passes through me like an electric jolt of ice. I wonder if he can he feel it too?

His eyes remain hidden from view as my index fingers trail along the dark shadows under each lid, and when I whisper his name, those greyish shadows shift to deep blue. They now looked just as bruised as his lips.

“I’m a murderer,” Logan says casually, as if he’s mentioning something as trivial as ‘the sky is blue.’ “I’m a murderer!” This time he yells it, the words swallowed by sheer, heart wrenching agony.

I hear my breath hitch. ‘This can’t be happening,’ I think to myself. ‘How could I have ever fanaticised about a cold hearted killer?’ I’m definitely not a masochist that much I’m sure of.