What is Love, Alpha?

Chapter 12

 

Chapter 12

“No news? Nothing at all valuable?” a pen, deep blue in color to match the ink inside, twirled between each individual pale finger. The hand attached to these fingers, just as white but occasionally interrupted by the pulsing blue of a vein or two, could easily be described as thin but lethal. The owner of such a hand could be described as just the same. He was thin and stocky, perhaps reaching a height of 6'4; 6'5 on certain days. In weight, however, he was a good few pounds over two hundred, over half of this made up of pure steel muscle. It was on this particular subject that his mind rested on currently, despite the shivering informant he had placed before him.

Two hundred and ten pounds exactly, he thought in amusement, watching the pen continue to twirl relentlessly between his fingertips. Thirty percent muscle, twenty percent bones, another thirty in plain mass and the remaining twenty was made up from a dead heart. Surprisingly, the thought made his lip twitch back and a ghostly chuckle to slip from him. A dead heart; that was all he was. A cold, dead heart that refused to feel or pulse; it hadn't for centuries, so why start now?

This idea, as chilling and evil as it sounded, brought a strange bitter warmth that spread throughout him. It was something, and the only thing he ever had that was close to a real warmth. He didn't mind, however; never had. A chilling emptiness was better than an over bearing warmth any day; he'd rather be chilled then suffocated.

So no, the cold, hallow spot that was his insides didn't intrigue or startle him anymore.

What did, however, was the lack of information he was receiving from his men. Rouges, he had scooped to hiring rouges to do his dirty work, supposedly the deadliest in the nation, yet what news had the only surviving mutt brought him?

'It didn't look good,' and 'no weak points were detected.' Or, even better yet, 'it was impossible to break past the Alpha's front line.'

Well, that wouldn't do, that just wouldn't do.

“N-no sir, nothing was discovered.” eyes like red ice raised slowly, a slight quirk appearing just above the left iris. It was a calm, questionable expression; it was one that made the shaggy haired rouge give a mighty shudder. Christian wasn't happy, and when Christian wasn't happy...

“N-no sir,” the dark vampire mocked, his voice rising an octave in a taunting tone. The pen stopped now, caught in the deathly grip of a powerful man barely on the edge. He gave a hard, coughing laugh. “Deadly, they told me you'd be deadly. They told me you'd all be deadly.” his voice didn't raise, and it didn't waver as a sign of barely holding on. It was cool, calm and... making a complete mockery of the sniveling fool before him. “However, they didn't say anything about you all winding up dead.” his eyes dropped now, dropped to the pen he still held firmly in his grip. With a poised smile, he placed it back against the polished wood of his desk.

The atmosphere tensed suddenly then, the rouge with blood still drying on his hands stiffening worriedly. Christians fingers, long ago burned of identifiable finger prints, brushed against the desk. He lightly relished in the feeling, closing the blinds on ruby red eyes momentarily as he took the moment to cherish the contact. It was fragile, fragile but resistant; just how he liked it.

Just how he liked Emily.

“Why is that, do you think?” he quizzed, reopening his eyes and sounding much like a professor curious about why you had chosen such a topic to give a speech on.

“Wh-?”

“Why do you think it is that you failed so miserably?” He slowed his speech this time, giving the poor beast before him time to mentally catch up. A train of thought so demented and twisted as his was hard to catch up with, however.