Forsaken [MxM]

Chapter 4: Caught Red-Handed

^ Ivan ^

Ivan

His spicy scent strengthened, the sound of his footfalls drew closer. My body started to tingle with excitement. My mate entered the kitchen and sat in one of the stools at the counter, a mere few yards from where I stood. It took all the willpower in my body to stay facing the stove and not turn to admire him.

The air had seemed to shift when he entered, an invisible force seemed to be drawing me to him like a metal to a magnet. I poked at the steak sizzling in the pan absentmindedly, trying to calm my raging body.

The memory of holding his hand came to mind, with a suddenness that left me breathless. My palm tingled, as if it too remembered what it felt like. Rough, calloused. Cold, yet warm in a way. It was calming to hold his hand, yet it ignited a storm of emotions in me; ones that had yet to die down.

Holding his hand proved to me that he wasn't a dream, or a hallucination. That he was real, that he was really here, with me. I wanted to touch him, needed to for sanity's sake.

But I had a feeling any attempted to touch him, even something as innocent as holding his hand would set him off in the worst possible ways. I grabbed two plates fron the cabinet, placing them on the counter and putting the steaks on them.

Adding silverware, I turned around and handed him a plate. His hand brushed against mine, and I had to control the shutter that tried to crawl up my spine. I stayed in the kitchen, across the counter from Thorin but not daring to move closer.

For the temptation would be too great. We ate in absolute silence, save for knifes clinking against the glass plates. I kept my head down, but I just couldn't resist the urge to glance up at him. A frown tugged at my lips. His skin was paler than before, it used to be a light pink but now it was almost milky white.

There were dark circles under his eyes as well, giving him a gaunt appearance. Concern swelled in my chest, tension building in my shoulders. "Did you get any sleep earier?"

I asked as I pretended to be occupied with my food. He swallowed, looking up from his plate. His eyes were cold, blank of all emotion it seemed, but something else swirled in their depths. Haunted. That's what they were. Something was troubling him.

"Yes." He replied, curt, before looking away, ending the conversation at that. If you did rest earlier then why do you look like you haven't slept in years?
The question rested on the tip of my tongue but I didn't bother to voice it. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." He half mumbled, picking at his food, and that was the end of all attempts at conversation. The silence following was maddening, you could probably hear a pin drop from across the room. . . then again we are werewolves so we would hear that anyway.

The air was clouded with palpable tension, so thick I could have sworn I choked on it a couple times. When the dinner was gone, plates bare, I took them to the sink to wash later.

"My name is Ivan by the way." He nodded in acknowledgment, eyes never leaving the counter. "This is the part where you tell me your name." He glanced up at me, something close to amusement shining in his eyes briefly before it was gone, the same cold empty look taking its place once more.

"Thorin." I smiled, progress. "Well, Thorin," I said, his name leaving a sweet taste on my tongue, "where are you from?" His body tensed slightly. "Around." Thorin replied vaguely.