*First title in the Immortal Series*
"He's the one they tell you never to make a deal with."
After her parents agreed to give her to the infamous immortal, Fate, once she reached a certain age, Zayla has accepted her life as over. But not without a...
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Word Count: 1623
~Zayla
I'm stuck in my spot, staring blatantly at him.
He hasn't noticed me yet, concentrating his gaze out the window. I should have assumed he was some mystical immortal considering it was Fate who sent me. Nevertheless, I'm afraid to make the first step toward him, and introduce myself.
His hair is dark from first glance, but from closer inspection, I can tell not everything is what I first assumed. Along the roots of his hair, and his scalp, I can see a glimmering dusting out gold.
Like Fate, his odd hair sets him apart as more than the usual immortal. This makes this much more difficult. I just have to remember I deal with Fate on a daily basis.
Suddenly, his head moves, and he catches my gaze.
His eyes aren't anything different from mine. A light hazel brown consumed in curiosity and interest. It compliments the subtle amount of gold beneath the dark strands of his hair. It takes my breath away for a moment, as he stands and strolls over to me. He's even taller than I thought he was when I caught him sitting in the booth.
"Zayla, right?" he says lightly. His accent is unfamiliar. It's light and melodic, filled with interesting tones I've never encountered anywhere else before.
"Oh, yes," I say quickly, after a moments too long silence. "Fate sent me."
He nods slowly. Despite his stature and obvious power in immortality, I am not yet intimidated by him. He seems soft and curious. However, I know with immortals that a first impression means nothing. That's what they typically use against you.
"I understand. Come, sit. I already ordered. I hope you don't mind," he tells me, motioning back to the booth he was seated before in.
"Oh no, that's okay," I say warily.
He leads me over to the booth, sliding his hands over the smooth mahogany wood as he sits down on cushioned chairs, upholstered in a sultry red colour. This place is surprisingly intimate, which only makes this situation more unnerving. Only a table separates us, which seems narrower than usual.
"My name is Cian. You have no reason fear me at this moment. I'm here for business," he tells me pointedly, extending his hand.
I swallow, clasping it. "Of course. May I ask why Fate is so interested in you?"
