Scarlett Romero has spent her entire life as an ordinary citizen; going to school, getting a job and definitely not killing people in the middle of the woods on a Friday night.
Until one Friday night, she does.
All she can remember is acting out of...
If I asked you to name All of the things you love, How long would it take for You to name yourself?
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Chapter Seventeen "I Shouldn't Be Allowed to Talk to People"
Scarlett's POV:
Alexander's jaw clenches, throat bobbing in an audible gulp. He eyes the cul-de-sac's exit, as if debating whether he can run away faster than I can stop him. I raise a brow and huff, prowling to him with a glare.
He shuffles uncomfortably, bouncing on his toes and rubbing the back of his neck. If my head wasn't drowning in such a determined, angry mudslide, I would find Alexander's panic funny.
Not only is he large and intimidating to look at, but he can stare down an entire room of criminals without even blinking. He has a prison Governor in a constant state of alarm and can crush a dozen guards like they're bugs between his fingers. But put him in front of an angry woman and he wants to cower against a wall.
"Show me!" I demand, resisting the urge to snap my fingers in his face. He gapes a little, swallowing thickly and looking down at his fingers. He fiddles for a while, picking at the skin beside his nails. Just as my patience threatens to collapse, he sighs.
"You sure?" Alexander exhales heavily, nose flaring and eyes brimming with resignation. "Can't go back once I've shown you."
I ignore his warning, nodding once. He gives me a look, one of anxiety and a desperate need to hide under a bed. I frown slightly; why is he so reluctant to let me see him as a lycanthrope?
I don't have time to question it. Alexander backs up until he's standing barefoot on the dirt covered concrete. His lips purse, and he tucks his hair behind his ears as he murmurs, "Keep your eyes on mine. Don't wander."
I agree without thinking. I'll respect whatever terms he needs to stay comfortable when changing skin; I don't imagine it to be a pleasant experience, especially when someone is watching.
Then his bones start to snap. My eyes widen, and I fight the urge to cover my ears as the cracking and breaking reverberate in the air. It doesn't take long, but there are so many bones that need reshaping, and I find it hard to stop myself from flinching.
Still, I hold his gaze. There's no pain in them, only a strange shine that starts to glow as time passes. Alexander's back hunches and his legs start stretching, clothes ripping to reveal little sprouts of black fur.
This time, I can't keep his gaze. My eyes roam, watching as the fur thickens around his neck. It's longer there, where his natural hair fades to strands of an animalistic black mess of coarse fur.
His ears lengthen, a mixture of pointed elf ears and the fluffy tips of a wolf. The smooth skin of his forehead slopes, and his face contorts familiarly. His nose squares and lips pull back to accommodate razor sharp canines. Spots on his chest and torso refuse to grow fur, giving way to the same criss-crossing of scars on his human skin.
