Gentle Predator
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- Parts 35
Who do you become when you've lost yourself? When the world you know is torn into pieces, is it not easy for someone else to put you back together?
It only took one fall for Alycia's life to spiral out of control. It took only one encounter for her to be flung into a world of hatred, betrayal, revenge, and wolves. Life just isn't what it used to be for her, but she struggles to remember just what that life was. She knew she wasn't like the rest, but didn't remember why. She knew they wanted to kill her, yet never recall the offense.
As she tries to collect the scattered pieces of her memory in an unknown world, she must also try her best to survive and hide from the growls that came from behind the bushes.
*editing*
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#708
lonely
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"She tried so desperately to protect you from me, but you went and brought me to you yourself, didn't you?" My brown eyes were fully engulfed in crimson as they met a pair of peacock-greens I hadn't seen in two centuries. "Well, hello there," I hummed. "Little Alpha King." ---------- Kamaria was once an orphaned she-wolf, the runt of the pack with the sole goal of surviving the nights that left her cold, hollow, and alone. Relief came in the form of peacock-green eyes and a charming smile-a man fated to be hers. She didn't know she was being traded from one prison to another, where even the staggering joy she'd claimed would be ruthlessly ripped away. Two centuries after, fate brought her back to the very place that bled her life of colour. But the scorned she-wolf is gone; in her place stands a Titan, forged in the shards of gods and fueled by decades of trials painted by her own blood. As she rains retribution upon those who had robbed her life of youth, a new shadow emerges. When temptation arrives - dark winged and armed with prismatic eyes always set on her - just how long will Kamaria's walls stay firm before they begin to crumble under his possessive, primeval touch? ---------- "Give me your hands," I commanded softly. She stiffened, her silver hair shimmering as it drowned under golden light. "I'm fine, Cacciatore. I don't need your-" I didn't wait for her to finish. I reached out and took her hands in mine. They were small, honey-toned, and trembling slightly from the fading adrenaline. Across her knuckles were smears of dark, drying blood-Luther's blood. My movements were rigid and practised, yet there was a gentleness in my touch that even I didn't fully understand. "You shouldn't have to carry his filth on your skin," I murmured, my voice a low vibration. Note: Undergoing major edit.
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