🐲🐉A Howl in The night🐲🐉
🌹(She’s mine) 🌹
🌼Authoress Gift 🌼
🍀Chapter 2🍀
Introduced To An Incredibly h0t Psycho Man 🔥(He on fire) 🔥
~ Mona ~
I woke up , my eyes fluttering as they focus to the brightness surrounding me. All I can see is a single blob hovering above me, a blur of colors fli-pping and weaving, twisting and turning.
“Are you awake?” a beautiful, musical voice rips throu-gh the void I am suspended in, bringing me to the pres£nt with a thud. Everything suddenly shifts into focus, the blurred edges sharpening into easily distinguished images.
Am I dreaming?
A spectacularly handsome man stares at me, his startling green eyes disconcerting me with their brightness. I feel myself get lost in them, examining their wondrous beauty, tra-pped in their spectacular gaze.
His skin is tan and muscled, his arms bulging, his hands strong and firm. Wearing a t-shi-t and cargo shorts, he is dressed casually, yet he has an elegance that can’t be explained.
Straight and long, his hair cuts off around his jawbone, framing his face with pride. Layers are all over the place, short wisps accompanied by long strands, carelessly tousled. The ban-gs make me subconsciously want to push them aside so I can gaze evermore into his eyes with no distractions.
The strangest thing about his hair, though, is that it is blue. A royal blue, even, that shines in the sunlight. But the hair suits him, complimenting his lightly tanned skin and emerald eyes.
“Hello?” he asks again, his voice soothing to my ears. I blink once, trying to adjust to the incredible handsomeness before me. A man this beautiful has never been within five feet of me before.
Finally examining myself, I notice that my leg is not bleeding anymore, covered with a thick bandage. My shoulder is covered likewise.
I am laying on a soft, plushy divan. The floor is of pure marble, a de-ep black with hints of white trying to squee-ze its way into the tile. A hvge chandelier, crystals dancing generously just below its metal lim-bs, hangs delicately on a thin, gray wire in the center of the chamber. There is an impressive array of books, a gigantic bookcase stretching from wall to wall.
But, of course, all my attention focuses on the man.
He chuckles as I scan his face yet again, taking in his perfection, looking at masculine features that, at my school, I used to only be able to observe from afar.
I cough once, attempting to croak some words out of my mouth. “Shh,” he whispers, holding his hand over my mouth, “your throat is probably dry. Let me get you some water first.” His hand feels so comfortable, and I feel, somehow, saddened when he re-leases it from my face.
As he travels over to a stainless steel sink, I am unable to find a single emotion conveyed in his saunter. He seems to glide, walking in a way that’s almost impossible to describe.
That is only one of the strange things I notice about him.
Another thing that perks my curiosity is his eyes. When I skimmed over it before, I hadn’t noticed the reflection of the light upon his pupils.
Now, as I more carefully observe, I realize there is no reflection. The light doesn’t bounce off his eye, but rather, sinks into it. It is ba-rely noticeable, even by me, the queen of scrutiny, but I now can see the difference. The bright, emerald green seems to snatch the light and displ@yit in his irises, his pupils a de-ep black in comparison. When I look at them, and he returns my gaze, my form is not visible in his pupil.
He brings a cool glas-s of crystal clear water to myl-ips, gently pouring it into my mouth. “Can you speak?” he probe-d.
“Yes,” I ba-rely whisper.
“Okay, good,” he smiles brightly.
I suddenly find it ha-rd to speak. “T-thanks for s-saving me,” I stutter. He lets loose a musical laugh, the most beautiful one I’ve ever heard.
“It was a plea-sure.”
I feel self-conscious; suddenly disconcerted by the way he is scanning my face, my b©dy. I start to feel nervousness when I meet his gaze, even one glance at his beautiful, appraising eyes causing bu-tterflies in my stomach. The nee-d arises to avoid this strange, alien behavior towards me, to return to the orphanage and work on that science project I didn’t do earlier because I thought I would die today.
I quic-kly sit up, my back reposed on the fluffy pillows, and then I attempt to swing my legs over the side. Before I succeed in depositing my feet on the floor, though, he catches my legs and deposits them back on the divan, the hint of a smile in the corner of hisl-ips. I feel a tingle of a delight as he t©uçhes them, his f!ngerslingering a little before pu-lling away. “Just what do you think you are doing?” he demands, rather laughingly.
“Leaving.” I decide to tell him the truth. “Thanks again for the help.”
His eyes wi-den, “But you can’t just leave! We have to find out more about each other! I don’t even know your name.”
He is so different from any guy I’ve met. He actually seems like he wants to know more about me. His gaze tugs at mine, his expression of disappointment. If I didn’t know better… I’d say that he likes me, or at least my appearance.
But, the thing is, I know better. Being liked is a privilege reserved for prettier people than me.
I shoot up so quic-kly my movement is almost a blur, ignoring the pain that my motions are invoking within my injuries. The joke is over. “Well, sorry. I’m leaving,” I say sharply. Why does my rudeness have to flare up at a time like this? I really nee-d to work on my social skills. He did save my life, after all.
I guess his behavior is scaring me. The way he is earnestly looking at me, with so much devotion, is rather unsettling and strange. It is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and, honestly, I have never been so afraid in my life.
I start walking to the door, my slightly damp red hair waving in the light breeze. Maybe this is all just a dream. Maybe in a matter of minutes I will wake up to find that the man is only a figment of my imagination.
“plea-se st©p!” I hear his relaxing, hypnotizing voice, but I manage to shake his command from my mind. He can’t coerce me into continuing on with this joke any longer. Obviously he is just toying with me by pretending to be attra-cted, in order to get a good laugh out of his friends later. However, as I continue to walk, there is a blur, and then…
He is standing right in front of me, blocking the door.
How did he do that? He had been standing more than ten feet away from me before.
I become like a sheep that has been backed into a corner. “What are you? What do you want from me?” I beg, my eyes drilling throu-gh his, pleading earnestly.
His eyes flash at my comment, then, strangely, he wears a resigned expression. “Come, sit down while I explain.”
He leads me back over to the divan, and I cautiously sit down upon it. I have to admit, no matter how creepy this feels, I am shamefully happy to spend a few more seconds gazing at his enticing face. However, I try not to show it, instead displa-ying a dubious frown.
He takes a de-ep breath, and then speaks. “My name is Xavier, and I am what you would call a werewolf.”
Shock and incredulity run throu-gh my mind, freezing me to the bone. Oh, what a pity, I think sadly, this incredibly h0t guy, the only one that’s ever talked to me, is a weirdo. I can tell he believes his outlandish claims too. His eyes are trying to catch my gaze, a hopeful expression displa-yed in them.
“Werewolves don’t exist,” I tell him slowly, as if he is a kindergartener. I know he doesn’t deserve my disdain, but… really?
“Are you saying I don’t exist?” he asks, irritated. I can’t help but notice how cute he is when he is vexed, and I wonder if I really want to wake up from this dream.
“No, although you might nee-d to go talk to a counselor or something about some mental problems,” I automatically snap, then immediately wish to take back my harsh words. For me, insults are default, almost encouraged by people’s equally disdaining response.
He seems frustrated now, a tiny pout on his plumpl-ips, streaks of his blue hair falling into his eyes. The strange thing is, he doesn’t seem to be angry or even annoyed by me, but by himself. What kind of guy is he? He is proving almost everything that I thought was true about every guy wrong.
“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you,” he mutters quietly. His eyes fly shut, hisl-ips pursed in concentration. He seems to be focusing on something, something I can’t possibly detect.
“There is no way you can prove to me that-”
I am interrupted by his sudden transfiguration, staring in shock and amazement as the handsome man suddenly melts, his head tumbling into his b©dy. It is like a waterfall, the way his b©dy just crumbles into itself. However, there is a shimmer of light before he becomes a puddle on the floor, his-b©dy-liquid-I-don’t-really-know ma-king a shape. Another millisecond and he is that shape.
A colossal wolf with sharp white teeth and dark eyes that matches his pupils.
I jump back in horror. Nothing I had re-ad or seen about werewolves had prepared me for this.
It barks once, a de-ep sound that reminds me r0ûghly of his baritone laugh, his shaggy fur a creamy light brown color that matches his skin. He, like his human counterp@rt, is absolutely beautiful. My breath is taken away as I examine him and his hvge, graceful form. What absolutely astonishes me, most of all, is his authoritative aura, demanding respect even from me.
Similar to the previous morphing, he suddenly crumbles, falling towards the ground speedily. There is a flash of light, and he becomes the incredibly h0t man he was before.
Scared, I take a step back, not watching where I am going. Xavier, no matter how beautiful, seems ethereal. Somehow, my br@in refuses to believe that werewolves exist, and even though now I am given proof, it still is a lot to take in. It is almost too much for me to accept, no matter how true it is.
My feet sl!pout from un-der me as I collide with a ha-rd , firm object. I feel the floor rush to meet me, my arms flaying about, trying to catch my balance.
A pair of strong, firm hands reach beneath me, propelling me back into my standing position. They feel warm, re-leasing shocks throu-gh my b©dy. I am definitely aware of his pres£nce.
“plea-se believe me,” he takes his hands away from my back, coldness now flooding to the previously warm sp©t where his hand had been.
“I… I..” I mumbled softly, disconcerted by his close proximity, yet shivering from the abs£nce of his big, toasty warm hands. He seems to s-en-se that, leaning in and gr-abbing my right hand, heat spre-ading like wildfire throu-ghout my b©dy.
Nervousness takes me over and I yank my slender hand away. His eyes wi-den in surprise as I shove them in my pockets. “You don’t want me to t©uçh you?” he inquired curiously, “You don’t trust me?”
Yes, I want you to t©uçh me. Yes, I trust you. Although I have no idea why.
“I don’t know you. Why would I?” I carelessly throw at him. He blinks once, almost from surprise rather than irritation. Bafflement is etched into his features, as if he is actually confused at the thought that I don’t.
I begin to get angry at myself. Why do I have to be so bitter?
“Okay, I’ll wait then,” he grins faintly. Other than his slightly diminished smile, he seems undeterred, though, continuing almost as energetic as before.
Is this guy for real?
“Well, you might as well give up now then or else you’ll be waiting forever,” I look away, letting the harsh words leave myl-ips.
“Don’t worry; I am prepared to wait forever. I have all the time in the world,” he says softly, his words startling me.
Of course. How can I forget? He isn’t even a human.
“I think you forget that I will die in about seventy five years. I don’t have forever,” I murmur, my voice picked up by his s-en-sitive ears. Silence stretches between us as the seconds tick by. I feel uncomfortable, trying to look anywhere but him.
He laughs again, a sound that starts to to melt my heart. “I think you un-derestimate me, Mona.”
Whoa. Wait a second.
“How do you know my name?” I furiously demand. He wi-nks at me in response, waving my school ID before my eyes. Narrowing my eyes, I hold out my hand towards him. “Give it back.”
“Should I?” He teases, sparking my anger. I launch myself at him, and he smiles wickedly. “Oh, well this is getting interesting.”
It only takes a few seconds of violently gr-abbing at thin air before I realize I am not going to get my ID back by f0rç£. He is moving his arms so quic-kly that its impossible to even t©uçh him. Rolling my eyes in resignation, I lean back and fall against the divan.
“Are you ever planning on giving it back?”
“Sure. Someday. I’m rather fond of this picture of you.” He looks at it again, and my mind flashes back to the time when that picture was taken. It was about six months ago, and also the day when I lost my glas-ses yet again, leaving me half blind and unable to even tie my shoes, let alone comb my hair. I had even worn my shi-t inside out. It was awful.
I now realize he truly has been ma-king fun of me.
I say nothing, my eyes returning to him. I subconsciously focus on how the sunlight seems to catch on his azure hair and sparkle, ma-king his whole head look like it is sprinkled with stardust. He doesn’t wait for me to speak. “But anyway… I doubt it will take you long to fall in love with me.”
“How come, wolfboy?” I look at him, astounded at his pompousness and how honest he looks while saying those words.
“My charm is so overwhelming.” He fli-ps his hair and flashes me a bright, astounding smile. I am almost blinded by its beauty. “How could you not?”
“How could I, you arrogant br@t?!” I respond b!tt!gly, “I prefer a trait in men that you don’t possess—humility.” And a br@in, of course.
“I was joking,” he defends himself, “come on Mona, you know that! I’m not like any boy you have met before. I would sacrifice anything, even my life, for you. I know that’s a strange statement to make, but I genuinely feel that way. Every werewolf feels like this towards his or her mate. You can trust me-”
“What was that you just said?” I ask dangerously, interrupting his rant. I can’t believe my ears, my eyes narrowing. He did not just say that…
“You’re… my mate,” he says hesitantly, pausing slightly before he continues, “If you weren’t my mate, I would have killed you in the forest. I’m usually not very kind to trespas-sers that stumble our way.” After a short span of shocked silence, he gr-abs my hands and squee-zes them. “I’m all yours,” he whispers, staring de-eply in my eyes with an unfathomable intensity.
I laugh at the way he mentions it so lightly. He tells me that I’m his “mate”, bound to him for life (or afterlife), and he expects me to just take it in? To immediately obey his request?
I can see the seriousness and fear in his beautiful green eyes, silently pleading with me to un-derstand.
I’m amazed the most at the fact that he expects me to take him seriously. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just wants the satisfaction of having me fall for his wily tricks. I have to say, he is a marvelous liar.
Anger overwhelms me, my heartbeat rising. Why don’t I get a choice on whether to be his mate? Is he so superior that he can’t give me the option to be free?
“Uh, well, um…” I inch towards the door, edging to the exit that will free me from this nightmare. My red hair falls into my face, my hands shaking. Xavier smiles as the phone begins to ring, causing my stomach to unwillingly fl!pflop.
“Excuse me while I take this call,” he says quic-kly, retreating from my sight. I hear the pounding of footsteps, then nothing. I sigh in relief. The coast is clear.
Oh wonderful phone, you are my savior.
I run towards the door, flinging it open and rushing out into the considerably lightened rainfall. The light mist sprinkles on my nose, dancing around my toes as I slosh throu-gh the muddy dirt, my ba-re feet dyed brown. My red hair is loose and wavy, flying as a blast of cold wind f0rç£s it far behind me. I carry my flats in my hands, sticking my ton-gue out carelessly to catch a drop of the water that falls from the sky.
Freedom is at hand.
***
BEEP! BEEP!
I sl@p the bu-tton on the alarm clock, trying to st©p its irritating wails. I am lying in my be-d, my fluffy stuffed animals surrounding my heavily buried form. I have many of them, a whole collection from my childhood, which I can’t bear to get rid of. Gold tones flood throu-gh my small windows, illuminating my face as I sit up into the glaring sunlight. Just beyond the glas-s lays a beautiful milieu of crisp, green gras-s, crystal clear lake water, and tall trees. Puffy clouds hang in the blue sky, birds cruising across the horizon.
I wearily drag myself from the covers, my feet causing a thump as they collide with the floor. Stumbling over to my dresser, I carelessly gr-ab a t-shi-t and a pair of jeans, sliding it over my form. My spare pair of glas-ses, the other lost in the storm, squeak as I slide it onto my nose. I, by chance, catch a glance of my b©dy in the mirror, and g@sp.
A hvge, black-and-blue bruise sprawls across my left shoulder, extreme redness surrounding it. Another one, though not quite so major, decorates my knee, bringing back painfully stark memories from the previous night. It isn’t only a dream.
I really did meet a handsome crazy man last night who saved me from certain death.
I can still remember his perfect face, his startling green eyes, and his uniqueness I did not un-derstand. Even thinking of him s£nds tingles throu-gh my b©dy, alertness flooding throu-gh me. How can a brief memory affect me so much?
I shuffle to the door, looking out along the hallway. Rows of doors greet me, stuffiness overtaking my s-en-ses. A repugnant stench makes my nose wrinkle in disgust, but not surprise. It always smells like this. The other kids all got used to it, but I never did.
From the very beginning, my ninth birthday spanning until the pres£nt, I have felt like I didn’t belong. Almost… like my parents were not fated to die, that I was meant to be by their side even now. It was just a feeling, in the pit of my stomach, that something was terribly wrong. The other kids, as I grew up, seemed to un-derstand that also, gladly treating me like I didn’t belong. At first, I was a pretty nice kid. I wanted more friends. I wanted to pl@yin their games. I wanted Ms. Penn to treat me just like everyone else. And, most of all, I wanted desperately to laugh. To smile.
But I soon gave up on that fantasy.
I soon gave in to the other kids’ coldness, turning into a ha-rd shell that was sharp, bitter, and tough. I didn’t nee-d anyb©dy. I didn’t want anyb©dy.
I was above them all.
I would stay in my room for hours and hours, studying and re-ading, ma-king myself smarter and even more above the crowd. Now, to accompany my newfound pompousness, I had the smarts to encourage it.
And these long years, full of awful puberty and other struggles, did nothing to change that.
I check my old and slightly tattered watch, g@sping as I realize that it is almost time for school. It begins at 8:00 AM, and it is 7:40. No wonder all the other orphans are gone, the only noise being the whistle of the wind. What the cra-p was wrong with my alarm clock to wake me up so late?
I am in so much trouble.
The wind floods throu-gh my hair as I race down the stairs. I blast past Ms. Penn, our supervisor. She raises her eyebrows as I quic-kly snatch my backpack. “Mona!” she calls after me, her voice shrill and commanding, “After school you will be punished!”
“I’m sorry!” I exclaim. I couldn’t help that I went to be-d at two o’clock the last night! I mutter angry retorts, too low for Ms. Penn to notice.
I stumble to the kitchen, gr-abbing a small pop tart, stuffing it in my mouth as quic-kly as I can. Ms. Penn glares at me as I hurriedly down a glas-s of water, my frenzied gulps echoing in the room. “Don’t you think,” she snaps in a dangerous whisper, “it MIGHT be too late for breakfast?”
The evil, fire breathing dragon is furious now. It might do me some good to leave.
I gr-ab my shoes; white sandals that just happen to be the only pair of shoes I have. They are old and worn, flowers dancing along the sides, a size too small for comfort. I shove my feet into them, ma-king the stra-ps loos£n as far as possible, my toes falling off the sole. They look horrendous on me, but that is to be expected. I am a poor, impoverished orphan girl with no family. I don’t have a home to go to.
There is a sudden knock on the old, wooden door, the sound reverberating around the orphanage. I glance around quic-kly. Ms. Penn is nowhere to be found, probably in her office to write me up for another cleaning duty. I walk to the shaken door, where even one polite knock can hurt the worn wood immensely.
A mirror hangs precariously on a single nail, right by where I am standing. I examine myself once again, taking in my ratty red hair, matted and tangled, that I usually pu-ll back into a frenzied ponytail. My nose, crooked as always, juts out slightly, an annoying feature I absolutely hate. My slightly curvy b©dy hides un-der some of the only clothes I own, a baggy t-shi-t and loose jeans, letting no one know I even have a figure. Even if I wear skin-ti-ght clothing, I am so short that guys would have to stoop to see my shape. Myl-ips and complexion? Nothing special.
My eyes are the only things I like about myself at all, and even they are not spectacular compared to that god-like man I saw last night. I am the least desirable girl at school, and for good reason. I don’t even show what little I do have, hiding my eyes behind thick glas-ses and burying my kindness un-der arrogance.
I grasp the metal doorknob with my f!ngers, twisting it, and then pu-ll it open quic-kly. My eyes wi-den in surprise, my form still, frozen with shock.
“Hey Mona,” a de-ep, masculine voice whispers to the wind, weaving its way towards my ears.
Tbc
🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴
Oops u can’t run away from ur destiny, can u?