The Autistic Alpha

Chapter 10: The question

Imogen stood, hands crossed above her chest. She didn't bother turning; she just listened. Her ears caught the subtle sound of footsteps as the men made their way out of their hiding spots. She tilted her head to the side, watching the guy in front of her. Her mind raced as she wondered what could make him know so much about her.

"Before we start the party, introduce yourself," she said, her voice sharp.

The guys smiled as they all stepped closer towards her. Each and every step they took was synced. If she weren't fighting for her life, she would have admired their movements more.

"Like I said, it is not time to know yet," the guy said, his voice stern, masking the cold glow of the moonlight.

She rolled up the sleeve of her black jacket. A small, triumphant smile spread across her face. Gritting her teeth, she took another step forward. A low chuckle escaped her—devilish, confident.

"I would appreciate the fact that you know who I really am. That too, you recognise all my combat steps," she said, after a clear understanding of what he had said.

Her thinking was sharp—that of a war goddess. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed that he had understood all her moves from the way he made remarks about her steps alone. To her, it meant only one thing: this person didn't just know her name; he knew everything about her, down to the footsteps she carried in battle. That made him more dangerous.

"Oh…" He took a step forward. "Thank you."

He was quick to save himself from the embarrassment. Shocked from how fast she had figured it out. She shouldn't have known. There was no possible way for her to do so. How did she even come to that conclusion? That was the irony.

"Sharp."

Without warning, a guy swung his hand fast—a strong punch that would break a jaw. With all senses sharp, she turned quickly. Her steps were swift. She gripped his fist. The next second, she crushed his hand tightly within her palm without breaking a sweat.

That was the power she possessed. But the question still lingered: why was she afraid of the dark? Why was she running from unknown creatures when she could just fight and kill?

The guy she had been talking to stared at her in disbelief. It was as if she had evolved from the woman he once knew. Back when he had known her, she might have fought more like someone that needed a sword to break a neck.

"Surprise," Imogen said. "I'm not the same person." She smiled. "Now, will you bother to introduce yourself?"

"Mm, you seem so interested in knowing who I truly am. What if I leave you to ask questions?" He nodded his head.

Instantly, a man behind him lifted his foot. He swung so hard that Imogen had to bend in half just to dodge his move.

Before the guy could think of dropping his leg, Imogen's fist connected to his testicles. He didn't scream; he just fell slowly. So did the other guy—he didn't scream despite the excruciating pain she had inflicted on him. He only fell slowly.

"Why are you all so weak?" she asked, the tone of mockery so evident in her voice that they shielded their faces. "I love how quietly you take the pain. It's so sweet." She breathed. "By the way, do not leave me to question anything. Be direct. You came with your two mini legs, and now you expect to leave me with questions? Hell no." She spread her hands into the air.

"Yeah," he said. "That's understandable." He rolled his eyes.

With each impression or body language, he was giving orders. He wasn't taking it easy. He wanted it hot. And Imogen could only ask why an unknown i***t would want to kill her. She knew nothing about him—not even his name, which she would have appreciated. Despite that, he kept on fighting, about to take her life with everything he had.

The men were almost out. Each of them fell after a painful punch or two. What Imogen questioned was how fast they had fallen without even giving her a waste of energy. These weren't the kind of men she faced at war. The men at war would leave her bruised, and she would be about to die when she got home. At times, she would be too weak to even get home. She had almost died from just a knife piercing her guts. But this time, it was different.

"What are you guys?" she asked, landing a tight punch across his jawline.

The subtle c***k of his bone made the frigid air thicken. Each and every second that passed made her shiver as she wondered what these guys might be.

"Nothing," he said, his voice low. "He would come looking for you. You should probably head back towards that route." He added, his voice low.

Tilting her head, Imogen couldn't turn her back against her enemies. She needed to be sure about their movements before she made any subtle move herself.

"You shouldn't care about me," she said. "Leave."

It was as if they had come for something else. But what could that thing be? She didn't understand.

"You were talking about leaving me with a question. Go ahead."

"What could make your enemy not want to attack the moment they understand something? What did they understand?" he asked.

That was the question. That was what he wanted her to know. But why? They all turned, dragging themselves to their feet. Their steps were slow as they all walked back inside each point from which they had emerged.

Imogen tilted her head to the side as she finally turned. "Not want to attack the moment they understand something," she whispered. "What did they understand?"

Each word felt like a heavy rock—a weight she found hard to wrap her head around. It was easy. Too easy. To top it all, the guy had pointed her way out.

Who was he? What did they understand? Why did they come in the first place? Was she safe from now on?