Luna Lilian; Heart Of The Pack

Chapter 8

-LILIAN-

I stared into his dark sockets, nostalgia slowly eating me up. It was horrible, the horrid feeling that had started growing like vines on an abandoned building.

"The moon goddess has quite a lot on her plate than to listen to a lowly Omega, don't you think?" His deep voice resonated in my ears.

I staggered back, falling off the mattress and onto the floor. I groaned as the pain began to eat me up slowly, taking my back in as a perfect example. He walked towards me, staring down at me with those dark sockets of his.

"Just think about this. There are millions of battles being fought all over the realm. Different packs are trying to get slaves and more territory, and the moon goddess watches and helps those who really supplicate to her. So tell me, why would she listen to you?"

I scoffed, realizing he was one of those men that spoke only logically and didn't even believe in emotions—not like he had any to believe in at first.

"Why didn't you let me down?" I questioned.

"You smiled…" He slammed his hand on the wall, the vibration creating trembles in the wall. "Why did you smile at death?"

I had no memory of smiling at him or after he had stabbed me. The only thing I could think of was the little girl and the memories I could have made if my child hadn't been killed.

"I'm not fazed by death." I heard myself say.

He moved towards me, and I felt it again, the way the air became thin, that sinister feeling that couldn't help but wreck every nerve in my body. His claws were out now, my skin tingling as the signs of danger tripled.

"Are you sure about that?" He bent before me, his claws between us.

He pierced my leg a bit, letting the blood trickle as I groaned. It was scary, the way his hands wandered over my lap, layering small cuts and tracing the blood to his hands. "Are you sure you want to live?"

I felt my heart stop, his face inches away from mine. My blood was all over his palm, staining his black robe a bit. He sneered at the blood on his mask, watching it trickle and making him look much scarier than before.

He grabbed me by the lapels, his other hand grabbing me by the shoulder. My hair stood on end as he lifted me into his arms, his dead sockets staring right at me. My heart raced, its thumping sound loud and audible in the silent room… he could hear it too.

"You still seem useful." He let out a chuckle. I heaved a sigh of relief, trying my very best not to gaze at his muscular physique.

"Why did you tell the little girl that I'm a good wolf?" His voice became deeper and much more stern, like he was furious.

The silence in the room lurked for a minute, but he cut it off by slashing off the chains from the side counter at the other end of the door. He wrapped the chains around his knuckles, turning his head for me to see. I'm the scary look his mask gave out. Did he know what the mask did to me, or did he just love this?

"You saved me then and replaced my organs…" I stuttered. "Only a good wolf can get that done."

"Hahaha," his laugh was evil, filled with nothing but devious intentions that made my head turn. What was he thinking? Did I pronounce something wrong? The questions kept rolling.

He walked towards me, blood trickling down from the chains. "I never replaced your organs. I just had my previous personal maiden's heart transplanted into you."

It felt unclear, his previous personal maiden… He had slashed her organs out.

"You killed them…"

"And I can kill you just like them." He chuckled.

The scent of tobacco wafted through my nose as the flame touched the end of the tobacco pack. He took one in, and it seemed the mask had holes that allowed them to be portable and efficient.

"I am not good; don't ever take me as that. I am ferocious, ruthless, proud, dark, and exceptional. Nice… I can never be nice." He retorted.

"You can…" I felt a hand on my neck, my breath drawn as his muscles tugged at my neck bone. I was choking slowly, and he was increasing his grip on my neck with each passing second.

"Your opinion doesn't count. I decide the definition of nice, and you follow. Anything that doesn't move like that just means you should fit into the grave." He let out.

I was scared, but my lips curved into a smile. My brain kept creating scenes of meeting my unborn fetus in the afterlife, and death suddenly felt like something I could take in.

"You have three hours to rest before work starts. You can't be late." His voice faded in my ears as I slowly became unconscious.

… I held my breath as I scrubbed the black marbled tiles with all my strength. They had all been stained by my blood, uncleaned for what seemed like weeks. This made me wonder how often he killed and why he didn't have just anyone clean his room as the leader.

I was done with three-quarters of his chambers, leaving me at the bedside. It was a king-sized bed like any other, but it had a strange structure with handcuffs, chains, whips, and other silverware metals hanging at apparent edges. They all had the same intricate designs as his sword, which made it easy to realize that they were his tools.

They were also smeared with blood, and the urge to make them all clean filled me up. I wanted to do things without mistakes so I wouldn't have to meet his sockets and the sight of his scary mask that had blood-like designs crafted right down from the socket.

With a groan, I raised my hand to grab the handcuffs for proper cleaning. My hand is inches away from the handcuffs when they suddenly open up, trapping my hand in them.

"Help!"