My King
1187 Words
"What happened?" I asked. I was confused as well; I did not know what he was talking about. I could only hope this was not some form of trick to make me loose my guide and he would lung in.
I stood on alert.
For once, he looked at me. "Nothing."
Clearly, he was lying.
His breathing had evened out.
Just seconds ago, he was taking painful, laborious breaths; now he was almost breathing normally. It’s either this is the truth or he is a trickster and a thief. I do not have any valuables on me; if he sees that, wouldn’t he kill me?
My eyes opened widely at the realization. I took a deeper look at him and it seemed the former was the case and if so, could he really breathe normally after taking painful, labored breaths a few minutes ago…
I shook my head; I couldn't comprehend it.
Judging by his gaze, it appeared that he couldn't either; his expression showed so.
He moved back toward the fireplace and sank down into the chair. This time, he did not look at me. We both were silent.
The silence stretched again between us. I stayed where I was, holding the poker near the bed. My arms were tired from holding it for so many minutes, but I would not release my grip.
He started talking after several more minutes. "You can put it down."
"No."
"I won't hurt you."
“You don’t expect me to believe that.”
“I don’t really care what you believe.”
There was something about his conceited attitude that annoyed me. “I don’t even know your name.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Well, I do, seeing as how we’re both stuck in this cabin together.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “Stuck?” He motioned to the door. “You are free to go.”
Thunder roared suddenly. The rain outside had started pouring even harder than before. I gazed towards the window. The wind whipped the trees until their branches brushed the ground.
It would be impossible to leave now, he knew.
He saw that I was hesitating. “I thought so.”
I frowned. “I never said I was leaving.”
“You were thinking about it.”
I despised the fact that he was right. I tried to shift the focus of conversation by glancing back at the bloodstain on his shirt. “You should clean that.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It sure as hell looks like it’s nothing.”
“It’s not your concern.”
I was starting to get tired of his responses. “Nothing is my concern anymore around you.”
“And still you go on asking.”
I crossed my arms. “I have been brought up to feel concerned about the person who is injured.”
For the first time, there was something softening in his face. But only for an instant.
After that, everything changed back again.
“That makes one of us.” His voice felt heavy between us.
There was something in those words, some kind of loneliness, which felt familiar because it came from suffering too much. Despite myself, I moved closer to the table on which James had set down the tiny waterskin.
“I may not be a healer,” I whispered, “but at least clean the wound.”
He did not say a word.
I filled a bit of water into the bowl I found earlier and set it down on the table. “There.”
He didn’t move.
“I told you it’s not necessary.”
“You also told me you’re not in pain.”
His jaw clenched. “You do not know what my pain is like.”
“No.” I looked away. “I guess I don’t.” He also does not know what my pain looks like; he doesn’t know that I am also in pain. His pain is physical, but that does not mean my emotional pain isn’t there.
I looked away while neither of us uttered another word. Outside, the rain pattered on the roof. Inside, firelight shone through the walls. Finally, he rose. In silence, he walked towards the table.
Maybe because I had managed to convince him.
More likely he just wanted me to shut up.
He raised his sleeve.
And I quickly averted my gaze. It wasn’t the scar that made me look twice. It was the odd-looking dark veins spreading under his skin. Moving from his wrist to his elbow as though they were dark roots lying underground.
I had never seen anything like that. But before I realized it, I was saying, “What happened to your arm?”
He lowered his sleeve at once. “Nothing.”
“That doesn’t seem like nothing; it seems like something.”
“And that something does not concern you.”
Typical.
Always the same old answer.
I gave a quiet sigh. “You really hate people asking questions?”
“No.”
“And you really hate answering them too?”
“No.”
Despite all that, a faint smile almost formed on my lips.
He saw it. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You are a bad liar.”
I blinked. Hadn’t he used those same words a while ago? Before I managed to say anything, his expression changed.
All of a sudden.
He tensed up.
His breathing once more became uneven. A groan of pain escaped him, and he swallowed it back. He held onto the edge of the table so hard that the wood cracked under his fingers.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look anything but fine.”
“I said…” He stopped mid-sentence, then widened his eyes.
Very slowly,
He turned to look at me.
It dawned on me that while I was speaking, I had moved closer to him.
Close enough that there was nothing but a table left between us.
He stared at me, then at his own hands.
His breathing.
It had calmed again.
The pain had subsided.
His golden eyes looked back into mine, full of disbelief. “What…” he asked quietly.
“I…” I frowned. “What is it?”
He still stared at me, like something miraculous had happened. But then came the thud of loud footsteps approaching the wooden porch. His whole disposition changed.
His eyes turned cold, alert, and dangerous. He opened the cabin door, and Beta James rushed in, rain pouring off his dark cloak.
At first sight of him standing next to me, the stranger instinctively moved to stand between us.
“My King.” Beta James called looking up at him.
Those words resounded within the cabin. I went still.
"King?"
I stared up at the behind of the towering figure who had stood between me and Beta James. Blood left my face. This was not just any werewolf.
It was the Cursed Alpha King.
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