Chapter 42 ~ His rage
ATHENA
I follow him.
Every step feels heavier than the last, like the air itself is thick with something unspoken.
My boots click hard against the stone path matching the way my heart is beating hard against my chest, but all I can focus on is the man in front of me, shoulders tense, hands still shoved in his pockets like if he takes them out, he might just break something.
Or someone.
I glance back once. Zayan is still standing there, watching us disappear, a frown
on his lips like he's debating if he should step in.
Don't, I beg silently. You'll only make it worse.
Alex doesn't say a word.
He leads me past rows of horses and stables, out of sight from the others, until we reach a quiet corner surrounded by tall hedges.
Hidden.
Trapped.
He finally stops, but he doesn't turn around.
This is the point when I feel like running away. But to where? I stay with the man.
The same music from before can be heard again, and I wonder if it was Alex that stopped the parade.
Would he, though?
For me?
"Alex" I start, my voice softer than I want it to be.
His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and then, slowly, he turns to face
me.
His eyes are cold. So cold it feels like they could slice right through me.
think you're doing?" he asks quietly,
forcing my chin up even though my hands are shaking at my
it comes out more
a step
I step back.
announce and turn but halt
Did he follow us?
gives me the
a sign that you're meant
thinking of a comeback when I feel a hard grip on my arm pulling
one of those girls." Alex growls as he shields me
smiles, "My bad. I just couldn't resist those curves
body tenses like a
speak right away, and that's the
but I can feel the shift in the
Tangible. Dangerous.
stupid, chuckles like this is some kind of
Alex. You can't blame me for appreciating beauty when it's right in front of me. I mean, you did stop the parade for her, didn't you?" He
to that, not by words anyway. He just takes one step forward, and I see the challenge
that cold,
can cut
my arm, pulling me to the
rush toward and sit like a good girl.
his phone, where he
furiously. He then throws the phone in the back seat
all his green
if it's at me or at
are cruising through the streets when I hold onto
I'm not worried at
do anything he can't
speak, but my throat is so dry that I can barely get
silence inside the car is louder than anything
the skin. His jaw is locked, his teeth grinding
swallowing hard, trying to breathe through the thick tension suffocating the space
the sound of him that terrifies me, the way his breaths are
I manage to whisper, though my throat feels like sandpaper.
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