His deep emerald eyes were ingrained in her mind- forever staring at her like a beautiful flower amongst wilted ones.
The strong stubble, neat dark chocolate hair, and tight muscles made her swoon. The muscular woman, strong and independent, felt we...
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March 23rd, 2013
Five days later.
Walking into town felt equal to walking on eggshells.
Riot wore a black tank top and black jeans tucked under her dirty work shoes. Her coat was hidden in the den she dug out by the mill.
She hadn't returned to town in a while, so she suspected he had hit the road by now. It hurt her- but she knew he'd already moved on to his next conquest.
Riot wasn't worth all this hassle. She was a hard-headed woman who's been through too much trauma to trust anyone else. She wasn't trying to be hard to get- she didn't want to put herself in the scenario of having to trust someone. Strangely, Artio had been very quiet. She'd hear the occasional alert hum, comment, or regard, but that was all. Was she that affected by him? Riot's best way of coping was hunting and killing rogues. To her, it was a hobby.
The muscular woman waltzed down the sidewalk with her hands in her jeans pockets. Her left hand fidgeted with an old leather wallet in her left pocket, which had all the cash from her labor work.
Every now and then, she'd pick up a drink from the bar. Either the bartender was a lazy piece of shit or was too afraid of her to ask for any ID.
Crazy, isn't it? Sixteen years old, and she's drinking alcohol.
"Fiesty!"
Shit!
That all too familiar baritone voice, which had been echoing in her dreams, called out her nickname from a distance. Thundering footsteps caught up to her in a flash.
Turning her head, her urge to see his handsome face had won over.
Cronus wore a black dress shirt and black slacks. The tight fabric hugged his frame in all the right spots- his masculine chest being the focal point. She struggled to keep her eyes on his freshly shaven face. Those emerald eyes that haunted her were back. Both wolves stood in silence as they examined each other like starving dogs. His hair was neater than when she last saw him. Either he was older than her, or he had just returned from a royal ball.
"Hmph." She raised her nose at him and walked away. He loudly snickered and followed close behind.
He sighed, surprisingly content. "Where have you been these past days?" He asked.
Riot placed her hands on her hips. "Away." She responded, "In my den."
Cronus' lips etched themselves into a frown. He didn't say anything, but she could tell he was worried about her living situation.
Who cares anyway? Riot has lived in dens since she was 11 years old. They're safe, small, and warm. Isn't that the same thing as living in a house? Sure, she hasn't slept in a bed in years, but it's better not to know rather than miss it.
