"I'm a psycho at the bottom of the pack, and you're a warrior built to kill. Isn't it a weird mix?"
He shrugs, a wicked grin plastered to his face.
"I think it's the perfect mix."
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*Completed *
Klepto is a werewolf, an...
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Klepto POV
The hot water engulfs me. The beads of water are so hot they nearly seer my skin. Thick, white clouds of humidity fill the stall in puffs. I take a deep, full breath. My lungs fill with the wet air until they feel like they may burst right open.
I stare at the tile flooring underneath me. The water rinsing away from my skin carries copious amounts of pink tinged liquid.
Blood still stains me, a gentle reminder of the horrendous night I'd experienced.
Every time I close my eyes I see death. I stare him in the face as he makes me relive the deaths of the ones I love. I watch my Father's body crash to the ground in a heap of lifeless flesh and bone. I stand on the sidelines as my little sister lays motionless in a pool of dark blood.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to sob.
But nothing happens. I choke as I realize just how empty I really am in this moment. I close my eyes as tight as I can while I let the water rush down on me.
The scent of blood overwhelms me in this little, enclosed space.
I grab a bottle of body wash and open it, pouring a huge glob in my hand and scrubbing my body with the bubbly suds. I scratch at my skin as hard as I can, my nails making long red lines across my body.
The blood is gone after a bit of scrubbing, but I continue to rub my flesh raw with tears in my eyes. I scrape the skin away with every ounce of energy I have left in me.
I remember my dad. My poor Father that never got to meet his mate. My sister that never got to meet her mate. I mourn the loss of those missed relationships. Their mates will never find them, and they will always wonder what happened to their soul mate.
Life is oh so cruel.
I step out of the shower half an hour later. I wanted to stay under the hot jet stream, but the water has gone cold by now. I've used up all the warmth for my own selfish moment of grief.
I glance down at my fingernails. Darkness is shoved under the length of them, the blood building up under my nails to show me just how much blood I had on me.
I don't know how much of it's from my own veins, and how much is from an enemy that I ruthlessly killed.
My whole body cringes when I remember just how ruthless I was on that battlefield mere hours ago. I killed so many wolves. Their bodies littered the ground around me and I hadn't cared. I was protecting my pack.
The thoughts of those lives I ended reminds me of that first rogue that had started this all. When I'd killed him, Ezra had taken care of me so tenderly I was amazed by his tenderness.
