The Chosen Luna novel Chapter 9

He's sitting cross legged on the forest floor, leaning forward as if to get a closer look at me. His eyes are a pure obsidian color, and they hold an uncanny resemblance to the glowing red ones I vaguely remember. His messy hair is a brownish copper, which matches the thin layer of clean cut stubble on his perfect jawline.

Even with the small bit of distance between us, it's clear that his build is larger than an average person's. Not to mention three times as muscular.

I can't even try to think straight. He's attractive in a way no one person should be allowed to be.

His fingers flex in and out, the tendons in his wrists popping up along with some veins in his forearms. Judging from the raw power stored in that action alone, it would be ridiculously easy for him to take a life away.

Those hands look like they could bring death in a dozen different brutal ways— and I feel like they have. Yet for some reason, I yearn to reach out and touch them.

The pulsing sensation gets stronger, making my focus on him so heightened that everything else is dull.

My lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead it gets stuck in the front of my mind, lingering at the tip of my tongue.

Mate.

I flinch at the word.

He makes a move to get up and I scramble backwards on my butt, fighting my every instinct to go forward.

My back meets the smooth trunk of a snow covered, fallen beech tree. It blocks me from going any further and I exhale heavily. Of course that's my luck.

He's coming slowly toward me, making my breath hitch. From a standing position his size looks impossibly larger, and impossibly like a force not to be reckoned with.

His nostrils flare as he sniffs the air. A low growl rumbles in his chest, getting louder as it travels up to his throat. "You smell like him," he says in disgust, pushing it out through gritted teeth.

Him? Does he mean Nathan?

But if that bothers him, then that makes two of us.

"And you smell like a wet dog," I retort without missing a beat. That was a lie. That was the biggest lie I've told in my entire life.

He smells good. Really good. Like an addictive, masculine cologne mixed with the natural scent of a pine forest. And the fact that that scent makes my stomach twist with nerves scares me.

His gaze burns into me, telling me I made a mistake. The lighting in his dark eyes seems to dance, like a black and grey fire burning in his irises. It's as though it signifies a battle of some kind... like he's fighting with his own inner wolf.

"What are you to him," he finally asks, the growl still in his voice.

"Why does it matter," I fire back. My wolf may already trust him, begging for his arms to encompass me, but I can't say the same.

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