Darius.
For a moment, it felt as though my world had come to a stuttering end and suddenly, I could no longer tell the difference between what was real and what was not.
My hands clutched desperately at the hem of my shirt, and for the first time in bloody ages, I felt my body shake. Not with anything else but fear.
Intense fear of the unknown.
Fear of the man standing right in front of me.
And more fear because I genuinely do not know if he is Uncle Ragnar, my adoptive father or Uncle Theon... Well, whoever Uncle Theon was to me.
My heart skipped a beat when he approached me slowly with the pace of a man who had nothing to fear or lose, and trust me, men like that were the only ones capable of getting under my skin— just as this one has.
"You are Alpha Darius, aren’t you?" He drawled in a rich deep baritone that shook me all the way to the depths of my soul.
Once again, my breath hitched, and I found myself nodding slowly while at the same time convincing myself that this was not Uncle Ragnar.
That this could not be him.
I mean, Uncle Ragnar would’ve called me ’son’ not ’Alpha Darius.’
He wouldn’t have used all of these formalities either.
Goddess, what the fuck am I even saying?
Uncle Ragnar was dead!
I tilted my head upwards proudly (yes, he is over a head taller than me), a flicker of hope creeping up my spine as I responded cockily; "Yes, I am Alpha Darius. Who are you?"
And at my response, he chuckled low and deep under his breath, and goddess, something about that sound made my body shake. It made my knees wobble and filled my soul with a kind of fear that I haven’t felt in a very long time— since before the death of my mad biological father.
Tiny fragments of the courage I once felt began to disintegrate, leaving me bare and messy in front of this stranger that felt familiar yet oddly foreign all at the same time.
"I am Michael." He said slowly, softly, his voice drifting into my head. "You may not know who I am."
And I wanted to believe that.
I wanted to believe that he was indeed who he said he was and that my mind was only playing tricks on me by conjuring up images that weren’t there. But deep down, I knew that that was false.
That he was no Michael.
I couldn’t see into his thoughts like I would with anyone else due to the insanely large mind block he had going on; but I could feel his aura. And it was intense. Too intense for a mere ’Mister Michael."
I hissed: "Nice to meet you, Mister Michael."
And even as I said those words, they felt insanely wrong. Like I was being disrespectful. Like he was one of those few people who could easily break me and make me.
I gulped.
Micheal cocked his eyebrows at me like he had things to say but couldn’t go through the stress of doing that and then he turned away, but not before saying;
"Are you here to see someone?"
I frowned then glanced at the reception. "Yes. You?"


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