Chapter Text
Irisa
December is my favorite month.
The layers of glimmering snow enhance the beauty of hollow desolation, swallowing the gray haze of blue sky and enriching the gnarled branches.
Crunches of snow come with each slow, careless step as sharp snowflakes glide erratically along with the wind.
My lungs expand, inhaling the crisp air to match the white smoke from my parted lips.
I clutch the umbrella tighter, and the metal digs into my thick coat. I can still smell the fresh metal scent and a protective coating. It overpowers the faint pine odor for a moment until a breeze grazes into my lungs.
I adjust the umbrella after the prickly breath.
Winter means fewer people out during the night. Every step down the pedestrian path is one step closer to danger, but the isolation beckons me to stay a little longer.
Stupid?
Yes. That’s how serial killers take their victims.
Does my mind care?
Absolutely not.
I always wonder when did my body and my mind stop working together. It doesn’t bother me because it doesn’t hurt me in the short and long run.
Live life on the edge, as one has said.
A small, nearly unidentifiable, crunch of dried leaf crinkles. The sound comes from somewhere behind me. I keep my eyes on the empty path, judging the distance between streetlights and straining my ears to listen for snow distortion.
There’s no sound. It could be my imagination, and it wouldn’t be the first time—
The strange shift of wind brush against my neck, taking the remnant of heat from my scarf before the knitted edges unravel. My shoulder throbs as the unstable twist of my legs sends me crashing over the end of the trail.
My coat absorbs the majority of the impact when I roll down the hill. It’s a short tumble, but the broken tree branches meet every inch of exposed skin.
The fall comes to an abrupt end as I gasp in delayed shock. My knees press heavily on the snowy grass with melting iciness seeping into my pants while the stinging cold bites the skin.
I shuffle back, sitting on the heels of my shoes in bewilderment as my mind skips with adrenaline. Instinctively, I tilt my head to follow the messy trail up the short, steep hill.
My eyes land on a pair of black, laced combat boots. It follows up a pair of strong legs, leading to form-fitting clothes that cling to a man’s thick chest. His big hands hang idly to the side as his broad shoulders stiffen.
The storm of gray darkens with irritation and something inexplicably malicious.
Why is he the one angry?
He ran into me.
The man with an unsympathetic scowl glares viciously down at me, then whips his head to sneer towards the vacant street. I track his gaze, but I don’t see anything there.
He steps onto the steep hill with ease, trekking down purposefully while I scramble to my feet.
I thought he was big from the angled hill, but that was an understatement.
This man is massive, towering over me with an impatient glower. His body shifts slightly, and the muscles under his loose clothing coil noticeably.
I match his scowl as I incline my chin.
“You ran into me,” I echo my thoughts.
“What are you doing out this late?” he asks with such confrontational curtness that my annoyance contests his.
“A nightly walk,” I say as I brush off the snow. “Not expecting to get hurled down the hill.”
I don’t know how fast he was running around the corner, but the force knocked me to the core. I’m aware of the aching on my body, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I wake up with bruises.
I hope there aren’t any broken bones.
He sighs deeply with a click of his tongue. The man, a little too unfairly attractive, snakes a muscled arm around my waist without a word. My ribs slam onto his thick shoulder as dizziness curls at the base of my throat.
“What are you—”
“Silence, little girl,” he snaps. “I’ll leave you here.”
My teeth clamp down on my tongue when he hikes up the short hill with a form of agility that I never thought a man of his size can have. His firm fingers dig into my side, securing my balance in case I tip over his shoulder to make another unnecessary tumble down the hill.
“My name is Irisa,” I gripe as I tighten my fists on his clothes.
His grip pinches my side as he throws me off his shoulder. My weak ankles practically twist from the force, and it takes a solid second to find my footing.
I huff and snatch up my abandoned umbrella. It shields me from the heavy snow, but I don’t feel the temperature change.
This man’s hostile gaze of fiery gray burns a layer of caution into my skin.
“You know,” I grumble as the annoyance begins to ebb away, “Normal people would introduce themselves right about now.”
Something tells me this man is anything but normal.
He stays silent as his unrelenting stare holds mine. He’s reading me, gauging my reactions, and testing the hold I have on my trepidation.
He doesn’t frighten me; it’s a rather strange notion yet it doesn’t concern me either.
I’m in a relatively secluded trail known to morning runners, shrouded in the dimness, and facing a man who emits unspoken danger.
“Silva,” he says, terse.
“Mr. Silva,” I begin as I rest my umbrella on my shoulder.
His deep, velvety voice cuts in, “I don’t want to see you here again.”
I blink, taken aback by the sternness in his command. Just because he’s a handsome, older man doesn’t mean he can order me around like a pet.
I blink again, wondering why his physical attractiveness plays a part in what I thought. Odd, but it’s not enough for me to look into it with curiosity.
“Go home,” he hisses lowly.
It takes a moment for me to process his words, not for the lack of clarity but the dissenting assumption.
He’s a man whom I should fear. I can’t find it in me to do so.
The gloomy clouds’ silhouette sails away, casting an auric sheen into his gray eyes as indifference replaces irritation. Deliberate fear creeps through my burning veins, lining my muscles with a breath of mockery before circling my ankles in the embodiment of chains.
He glares, and my feet pulls me away. It’s an involuntary reaction, something new to me as the breeze dulls his soothing scent.
I glance over my shoulder, expecting him to stand there with an ushering glare. He’s not. The only evidence left of him is the trickling scent and our erratic footprints.
A skipped pulse nips my neck as I face forward. I tilt my head with a curious gaze at my trembling hand.
Strange, indeed.
Two sets of footprints turn my focus away from the hand; it wouldn’t catch my attention if a snowstorm didn’t cover the path before I started walking.
I halt and stare keenly at the ground.
One set of footprints is mine. The other is not Silva’s.
“Huh.”