3

~Faye

I wait for him to react. I refuse to make a move. 

He doesn't say a word, which makes sense. The silence is split with the rain hitting my windows, as he rhythmically runs his gloved right index finger up and down the side of the blade. I'm not sure what he's waiting for, but right now, I'm at his mercy. 

My entire body trembles. I can't leave. He’ll kill me. I can't call for Cal. He’ll kill me. If I stay here and watch him, waiting for him to make a move, he will still kill me. 

Right now, I have no option. 

“I don't understand,” I breathe, my voice raspy, tangling in with the sound of the rain outside. “Why do this?”

I'm not sure what I'm wanting out of this conversation. There is no way he's going to talk back to me, since he’s a Silent, trained to never open his mouth to anyone. He would rather die for his cause then even acknowledge me for a second. At this point, I'm just buying time, while my mind clambers to think of a way to get out of this. 

The man glances up at me. Through his dark strands of hair, are eyes of pure obsidian to match. My blood runs cold at the sight of them. Is this what pure evil looks like, wrapped in a spectacular body. 

“It just doesn't make sense to me, how someone can take another person's life, just because they want the best for their people,” I continue. 

He watches me, not saying a word. 

“And with knives,” I say, swallowing as my gaze drifts down to the blades glinting brilliantly on his thighs. “It just seems so cruel.”

As the Silent sits there, carefully regarding me, I have to admire the discipline. Not a single sound comes from him. No rustle of clothes, no exhale or inhale. It's as if a barrier lies between us, letting this assassin sit there comfortably, without worry of having me hear a word from him. 

“Did he even tell you anything about me? When Kael taught you, did he explain why? Or did you agree to give yourself a purpose in life?” 

I don't expect an answer. I just want him to think it through, because I know for a fact that he's doing that right now. Due to his unrelenting staring, I assume he's not going to put this to an end until he's satisfied with something. At this point, this is no suicide mission. He has plenty of time to off me and escape, however, he just sits there on the edge of my bed, not moving an inch. 

I decide to test my luck, stepping forward with a shaky step, making my way to my dresser. He doesn't make a move to stop me. I still pause though, my hand resting on the polished wood. 

“My father built this for me. It was for my young self, however, I don't have the heart to replace it, I admit honestly, running a finger over the carved pattern with my name on it. It's pretty cursive, done by my skilled father. 

I risk a glance at the Silent. There's no change in expression, so I continue. “He passed away from illness a few years ago. There's never a day where I don't miss him.”

My voice is low. If it was any higher, Cal would hear, and I would be done for. First, I want a single reaction out of him. 

“I admire your resilience. I would never be able to keep my mouth shut like you can,” I say with a faint smile. “I have a tendency to talk until I've dug my own grave. You probably know that already.”

There's an idea in my head that I'm going to pursue. It might get me killed a little quicker, but I want him to know this. I want him to think about my death for years after he escapes from here and completes his duty. Maybe then he would move on to another duty, to then, I would still be on his mind. The feelings that are numb to him will allow for a single one to rise. 

Regret. Maybe. 

Slowly, I open the top drawer to the dresser, as I say, “they taught me how to fight, but I hardly imagine what you have been through. It couldn't have been easy.”

The bed moves. He's on his feet. I hope, among his many talents, that he can't hear how fast my heart is beating. I'm proud of how calm I've made my voice, despite how much my fingers tremble on the side of the draw. There's a single step. No sound, but I can feel the sinking of the carpet under my own bare feet. 

“What was it like fighting Kael? I hear he's the strongest of all Alpha’s, mentally and physically. You would have had to bend his will to the point where he would accept you for one of his special missions,” I continue. “In killing another Alpha.”

There's another step, and he's directly behind me. I may not be able to feel him against me, but I feel his presence. What happened to his knives? I assume he's holding them. 

I exhale carefully, trying not to be affected by him. 

“A suicide mission too? You're brave, or perhaps you're getting something out of this that I don't know about. Maybe you hate me, and this is your greatest pleasure,” I sigh, grabbing a silken shirt to move over to the other side of the draw. I can feel his gaze burning into my hands, watching my movements with careful, skilled precision. 

Suddenly, I feel something cool and smooth against my neck. His gloved hand. His fingers trail gently down my neck, then back up, as he brushes my hair back from where it had fallen across my face. I shiver at the feeling, not knowing how to feel about it. 

“It makes me wonder about your life,” I breathe. 

He moves his hand down, right across the arch of my neck to my shoulder. 

“What you left behind.” I shudder. “Who you left behind.”

There is no pressure to his touch. Just feeling, without any contact, as he moves from my shoulder, and down my arms. At this point, his chest is pressed against my back, his warmth oddly comforting, despite the threat of his knives. 

Instead of relishing in the oddly satisfying feeling, I push the rest of my clothes away with less delicacy, revealing the parchment beneath. 

The law. The law that is the reason why he's here. 

It goes against all of Alpha Kael’s beliefs. He believes in discipline, law and rules, while I believe in choice and independence, allowing people to live through their own personal consequences. It's different to any other Pack system on the Quarter, however, it makes me happy. Made me happy. It's the reason for my downfall. 

I can sense him looking at it, yet, his touch does not cease. 

And then he does something unexpected. He whispers in my ear. 

“Beautiful.”

I audibly gasp at the single word breathed into my ear. It's not just the word, though. It's the fact that he said it. The way he said it. His voice is like melted honey across fresh bread, spilling smoothly across my heart, my lungs, making me struggle to breathe for a moment. Who the hell is this man? 

I twist around, suddenly no longer afraid. He steps back, and bows down, falling to one knee on the floor, his head down. 

A sign of complete and utter submission.

“Who are you?” I question, confusion draping over all my senses. 

He doesn't answer. Instead, he turns, grasping the handle of the knife that had been on my bed. With a fair throw, he tosses it at the door, the blade of the jagged knife wedging deep into the wood. The sound is lou, the vibrations pertinent. When I look back at the Silent, he has the other knife in his hand. 

The way he points it toward me isn't threatening. But to anyone else, it could look deadly. Especially to a Huntsman who has been given orders to keep me alive. 

It takes seconds for Cal to come through that door. 

His hair is tousled to sleep, although his eyes are wide and alert. He doesn't have a single weapon with him, his fist clenched tightly together. And he's shirtless...dammit in my current situation, that should be the last thing I'm worried about, so instead, I keep my eyes on his gaze, which is trained on the knife in the Silent’s hand. 

A Silent would fight back. An assassin would. 

This man didn't. 

It took hardly any effort on Cal’s part to have the knife out of his hand, his hands behind his back. Not once does that man take his eyes off mine, as Cal growls something in his ear. I don't know how to react, my back pressed painful against the drawer of my dresser. 

“Wait, Cal,” I say quickly, as the Huntsman holds the Silent’s hands behind his back securely, despite the lack of resistance on his part. 

Cal’s eyes look into mine. “It's okay, I've got him.”

“No, it's all wrong,” I insist, ignoring the shaking head of the Silent. “He's not bad, he can't be…”

“Don't be ridiculous, Alpha. He's a Silent. I'll take him down to the hold cells right now. You'll never have to see him ever again,” Cal insists, pushing the willing assassin toward the door. 

I watch, unable to do anything, as I watch what I believe is an innocent man being dragged out, to where he will face a death sentence. 

I have to do something about this.