Sweet Magots?

Gold smelted in the darkness of Mother's Hell. The Werewolves believed those who sinned against the renowned goddess would be sent to a purgatory could the 7th ring.

There were 13 Summits, and each of those Summits represented a Deity. Mother Earth represented the 7th Summit and was revered by the Werewolves as if she was their own Mother.

Right in front of Mother Earth was the Moon Slave– there was more history concerning this god but the Werewolves did not talk about him. They said he was evil, they said he would trap foolish Werewolves and use their souls as an ushering step to his awakening as the Moon god. Only Mother could be trusted amongst the thirteen Deities.

This man. His eyes looked like the gold that represented Mother's eyes smelted into the dark Moon that represented the evil Deity Moon Slave.

These elements made his eyes appealing, but mostly threateningly lulling. The slim, and fox shape of the lids around eyes, made them even more dangerous upto of intriguing. They gave him the air of a Noble Scholar secretly plotting the downfall of his own King.

….. Scary.

Her eyes traced on his unique features. The familiar feeling of curiosity spasmed through her as she appraised him.

The jawline framed like a V, sharp as an illustration of a man. She watched his lips pull up into a crooked smile– a smirk? The blood red muscle, as red as the apple she held in her hand strangled into a bone-chilling smirk.

His skin was fair, unlike the rough and tanned skin of a Vieann person, he had the fair skin of a true Harian, with the soft hue that reflected droplets that fell from the sky (rain), turning the common fair skin of a Harian into a kind of milkish-fair skin…. Beautiful.

As she stared, she noticed the shift in his expression, the pull of creases on his forehead, the sweep of his dark eyelashes, only bleached by the touches of fairness on the tips, when they swept up they turned his eyes into the sun setting in a distant horizon.

He raised his hand, using a small finger to tilt his small squared glasses back up, then gingerly brushing the dropping bunch of inky black locks back, behind his ear….. His pitch black curly locks, breaching down to his neck, and leaving bangs against his symmetrically built face.

He cocked his head the slightest bit to the side, but enough for Elizabeth to capture the small gold band attached to the edge of his ear.

Looking at his…. Unique Features for so long, inside her heart Elizabeth unconsciously mistook this Werewolf for a particular Deity. One who was the fifth amongst the others; with everything about him being so unique, mortals called him– The Exact Man, also known by the honorifics The Man of Splendor, The Perfect Man, Young Master Ciaran.

Elizabeth quickly shook her head, dispersing the blasphemous thoughts in her head. No one could be compared to a Deity.

"You reek of human scum."

She blinked, snapping out of her self-imposed daze.

What?

She finally took a step back, as the man took a step forward. Again he used his index finger to tilt up his glasses. She crossed from his face down to his body. Broad shoulders, with defined muscles. He definitely fitted into an illustration.

He was wearing a plain, pressed white long sleeve. A black band was wrapped around his arm, and he was also wearing a black waistcoat with light glitters perched on it. Trousers as pressed as his long sleeve, and fitted into perfection, with clean stainless black heeled boots.

He wounded his fingers through his thick inky locks, allowing her to catch a glimpse of his black ring with a silver inscription of a Wolf.

He sighed. "Have you brought me another disappointment?"

She had initially thought he spoke to her but his golden-red eyes were on the Chief behind her.

"Must you always act like a raging prick all the time, Fóix?" The Chief's voice was closer than she thought.

Fóix? Elizabeth watched him stride forward, brushing past her, just a hair away from grazing her with his hands inside his pockets.

Was the Oliviér Lé Fóix? Naturally having heard his name more times than normal today she had an impression of him already….. Whether it was good or bad? Perhaps it was leaning onto frightening?

Yes. With his unnaturally impressive features, and…. What was the word to describe his voice? Tempting? Yes and the tempting voice made him have the air of… of…

Elizabeth did not know the right word to describe it. His presence both made her eyes focus on him and him alone but it also made her get a certain feeling. The one someone would get when a gun was pressed behind their back. Scared…. Mortified…. But one could not see the danger.

"What kind of a Fóix would I be, if I did not manage to gather enough enemies that would last me a lifetime?" He replied.

Elizabeth did not know what had triggered it but her eyes had widened. This…. This… No! She had suddenly remembered the name Oliviér Lé Fóix. How could she have forgotten the name?

This man managed to enter the headlines of the daily newspaper in Vie town. He was the single most popular Detective there was! He was a legend in this job! He had accomplishments that drove Elizabeth into honing herself everyday to become a Detective one-day.

Suddenly the fearful feeling amplified as she realized who this Werewolf was.

"I have hired a new Investigator. I see very broad potential in her which is why I have chosen to assign her as your new assistant. Her name is Elizabeth Vilré." The chief's words broke her train of thoughts.

Hi-His assistant? Was this what this was about? She was going to become the assistant of the best Detective this generation had ever seen?

Unfortunately Elizabeth's dreams came crashing down when she heard a huff.

Oliviér spoke. "My new assistant? Wonderful. Shall I direct her where I directed her predecessors? Out of my office?"

Elizabeth watched the Chief's face scrunch into an angry one but he quickly masked it and released an exasperated sigh.

"Oliviér. You mustn't dismiss this one. I assure you, her potential is limitless."

Elizabeth nearly blushed from the excess compliments.

She instantly felt a pair of predatory eyes on her, and glanced to see it was Oliviér.

An eyebrow arched. "What potential besides being a human wastrel? Seriously Faustus, you have sunken low from spineless Werewolves, revolting Noble humans, to Peasants?"

The blush turned into embarrassment. This was not the first time Elizabeth had been insulted like this so she was not angry…. Simply embarrassed. She felt for a high-ranking Werewolf this man's mouth was too venomous.

"She's a Myriad Oliviér. Part Werewolf, Part Human. A full blooded Myriad, bursting with magical potential."

The bored expression on Oliviér's face froze. He sucked in a breath and shot his golden-red eyes at her.

He took a step. Elizabeth's eyes rapidly looked up and down at him when he began stalking towards her. For some reason it felt like a beast with bad intentions was approaching as he walked forward.

She unintentionally backed away, legs backing from him as he stalked forward. Her head felt the coldness of the wall, stuck with nowhere else to go, whilst his face had reached an inch away from her.

She swallowed. She did not know why this man already scared her. "W-what are you d-doing?" She stuttered, completely out of her elements with his absurd actions.

The feeling of another skin shocked her. She glanced down to see slender fingers grab a hold of her hand that held the red apple.

"You've granted my wish," He was speaking to the Chief. "You brought me a Myriad bursting with spirituality?"

"A good friend of mine says her magical potential is an endless abyss." The Chief responded.

His fingers had forcefully interlocked with hers. "Albeit this Myriad is useless at the moment she can be cultivated."

He spoke so low, that her heart began to pound.

Slowly her hand was being lifted by him. And her eyes watched as he brought the Apple to his lips that were contending with the Apple's color and dug his teeth into it. Biting a bunch from it.

The moment he took a bite, he stepped away from her, as if everything else about her but the Apple was not worth his attention.

Her eyes followed the Apple trailing down his bobbing throat before he swallowed and finally said. "It's bitter," The Chief gave an exhausted look. "But still sweet. It's bitter-sweet. Fascinating."

He shamelessly continued staring at her face, golden-red eyes attentive to her quivering small lips. "A pleasure having you as my new assistant, Elizabeth Vilré."

He flashed her what would have been a simple smile if it were not for the light frown focused on his forehead.

Then he walked away. She subconsciously looked down at her trembling hand, then she saw the previously blood red fresh apple turn into a rotten mess, with maggots creeping out of it.

She gasped and dropped the Apple when she heard from the Chief. "Congratulations, Elizabeth Vilré, it is Official, you are now Oliviér Fóix's new assistant."

She jolted when she felt his big hand on her shoulder. "You should be proud of yourself." He said to her, with a casual smile.

But somehow from the man's strange and arrogant behavior just now she began to feel that things were not so simple.