Strange Eyes

Camille's POV

My hand was still on the handle of the door with the teal inscription on it: “Dr. Skyla.” She wasn't here either. The door of Skyla's office was firmly shut. This morning, she had left even before I woke up.

My shoulders slumped awkwardly, the weight of frustration from Ariella's words pressing heavily on me.

I did not want to ask Vikron about Skyla's whereabouts. He had information about everyone and their locations. They possessed an extensive amount of data and could retrieve any detail if they so demanded. Alpha privilege.

I sank into the row of chairs beside the door. I didn't want to return to the pack house just yet. The sterile scent of chemicals and the constant beeping were the only features of this place. I hated hospitals.

It was the last place I had visited with Grandma Noa before the funeral—a place that drained life, stole memories, and fostered grief.

I grabbed the sleek black clutch purse, adorned with shimmering faux diamond stones. Skyla had given it to me as a girly gift. That’s what she called it.

Walking toward the entrance door, I noticed the hospital was crowded with too many patients. Yet, what drew my attention was his eyes—they looked familiar, like someone I had met before, but I couldn’t recall where or when.

He hadn't noticed me. At least, that was what I thought. I had no idea how long I had been staring until I felt the sharp tap on my shoulder, pulling me back to reality.

“Sorry,” I turned toward the figure already moving ahead. Auburn-colored, short wavy hair, a dark green sweatshirt over the plain uniform I had seen many others, including Skyla, wear proudly.

He didn’t turn around. No response came. I had been so absorbed in staring at those strange, piercing eyes as he walked in.

I exhaled sharply, releasing a breath through my puffed lips. I turned back to the lobby door, a faint sigh escaping as different bodies passed by. The mysterious eyes had vanished.

I knew I had seen those intense eyes before. Strange and captivating, but where?

I shrugged. Maybe he resembled someone I had seen. Didn’t people look alike these days?

But I recognized this eerily familiar sensation.

Returning my gaze to the door, I felt as if I was in a fog. My legs grew weak, and pain from where the stranger had struck me suddenly shot through every part of my body. I wanted to shout for help when I saw those piercing eyes again.

A sly grin appeared on his face as he blinked with a satisfaction I knew wasn’t in my favor. He was walking toward me.

I tried to turn, but my legs felt like they were buckling beneath me.

He studied me, pursing his lips as if weighing his words carefully. When his lips flattened, he smiled.

“I’m sure you now remember,” he said.

And I did. I had seen him that night.

He had held my hands when I tried to pull away. “You don't have to cause a scene. I'm taking you back home,” he said.

I shook my head weakly. “No,” but my words came out in faint trickles, like a nearly dry faucet.

The doctor with short, wavy auburn hair was approaching us.

My phone was still broken from the night of the rogue attack, but I had it in the clutch bag. Such uselessness in the face of danger. I had no idea what would happen to me if I left without a trace.

I tried to gesture for the doctor to help me as he drew closer. “We have to leave now,” he muttered, adjusting the glasses perched on his nose.

The words clogged my throat. He was one of them!