16: Siren

EZRA

The sound of my footsteps as I paced the empty hall is all that can be heard. I look down at my wrist watch again, then to the door and then the large ancient clock at the front of the meeting hall, above where the king’s throne is, where my father sits proudly presently. I’m too annoyed and my patience has run out fifteen minutes ago.

I hate being kept waiting, especially when I would much rather be with my mate than being here waiting with him. I find that the former is much more enjoyable than this.

I count another five minutes when I hear the sound of a door opening, I almost heave a sigh of relief when I hear the unmistakable sound of heels clicking. I have to fight the need to inhale my next breath, so as to stop myself from perceiving whatever God awful scent—or what is supposed to be a scent—the person marinated their body with.

I know who it is even before I turn, unfortunately I can make out her natural scent even with all the too sharp perfumes she has on. I’ve been wa