His Claws On My Neck

Chapter 8: Confrontation

Leal wiped her tears as soon as she left the office. She went ahead after getting the assurance she needed from her manager.

She's keeping her job, thank God.

She leaned in the wall outside her manager's office, as her knees weakened from pretending to be unaffected by his presence for too long. She tried so hard to not look at him in the eyes, not even in his direction.

While taking deep breathing exercises, she could hear the faint conversation between Axel and her manager inside. He's probably complaining about the stain on his white dress shirt.

She went out of the restaurant and exited through its back exit for employees, where she was greeted by the dark alley. Beside the door was a tall mountain of garbage, so she immediately walked away from the stinking smell. What added was the familiar rosewood scent that made her itch her nose. The door opened and from the light inside, his figure shadowed on the dark concrete surface.

Leal sighed.

"How have you been?" He asked as he leaned a few meters away from her, leaning on the wall as well. She stuffed her freezing hands in the pockets of her uniform, feeling the awkwardness and tension in the air.

"Great, actually," she sarcastically muttered, keeping her gaze straight.

"Really? I saw quite the opposite back there."

"Today's one of my bad days. It happens." She shrugged.

"I'm sure bad days happen rarely. But looking at your figure and appearance now, it seems like those bad days have been happening more frequently," he softly said, being careful of his choice of words. He didn't want to seem rude when this was only the second time they were meeting. Or so he thought.

Leal's left brow raised, feeling slightly offended. She pointedly looked at him, though dark, she could still see his features. "You're saying I look hideous?"

He stood upright, looking flustered. "N-No! I meant—"

"Nevermind. Your opinion regarding my look doesn't matter." She sighed. "Why did you follow me out here anyway?"

Geez, she became tougher. He thought. Gone was the timid Leal he first met. But he's not sure why he seems to like this version of her better.

"Can't I visit my mate?"

Leal, utterly confused, frowned at him. "What?"

Axel, who was now equally confused by her reaction, frowned at her too. "What?"

They stared into each other's eyes, the light from the distant lamp post gleaming with their eyes' reflections. Leal sighed, knowing this will go nowhere. She doesn't even know how she stomached talking to him for this long.

"Just go. You're wasting your precious time here," she said.

I'm never wasting my time when I'm with you, was what he was supposed to reply, but kept it to himself. It seems like she doesn't know what they are, or what a mate is at all, when it's obvious she's a wolf. Why does she not know about mates? Or she does but doesn't want to admit it?

"Leal..." Leal halted on her tracks back to the restaurant when he called her. With just one command from his voice, her system would automatically listen—and she hated it.

"What do you know about mates?" He carefully asked.

Once again furrowing her brows, Leal looked back at him.

"Mates? I didn't know you were British. You surely don't have the accent nor the features."

Axel looks more Russian than British, but who is she to judge? He never even bothered to tell her his nationality back in college.

He discreetly stifled a chuckle, amused at her innocence in the world of werewolves. It seems like she's really a rogue. She's unaware of her race.

"How did you find me anyway?" She asked. The restaurant is at the border of New York, far from the busy streets of his company but still pretty busy.

"I followed..." he trailed off, whispering inaudibly, "...my heart."

Leal furrowed her brows. "What? I didn't hear you."

"Nevermind. Eat regularly and rest. Take care of yourself."

Axel turned his back on her, stuffing his hands into his slacks' pockets as he walked away from her. Leal, completely confused, watched his retreating back until he turned a corner and vanished. His voice in his last remark sounded so delicate, so fragile, and tender, it was so new to her ears.

And mates? What did he mean by what he knew about it? He's becoming weirder and weirder, really.

—

He never came back.

Questioningly, Leal would always whip her head to the door when she heard it open, expecting his broad figure. She didn't know why, though. She should be delighted to not see his shadow anymore!

When night came and her shift ended, Leal excitedly grabbed her casual clothes from their locker and changed out of her dirty uniform. She just finished a 12-hour shift, and luckily didn't shoulder anyone else's shift.

She'd been looking forward to this night because this was Izzy's special night. Her fashion show.

It'll be the third time she's attending a fashion show where Izzy's one of the designers. She loves supporting her best friend in doing what she loves most, and despite seeing Izzy work even after her work hours in the warehouse, when she sees her walking on the ramp at the end of the show with her models and outfits, the look on her face eases her worry knowing that all her struggles and hard work are all worth it.

What Izzy feels after a successful fashion show is the same Leal feels when she sees one of her edited manuscripts in a hard copy, being one of New York's best sellers. It's also the same feeling for everyone that accomplishes the passion that they turned into work.

She planned to stop by Izzy's condo unit to grab her favorite beige trench coat but decided against it when she saw who was in front of the condo's door.

Wearing his three-piece suit and designer briefcase, with his hair styled and slicked back, Dion looked dashing from afar.

Leal stopped in her tracks, feeling her heart beat twice its normal speed. How long has it been? A month or two? She can't remember anymore. She has so many problems that arose after that, like a domino, forgetting when her mayhem started.

She pursed her lips and hesitated to come to the condo, but when Dion turned his head to her side of the hallway, she knew she had no other choice. She sighed and avoided his eyes as she slowly walked towards him, stuffing the keys back in her pockets. She has no intention of letting him inside.

Leal stopped a few steps away from him. A safe distance—as she'd like to say it.

"Leal," his soft and fragile voice called out to her. He raised his hands, attempting to get a hold of her, but Leal flinched—flashes of him repeatedly slamming her head with the liquor bottle. Noticing her obvious flinch, Dion sighed and brought his hands down.

"W-What are you doing here?" She meekly asked, looking down at the hardwood floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I'm here to reconcile, love," he sweetly muttered, using their endearment that only she frequently used before.

She wouldn't deny it, her heart fluttered at the sweetness dripping in his voice. This side of Dion rarely comes out, and it only usually does when they're in an argument. Back then, Leal would almost immediately soften and accept his hugs. But now, after that traumatic incident, she's not sure if that can happen again.

She's in love with him, sure, but she's no martyr to put up with him despite his abusive behavior.

Though that was the first time he raised his hand on her, it was surely a situation that looked like a foreshadowing of their married life—if ever. Looking at it like that, Leal's sure to never come back together with him. She's smarter than that.

"Don't call me that."

He placed his briefcase on the floor, taking a few steps closer to her. Instinctively, Leal stepped back. She can never get too close to him again. Never again. After years of living together, he finally showed his true colors.

"Please, love, come back with me. I still have your things in our apartment. Don't leave me, please," he begged, desperately trying to catch her eyes.

"No, Dion. You hurt me! The shards of that bottle in my head served as the slap of reality. The idea of having s*x with me is the only thing that made you stay with me for years, I know that now! I have to thank you, actually," she sarcastically chuckled, "Those sharp shards of liquor bottle that pierced my head were like the painful slaps of reality, letting me realize what you see in me, which isn't my personality—but my body."

He looked at her, mouth agape and stunned. When she finished, her breathing deep with emotions, Dion remained staring at her.

"Say something, you asshole!"

He looked down at her and raked her body. Without her trench coat, Leal didn't have anything to cover her clothes that didn't even look provocative or seducing. It was only a simple white turtleneck and jeans, but he was looking at it with such lust! She hated how he looked at it. She felt naked.

"Look at me, Dion."

He did, but with a different glint in his eyes now, His orbs seemed to turn a shade darker as he smirked.

"So what if I only love you for your body? At least you have something I like in you! Just get back with me, and you'll earn that spot again in that publishing house."

Her eyes widened, feeling ridiculed all over again. First, he really did love her only for her body! Second, what did he just say?

"W-What...?"

"Yeah, that's right." He nodded, looking as if proud of himself. "I used my connections to get you in that and promote you gradually. The reason why you got fired was because we broke up, and I had nothing to do with you anymore so they saw no need to keep you. Just say we're back together and move in with me again, and you'll get back in your spot in no time."

So, everything in her resume, every single one of her achievements, did none of them matter? Did he use his prosecutor's position to get her that spot in the company? Her eyes watered with shock. Did they even look at her hard-earned qualifications?!

"Ridiculous," she incredulously muttered, with her widened eyes directed at him.

"You have everything you had before because you were with me. Just accept it, love..."