Chapter 6: Proserpina (part 2)

. . .

"Maybe love at first sight isn't what we think it is. Maybe it's recognizing a soul we loved in a past life and falling in love with them again."

–Kamand Kojouri

. . .

And naturally, the first time Alastor just had to encounter his mate–the one he'd awaited for so long–the goddess most likely had seen him acting like a complete brute while he was beating up Tony which was all kinds of embarrassing and most certainly, a horrible first impression. Not to mention, he was shirtless and looked like he had picked and lost a fight with a bunch of centaurs.

Oh, and it probably looked like he'd been about to take part of the bacchanalia per tradition after the game... no wonder she had wanted nothing to do with him.

Suddenly, he felt like hitting himself.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit–

"You... you two will tell no one of this," Alastor hissed, feeling his face burn in embarrassment and frustration.

"Why not?" Harry complained, hands on his hips, "Dude, I wanna be the first one to post this on Mugbook... just think about the hearts I'll get!"

"I'm blocking you," Sean deadpanned.

"Sean just said so genius, she's divine–the elders will have a field day if they find out about this," Alastor answered, staring over where he last saw her, longingly... until Harry snapped his fingers right in front of his face. He scowled, slapping Harry's hand away, "...and besides, she's to be the North's... Luna? Goddess? Whatever the title is, no one should know about her, not until she's marked and mated. Swear it!"

"Alright man, we swear to the Moon not to tell anyone about your unlucky lady," Harry promised, raising his hands up.

"We swear it," Sean agreed, solemnly.

The second Sean had popped his shoulder back in, Alastor nodded his thanks and took off at a sprint, speeding through the rain, trying to track the scent of his mate.

"Don't scare her off!" Harry called after him, laughing.

Alastor ignored him.

Not even an hour ago, he'd just been mourning over another year without his twin, another year stuck and pressured by everyone with a million responsibilities that he'd never thought would fall to him.

As Alastor continued to charge forward, excitement and bliss swelled within him, followed by overwhelming relief when he finally felt her lingering presence, her scent of vanilla and honey had certain lapses, probably due to her travelling through the shadows but it was growing stronger... which means he was gaining on her trail.

Her being incorporeal sure had its advantages.

Clever girl...

But she underestimated him.

Just earlier, Alastor had sworn he would follow her to the depths of Tartarus if it means having her so tracking her like this, no matter how long it takes would be a piece of cake to him, a werewolf with alpha blood running in his veins at that.

The goddess had been destined for him, after all.

And I was born for her...

The damp earth passed and seemed to brush beneath his feet for over at least fifteen minutes as he ran before he finally located where she truly is.

With the natural stealth of his kind, Alastor started prowling closer to the direction where her presence was the strongest, hunting the goddess down in the now drizzling rain. The forest had made it so easy for him to approach the goddess undetected; animals were constantly creeping about, distracting her.

He smirked as he watched the goddess pause in her steps, staring curiously down at a pair of rabbits hopping by for a moment before moving along.

Alastor had to stop himself from sucking in a deep breath lest she heard him. Up close, the goddess was even more stunning than he'd thought of her. With an angelic beauty like that, his mate truly looked like a goddess, but something about her presence felt... odd.

There was a certain glaze of sadness, a far-away kind of stare in her eyes that somehow reminded Alastor of prisoners of war from historical documentaries he used to watch with Alistair when they were in junior high. His mate looked like she was... haunted. Was it because she is a goddess of the underworld?

Proserpina's delicate features were stunning though–high cheekbones, pouty lips, and a slim nose–but her complexion made her stand out. Her skin was porcelain white and smooth, appearing alabaster in the midst of the rain, her wide eyes the color of the purest obsidian. She is rather tall for a woman, he noted, dressed in a wet black trench coat that clung to her frame. Long black pants fitted and displayed long legs that had him licking his lips.

Her hair was long and dark, matching the color of her eyes, damp but plaited and resting against one slender shoulder that had his hands itching to tear the ribbon off just to have his hands through those strands.

On her right hand, she was holding firmly to her sword. But the edge of a black-colored mark peeking through the back of her neck caught his eye.

Her skin is... tattooed?

Gods, that's so hot.

He would trace his tongue across any tattoos the goddess had, worship her body over and over again once he had her tonight.

At such a delicious thought, he almost growled.

Instead, he silently followed the goddess, watching as she closed in on another prey he'd already sensed hiding way up high in the shadows of the large oak tree just a few steps ahead.

If his mate is truly the goddess Proserpina... then it is highly possible that she possess heightened senses like his own such as powerful hearing and the ability to see through the dark or long distances as her right as the goddess of shadows. And yet, even as an immortal goddess, her sense of smell shouldn't be nearly as strong like his own which is why she would need to track her target by sight and sound.

And she was doing so expertly... if the way the goddess would suddenly pause in her tracks from time to time–tilting her head in his direction, eyes narrowing–is any indication that she had already sensed his presence.

Without making a sound, the goddess suddenly looked up and faded, her body morphing into a shadowy, dark blur as it soared upwards in such an alarming speed that had him stumbling a step.

A shriek followed soon after.