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ZELAIDE stood by the second-story window watching the young woman walk toward the gate underneath the façade eaves.
A small Muta that had just returned from its hunt perched on his stone solid shoulder. About the size of a hawk, the bird-type Muta had been Zelaide’s sole family since he found the injured chick and fostered it. This species of Muta generally couldn’t be domesticated, except for the exceptionally rare occasion someone stumbled across an unhatched egg and didn’t accidentally kill it. Not that it mattered, since Zel had known nothing about raising a Muta from the outset.
“Look at that woman’s hair, Tipsy,” Zel spoke to the Muta lovingly nudging his cheek.
“Chwirk?” Tipsy cooed in response.
Under the morning light just after the rains, Euphemia’s wet hair shimmered like a crown. Zel had gently scooped up her hair out of curiosity while she slept on his bed, and discovered that her golden locks felt smoother than any of the most luxurious materials he’d ever touched. Silk and velvet had nothing on her hair.
The woman had thrown on the shirt he’d left out for her, and despite how laughably huge it was on her, she appeared mystifyingly dignified in his eyes. The luscious waves of hair she’d let down her back cascaded over his shirt like a golden river over black mud.
“Who knew such beautiful hair existed on this planet,” he murmured.
She shouted something in a loud voice from the foyer before she left for good. He couldn’t quite make out what she said because of the echo from the vaulted ceilings and the mezzanine, but from what he gathered, she was thanking him. As soon as he heard her voice, he left his bedroom, where he had confined himself, and returned to the room she had occupied until then. From that room he could look down on the front yard unseen behind the tall grove of trees out front.
The room had been neatly tidied up. She had also washed the coffee mug. While he felt a sense of unexplainable embarrassment over that, his sharp eyes picked up on the one mistake she had made. She left without the specs he had placed on top of the sideboard for her. The pair he had picked up off the summer grass last night.
Won’t she trip if she can’t see?
Zel swiftly scooped up the specs. He’d easily make it with time to spare if he ran right now. He held up the dainty frame fitted with light-purple hexagonal glass and looked through it.
What is this thing for? It’s just normal glass.
Exasperated, Zel dangled the frame in front of his face. He was aware that, unlike his indispensable need for black-tinted specs, some humans wore specs without a prescription for the sole purpose of fashion.
Why does she try to hide those beautiful eyes?
The woman’s bright emerald green eyes that looked like spring leaves against the sun was a rarity, even in the melting pot of different races known as Gothic City. Zel contemplated her unusual qualities, heedless of his own uniquely rare appearance. She had real blond hair and blemish-free porcelain skin. From any angle, he could tell she was a proper young lady from a good family who could afford generations of gene editing. But that wasn’t all there was to her.
Zel deeply inhaled.
The feisty woman hadn’t lost her pride when she’d been pushed down by her assailants. Instead, pure determination had filled her.
If Zel hadn’t noticed her eyes in that moment, he most likely would’ve never seen such a unique set of eyes in his lifetime. He would’ve never known the vivid emerald of the wide, hell-bent eyes staring at the blade meant to end her life. They had reflected brightly in the dead night, despite the fact that even he, who could navigate the dark with ease, couldn’t tell colors apart in the pitch-dark.
Now he felt extremely glad that those gorgeous eyes didn’t end up shut forever. He felt relieved to have made it in time. Even though he had thought nothing of her life up until the second he saw those eyes.
It doesn’t matter…this’ll be the first and last time we meet. She seemed like an authentic proper lady to me. I’d bet that’s why somebody’s targetin’ her. Probably just a kidnapping for ransom money. Those brainless thugs weren’t trained more than a monkey, and they called themselves Vermis. Probably just another one of the countless sleazy organizations infestin’ this city.
Zelaide’s heart grew heavier the more he thought about her. This was an exceedingly rare feeling for him, considering he had little interest in humans.
But why was that woman outside city limits at that hour?
Her location at that hour had been so unnatural that if they were relatives or close friends, he would’ve thoroughly grilled her about it. Even as strangers, he had almost questioned her.
He wondered what type of organization she belonged to. Extensive agricultural farms and large-scale factories did exist in the city outskirts. However, every farmstead, ranch, and factory was equipped with strictly managed residences for their overnight employees, which ruled out working there as a possible factor for why the pretty young lady was driving down the freeway in the dead of night.
What a strange, mysterious woman. She’s done a hell of a job throwin’ me off my game.
Zel’s instincts were screaming at him in warning—he mustn’t get further involved with the woman. And his instincts had saved him countless times, and he trusted the intuition that kept him alive. Or more precisely, his intuition was all he could trust.
Polished gravel was laid out in the front yard instead of a manicured lawn. He had switched out the lawn for gravel to make it impossible for any attackers to hide the sound of their footsteps should they invade his territory from the outside. He had parked her white car in a corner at the end of the gravel path. Her tiny shoes crunched the stones below.
And then the woman’s foot caught on the gravel and she pitched forward. Her damp blonde hair flew around her.
“Idiot. What are you doing?”
Is she blind without her specs after all?
Zelaide instinctively reached out his arms to catch her, even though the window frame was the only thing in front of him. His sudden movement surprised Tipsy into flapping its long wings. Zelaide’s silent prayer must have come true, because the woman caught her balance just in time and sheepishly laughed at herself before putting her hand on the car door.
Wow. She’s laughing at herself…