CUPID CARRIES A GUN
Following an excruciating wait in the rain for the several Hungarians to cease fumbling with their umbrellas, Michael descended the stairway into the subway's south terminal.
Selene was already there, making herself scarce among the civilians waiting to alight the carriages. She stood near the kiosk, ever vigilant and in wait for the Lycans she and Nathaniel had followed.
She approached the center of the platform as Michael swept his hair away from his face. Then, their eyes met and the world seemed to fall away within that sudden, accidental collision of gazes.
To Michael, she seemed out of place amidst the trivial, everyday commuters – so timeless and ethereal were her features that she would've commanded the attention of any man and in that moment, he wished he didn't look so much like a wet dog. And yet, despite his clearly inferior appearance, she met his gaze and returned it tenfold.
He might've averted his eyes elsewhere for fear of being accused of gawking but he was entirely and shamelessly riveted.
Although her expression divulged little clue to what she was thinking, there was more to see than one should in a stranger's eyes; more than he might've with anyone else and he couldn't for the life of his late-fiancé fathom why. Though she was beautiful; painfully so, it wasn't her countenance, or the amount of black latex she wore that transfixed him.
Rather, it was the depth of her gaze; that conspicuous swelling behind the doe-like hue of her eyes. He recognised it as the same within himself. Sorrow and regret and although pain was, of course, inevitable, they'd chosen to suffer and therein lay their mistake; their kindred misery.
Michael wondered just what had caused hers.
Selene knew her guard had dropped momentarily but, against her better judgment, she couldn't quite seem to care. He was neither Vampire nor Lycan and was therefore of no consequence to her. And yet, she couldn't tear her eyes from this human until his were redirected by the sudden noise of an oncoming train.
She reprimanded herself for allowing his ruggedly handsome demeanour to distract her from the mission. It was ridiculous, really - she had encountered many a fortunate-looking man in all her six centuries of existence but it was subsequently no small thing that she'd allowed her mind to stray from Death Dealing by the blue eyes of a mere mortal. Inelegantly and without her consent, he'd stumbled into her line of sight and demanded her attention, if only for that endless moment.
When he turned back, she was retreating behind one of the underground pillars, shying away from his scrutiny. To say he was disappointed that their exchange, however fleeting, had concluded would be to claim the Pope was only slightly Catholic. Still, she seemed less inclined to acquaint herself with him than he was to forget about her, thus compelling him to go about his business. With slight dismay and a considerable measure of reluctance, he moved to board the train.
Suddenly, gunfire ensued and screams reverberated throughout the Metro station.
It was only after he dragged an injured woman to safety and one of the assailants grabbed him by the collar that he realised the mystery woman in leather too wielded a gun - she'd used it to save him.
He was eager to thank her but when another gunman began firing in all directions, she didn't have the luxury to stick around and fled the scene before he had been given half the chance.
Likely just as well, Michael thought in a feeble attempt to convince himself. The desire to see her again consumed him with far more than idle curiosity.