Chapter 10: A heartbeat away from death

Seraphina POV

The room spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of adrenaline and disbelief. One moment, I was facing down a lecherous boss; the next, a squad of heavily armed warriors stormed in, transforming the dingy basement into a scene of controlled chaos. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, echoing the clatter of weapons and the barked commands echoing through the sterile room. The thugs, previously cocky and menacing, were now whimpering on the floor, disarmed and utterly dominated by these unexpected intruders.

A warrior, a broad-shouldered woman with a mane of silver hair that gleamed even in the dim light, approached him, her face grim. "Your Majesty," she bowed her head, the reverence in her voice sending shivers down my spine.

The name hung in the air, heavy with implication. My breath hitched. Your Majesty?

As I heard those words, the pieces clicked into place, a horrifying memory jolted to the forefront of my mind.

The news report.

It wasn't something I'd actively sought out, just a fleeting image on an electronic billboard as I navigated the bustling marketplace, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of freedom after years of sterile confinement. A young face framed by dark hair dominated the screen, his voice booming through the crowded square even from this distance. They'd called him the new Alpha King, hailing him as a beacon of hope, a leader who would usher in a new era of prosperity.

However, the new Alpha King preferred to appear in public infrequently. The news report had mentioned how he preferred to govern from the shadows, letting his advisors handle the day-to-day affairs. That explained the sunglasses and the mask, the way he'd always kept most of his face hidden when we were alone in my dorm room. It also explained why I hadn't recognized him at first – the confident leader on the billboard and the injured man I'd helped were two very different faces.

And his name, the one that had washed over me with a wave of indifference at the time, now echoed in my skull like a thunderclap: Alfred Vanderwood. My Alfred. The infuriatingly secretive guy with a mysterious past who'd somehow ended up tied to a chair in my dorm room just hours ago. The king?

The absurdity of it all threatened to send me into a fit of laughter. One minute, I was scrambling to make ends meet as a barmaid in a seedy underworld establishment; the next, I was entangled with the most powerful wolf in the entire realm. A million questions swirled in my head, each one more pressing than the last. What was the king doing in a dingy bar frequented by criminals? And how, in the moons above, did I, Seraphina – a peasant with a past I desperately wanted to outrun – end up mixed up in all of this?

But before I could dwell on the sheer impossibility of the situation, our eyes met across the room. Alfred, his expression unreadable, held my gaze for a fleeting moment. A flicker of something – surprise? Concern? – crossed his features before a steely resolve settled back in. Despite the mask of composure, a hint of vulnerability flickered in his eyes, a silent plea that seemed to echo my frantic thoughts. He recognized me, too. Judging by how the captain's gaze snapped towards him, it seemed hiding out in a dingy underworld bar wasn't exactly part of the official royal protocol.

But then, the unthinkable happened. The warrior captain, her sharp gaze now fixed on me, demanded, "And who is she?"

Panic clawed at my throat as the question shook me to my core. A cold dread seeped into my bones, chilling me despite the stale heat of the basement. News reports may have fawned over the new Alpha King, hailing him as a beacon of hope, but whispers also swirled around the city's underbelly—whispers of his cruelty, of his swift and brutal punishments.

They called him Alfred Vanderwood, the new successor of the Vanderwood family, the most powerful bloodline in the entire wolf world. And now, his icy gaze was fixed on me, the weight of his unspoken judgment crushing the air.

It was said that Alfred Vanderwood, the cold-blooded king, wouldn't hesitate to chop off the hand of anyone who dared offend him. The image of my actions flashed through my mind, a horrifying montage that made me want to shrink into the shadows.

I was tying his wrists, pressing him against the pillow—the desperate, forced kiss. I was ripping his clothes – a desperate act fueled by fear and a misplaced sense of control. If those actions didn't qualify as an offense, then nothing could. At that moment, a vivid image filled my mind - Alfred, his face twisted in anger, a gleaming blade poised to sever my hand.

My breath hitched in my throat. This wasn't a bar brawl anymore. This was a whole new level of danger, a dance with a predator who could obliterate me with a flick of his wrist—shame burned in my gut, a bitter cocktail of regret and fear.

But then, something unexpected happened. Alfred spoke, his voice surprisingly calm, considering the circumstances. "She's harmless, Captain Elara," he said, his words a lifeline thrown my way amid the storm. "She helped me when I was in need."

His words were a balm to my frantic heart: a small courtesy, a glimmer of hope in the suffocating darkness. I shot him a grateful look, a silent plea for him to back up his claim.

My breath hitched in my throat at the sudden burst of violence. The air, thick with tension moments ago, now reeked of something far more primal – the metallic tang of blood.

Across the room, the once-boastful boss groveled at Alfred's feet, whimpering apologies that fell on deaf ears. My eyes darted between them, the image of the ruthless king from the rumors solidifying before me. He held the weapon with a chilling ease, his face devoid of emotion.

Just a moment ago, I'd been terrified of facing his judgment for my actions. Now, a new, more primal fear gripped me – the fear of witnessing a cold-blooded execution.

Alfred's expression was cold, his voice icy. "You shouldn't have tried to sell me out," he said, his eyes never leaving the boss's face. "You shouldn't have tried to use me for your gain."

With a swift motion, Alfred took the gun from a nearby warrior's hand and pressed it against the boss's temple. The boss's eyes widened in terror as Alfred's finger tightened around the trigger.

"No, please!" the boss begged, his voice cracking. "Mercy, I beg of you!"

But Alfred showed no mercy. With a calm, calculated movement, he pressed the trigger, and the boss fell to the ground, lying in a pool of blood.

The bar fell silent, the patrons and warriors alike staring at Alfred in awe and fear.

The echo of the gunshot rattled through the sterile room, sending shivers down my spine. For a terrifying moment, I held my breath, convinced I was following. But as the smoke cleared, my gaze darted around the room and landed on Alfred. His face remained stoic, devoid of any emotion, even after the violence he'd just unleashed. However, there was a flicker of something in his eyes that sent a tremor of unease through me. Was it regret? Or perhaps a cold satisfaction?

The Warriors, meanwhile, moved with practiced efficiency. Elara, the captain, issued a curt command, and two of them stepped forward towards me. Instinctively, I flinched back, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"Wait," Alfred's voice cut through the tension, his tone firm but not unkind. "Take her to the villa. Want her under my direct watch."

A wave of apprehension quickly overshadowed my initial relief. His "protection" felt more like imprisonment, a gilded cage where I was a captive under his watchful eye. Elara raised an eyebrow, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she simply nodded in agreement.

One of the warriors, a woman with a strong jawline and piercing green eyes, stepped forward. "As you wish, Your Majesty," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. She gestured for me to follow her, the unspoken threat clear.

With a heavy heart, I rose to my feet. There was no point in arguing. I had no power in this situation, no right to ask or resist. A glance at Alfred revealed nothing – his expression remained unreadable, a mask that offered no clues about what he was thinking.

As the female warrior escorted me out of the sterile room, the weight of my situation settled upon me like a suffocating shroud. My life as a barmaid, as precarious as it was, was over. Now, I was thrust into a world of ruthless wolves and powerful royals, a world where the lines between danger and security were as blurry as the truth itself.

The future stretched before me, an uncharted territory filled with uncertainty and a chilling sense of foreboding.

The journey seemed to last an eternity, the sterile hallways of the underground complex blurring into one another as the female warrior escorted me away from the scene of chaos. Finally, we emerged into a bustling courtyard bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Gone were the grim walls and dim lights; here, vibrant flowers bloomed in meticulously tended gardens, and the air hummed with the distant chatter of servants.

We passed through a series of ornate archways and down cobbled pathways before arriving at a secluded villa nestled amidst a grove of ancient trees. Its architecture whispered of wealth and elegance, a stark contrast to the gritty underworld bar I called home just hours prior.

As we approached the imposing double doors, the warrior stopped and gestured towards two young women who had emerged from the villa. They bowed low, their faces a picture of polite curiosity.

"These are maids, Seraphina," the warrior explained, her voice slightly softer than before. "They'll take care of your needs. You'll be staying here under the Alpha King's orders."

The warrior then turned and walked away, leaving me with the two bewildered maids. Nervousness bubbled in my stomach. Was this it? Was this some sort of royal prison, a gilded cage where I'd be kept out of harm's way or perhaps out of sight?

"Welcome," one of the maids, a girl with bright eyes and a warm smile, stepped forward. "Please, come inside. You must be exhausted after such a day."

Hesitantly, I followed them into the villa. The interior was even more luxurious than the exterior, adorned with plush carpets, rich tapestries, and gleaming furniture. A sense of unreality washed over me. Just yesterday, I was dodging drunken patrons and scraping by, and now here I was, surrounded by luxury, a guest – or maybe a prisoner – of the Alpha King.

The maids led me to a spacious bathroom, its marble walls and gleaming fixtures a sight I'd only ever dreamt of. They offered me a warm bath, clean towels, and a selection of silken garments that smelled of fresh lavender.

As I sank into the warm water, scrubbing away the day's grime, a strange mix of emotions washed over me. Fear simmered beneath the surface, a constant reminder of the precariousness of my situation. But there was also a flicker of curiosity. What did Alfred want from me? Why keep me close after all that had transpired?

Sighing, I climbed out of the tub, wrapping myself in a fluffy towel. The maids had laid out a stunning gown, its simple elegance a stark contrast to the garish outfits I was used to wearing at the bar. As I slipped it on, a sense of unease settled upon me.

It felt like a costume, a disguise for the woman I truly was – a woman with a murky past and a future shrouded in uncertainty.

Steeled with a mix of apprehension and a bizarre sense of anticipation, I followed the maids down a plush hallway lined with portraits of stern-faced wolves. Finally, they stopped in front of a massive oak door, its surface intricately carved with scenes of hunting and battle.

"The Alpha King's office," one of the maids whispered, her voice barely a murmur.

My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs. This was it—the moment of truth. Taking a deep breath, I raised a fist and knocked tentatively.

Silence. Then, just as I started to worry I'd been left alone, a deep voice resonated from within. "Come in."

With a shaky hand, I pushed the heavy door open. The room that greeted me was a study in contrasts – a stark juxtaposition of power and elegance. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the sprawling gardens, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Yet, the massive oak desk and the towering bookshelves stacked with leather-bound volumes exuded a sense of austere authority.

But what truly stole my breath away wasn't the luxury of the room but its occupant. Alfred, dressed in a black shirt and trousers, stood by the window, his back to me. He exuded a quiet power that resonated through the room, starkly contrasting the injured man I'd encountered all those hours ago.

As I entered the room, the silence stretched thick with unspoken questions. He slowly turned around, his dark eyes locking with mine. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of us – the peasant barmaid and the Alpha King.

His expression was unreadable, a mask that offered no clues about his thoughts. But there was a flicker of something in those dark eyes – a hint of curiosity, perhaps.