Author's POV.
The heavy wooden door shut behind Maltin with a low, final thud. For a moment, he stood still in the dimly lit corridor, his hand resting against the door as though anchoring himself to something solid enough to carry the weight and pain he felt at the moment.
If only that were ever possible, maybe he could rid himself of the peril life has always thrown at him and his pack. He knows it was his mistake…yes, his stubbornness. But he has been willing to make amends, willing to play by the creator's rules, and willing to accept his destiny. Too late, for he cannot change the hand of time.
The faint glow of torchlight stretched along the stone walls, casting elongated shadows that seemed to follow his every movement. He was still feeling the awful sensation lingering in his heart—unsettled.
Every bit of this sensation he felt in there rejuvenated the hunger for his mate. The hunger for what he had struggled so much over the centuries to tame was resurrected and was clearly knocking on his door. His wolf was not making it easier either, but he refused to let it walk its way into his brain any further. He was determined to wash it off, to subdue whatever feelings or spell the stranger he brought in must have cast on him, and do what must be done as fast as possible.
His jaw tightened. Something was wrong. He knew that; he could feel it in his very soul. Something's awry. Not in the way of danger—he had faced wars, betrayals, and death itself. He knew what danger felt like. This was… different. Subtle. Unsettling.
Personal.
Could it be real? Could she be the one? He wondered. His thoughts gently drifted back to the strange girl every flipping second.
Of course, she could be the one! Can't you see? It's too obvious to be denied… I know what is mine when I see one! Dairis argued in his head, but he ignored him, forcing his mind to rein in his control.
Maltin pushed himself away from the door and began walking down the corridor, his boots echoing against the stone floor with controlled precision. Guards stationed along the passage immediately straightened, lowering their heads in silent acknowledgment as he passed.
"Alpha."
Their voices came in hushed respect, but Maltin did not respond. His mind was too occupied, too tangled in thoughts he could not yet unravel. The image of the strange girl kept playing in his mind; it felt so intoxicating.
Despite all his drudgery to suppress the thoughts, his efforts seemed to fail him at every given attempt. He doesn't even know her name, yet he found himself drowning in the memory, the memory of her looks, of how she made him feel. Her hair, her face, her scent. The strange pull that had gripped his chest.
His fists clenched.
"No…stop the delusion," he muttered under his breath.
'Just a coincidence, Maltin… it had to be a coincidence. A trick of fate, nothing more.' He thought to himself, refusing to believe otherwise.
He descended a curved staircase that spiraled into a wider hall below. The air here was colder, heavier, filled with the quiet strength of a place built for warriors. Stone pillars rose high into the shadows, and banners bearing the sigil of the Lycan clans hung along the walls.
This was his world. A world forged in blood, survival, and power. And now, a human girl, a weird one, had stepped into it—uninvited, unwanted, unexplainable. Reviving what he had buried centuries ago, a disconcerting nightmare he desired but never found. Just then, his beta arrived and interrupted his thoughts.
"Kylian, how is it going? Any news yet?" He asked, letting out a breath of relief as the man stopped a few steps from him.
"Alpha" Kylian lowered his head in acknowledgment before continuing with his words, "Not yet, the ground is still silent. The rogues seem to be internally affected by our last attack.""Good, but we must remain alert. No sentry must retire to the castle until we are sure that the coast is clear."
"Yes, Alpha." Kylian responded as they both strode leisurely down the long hallway.
"I have a…delicate issue to discuss with you," Maltin's voice slightly flagging off the worries that shrouded his thoughts earlier.
"You look worried. Is anything the matter?" Kylian asked, stopping in his tracks to look at Maltin.
"It's nothing much. We will talk about it when I return to the eastern coast; for now, let's concentrate on the more pressing issues at hand. Keep an eye on the eastern coast until I return; I will be busy with the elders today. They've been waiting to know our progress in the present war for the past years.""Very well then, see you then." Kylian replied and left.
Maltin turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him as he made his way toward the eastern wing of the fortress.
Two guards moved to block the arched entrance but immediately stepped aside when they recognized him, bowing low.
"Open it." The command was quiet, but absolute.
The heavy iron doors creaked as they were pushed open, revealing a long, dim corridor that seemed older than the rest of the fortress. The air here was different—thicker, almost suffocating, as though it carried the weight of centuries within it.
He stepped inside without hesitation. Torches flickered weakly along the walls, their flames bending unnaturally as he passed. At the end of the corridor stood a circular chamber, its entrance marked by ancient carvings—symbols of the first Lycans, etched into stone long before kingdoms were formed.
He paused briefly at the threshold, then entered. The chamber was silent. At its center stood a raised platform, and upon it sat three figures cloaked in shadows. Their presence was heavy, suffocating, as though the very air bowed to them.
The Elders.
One of them shifted slightly, a low voice breaking the silence. "Alpha Maltin. You finally came."Maltin stood tall, his gaze unwavering. "The war kept me away for too long, and I kept you all waiting, so I apologize for that."
A faint, knowing chuckle echoed from the shadows."Your mind is encircled by questions; we can sense an unusual aura—something is awakened in you. Your very energy tells it all."