The Demon Alpha's Fated Seer

Chapter three

Clara's pov

My voice came out softer than I intended. I didn't know what I expected her to do. Perhaps I hoped she would stand up and tell Roy that he had gone too far. Perhaps I wanted her to look at me with the same love I remembered from my childhood, even if only for a moment. I knew she had been struggling since my father's death, but I couldn't stop myself from hoping that this would finally be enough to pull her out of the darkness she had been living in.

Her fingers tightened around her glass.

I watched the liquid tremble as her hand began to shake. She looked down at it, her shoulders drawn inward, and for one fragile second, I thought she might speak. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.

"Mama, please," I whispered. "Say something."

She didn't look up.

The silence that followed hurt more than anything Roy had said. I could have argued with him all day, but some part of me had believed that my mother would never allow him to give me away. Even if she couldn't protect me from the world, I thought she would at least try to protect me from this.

Instead, she sat beside the window with her trembling glass, and I stood alone in the middle of the bakery.

I had spent years being called a burden by the people around me. Sometimes, when I caught my reflection in the mirror, I wondered whether I had become one. Perhaps that was why I worked so hard to make myself useful, why I swallowed my anger and accepted treatment I would never have wished on another person. I had convinced myself that if I caused less trouble, asked for less, and demanded nothing, eventually someone might decide that I was worth keeping.

But there was a difference between feeling unwanted and hearing the price someone was willing to accept for you.

My throat tightened, and I lowered my eyes before either man could see the tears gathering there. The water in the bucket had turned completely gray, and my reflection looked unfamiliar beneath the ripples. I thought of my father, of his warm hands and the way he used to call me his little treasure whenever he found me hiding in the storeroom with a stolen pastry. He had never made me feel as though I needed to earn my place in his life.

If he had been standing in that bakery, I knew he would have done something. He would have shouted, demanded answers, and probably thrown the nearest object at Dane's head before allowing anyone to discuss my future as though I had no say in it. The thought brought a faint, painful smile to my lips, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

My father was gone, and no amount of wishing could bring him back.

"You'll be comfortable with me," Dane said.

I looked up.

He had been watching me, and I couldn't tell whether he had noticed my tears or simply decided that I needed further convincing. His expression remained composed, almost patient, as though he believed my resistance was a temporary reaction to the unexpected news.

"You won't have to scrub floors or steal food to survive. You'll have a proper home, beautiful clothes, and everything you need. Whatever you've been lacking here, I can provide."

I stared at him. "You make it sound as though you're doing me a favour."

"In a way, I am."

"And what happens when I don't do what you want?"

For the first time, something in his expression sharpened. He looked at me for a long moment, and when he answered, his voice was quieter than before.

"I expect my wife to understand her responsibilities. I don't enjoy repeating myself, Clara, and I have little patience for unnecessary resistance."

There it was. Beneath the promises of comfort and security lay an expectation that I would obey him. He hadn't raised his voice or threatened to hurt me, but I could feel the warning in his words.

"And if I refuse to marry you?" I asked.

Dane glanced briefly at Roy before returning his attention to me.

"Your stepfather has already accepted my offer."

"That doesn't mean I have."

"No," he agreed. "It doesn't. But I suspect you understand what refusing would mean for you."

I hated him for saying it because he was right

I was so caught up in my thoughts and tears that I didn't notice when someone entered the bakery. The conversation between Roy and Dane continued in the background, their voices occasionally rising above the clatter of trays from the back room, but I had stopped paying attention to them. My mind was still struggling to accept that I would be married by the following day, and every time I looked at my mother, the sight of her sitting silently by the window made my chest tighten.

Then I caught a scent that didn't belong in the bakery.

Cedar and smoke.

I went still, my fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. The scent was faint at first, almost lost beneath the familiar smell of flour, yeast, and the soapy water in my bucket. But as it grew stronger, something inside me reacted before I could make sense of it. My heart began to beat faster, and a strange warmth spread through my chest, leaving me momentarily confused.

I knew that scent.

I had encountered it months ago, on a small silver crest I had stolen from a stranger. At the time, I hadn't thought much about the man who had carried it. I had been more concerned with the value of the object and whether I could sell it without attracting attention. But when I discovered that keeping the crest beneath my pillow helped quiet the disturbing visions that plagued my sleep, I had decided to keep it instead.

Since then, the scent of cedar and smoke had become familiar to me, a strange comfort I associated with the only object that had ever given me relief from my nightmares.

I slowly lifted my head and turned toward the entrance.

A tall man stood just inside the bakery, dressed in black, with blond hair, tattoos disappearing beneath his sleeves, and a pale scar running along his left cheek. Two guards stood behind him, but my attention remained fixed on him. There was something commanding about his presence, something that made the small room seem suddenly inadequate. He hadn't said a word, yet he carried himself like someone who was accustomed to being obeyed.

His gaze moved from Dane to Roy before settling on me.

For a moment, neither of us looked away. His eyes were striking, but it was the expression that crossed his face that unsettled me. His jaw tightened, and his gaze sharpened as though he had discovered something unexpected. He looked at me with an intensity that made me feel as though he could see beyond my worn dress and untidy hair, beyond the girl kneeling beside a bucket, and into some part of me I had spent years trying to understand myself.

Then something stirred deep inside my chest.

I froze.

For twenty-two years, my wolf had remained silent. I had never heard her voice or felt her presence clearly, and I had long ago stopped expecting her to wake up. Yet the moment my eyes met this stranger's, I felt a faint movement within me, like something that had been sleeping for far too long had suddenly become aware of the world around it.

My breath caught, and I gripped the counter to steady myself.

The stranger's nostrils flared slightly. His expression changed, becoming harder and more guarded, and for one brief moment, I wondered whether he had felt something too. He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine, and I found myself unable to look away.

I wanted to ask who he was and why his scent was familiar, but the words refused to come. I didn't understand what was happening to me, and the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself in front of Dane and Roy.

Then, just as suddenly as he had approached, the stranger's expression closed off. He turned away without saying a word and walked out of the bakery, his guards following immediately behind him.

The bell above the door rang softly.

I remained where I was, staring at the entrance long after he had disappeared. Around me, the conversation resumed as though nothing unusual had happened. Dane was already discussing the arrangements for my wedding, while Roy listened with an eagerness that made me feel sick. Neither man seemed to have noticed the brief exchange between the stranger and me.

But I couldn't dismiss what I had felt.

The scent of cedar and smoke still lingered in the air, and my heart had yet to return to its normal rhythm. I had spent years believing that my wolf was either too weak to awaken or simply absent, yet something inside me had responded to that man in a way I couldn't explain.

And then there was the crest.

I had stolen it months ago, never knowing who it belonged to or why it seemed to quiet the visions that haunted my sleep. I had kept it hidden beneath my pillow, telling myself that I would eventually discover its value and perhaps find a way to sell it when I needed money badly enough.

Funny thing is I have seen this man in my dream but not his face…this feels so strange.

Now, for the first time, I wondered whether I had made a terrible mistake by keeping it.

Because the scent that clung to that silver crest was the same scent that had followed the stranger into the bakery.

And if he was the owner, then the man who had just walked out might be connected to the one thing I had never been able to explain about myself.

I swallowed hard and glanced toward the staircase leading to my room.

I needed to find that crest.

Whatever connection existed between it and the stranger, I had a feeling that I was about to discover something far more dangerous than a stolen piece of silver.

And with my wedding only hours away, I wasn't sure I could afford to find out what it was.

Fuck!