Fated To The Alpha's Enemy

Chapter 3

Adora POV

Or when I touched that dying pack hound and its eyes cleared, just for a second. Just long enough to look at me like it knew me.

There’ve been other weird things. Things that make me feel like there’s a storm buried under my skin waiting to break, but then I wake up the next day and I’m still… nothing. An Omega so weak she can’t even summon her wolf to show her fur.

I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“Do you think I’ll ever find him? My Mate?”

Mara smiles softly, her hand cupping the side of my face.

“I think your story’s just starting late. That’s all. He’s out there. All you have to do is believe in Fate and in the Goddess.”

Mara’s kindness eases the sting, but Father’s summons? That’s a storm I can’t avoid.

Twenty minutes later, I’m as clean as I’m going to get.

Mara helped me wash the stench from my hair and found me a dress that’s only slightly wrinkled. It’s still one of my shabby hand-me-downs, but at least it doesn’t smell.

My hands shake as I make my way through the main house toward the war room. This part of the house is so different from the servants’ quarters. Polished marble floors, rich tapestries, and portraits of long-dead ancestors watching me with disapproving eyes.

I try to keep my head down, but I can’t help glancing at the portraits as I pass.

Most of them are stern-faced men with the Garcia family’s dark hair and sharp features. But there’s one that always makes my breath catch, makes my chest tighten with a pain I can’t name.

My mother.

She’s beautiful in the portrait, with that ethereal quality that made everyone fall in love with her. But it’s her hair that makes my throat close up. It’s pure Garcia, cascading over her shoulders in waves.

The artist captured her perfectly, down to the gentle smile that I’ve heard could light up entire rooms.

I reach up instinctively, touching the Garcia strands that frame my face.

Goddess, I’ve tried everything to hide my hair. Black dye, brown dye, even that awful chemical treatment that burned my scalp for weeks. But nothing works.

My hair is stubborn, just like the rest of me, and within days, the Garcia always bleeds through the color like it’s mocking me. Like it’s reminding everyone exactly who I look like.

That’s why my Father can’t look at me. That’s why his eyes always slide away when I’m in the room, why he flinches when I speak. It’s not just that I’m a disappointment, it’s that I’m a walking reminder of what he lost.

Every time he sees me, he sees her ghost staring back at him with the same delicate bone structure, the same pale skin, the same eyes. And that Garcia hair that refuses to be hidden.

I hurry past the portrait, my heart hammering. The war room is just ahead, its heavy oak doors closed. I can hear voices inside, noting my Father’s deep bass, and others I recognize as my sisters.

I raise my hand to knock, but the door opens before I can touch it.

“You’re late.”

My Father’s voice cuts through me like a blade.

“I’m sorry, I—” I start to say, stepping inside.

“I don’t want to hear excuses.”

His eyes don’t quite meet mine, focusing somewhere over my shoulder instead. “When I summon you, you come immediately.”

The war room is exactly as imposing as I remember. A massive table dominates the center, maps and charts covering every surface, the smell of leather and old paper heavy in the air. My three sisters stand near the window, their perfect composure back in place like nothing happened earlier.

“Father,” I tried again, because calling him Dad to his face would earn me a slap so hard I’d lose a molar.

“Sit down and be quiet,” he says, and I can hear the disgust in his voice. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

I perch on the edge of a chair, my hands folded in my lap. He’s holding an envelope with an elaborate seal, the Wolf Regent’s seal, unmistakable with its Garcia wolf head pressed into deep blue wax.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, still not looking directly at me.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“It’s a message,” he says, his tone growing colder. “From the Wolf Regent himself. About you.”

For a second, the room is frozen. My sisters’ perfect faces crack in unison, and their eyes snap toward me with three identical looks of stunned outrage.

My blood turns cold, my pulse roaring inside my ears, but then something else flickers through me. Something that tastes a little bit like hope.

“The Wolf Regent,” he continues, and I can hear the confusion and displeasure in his voice, “has requested a private audience with you. Here, at Garciafang Mansion.”

The room goes dead silent. I can feel my sisters’ eyes on me, their shock and rage practically radiating off them in waves. But all I can think about is one thing.

The Wolf Regent wants to see me. Me.

“I don’t understand,” I say, though my heart is starting to race with the possibility of what this could mean.

“Neither do I,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me want to disappear. “But apparently, he’s coming here tomorrow. Five days before the Hunt.”

This could be it. This could be my chance to leave this hellhole of a mansion, this family, this pack. To go somewhere where I might actually matter, where I might be wanted.

“That’s impossible,” Vivian says, her voice laced with disbelief. “Why would the Regent want to see a weak Omega like her?”

“I have no idea,” Father replies. His gaze burns like acid, but for once, it carries interest and not just disgust. “But this is no coincidence, Adora. The Wolf Regent doesn’t make social calls.”

He leans forward, and for the first time in years, he looks directly at me.

“Listen to me very carefully. This is your chance to do something right for once in your pathetic life. You will meet with the Regent, you will be everything he expects, and you will make the Garcia name proud for the first time in your existence.”

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