The Royal Alpha: Aden

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

The fierce, biting wind felt as though it had rooted her firmly to her seat. Darkness had swallowed every corner of the space; all that stood out against the gloom was the looming outline of a massive figure drifting toward the door. She strained to open her eyes as wide as possible, desperate to make out the person standing merely three steps away. Yet the thick veil of shadow hid every detail from her. Paralyzed by a terrifying blend of dread and astonishment, not even a whisper could escape her lips.

Her mind went completely blank; nothing but pure fear coursed through her entire being at that moment. All the while, the fierce wind continued to rage, accompanied by heavy rain that now swept freely through the open doorway.

"Ahhh!"

She let out a piercing scream, squeezing her eyes shut tight as a blinding bolt of lightning suddenly struck somewhere dangerously close to the house. For just a fleeting second, the flash illuminated the man’s form from out of the darkness—yet she was denied the chance to truly see it.

Even so, she knew she could not remain slumped on the floor like free prey laid out before a lion.

She managed to summon what little strength remained in her, trying desperately to ignore the trembling of her knees so she could rise quickly—but her body failed her. She could not even stand, so she fell to her knees and crawled toward the corner beside the bed, as if that small space was the only thing left that could save her.

Curled tightly in that corner, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and buried her face against them. At that moment, there was nothing left for her to do but wait for whatever was to come next.

Seconds after surrendering herself to fate, she sensed the figure move through the air. She heard the rhythm of every step, the faint rustle of its clothing, and even the steady drip of water falling from its body.

She remained frozen in that position until the fierce wind that had been swirling inside the house died away, silenced by the creak of the wooden door as it swung shut. Only then did she slowly lift her head.

The door was now closed, and clear as day, she watched as the dying embers in the hearth were kindled back to life by the stranger—using nothing but a single finger.

"Is my vision playing tricks on me?" he wondered silently. "I swear I saw the tip of his index finger burst into flame."

Once the fire was going, the man stood with his back turned and began to strip off his garments, which looked like nothing more than tattered scraps stitched together. He moved with absolute ease, as if he were alone in the room, completely invisible to anyone else.

Whenever his gaze seemed to drift toward the corner where I had wedged myself, I instinctively bowed my head down to my knees.

Yet it appeared I was entirely invisible to him.

After stripping off his outer garments until he wore nothing but a thin white cloth wrapped loosely around his waist, he walked straight toward the bed and laid himself down without hesitation.

He was barely a single step away from where I huddled. I scarcely dared even to breathe, terrified that the slightest sound might draw his attention toward me.

I could feel my heart hammering violently against my ribs, driven by sheer anxiety. I would not dare move from this corner, even as my thighs began to grow numb from remaining in the same position for so long. To make matters worse, the relentless rain and howling wind sent biting cold seeping steadily into my skin.

Minutes dragged by. I moved with extreme caution, careful even when shifting my legs, so as not to make the slightest sound. Yet amid the deep silence—broken only by the rhythmic music of the rain—my sense of smell became unexpectedly sharp. Perhaps I had simply failed to notice it earlier, too overwhelmed by fear to perceive anything else.

The air inside this small dwelling was thick with the distinct scent of liquor. I could not be mistaken; it was the exact same smell that clung to the bodies of the slave traders. At that moment, I realized the man was heavily intoxicated. That was likely why his senses were dulled, and he had failed to notice my presence.

If that is the case, will he eventually notice me? I certainly do not wish to disturb his sleep—it is the very last thing I want to happen right now. Yet, the biting cold has become unbearable; I simply must find a way closer to that fire.

I pondered silently to myself. Then, a faint smile touched my lips, and I tilted my head slightly to the side as the memory returned of exactly how this man had kindled the flames.

I stared at him for a moment before turning my gaze back toward the hearth.

"No... I must have imagined it. Such a thing is simply impossible," the small voice inside my head whispered, trying to reassure myself.

Having reassured herself, Laura moved slowly and cautiously toward the fire, managing to reach its warmth without making a single sound. She settled there, deciding that she would spend the night beside the comforting glow of the flames.

Once she was settled, she let out a soft sigh. It occurred to her that Damien would likely not be returning here, for the rain continued to pour relentlessly, as though it had resolved to never cease for the entire night.

"Wait a moment..." she whispered softly as a sudden realization struck her.

Her gaze drifted toward the man now sleeping soundly on the bed. The thought crossed her mind: could this be the person Damien had been searching for?

"Or perhaps not..." she quickly corrected herself. "He might just be some bold stranger who simply forced his way into someone else’s home."

Gathering every ounce of her remaining strength and courage, she stood up. Step by cautious step, she approached the bed to observe him closely in the dim light.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, for there was something distinctly familiar about his features. She nearly gasped aloud, instantly clamping a hand over her mouth the moment she recognized exactly where and when she had encountered the man lying before her.

At the very instant she confirmed the truth—that the man before her was indeed the one she suspected—his eyes suddenly flew wide open.

Laura stumbled back instinctively, but he moved with the speed of a sudden gust of wind. In the blink of an eye, his hand was clamped tightly around her throat.

She was left completely unable to react. Desperately, she clawed at his hand and arm, trying to pry his grip loose.

Yet his eyes were not blazing with fury; they remained calm and fixed steadily upon her. His face bore the chill of frozen ice, completely devoid of emotion, half-hidden behind a long beard and mustache that looked as though it had gone untrimmed for years. In the flickering glow of the flame, his pair of eyes shone with a pale grey hue, resembling the cold brilliance of the moon.

She felt her feet lift clear off the wooden floor, leaving only the tips of her toes barely grazing the surface. The crushing grip around her throat made it nearly impossible to draw breath.

She struggled and tried to push him away, but he seemed utterly impervious to her efforts, as if he neither felt nor heard her resistance.

"Is this truly the end for me?" she thought dimly. "Well, at least I am not dying in that place where I was treated as nothing but refuse. After all, I have eaten decent food today, slept soundly last night, and worn proper clothes. Simple as it was, this one day was more than enough for me before facing my end."

Tears welled at the corners of Laura’s eyes. Even as she accepted her fate, she refused to pity herself. She had never imagined that the tiny spark of hope she had nurtured would be extinguished so swiftly.