Chapter 7__ Already Awake
1229 Words
~ Selene ~
The dining hall felt less like a place for meals and more like a throne room pretending to be one.
High ceilings arched above me, shadows pooling between carved beams. Tall windows lined the walls, their heavy curtains drawn just enough to let muted golden light spill across the polished floor.
At the center stood a long table—too long, too formal for something as simple as dinner. Dark wood. Perfectly aligned settings. Everything arranged with unsettling precision.
It looked less like a place to eat… and more like a place to be judged.
The air smelled faintly of herbs and freshly prepared food, warm and inviting, yet my stomach tightened instead of easing.
I slowed as I approached.
My fingers brushed unconsciously over the clean fabric of the dress I now wore — soft cream-colored linen wlthat fell just below my knees, simple but elegant. It was modest, but far too refined for someone like me… especially after the torn, blood-stained dress I had worn in the Wilds.
The one the cold woman had thrown onto the bed.
The memory surfaced before I could stop it.
An old woman had knocked not long after I finished bathing.
She entered quietly, carrying a small wooden box. Her silver hair was tied neatly at the back, deep lines etched into her face, but her eyes were clear and sharp — observant and wise.
“I am Elira,” she said gently. “Nightfall Packs’ healer.”
Her voice was soft, careful — like she was approaching a wounded animal.
Nightfall pack? The pack name wasn't familiar.
I stiffened instantly when she stepped closer, instinctively retreating. My shoulders tightened, ready to pull away, but she didn’t react. She only smiled faintly, patient, reassuring… as if she expected fear.
Her hands were warm as she cleaned the scratches along my arms. I flinched more than once, breath catching each time the cloth brushed raw skin, but she worked carefully, whispering quiet apologies.
“You’ve been through a lot,” she murmured.
I said nothing.
Trust wasn’t something I could afford anymore. Not after the council. Not after the accusation. Not after being rejected by an Alpha who claimed me and cast me into the Wilds like I meant nothing.
Still… she didn’t push. Didn’t question. Didn’t pry.
When she finished wrapping my ankle, her gaze shifted slowly.
To my belly.
My breath caught.
It wasn’t just curiosity.
Her eyes lingered — studying, measuring — as though she were seeing something I couldn’t. Something beneath the surface.
Her expression changed.
Not cruel. Not kind.
Hungry.
Her hand lifted slowly, almost cautiously, before resting lightly against my stomach.
The touch was gentle… but it didn’t feel gentle.
Her palm lingered longer than necessary, fingers subtly pressing as if confirming something. Her thumb brushed softly across the curve, a quiet, lingering caress — not comforting but claiming.
Almost reverent.
Like she wasn’t touching me.
Like she was touching what I carried.
A chill crawled up my spine.
My baby.
The only proof I had. The only thing that could make Lucien believe me. The only truth left in a world that had already condemned me.
Why did she look at it like that?
Before I could step back, the door opened.
The sandy-brown-haired man stepped inside — the same one who had abducted Rhea and me from the Wilds.
His presence shifted the room instantly.
“Your work is done. Leave.”
His voice wasn’t raised, but it carried a warning beneath it — low, sharp, almost like a restrained snarl.
The healer withdrew her hand immediately, lowering her gaze. She bowed slightly before leaving without another word.
Then his eyes settled on me.
“Come.”
That was all he said.
And now… here I was.
Standing before the long dining table.
The one who'd summoned me was already seated at the head, posture relaxed, one arm resting casually against the chair as though this was nothing more than an ordinary dinner. But nothing about him felt ordinary.
Up close, his presence pressed heavily against the room.
Red hair — darker than copper — caught the warm light, sharp eyes studying me without softness.
His features were calm, but there was weight behind them. The kind of authority that didn’t need to be declared.
I had seen that aura before.
On Lucien.
But this felt different.
Another Alpha.
There was no doubt.
My steps slowed. I stopped a few feet from the table, unsure whether to sit or remain standing.
He cleared his throat and gestured to the chair across from him.
After a brief hesitation, I sat.
A servant stepped forward immediately, silent and efficient, placing a plate in front of me before I could speak. The smell of grilled chicken and buttered vegetables rose with the faint curl of steam.
“Eat,” he said, voice rough, already cutting into his food.
I looked down at the plate, but my chest tightened.
There were too many questions. Too much wrong.
“No,” I murmured — soft, but clear.
He froze, cutlery hovering midair.
Then he leaned back slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Why am I here?” I asked, the words spilling out. “I was meant to survive the three nights. I told the truth.”
“Truth.” He gave a quiet scoff, shaking his head like he knew something I didn’t.
I felt irritation rise — sharp as memories of Lucien, of Zane rushed in.
“Where’s Rhea?” I pressed. “What did you do to her? Are you going to kill me?”
He didn’t answer. Just kept eating.
The smirk never left his face.
Something inside me snapped. I was done feeling powerless.
My palm slammed onto the table.
The crack echoed through the hall — loud, violent.
The thick wood split down the center, the fracture racing toward him, rattling plates and sending cutlery clattering.
Silence followed.
My breath caught.
Did I just—?
I jolted to my feet, staring at the broken table in shock.
The cold woman from earlier rushed forward instantly, stepping between us, her hands moving quickly over him as if checking for injuries.
I stood frozen.
She turned to me sharply.
Her eyes glowed — molten amber, the pupils stretched thin, predatory. Fangs flashed as her lips pulled back, a low growl building in her throat.
“How dare you—”
She lunged.
“Lyra.” His voice cut through the air.
She stopped instantly.
“Don’t lay your hands on her.”
The command was quiet and final.
Lyra stiffened, jaw tightening, but she stepped back reluctantly, though her gaze never left me. Her eyes still burned, the wolf barely contained beneath her skin.
I was still staring at the broken table.
At my hand.
At what I had just done.
And for the first time… I realized something inside me had changed.
He rose slowly from his chair, stepping over the split table like it didn’t exist.
His gaze didn’t go to my face.
It dropped… to my stomach.
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Not surprise. Not anger.
Recognition.
“So,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
His lips curved slightly.
“It’s already awake.”
I froze at my spot.
.....
- Writer
