A/N
This story is unedited so apologies for grammatical and spelling errors if any.
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Zachary (POV)
It's been a little over a month since we lost contact with Fiora. She hasn't been answering calls nor responding to Theo's attempts at a mind link. Looking back, I should have realized something was amiss the last time we saw her. Regretfully, I left her alone. The details she provided at the company were all false. The only information we have about her is her name, Fiora, and the city she claims to be from.
We have no clue about her whereabouts since the flight she took. Our attempts to track her have been futile, and even Arnica couldn't locate her with her energy. When we sought assistance from their queen, she declined, citing Fiora's choice and her respect for it. Frankly, I couldn't care less about her respect—I need to find out where Fiora is.
Is she safe? What's troubling her? And why did she vanish without a trace? Most importantly, I miss her terribly.
I'm still here in Fiora's city, tirelessly searching for her while managing the affairs of my company. Today, I met with one of our acquaintances, Mr. Mary. The anticipation was palpable as his wife presented a concept for our new project—a notion that ignited excitement from the moment it was unveiled.
The designs were nothing short of mesmerizing, each more captivating than the last. Among them, one stood out—a half-crescent moon shape with a wolf's head intricately woven into its design. The symbolism was powerful, and the potential impact on the growing werewolf reader community was undeniable. We could almost feel the energy in the room surge as we discussed the possibilities.
But that was just the beginning. Another proposal featured two dragons locked in a majestic, swirling dance—one poised at the north and the other at the south. The imagery was breathtaking, and the idea of bringing together these iconic symbols left us all spellbound.
And then came the suggestion to combine these elements—a fusion of moon and wolf, dragon and legend. The excitement was palpable as we envisioned the possibilities, and the potential to capture the imagination of people from all corners of the globe.
I couldn't help but be drawn to this concept, not just for its visual appeal, but for its promise to connect people through the timeless power of storytelling. After all, stories are what bind us together, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and emotions. In this project, we had the opportunity to create something truly extraordinary—a place where those stories could come to life, and where souls could find connection and solace amidst the swirling chaos of the world.
The meeting convened to finalize the design wasn't just about aesthetics; it was about translating imagination into reality, ensuring that the vision could be practically realized. We delved into discussions on the feasibility of the design—its structural integrity, materials required, and the intricate balance between form and function.
As we navigated through the technical aspects and assessed the project's viability, my thoughts kept drifting back to Fiora. Amidst the discussions on budgets, timelines, and legalities, her absence weighed heavily on my mind. I couldn't shake off the worry, hoping fervently that she was safe and well.
Even as we meticulously went over every detail, from the engineering specifications to the procurement process, a part of me remained preoccupied with thoughts of her. The project was taking shape, but my concern for her safety remained a constant undercurrent in the proceedings.
Though we still had a myriad of topics to dissect, we lacked the requisite expertise at that moment. Reluctantly, we concluded the meeting, leaving a trail of unresolved issues in our wake. Mr. Mary and his wife extended a gracious invitation for dinner at their home, a gesture I initially wished to decline. My mind remained fixated on finding Fiora, but their insistence and our longstanding acquaintance left me with no choice but to accept.
In the evening, clad in my finest suit, I meticulously assembled a gift basket brimming with decadent offerings: artisanal chocolates, gourmet coffee beans, and a handcrafted scented candle. Given their preference against alcohol, I ensured the inclusion of premium coffee beans for our gathering.
Navigating the streets in my sleek Carmen Boulogne, I aimed to maintain an air of sophistication without appearing conspicuous. Upon arriving at their opulent mansion, I couldn't help but marvel at its modern architecture and state-of-the-art technologies—a stark contrast to the traditional opulence of my estate.
Their abode, a testament to their newfound wealth, spoke volumes about the potential earnings within their limited lifespan. It's no surprise they're referred to as manipulators, given their knack for leveraging their gifts. If only they comprehended the full extent of their capabilities, they could undoubtedly lead even more prosperous lives. Alas, such is the enigmatic nature of their existence.
Escorted inside by one of their household attendants, I found Mr. and Mrs. Mary awaiting me, both impeccably attired as if welcoming a cherished family member. The occasion seemed formal, yet I couldn't discern its significance. Perhaps, in their world, it was customary to receive guests with such ceremonial warmth.
Returning their warm greeting, I expressed my gratitude, "Thank you, Mr. Mary. It's a pleasure to be here. Unfortunately, my father couldn't join us, but I'm honoured to represent him in his absence."
Mr. Mary's smile broadened as he replied, "Welcome, Mr. Crystal. It's your first time in our humble abode. We regret not having the opportunity to extend this invitation to your father. Nevertheless, we're delighted to host you."
"Thank you, Mr. Mary. I am honoured to be with you," I replied graciously.
"No, Mr. Crystal, it's our pleasure to have you here," Mrs. Mary chimed in, her happiness palpable.
Their warmth enveloped me, making me feel right at home. It wasn't just their opulent surroundings that evoked this sense of comfort; it was their genuine kindness and unwavering support. While others sought to exploit me for profit, they were the beacon of integrity, guiding me through the intricacies of business. Though I may have gained some extra bucks under their tutelage, it was their kindness that left the most enduring impression on me.
"I brought you something since you all say no to alcohol; this is the only thing I could think of," I said with a sheepish grin, presenting the basket.
Mrs. Mary graciously accepted the basket, but not without expressing her concern, "You know you don't have to bring anything for us. Moreover, these are so expensive. I know money doesn't bother you, but..."
Interrupting her, I interjected, "Would you have come empty-handed to my house?"
Without hesitation, she responded, "No, of course not. But that's because we're older than you, and gifts from older people are considered blessings, not gifts."
"Then younger people's gifts are considered love, not gifts," I countered with a playful smirk.
She pouted at my response, and I couldn't help but foolishly smile back.
"You're hungry?" Mrs. Mary's voice held a hint of defeat.
"Starving," I declared eagerly. Just then, Mr. Mary interjected with mock indignation, "Am I invisible to both of you?" prompting both Mrs. Mary and me to respond in unison, "Yes."
With a playful retort, he quipped, "That's why I love my daughter more," before theatrically storming off to the dining area.
Amidst shared laughter, Mrs. Mary and I made our way to the dining area. As we walked, she cheerfully informed me, "I've prepared focaccia with artichoke dip for starters. Today's dinner is all about you."
Amid our banter, I relished the camaraderie with Mrs. Mary, appreciating her warmth and hospitality. I made a mental note to introduce Fiora to her someday, knowing they would undoubtedly hit it off. Yet, even amid such conviviality, my thoughts were consumed by worry for Fiora. The technicalities of our dinner preparations couldn't quite distract me from the longing I felt for her presence.
As we gathered around the dining table, the tantalizing scent of warm focaccia mingled with the aroma of artichoke dip, enveloping the entire hall in its delicious embrace. The anticipation heightened with each passing moment, our senses awakened by the irresistible fragrance.
Amidst the culinary symphony, a woman's voice emerged, initially faint and mumbled, but gradually growing clearer and more animated: "Focaccia... focaccia..." Her excitement resonated through the air, infusing the atmosphere with a contagious energy, as though she was dancing to the rhythm of her own words.
Then, she appeared, seemingly unconcerned with her surroundings, her presence a sudden burst of vibrant energy. At that moment, time seemed to stand still as a surge of electricity coursed through my body. Before me stood Fiora
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She entered the room with a carefree demeanor, casually selecting her piece of bread and dipping it into the savory artichoke dip before settling beside Mr. Mary. As I observed her, a whirlwind of emotions churned within me. I couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity mixed with a tinge of apprehension. How would she react upon realizing my presence here?
My mind raced with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Fury simmered beneath the surface, fueled by the gnawing worry that had consumed me in her absence. Yet, despite my inner turmoil, she seemed oblivious to my presence, her carefree demeanor only intensifying my frustration.
"Fiora, we have guests. Let me serve them first," Mrs. Mary scolded gently.
"Who?" Fiora queried, her gaze sweeping the room until it locked onto me. At that moment, her eyes widened in disbelief, her kaleidoscopic irises sparkling with recognition. How I had missed those mesmerizing hues. Before she could retreat, I instinctively moved with superhuman speed to intercept her, I forgot I was amongst manipulators in the rush of emotion. But none of that mattered; I had Fiora in my grasp once again. It felt like an eternity since our last encounter, and the flood of relief washed away all traces of anger and worry.
As I pulled her into a tight embrace, finding solace in her presence, all the tension and frustration melted away. However, Fiora swiftly pushed me back, disentangling herself from my grasp. "She has gotten stronger," Theo remarked, a note of admiration in his voice.
As Fiora glared at me and prepared to retreat, Mr. Mary's stern voice cut through the tension. "Fiora," he began, his tone commanding attention. With a small piece of bread in his hand
"This is the only chance I'm giving you to settle whatever happened," Mr. Mary continued, his voice laced with a solemn promise. "After this time, I swear on your mother, he won't be able to come near you. Even if I have to destroy his entire world, I would... happily." His words hung heavy in the air, punctuated by the weight of his unwavering determination.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort at the intensity of Mr. Mary's words. While he may be her father, the protective fierceness in his tone left me uneasy. Yet, I knew better than to interject
Mrs. Mary placed her hand gently on my arm, her expression soft yet firm. Though her gaze was gentler, the message conveyed was unmistakable: this was a moment that needed resolution, here and now. I understood the gravity of the situation, and I respected her silent directive.
Beside me, Fiora stood silently, her head bowed, her emotions unreadable. It was clear that this was a pivotal moment for both of us.
With a nod from Mrs. Mary, she and Mr. Mary quietly exited the room, leaving Fiora and me alone to confront whatever words needed to be exchanged, to untangle the knots of misunderstanding and uncertainty that had gripped us both
As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Mary left the room, Fiora turned her attention to the focaccia, seemingly avoiding any interaction with me. Quietly, she began to eat her bread, her actions devoid of any outward acknowledgment of my presence. It was a peaceful scene, yet the weight of the unspoken tension hung heavy in the air.
In that moment, understanding dawned upon me. Mrs. Mary's earlier words echoed in my mind: "Today is all about you." It became clear that they had orchestrated this entire evening with meticulous care, perhaps aware of who I was and the significance of our reunion. They had provided us with this opportunity to reconcile, to address the unresolved issues between us.
Grateful for their subtle intervention, I silently thanked them as I took a seat next to Fiora. She remained engrossed in her bread, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. With a quiet resolve, I prepared myself for the conversation that lay ahead, knowing that this moment held the potential to mend what had been broken between us.
Intentionally, I reached out and took a bite from the bread she held, a subtle yet deliberate gesture to draw her attention. It worked like a charm.
"That's mine. Take your own. They're kept over there," she snapped angrily.
"Well, Mrs. Mary said she baked them for me. Technically, you're sharing my share," I countered, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of my lips.
"This is my house, and I can have whatever I like," she retorted proudly, her tone defiant.
"Agreed, no doubt," I replied calmly, acknowledging her assertion without contention.
"I missed you," I confessed, hoping for a more receptive response.
"Good for you," she replied curtly, her tone devoid of warmth.
Undeterred, I pressed on, determined to bridge the gap between us. "What can I do to appease you?" I asked earnestly, but her silence was deafening.
With a heavy heart, I made one final attempt to break through the barrier of silence that separated us. "Fiora, I am not a mind reader like your kind. I need to be told what you want or what you think. If there is something you don't like or you want, you have to tell me," I pleaded, looking at her with hope.
But still, there was no response. With a resigned sigh, I accepted defeat and rose from my seat, preparing to leave.
I paused, taken aback by her sudden question. "Why did you take me to your parent's house?" she asked, her voice clear now that she had swallowed her food.
I listened carefully, her words cutting through the tension between us. "Be more specific," I requested, hoping to grasp the full weight of her unspoken concerns.
She took a moment, swallowing her food before responding. "You're King Alpha, and that library is crucial to all the shapeshifters in your world," she began, her voice steady but simmering with emotion. "I assume you knew that I am not human. Bringing a stranger to your parents' house could have been dangerous, yet you still took me there. Why? I can't believe you're that naive. What were you trying to achieve? And I was so foolish, never questioning why you were so kind to me."
He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, her voice rising.
"Moreover, you know mind linking is impossible without a mating ritual. Why didn't that question arise in your mind? Or did it, and you just pretended not to notice? Or were you fully aware of why it happened?" Her voice quivered with frustration and betrayal. "If that's true, did you also know that Arnica is Etherean? You knew I was related to her. That means you knew who I was before anyone else. You knew I was Etherean too. That's why you suggested only Arnica for help at Ice Lake House. What else did you know, Mr. Zachary Theo Crystal? And don't even think about feigning innocence with me. It won't work."
"Wait, I—" he started, but she shook her head, cutting him off again.
"No! I don't want to hear your excuses," she shouted, tears brimming in her eyes. "I was so stupid," she continued, her voice breaking with emotion. "How did I not see these things? What were you planning? To use me as a weapon to stay in power, or do you have some other hidden agenda? I can't believe I was that naive. I thought you were trying to help, but it turns out I was just a pawn, wasn't I?"
"That's not true," he said, his voice filled with desperation. "I—"
"Tell me," she sneered, ignoring his words, her eyes blazing with fury and hurt. "Was it fun? Watching me struggle, cry, and face hurdles at every turn. Was it fun watching me become dependent on you?" Her voice, harsh and laced with pain, echoed in the silence that followed, the agony in her words cutting through the stillness like a knife.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said softly, stepping closer, but she recoiled, her eyes narrowing.
"Don't come near me," she hissed, her voice a deadly whisper. "You can save your lies for someone else. I trusted you, and you betrayed me. There's nothing you can say to fix that."
The room fell silent, the weight of her accusations hanging heavily in the air. She turned away, her shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs, I calmly poured water into two glasses, one for me and one for Fiora. She accepted it without looking at me, drinking quietly. after a while when she settled a little, I turned her to face me, and I maintained a composed demeanour. "Is there anything else you want to say?" I asked.
She shook her head, indicating 'no.'
"Will you answer a few questions?" I continued. She nodded again, still keeping her head down.
"How much do you know about me?" I asked. Her expression shifted to one of puzzlement. "I meant, what do you know about me? Think carefully and answer every detail you're aware of," I clarified, pausing to let her gather her thoughts.
After a moment, she began, "That you're handsome, smart, you're a werewolf, your other half is named Theo, and he talks through the mind link. You are the Alpha of the pack..."
"Which pack? What is the name of my pack?" I interrupted. She fell silent, her eyes widening in confusion. I gestured for her to continue.
"...and you're the king of all packs," she resumed hesitantly.
"Am I the king of only Ixcheline, or are there other species of shapeshifters in my kingdom?" I intervened again.
Fiora's silence deepened, the uncertainty in her eyes growing more pronounced. It was clear she had never fully understood the extent of my responsibilities or the scope of my world. I waited patiently, hoping my questions would guide her to a better understanding
Her eyes grew increasingly wide and expressive as the realization of what I was trying to convey began to sink in. "Leave the other details aside. Tell me what you know about my family," I prompted, pausing to give her time to answer.
She thought hard, then spoke in a low voice, "... Your birth parents died in an accident..."
"What kind of accident? Was it a vehicular collision or some other tragedy? How exactly did they die?" I questioned further, pressing for specifics.
She spoke softly, her expression shifting from one of vulnerability to a more resolute one. "I don't know about you," she confessed.
"Yet you believe that somehow I was trying to harm you or deceive you," I said, concluding the conversation with a mix of frustration and sadness, my voice edged with the weight of unspoken truths and misunderstood intentions.
Her expression was stern, but there was a glimmer of realization in her eyes. She spoke with a firm voice, "But you withheld information from me."
"Yes, I did," I admitted. "I won't deny it. I had to. You were a stranger to me. How could you expect me to trust you—someone who lived among manipulators—with the sensitive information of our world..."
She interrupted me sharply. "If you're a King Alpha, why did you take a personal interest in me instead of delegating it to someone else? Why did you bring me to that library if I was such a potential threat? Why did you agree to explore the cave with me? Why would the king himself be involved when he could have easily had his people keep an eye on me?" she retaliated, her eyes filling with tears.
Her questions were emotion-laden, each cutting through the tension with raw honesty and hurt. She deserved answers, but more than that, she deserved the truth behind my actions.
Continued...
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A/N
Word count:- 3300
Hello, my lovely readers, I hope you all are doing well
Here, is the 28th chapter of my book
I hope you all liked it and have a great day ahead
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bye:)
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Date:- 08/06/2024