Chapter 68: I saw your daughter

The strange cloaked woman who had been spying on Alyssa when the cruise ship docked hurried down a dusty, winding lane toward a wooden cabin nestled at the far end of the road.

She drew her dark cloak closer around her frame, casting furtive glances over her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t being watched or followed through the dimming twilight.

Reaching the cabin door, she raised her hand and knocked twice, two sharp, distinct raps to alert the occupant inside of her presence.

The lock clicked, the door swinging open just wide enough for her to slide through quickly and lock it behind her.

"You’re awfully jumpy tonight," the dark-haired woman who opened the door muttered.

She turned her back to return to a pot of stew simmering on the stove in the open kitchenette. The modest room was instantly comforting, filled with the rich aroma of curry stew, baked bread, and lavender.

Two single beds occupied opposite sides of the room, neatly made with plain white covers and matching pillows. An armchair, a simple wooden stool, and a woven floor mat filled out the rest of the small space.

To the left stood a handmade wardrobe, positioned right beside the door leading to a small bathroom.

The dark-haired woman glanced back up at her companion, instantly catching the tense expression shadowing her features. "Are you okay, Miranda?"

The cloaked woman stepped further into the warmth of the room. She untied the strings of her cloak and let it slide off her shoulders, revealing a mane of silver-white hair and intense black eyes.

"I saw your daughter, Wren," she said.

Wren froze. Her hand went completely rigid over the simmering pot. Very carefully, she lowered the ladle she was holding, her movements slow and calculated.

She turned around, her deep brown eyes locking onto Miranda’s face. "What did you just say?"

"I saw your daughter," Miranda repeated, her voice dead serious. "Down at the docks. Remember that sudden, violent pull of magic I told you I felt earlier today? It turns out it was coming from her. She disembarked from a cruise ship accompanied by a powerful-looking Alpha..."

"Stop!" Wren snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "It wasn’t my daughter you saw. It was probably just someone who looked like her. A passing stranger."

"Wren, I know exactly what I saw. She looked exactly like you."

"My daughter is dead!" Wren shot back, her voice trembling violently with decades of suppressed grief and rage. "The person you saw out there was either a ghost, or a doppelgänger."

"She had blue eyes," Miranda said quietly, letting the detail hang in the air. "Sharp, brilliant, blue eyes. And you know as well as I do that only your bloodline possesses eyes like that."

"Maybe she was a witch," Wren countered immediately, clinging to her denial. "Or a fae."

Miranda narrowed her eyes, silently observing her friend. She could see right through the defensive walls Wren was throwing up.

"And what about her hair?" she pressed, taking a step forward.

Wren’s gaze snapped up, sharp and defensive. "She had red hair?"

Miranda hesitated for a split second. "Well, no..."

Wren let out a soft, relieved breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. "You see, Miranda? There is absolutely no way the girl you saw could be my child."

"She had a distinct mix of black and red hair," Miranda cut in, her black eyes tracking every micro-expression on Wren’s face. "The strands were midnight black, but the tips of her hair were a sharp, fiery red."

Just as she expected, Wren’s carefully composed mask shattered completely.

"You know I’m right, Wren," she rushed on. "I felt her magic. I knew it was her the moment I looked at her."

Wren spun away, running a frantic hand through her own dark hair. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after all these years of mourning.

"I swear it on the Goddess," Miranda continued. "I saw her. And Wren, she felt my presence, too."

Wren whipped her head around, her eyes wide. "She saw you?"

"No," Miranda murmured, sinking into the armchair with a sigh. "I hid in the shadows. But I know she felt me because she looked directly at the exact spot where I was standing. She felt my magic, just as clearly as I felt hers. And Wren, the power radiating from her was intense. Unbelievably powerful."

"Okay! Stop! Just stop!" Wren cried out, clutching her head tightly in her hands. "I still refuse to believe it. My child died. Ozai killed her and her father. There is no way she survived all these years."

"What if she did?" Miranda insisted, leaning forward. "What if her father survived and raised her in secret?"

At the mention of her husband, Wren’s magic began to build at a terrifying velocity. She squeezed her eyes shut as her skin rapidly heated up, her blood boiling like liquid fire beneath her veins.

Without warning, the pot of stew on the stove violently erupted.

The boiling broth exploded outward, splattering across the small kitchen, hissing against the walls and ruining the bedding.

Miranda reacted with lightning speed, swiping her hand through the air to manifest a localized kinetic shield that deflected the steaming liquid safely away from her face.

Wren stood entirely untouched in the center of the room. When she finally opened her eyes, she took in the ruined dinner and the messy walls, letting out a tired sigh.

"There goes our dinner. I’m sorry, Mimi."

"It’s alright. I know how hard it is to keep your powers contained when you’re emotional," Miranda said softly, rising to her feet. "But it makes me deeply worried. If the girl I saw truly is your daughter, her coming to Ashgard right now is not a good idea. This continent is the birthplace of your magic, and hers. Her dormant powers are going to awaken."

"Miranda, enough," Wren cut her off, getting control of her emotions. "I am not about to whip myself into a frenzy just because you felt a spark from some random girl at the harbor. For all we know, she might just be a sorceress like you."

"If she were a sorceress, she would possess silver-white hair like mine. Not a strange blend of black and red."

"Maybe she’s a different breed entirely," Wren deflected, lifting her hands helplessly.

Miranda simply shook her head and turned away. "I give up."

Wren grabbed a cloth and began wiping down the splattered counters, trying to channel her chaotic energy into the chore.

"Okay. Let’s assume for a second that I believe you, and that you actually saw my supposedly dead daughter. Did you manage to find out where she is staying?"

Miranda nodded. "I did. She and the Alpha are staying at the Royal Villa, down the northern sector of Ashgard."

Wren’s hand paused against the counter. She slowly raised her head, her brow furrowing. "Isn’t that Alpha Dorian’s private estate? The Alpha King of the North?"

"That’s exactly what I thought," Miranda murmured. "Except Alpha Dorian isn’t married. Everyone knows he swore to never remarry after the death of his first mate. But the way he was cradling your daughter at the port was deeply possessive. Like she was his mate."

"There is no way my daughter is mated to that Northern monster!" Wren snarled. "That beast who wiped out my kind and nearly drove us to extinction!"

Miranda smiled. "I thought you said she wasn’t your daughter."

Wren let out an exhausted breath, dropping the cloth back onto the counter. She closed her eyes, bowing her head. "If they are staying at the Royal Villa, it means they will be in Ashgard for a while. Tomorrow morning, take me there. I need to see her with my own eyes. I need to be sure."

Miranda nodded firmly. "Fine. I’ll take you there at dawn."

...

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, just as the very first light of dawn began to brighten the horizon, a strange sensation roused Alyssa from her sleep.

She opened her eyes and blinked against the dimness, automatically reaching out across the bed. Dorian’s side of the bed was cold and empty.

But it wasn’t his absence that had woken her. There was a bizarre humming vibrating in the air, like the distant, low drone of a swarm of bees, but deeper.

She slid out of the bed, her skin prickling with goosebumps as she pulled on the silk robe draped over the armchair in the corner.

Her bare feet made no sound against the cold floor tiles as she drew closer to the window, parting the curtains to look outside.

Down below, she spotted the dark silhouette of the G-Wagon, gleaming faintly under the weak morning light. Suddenly, a subtle shifting of the darkness caught her attention toward the left perimeter.

She squinted, leaning closer to the glass, trying to make out the shifting form. Her heart skipped a beat, slamming hard against her ribs as a massive black wolf stepped out of the treeline.

Cold dread washed over her, paralyzing her throat. What made the predator truly terrifying wasn’t its size; it was the horrific familiarity of it. It was the exact same wolf from her nightmare. It possessed those same soulless, black eyes, and a thick shroud of dark smoke clung to its muscular frame.

The demonic wolf lifted its head suddenly, its soulless gaze locking instantly onto her face across the distance. ​It bared its jagged, razor-sharp teeth in a wild, monstrous snarl.

Alyssa gasped out loud, stepping back in terror as the creature coiled its hind legs and leaped, closing the space between them in a single heartbeat, and crashing through the glass window straight at her.