Chapter 81: We’re home

The next morning, long before the first pale light of dawn broke through the horizon, Dorian and Alyssa left Cole’s estate.

They wouldn’t be traveling by sea this time, not after Dorian had watched hundreds of soulless rogues crawl out of the ocean depths like unnatural sea monsters. He refused to risk Alyssa’s safety on open water again.

While Alyssa slept soundly beside him the previous night, he had made the necessary arrangements. Calls were dispatched to Wintercrest, and Jake had prepared the private jet to bring them back. The jet touched down on Ashgard’s runway just as dawn started to brighten the sky.

All through the flight, Alyssa sat enveloped in silence, her gaze fixed on the endless blanket of clouds outside the oval window. Her mind was reeling, fractured by the vivid horrors of the previous night and the haunting, parting words of the woman who saved them.

Wren’s voice echoed in an unbroken loop through her head: ’You are my daughter, Solange. I know this is all shocking and hard to believe, but it’s true. You have to be careful. You are different, and you possess powers unimaginable. When the time is right, I will find you’

It didn’t make sense. None of it did. The revelation that her mother was alive, coupled with the terrifying claim of ’unimagined powers,’ made a dull, throbbing ache blossom behind her temples.

And then there was the memory of the attack itself; the brief flash of intense power she felt when her screams shattered the windows, and the entity whose skin had melted and dissolved the instant his fingers touched her cheek.

She closed her eyes, running a trembling hand through her hair. She hadn’t told Dorian yet. She would eventually, but right now, the secrets were so huge, so terrifying, that she was still desperately trying to make sense of them herself.

Dorian settled into the seat beside her, reaching over to place a cup of hot tea into her hands. "Are you okay, my love?" he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken anxiety. That had to be the hundredth time he had asked her that since they stepped into the jet.

Alyssa managed a soft, reassuring smile, taking a sip of her tea. "I’m okay. Really, I am. You don’t need to worry so much."

"You’ve been awfully quiet," he said softly. He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before cupping her face. His thumb stroked her cheekbone in a slow, soothing rhythm. "I know you’re still shaken from what happened at the villa. But I’m right here. I will never leave your side."

Alyssa set the cup aside and leaned into his broad chest, curling against his side. She let out a deep sigh as he pressed a tender kiss into her hair, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist. Inside the jet’s quiet cabin, the air was cool, cozy, and insulated from the world below.

"I think I’ll feel better once we’re back in Wintercrest," she whispered softly.

"Yeah," Dorian murmured. "I’ll feel better too."

They both fell silent, basking in the peaceful warmth of the moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Questions burned like hot coals at the tip of Dorian’s tongue, but he forced himself to hold back.

The previous night, while Alyssa was asleep, Cade had recounted every detail from the rogue attack to the villa’s destruction. Something had driven those rogues into a blind, hysterical frenzy, and that same unseen force had caused the entire two-story building to fracture and crumble, and it had everything to do with Alyssa.

It wasn’t a speculation anymore. She wasn’t ordinary. Whatever she was, her dormant powers were slowly awakening.

The only problem was, he had no idea what she was, or what those powers were. He didn’t want to believe she was an Onyx, or connected to one of those blood thirsty creatures.

If indeed, she carried the blood of the Onyx lineage, it would mean utter devastation for her, for him, and for the peace of the entire realm.

If only he found the woman who had saved her and Cade the previous night. From Cade’s description, he instantly recognized her as the same woman who had approached Alyssa at the market days ago.

The pieces were scattered, but there was a connection somewhere. He just had to find it.

"When we get back," Alyssa said suddenly, shifting in his arms to look up at him. "Can I send for my stepmother? Melinda must have informed her by now that I’m alive. I have questions I need to ask her."

Dorian had forgotten all about her stepmother. In the chaos of the rogue attack and everything else, he had forgotten that he hadn’t yet broken the news about Ingrid’s death.

"My love, your stepmother is dead."

Alyssa sat up so fast her head almost struck his chin. "What? How? When did this happen?"

He carefully explained when the news had reached him, and why he refrained from telling her ever since. He was only trying to protect her from unnecessary grief while they were on their honeymoon.

Alyssa grew quiet. A strange shadow washed over her features as she stared down at her lap. "Melinda would be so heartbroken."

Her reaction surprised him. Despite the years of abuse, neglect, and misery she had suffered at the hands of her step-family, she still harbored a shred of empathy for her stepsister.

"Am I heartless for not feeling sad for her death? For not feeling anything? Instead, I feel a kind of relief."

Dorian shook his head. "You’re not heartless, little lamb. People like that do not deserve sympathy, even in death."

He watched her for a moment before adding, "Do you want me to have my guards bring Melinda to the mansion? So you can demand your answers?"

He had already planned to have his men drag the girl to the North for interrogation regarding Alyssa’s true origin, but he wanted her opinion first.

"No," Alyssa said, shaking her head firmly. "I don’t have anything to ask her. I don’t even want to see her."

Dorian nodded in understanding, though his internal resolve remained unchanged. He would still have Melinda brought to the North in secret. He needed all the answers he could get.

...

Nine hours later, the private jet touched down smoothly on the tarmac of Wintercrest’s private airport. Alyssa was fast asleep, wrapped snugly in a soft cashmere blanket. It was just past noon.

Dorian leaned over to wake her, but her eyelids fluttered open on their own. "Are we back?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"We’re home," he hummed softly, pulling the blanket away and helping her up. "How do you feel?"

"Good," she murmured, lacing her fingers through his as they disembarked down the steps. The sharp, familiar bite of the Northern wind hit her face, making her shiver pleasantly. She had actually missed the icy atmosphere of Wintercrest.

A limousine was idling on the tarmac, waiting for them. André stood by the door, his face lighting up with genuine relief and excitement the moment he spotted Alyssa.

He greeted her warmly, welcoming her and Dorian back to Wintercrest before slipping behind the wheel.

The lingering jet lag caught up with Alyssa the moment the vehicle glided out of the airport gates. Her eyelids grew heavy, and within minutes, she drifted off again, her head resting on Dorian’s chest while his arms locked possessively around her.

Now that they were back home, the mountain of threats awaiting him weighed heavily on his shoulders. Fortifying the mansion against the shapeshifter threat was his top priority. He hadn’t forgotten Jake’s report about Pilate being behind the car accident.

An hour later, the limousine pulled into the mansion’s cobblestone driveway, and André quickly rushed around to open the door.

Dorian gently scooped Alyssa’s sleeping form into his arms and stepped out into the crisp air. As he walked up the steps toward the front door, his gold eyes slowly scanned the courtyard, the dense treeline flanking the property, and the distant bronze gates.

Everything appeared peaceful, yet a sharp, instinctual dread prickled along his spine. Shadow shifted restlessly beneath his skin, growling low in his gut, a warning that danger was slowly closing in.

Deep within the thick, shadowed treeline surrounding the mansion, a solitary figure stood concealed behind the trunk of a tree.

It was Pilate, wearing the face and body of Seth. His dark, hollow eyes were fixed venomously on Dorian’s retreating back.

Now that the Alpha King had returned, he could move his plan into action. The dark magic sustaining his disguise was beginning to rot; his skin felt tight, itchy, and unstable. He had to execute his plan immediately before the illusion tore apart.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cellphone and dialed the only contact in the call log. It was answered on the second ring.

"The Alpha King has arrived," he rasped softly into the receiver. "It’s time to make our move."