Chapter 98:The Primordial Witch

Chapter 98: Chapter 98:The Primordial Witch

Derrick fell into step beside Iris, matching her slow, hesitant pace with long, effortless strides. Despite his immense physical height and the terrifying aura of ruthless corporate authority he projected across financial news networks, there was a strange, protective stillness about him that surprisingly put her at ease.

"Alexander instructed Oliver to take Miss Brooks to the west gallery suites," Derrick offered as they rounded a curving archway lined with historic portraiture. "It is just down this hall. She has already managed to order the kitchen staff to bring her a tray of gourmet sandwiches and espresso."

A genuine, lighthearted laugh escaped Iris’s lips—the first real smile she had worn all evening. "That sounds like Zoey. She copes with life-altering revelations by eating and hacking her enemies."

"A very human response," Derrick remarked, a subtle, humored tilt appearing at the corner of his mouth. "And a practical one. Most people in her position would currently be hyperventilating in a corner."

Iris glanced sideways at him, her curiosity overcoming her initial restraint as they walked past a massive oil painting depicting a dark, ancient forest shrouded in mist and shadow.

"You don’t seem very surprised by any of this, Derrick. When you saw us outside... you looked shocked for a second, but now you’re acting like this is just another Tuesday."

Derrick paused briefly near a tall stained-glass window, looking out into the misty courtyard below where several dark, armored SUVs were parked in silent formation.

"I have served the Blackthorne line for nearly three decades, Miss Iris," Derrick said quietly, turning his dark, penetrating eyes back to her. "In my position, very little surprises me. But watching my Alpha—a man who has spent three thousand years carrying the weight of an entire species on his shoulders, detached and unyielding—bring a human woman into his private quarters and mark her as his equal... that is not a Tuesday. That is a shift in the alignment of our world."

Iris absorbed his words, the gravity in his tone making her stomach tighten into a hard knot. "He said... he said the mark means I’m his mate. But I still don’t fully understand what that entails for your people."

"It means you are the heart of his bloodline," Derrick answered without hesitation, his expression turning profoundly serious. "Did he tell you about the Bloodlines?"

"Not much. He only made mention that the werewolves descended from each Lycan have to depend on the Lycan for survival," Iris replied, her fingers nervously tracing the cuff of her sleeve. "I’m not so sure about it all. He was in such a haste to get me out of my apartment, saying it wasn’t safe for me there."

Derrick nodded slowly, his posture rigid yet respectful. "I’ve known Alexander for three decades, Miss Carter. And in those three decades, he didn’t care about anything. Yes, he runs multi-billion dollar companies, but still... to him, it was worth nothing. It was merely a game to pass the centuries... until you came along." He let out a quiet sigh, his dark eyes softening as he looked down at her.

"The night that I dragged him to Obsidian, I didn’t know that he would meet you there. I just wanted him out of his office, away from his melancholy, and for him to at least enjoy the evening. But thank the Goddess... finally, he has found his mate."

He paused, gesturing slightly toward the sweeping stone architecture surrounding them. "To a werewolf, a mate is a bond of passion and duty. But to a true Lycan—an Ultimate Alpha—a mate is the anchor to his humanity, his sanity, and his power. Without you, Alexander is a king who rules over an empire of stone and blood. With you..." Derrick offered a soft, respectful bow of his head. "...he has something worth protecting."

Iris found herself entirely speechless. The reality of a thirty two years old-billion-dollar tech magnate bowing to her in genuine, quiet gratitude was a surreal surrealism she couldn’t reconcile with her twenty-two years of ordinary existence.

"For the issues of the bloodline," Derrick continued, his tone turning crisp and informative as they resumed walking, "it is true that the werewolf bloodlines descended from each of the three original Lycans depend directly on that particular progenitor for survival. Take for instance my bloodline and Alexander’s. If anything happens to Alexander now—let us say he dies—me and every single werewolf descended from his line will either share his fate instantly, or lose our inner beast entirely, reverting to ordinary humans."

A cold shudder ran through Iris. Even though Alexander had mentioned something similar back in her apartment, hearing it detailed so plainly by Derrick laid bare the terrifying stakes of their existence.

"But he’s immortal, right?" Iris asked, her voice tight with rising anxiety. "I mean... he and his brothers have lived for three thousand years. If they can live for so long, surely they can live for many more."

"They can," Derrick agreed, stopping near a carved stone pillar. "But for Alexander now... his life is tied directly to yours."

Iris stopped short, her breath catching. "What do you mean?"

Derrick turned fully to face her, his expression grim and unreadable. "Yes, he has lived for so long, but immortality without a mate is both a blessing and a curse. A curse because he has watched countless friends and people he cared for wither and die over the millennia.

Take me and Oliver, for example. Every generation, a Lycan selects a werewolf from his bloodline to serve as his Beta and Gamma. It is his way of maintaining a direct, living bridge with his people. If he grows stronger, every Alpha and werewolf descended from his bloodline grows stronger. If he weakens... we all do. So Oliver and I, in this generation... we are the closest things he has to friends and family. Imagine the toll it takes on him when we eventually pass."

Iris nodded slowly, a heavy ache blooming in her chest. "I understand that part. But I’m still confused about how his life is tied to mine."

"Because you are his sole reason for existing now, Miss Carter."

Iris swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering against her neck. "Iris. Please, call me Iris."

"Alright then. Iris," Derrick said smoothly, stepping closer. "Part of a Lycan’s absolute immortality is tied directly to finding his mate. Now that he has found you, and now that he has claimed and marked you, your lifelines are woven together. If anything fatal happens to you now, Iris... he will die. His soul will simply refuse to sustain his body without yours."

Iris stared at him wide-eyed, her hand flying to her throat. Alexander had admitted she was his anchor, but he had deliberately spared her the terrifying truth of his vulnerability. The sheer weight of an immortal king’s life resting squarely on her fragile, mortal shoulders felt like a crushing mountain descending upon her chest.

Sensors of panic flared in her mind as she struggled to process it.

"Did... did he tell you about the hunters?" Derrick asked, sensing her internal turmoil and smoothly pivoting the conversation.

"He didn’t say much," Iris managed to whisper, her voice trembling slightly. "Just that there are people who have hunted his bloodline for centuries."

"Yes," Derrick murmured, his gaze darkening with ancient sorrow. "Three thousand years ago, an event triggered what we call the Great Purge—a catastrophic war that nearly wiped the Lycan species from existence, leaving only three true Lycans alive: Alexander, Lucien, and Damien. That war released dark curses and plagues that almost eradicated the human population of that era. To heal humanity, each of the three surviving Lycans, with the help of a paramount witch of that age, offered their sacred blood to the survivors. That union created the very first werewolf bloodlines. That is how and why we are bound to them as our progenitors."

He paused, letting the heavy history settle in the air before continuing. "The faction that sought to extinguish the Lycans back then were known simply as the Hunters. Though those original men died millennia ago, their ideological descendants have multiplied over the centuries. Today, they operate as heavily funded, secret mercenary organizations dedicated to eradicating every supernatural entity in existence under the guise of restoring human dominance."

"Alexander mentioned that what started the Great Purge was... an issue concerning mates?" Iris asked, searching Derrick’s eyes for subtext.

"It was," Derrick admitted, though a shadow of hesitation crossed his features. "However, the full, unvarnished history remains fragmented. Only Alexander and his brothers carry the complete truth of what happened that night. And even after three thousand years, none of them will utter a single word about it."

Iris absorbed the secret quietly, then remembered another detail. "You mentioned a powerful witch three thousand years ago who helped create the first werewolves."

"Yes," Derrick replied. "Nelma was her name. In the shadow world, she is revered as the Primordial Witch."