Contract With The Alpha King by Brey Mitchylle

Chapter 101

Fiona stood before a massive wooden door, its surface weathered and carved with symbols she didn't recognize. Each symbol pulsed faintly in the dim light of the cavern, as though alive with hidden energy Arlen hesitated, her hand trembling as she raised it to knock. The

sound echoed dully through the space, followed by a long, oppressive silence.

After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open slightly, revealing nothing but pitch-black darkness beyond. Fiona frowned, her instincts peckline. She couldn't make out a single detail within the room-no walls, no light, not even a shadow. It was as if the doorway led to an empty

void

Arlen stepped forward cautiously, her head bowed. "It's me," she said, her words stumbling dightly. "I brought brought the healer."

Fiona's frown deepened as she observed the way Arlen's posture shifted. The woman's earlier bravado had completely evaporated, replaced by a nervas deference that made Fiona's stomach churn. Who or what was behind this door to elicit such a reaction? Was it Romero?

No. This wasn't something that an ordinary Werewolf could do.

The darkness within the doorway remained impenetrable. Fiona tried to peer into it, leaning slightly to the side, but it was useless. Her eyes met only an endless void. She wondered briefly if it was some kind of corridor or another chamber, but even the faint glow from the moss and candles behind them didn't penetrate it.

A voice emerged from the darkness, ancient and brittle, like the creak of an old tree. "Come in."

The command sent a shiver through the air, a low vibration that Fiona could feel in her chest. She exhaled slowly, taking a step forward. Just as she was about to cross the threshold, she glanced at Arlen, expecting her to follow

Arlen remained rooted to the spot, her face pale and glistening with sweat. She clenched her fists, her knuckles white, and seemed unable to meet Fiona's gaze

"What are you waiting for Fiona asked, keeping her tone neutral.

tense moment, she took a small step back. "I'm sorry."" she said abruptly. She then turned and fled back down the corridor without another

off the faint sound of Arlen's retreating footsteps. Fiona turned sharply, her pulse quickening. She reached out instinctively to

burst

across the space. The contrast to the void she had seen earber was so stark that Fiona found herself momentarily disoriented. She stepped forward cautiously, her eyes scanning

walls covered in shelves cluttered with strange artifacts-cracked vials, rusted daggers, and jars filled with things she couldn't identify, Symbols similar to those carved on the door were etched into the stone floor, glowing faintly with the same pulsating energy.

against it. "Why couldn't I see the room before?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

She noticed now how frail they seemed, their body thin and stooped beneath the heavy fabric of the cloak. "Only those who are invited may enter. To all others, it appears as nothing

answer her. Instead, they

stood before him. The flickering candlelight

the name Rosenthal, do you

stomach

out a low, contemplative hum, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. "The traitor clan," he continued, each word like a blow. "The Rosenthals who abandoned the Werewolves that shielded them for generations. How curious to see one of you here." Fiona swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Traitor is a strong word. And history often depends on who is

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Chapter 101

shoulders, shook faintly, and though his face was obscured, Fiona could sense amusement in the air. "Deflection. Interesting. So, the stories of your kind's sharp tongues hold

waver. This wasn't a casual accusation. Whoever this was must have known far more about her

another member of

once. They understood the strength of unity and the necessity of allegiance. Yet they turned their backs on their protectors, severed bonds, and chose exile. A foolish decision. One that echoes

carries the weight of that betrayal, whether you accept it or not. And now you stand before me. a Rosenthal, far from

unwilling to engage further. Her silence didn't seem to bother the figure. Instead, he shifted his tone, gesturing slightly toward a small table