Contract With The Alpha King
Chapter 101

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.

Arlen shook her head slightly, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. After a 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 word.

The door slammed shut behind Fiona with a deafening bang, cutting off the faint sound of Arlen's retreating footsteps. Fiona turned sharply, her pulse quickening. She reached out instinctively to test the handle but froze as the oppressive darkness around her suddenly dissipated.

The room burst into light

Candles lined every surface-tables, walls, even the floor-casting a warm, golden glow 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 the room.

It was circular, its 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. At the center of the room stood a figure, cloaked and motionless, their face obscured by a hood.

Fioral turned her gaze back to the door, now firmly shut behind her. The faint carvings on its surface glimmered in the candlelight. She stepped closer, brushing her fingers against it. "Why couldn't I see the room before?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "It is an enchantment," the voice said again, closer now. It sounded like a combined voice of both male and female. However, since it was deeper, Fiona assumed that the one behind the hood was a man.

Fiona turned swiftly, her eyes narrowing on the hooded figure. 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 but shadow." Fiona nodded without saying another word. "You are a witch..she muttered after a few seconds of silence.

The figure didn't answer her. Instead, they walked toward a chair and sat down

The cloaked figure's head tilted slightly as Fiona stood before him. The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows across the room.

"You carry the name Rosenthal, do you not?"

Fiona froze, her stomach twisting. "I do"

The figure let 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 telling it."

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2:47 PM C

Chapter 101

The figure's 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 some truth"

Frona's gaze didn't waver. This wasn't a casual accusation. Whoever this was must have known far more about her lineage than most. Clearly, this int RemicTO.

Then was it another member of the Five Great Families!

The figure leaned forward slightly. "The Rosenthals were wise 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 even now." Fiona held her ground. "And what does that have to do with me?"

The figure straightened, his posture rigid. "Your name carries the weight of that betrayal, whether you accept it or not. And now you stand before me. a Rosenthal, far from the walls that once safeguarded your kind."

Fiona said nothing, unwilling to engage further. Her silence didn't seem to bother the figure. Instead, he shifted his tone, gesturing slightly toward a small table nearby. A delicate goblet appeared out of thin air. filled with a dark liquid.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, his voice suddenly casual as if they were discussing something mundane.

Fiona's eyes flicked to the goblet, then back to him. "No, thank you"

He chuckled quietly, his bony hand brushing the armrest of his chuir. "Cautious. Perhaps wise. His tone grew sharp again. "Why have you come here, Rosenthal?*

"I was brought here," Fiona said. "I was expecting to see the Rogue King. Clearly, I am wrong. The question is, why?"

The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, the room seemed to shift subtly, the air growing heavier. Behind her, Fiona heard a faint creak She turned, gasping softly as a chair materalized from nowhere. It was ornate, carved from dark wood, with an intricately woven cushion. She hadn't seen magic before-not like this Stones of witches and their abilities had always seemed distant, almost like myths. But this-this was real tangible, and utsenta shiver down her spine.

"SI" the figure said simply

Fiona hesitated before lowering herself into the chair. It felt solid, cold against her skin, and she forced herself to keep her expression neutral figure watched her closely, his posture relaxed as he enjoyed whatever it was in his goblet.

"Do not be too impressed," he said, gesturing faintly at the chair. "You carry magic in your blood, Rosenthal. It is your heritage"

Fiona's brow furrowed "Magic?" she asked, her tone skeptical. "That's impossible." Only witches hold magic in their veins. The Rosenthals are Werewolves. They are not witches.

The figure's head tilted again, his hood shifting as if he were studying her. "Is it You underestimate your lineage. The Rosenthals were once bound to power-magic intertwined with blood, duty, and honor. It is only the shadow of betrayal that has dulled it." Fiona frowned. "Did you want to see me to lecture me about history?" she asked.

AR