A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 68 - 67

Chapter 68: Chapter 67

The bed was softer than usual, the mattress cradling me like it wanted to keep me there forever. But no amount of fluff or blankets could quiet my mind. Exhaustion pressed down on me, a heavy weight that blurred the edges of my thoughts, but sleep wouldn’t come willingly.

When it finally did, it came like a thief—silent, disorienting, and unkind.

I found myself in a void. Black as pitch, endless and suffocating. The kind of darkness that didn’t just surround you—it consumed you. I couldn’t see my hands, couldn’t feel the ground beneath my feet. My breathing was loud in the stillness, each exhale a sharp echo against the nothingness.

And then I saw her.

Me.

She stood a few feet away, her features sharper, her expression cold and lifeless. Her hands were raw and bloody, the sword in her grip gleaming with an unholy light. She stared at me, unblinking, unmoving, like a predator sizing up its prey.

I tried to speak—to ask who she was or what she wanted—but the words caught in my throat. Her lips curled into a cruel smile, and when she finally moved, it was with deliberate, agonizing slowness.

"You’re weak," she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. "You’ll always be weak."

The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. I stumbled back, the void swallowing me whole as her laughter echoed around me. It wasn’t just cruel; it was triumphant, like she had already won some battle I didn’t even know I was fighting.

I screamed, and the sound shattered the darkness.

When I woke, my chest was heaving, sweat slicking my skin despite the cool night air. My fingers clawed at the sheets, twisting them into knots as I tried to steady my breathing.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream

The mantra did little to calm me. My heart was still racing, the image of her—of me—burned into my mind. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor grounding me as I buried my face in my hands.

Sleep wasn’t coming back tonight.

Grabbing the shawl draped over the chair by my vanity, I wrapped it tightly around my shoulders. The soft fabric did little to combat the chill that had settled in my bones, but it was better than nothing. I slipped on a pair of slippers and padded out of my room, the door creaking softly behind me.

The hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made every creak of the floorboards sound like a shout. The moonlight streamed through the windows, painting the walls in shades of silver and shadow.

Outside, the night air was crisp and cool, a welcome balm against my overheated skin. The courtyard was bathed in moonlight, the stars above winking down like they knew something I didn’t.

I breathed deeply, the scents of dew and earth filling my senses. The world seemed...calmer at night. Quieter. Like all the chaos of the day had been tucked away, leaving only peace in its wake.

But then, my ears twitched.

A sound. Faint but unmistakable.

Sobbing.

My wolf perked up immediately, her instincts sharp and curious. My eyes scanned the courtyard, my hearing zeroing in on the noise. It was coming from the stables, a muffled, heart-wrenching cry that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I followed the sound, my steps careful and deliberate. The sobbing grew louder as I approached, each hitch in the voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.

When I finally found the source, I wasn’t surprised.

Lylda.

He was sitting on a bale of hay, his head buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with each ragged breath. His usual neat appearance was disheveled, his hair falling messily across his forehead.

I leaned against the stable door, crossing my arms as I watched him.

"Figures," I muttered under my breath.

Lylda was the talk of the manor—not because he was important, but because he wasn’t. An omega from a weak bloodline, tasked with the thankless job of caring for the horses. The maids whispered about his looks, sure, but that was all he had going for him. A pretty face and a pitiful story.

And now here he was, crying like the world was ending.

I considered walking over, asking what was wrong, maybe offering some half-hearted comfort. But I stopped myself. This wasn’t my problem.

Whatever had him bawling like a pup didn’t concern me.

With a scoff, I turned on my heel, the straw beneath my slippers crunching softly as I made my way back toward the manor. My wolf growled low in my chest, disapproving of my decision, but I ignored her.

Curiosity wasn’t a luxury I could afford.

The night air was still cool, the stars still shining above, but the peace I had felt earlier was gone. Lylda’s sobs echoed in my mind.

I tightened the shawl around my shoulders, picking up my pace as I headed back inside.

Let someone else deal with him.

~

The morning greeted me with pale light seeping through the curtains, but I was already awake. Sleep had been a fleeting guest, thanks to the lingering chill of last night’s nightmare. Still, I shook off the remnants of it as I dressed in my training attire—a fitted tunic and trousers that let me move freely. My muscles already ached in anticipation of the workout ahead, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Pain meant progress.

Pulling my hair back into a tight braid, I slipped into my boots and headed out. The manor was unusually alive for this early hour. Servants darted around, their steps hurried, hands full of linens, platters, and Goddess knows what else. I raised an eyebrow, pausing to take in the chaos.

One particularly frazzled servant nearly tripped over her own feet as she passed me.

"You." My voice cut through the air like a whip.

She froze, her back stiffening as she turned slowly to face me. The poor thing flinched the moment our eyes met, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the folded linens in her arms.

"What’s going on?" I asked, crossing my arms and tilting my head.

Her gaze darted around like she was searching for an escape route. "We’re... We’re preparing for a visitor, my lady," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Visitor?" I echoed, my tone laced with disbelief. Of course, this was the first I was hearing about it. Typical. Father loved keeping me out of the loop when it came to anything important.

She nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady. The Alpha... instructed us to make the manor ready."

I scoffed, waving her off with a flick of my wrist. "Fine. Go. Don’t trip over yourself again."

She gave a shaky bow before scurrying away like a frightened rabbit. I watched her retreating form with a mix of irritation and amusement. A visitor, I thought. Probably some ally of Father’s, here to plot another power move. Whatever. It wasn’t my concern.

With a roll of my shoulders, I headed toward the training grounds. I had better things to do than fuss over some guest.

The crisp morning air wrapped around me as I stepped onto the training grounds, the scent of dew and earth mingling with the faint metallic tang of my sword. The dummies stood in a neat row, their straw forms taunting me.

I unsheathed my blade, its familiar weight comforting in my grip. Taking my stance, I swung hard, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh before it struck the dummy.

Again.

And again.

Each swing was a release—a way to channel the restless energy that had been building inside me. My muscles burned, the strain making my movements sharper, more deliberate. Sweat trickled down my temple, but I ignored it, focusing solely on the rhythm of my strikes.

The sound of a carriage approaching barely registered. Hooves clattered against the gravel, the wooden wheels groaning under their weight. I heard voices—men shouting orders, servants scrambling—but I kept swinging. Whoever it was, they weren’t here for me.

"Harder," a voice drawled behind me, smooth and deep, laced with a confidence that sent a shiver down my spine.

I froze, my sword mid-swing, the blade barely missing the dummy’s neck. That voice.

Slowly, I turned, my heart pounding in my chest.

There he was.

Alpha Alaric.

He stood a few paces away, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his piercing eyes locked on me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. His presence was as commanding as ever, radiating authority that demanded attention.

"Your form is decent," he said, his tone almost bored. "But your strikes lack power. You’ll never win a fight like that."

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening around the hilt of my sword as I shot him a deadly glare. "What the fuck are you doing here?"