Alpha's Rejected becomes the Lycan's Obsession
Chapter 119: One more time

Chapter 119: One more time

The 13-hour flight to Agrapha had been long, tedious, and marked by silence that never quite turned restful. Yet, when the plane finally touched down and the hiss of the pressurized doors welcomed Williams into a new land, he felt something shift inside him. The moment his feet touched the solid, foreign ground, a deep, unshakable certainty coursed through him. He was in the right place.

Yes, the map from the night before had already confirmed the coordinates, etched into his memory like a sacred mantra, but this was different. This was instinct. This was a knowing that gripped his soul and settled deep in his bones.

Despite the clarity of his arrival, his journey was far from over. The person he had come for was still a distance away, separated from him by layers of landscape and silence.

With determination set in his eyes, Williams hailed a cab outside the quiet airport. The cabbie was a lean, older man with sharp eyes and a cigarette dangling from his lip, the end of it glowing like a warning in the dusky air.

Williams handed him a note with an address, and the cabbie frowned, looked at him like he was either lost or crazy, then simply shrugged and nodded.

They drove in silence through winding, unfamiliar roads that grew more deserted as they progressed. Civilization thinned out, giving way to sparse houses and wild vegetation. The road eventually became rough, less of a road and more of a memory of one. Then, finally, at the edge of a dense, looming forest that looked like it could swallow a man whole, the cab came to a halt.

"This is as far as I go," the cab driver said, glancing uneasily at the towering trees that stretched like sentinels into the night. "The town you’re looking for... it’s in the heart of that forest. You’ll have to go on foot from here. No one drives into that place."

Williams said nothing for a moment. He simply looked at the forest. He noticed how the darkness clung to it and how the branches tangled overhead like claws. Then he turned to the cabbie, gave a brief nod, handed him a few folded bills, and muttered a quiet, "Thank you."

The cabbie didn’t wait. He shoved the gear into drive and sped off without a second glance, his taillights fading quickly down the same path they came.

Williams stood alone at the edge of the forest. The last glimmers of daylight had vanished, swallowed whole by the thick canopy above. The trees were massive and densely packed, their tall frames allowing only thin shafts of moonlight to pierce through in silver streaks. The air was heavy with the scent of damp moss and decaying leaves.

He took a deep breath and began to walk, each step deliberate, each movement calculated. The path that lay ahead wasn’t marked on any map, not physically anyway, but it had been revealed to him, imprinted on his mind. He followed it now without hesitation.

He heightened his senses, tuning in to every rustle, every chirp, every shift of the wind. The forest was alive, whispering in a language only those attuned could understand.

Branches creaked softly overhead, and the occasional call of an owl echoed through the dark. He didn’t miss a thing. His eyes flicked toward every shadow, ears twitched at every subtle crackle beneath his feet.

Time passed in slow, tense layers until finally he reached the edge of a clearing. The sight before him made his breath pause.

Scattered around the clearing were houses, modest in size but not poorly built. His gaze searched, scanning each one until his eyes locked onto the particular house he had come for. There was no mistake. It stood just at the edge of the cluster on the other side of where he stood currently, a house not as grand as the one in Monero, yet there was something undeniable about it. Modern in build, sturdier in frame, it stood with a quiet confidence, its white walls gently glowing under the moonlight, its windows darkened but not lifeless.

***

Inside that very house, all was quiet. The soft rustle of paper was the only sound, as a man in his early fifties sat alone in the living room, reading a folded newspaper. He looked like someone used to solitude, someone who had learned not to flinch at silence. His glasses sat low on his nose, and his eyes skimmed each line with practiced familiarity.

A moment later, the silence shifted slightly. From the bedroom, a young woman in her early twenties emerged, walking barefoot with fluid ease. She carried a small fruit tray in her hand and moved past the man without a word, heading into the kitchen. Her long braids were piled loosely atop her head, and the soft sway of her hips hinted at a natural grace she didn’t even try to command.

The man lowered the newspaper, the paper rustling slightly in protest, and pushed himself up with a soft grunt. He followed her into the kitchen, his expression unreadable but for a faint frown beginning to form.

"You didn’t finish the bananas," he said, eyeing the half-eaten fruits on the tray with mild disapproval.

"No, uncle," the lady replied, her voice soft like velvet, yet laced with an unmistakable firmness. "The ones remaining are soft. I’ll use them for Dexter’s smoothie in the morning."

She didn’t look at him as she spoke, busying herself at the small counter. The man gave a slow nod, absorbing her words.

He turned his gaze away for a moment, thinking. Then he looked back at her, this time with something more serious in his eyes.

"Eze asked after you today."

"Who’s Eze again?" she asked, a spark of curiosity flashing across her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

"The funny banker we met at the market the last time we went together," he explained, watching her reaction carefully.

Recognition bloomed in her expression, followed by a soft, amused smile. "Oh, Eze the clown." She chuckled lightly. "He should be given an official title as the town’s comedian and drunk."

She turned to face her uncle, brows raised. "Why was he asking about me though? We just met once."

"He seems to have been captivated by your beauty and wants to get to know you better," her uncle replied, a bit of a smile creeping into his voice, just a hint of enthusiasm.

"And I believe you did justice to that flicker of hope that had ignited in his heart," the lady said flatly, her tone neither playful nor cruel, simply neutral. But the lack of inflection in her words made her disinterest painfully clear.

"Chidera," her uncle called out tiredly, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly.

"Uncle, I already told you I am not interested in marriage or relationship with any man anymore." Her voice remained steady, sure. "I am content with what I have and I will be fine."

She knew what was coming next. The moment Eze’s name was mentioned, she had seen it coming like an oncoming train. But she wasn’t about to entertain it. Not tonight. Not ever.

"I already have Dexter, and I have you. That’s enough for me," she added firmly, her gaze locked on his.

"I am an old man, Chidera. I will not be here for much longer," her uncle said, his voice lower now, wearier than before.

"Dexter will be here, uncle, so you don’t have to worry. I will be fine. I can take care of myself," Dera insisted. There was no wobble in her words, no pause, just a straight declaration, one she had spoken many times before.

Her uncle looked at her with eyes that held a lifetime of worry. Then he sighed, long and resigned. "You are so stubborn, but I understand. And I will support your decision... even if you change your mind in the future. And I hope you do soon."

He turned, ready to return to the couch and the half-read newspaper. But he paused as her face suddenly shifted, twisting into an uncomfortable expression that made something in his chest tighten.

"What’s the matter?" he asked, brows knitting.

"I’m having a strange feeling," she said slowly, carefully. "And whenever I feel this way... it means danger is around the corner. I’ve been feeling it for some time, but I ignored it. However, it’s growing stronger."

She shook her head as if trying to shake the discomfort away, but it clung to her stubbornly.

"Let me check outside," her uncle said immediately, already moving.

"No, uncle. Don’t go outside," she said quickly, her voice pleading. "Whatever it is, it’s outside. Please stay inside for now."

He paused, processing the urgency in her tone. Then he gave a slight nod.

"Alright. I will grab my rifle then."

Dera nodded. "Kill the lights when you do."

She moved swiftly to a drawer, fingers steady despite the tension in the air. She pulled it open and retrieved two gleaming daggers. Their weight was familiar in her palms, cold and comforting.

She then opened another drawer and pulled out a dark bottle, filled with a thick, inky liquid. Without a word, she poured it over both blades, letting the viscous substance coat them fully. It soaked into the metal like blood to cloth.

Something, or someone dangerous was approaching. She could feel it in her bones, vibrating through every inch of her being. The sensation clawed at her chest and whispered in her ears.

And she wasn’t going to stand idly by and watch anything or anyone ruin her life one more time.

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