Alpha's Rejected becomes the Lycan's Obsession
Chapter 120: State your business and leave

Chapter 120: State your business and leave

The town looked asleep, blanketed in a silence so complete it made the night feel unnatural. Not a single soul roamed about, and the only signs of life were the weak well lot houses and street lamps. A cold breeze slithered through the empty streets, whispering against closed windows and stirring up loose leaves that skittered across the pavement like timid creatures avoiding detection.

Williams narrowed his eyes, scanning the quiet scene around him. It was just a few minutes past eight p.m. according to his time, but everything about this place suggested it was way past midnight. It didn’t feel like a town merely resting, it felt like a town that had exhaled its last breath.

He had been in plenty of places over the years, seen more than most people should, but this place felt... hollow. Williams didn’t need to ask questions to know that this place had a story. And it wasn’t a pretty one.

Williams began to approach the house but just as he neared the property, the small light that had been glowing warmly inside the house, flickered once and died, plunging the house into complete darkness.

Williams froze, his eyes narrowing. He waited a moment, letting the night speak to him. Nothing. Just the low rustle of tree branches and the faint creak of the wooden porch swaying ever so slightly in the wind.

Still, he continued moving. His steps were cautious, deliberate, as he approached the house. When he finally reached the front porch, the wood groaned beneath his weight. The scent hit him the moment he stepped up, faint but distinct. That unique citrus scent that only belonged to her. His pulse kicked against his ribs.

His heart skipped a beat for the very first time in a long time.

She was his home, and right at that moment, standing in front of this unlit house cloaked in mystery and silence, he felt it.

He was home.

His knuckles rapped firmly against the door. Three solid knocks, each one echoing into the silence like a call from the past. He waited, patient but alert, his senses extended like invisible threads into the shadows.

Nothing happened. No footsteps, no flicker of light.

But he wasn’t fooled.

His ears, in its heightened state, had already picked up on the subtle rhythm of heartbeats from within the house. They were faint, carefully quiet, but unmistakably present. Someone was inside.

He lifted his hand to knock again, already preparing for another round of waiting, when the lock suddenly clicked. The sound was quiet, like a whisper, but unmistakable. The door creaked open inwardly, and Williams instinctively took a half-step back. Still, no one appeared.

And the lights remained off.

That wasn’t right.

Every instinct in his body urged caution. He wasn’t new to ambushes. He’d walked into too many to misread the signs. Yet despite the alarm bells clanging in his head, he hesitated only a moment before stepping inside.

The door shut behind him with a quiet but firm finality, as if the house itself had swallowed him whole.

Darkness enveloped him.

And then the sharp edge of a dagger was pressed against his skin with enough force to warn but not yet to cut. His body stiffened, his breath slowing as he prepared himself.

"One more step and you’re dead. Who the fuck are you and what business do you have here?"

The voice that uttered the words wasn’t unfamiliar. It cut through the darkness with a clarity that made his chest clench. He had longed for that voice, dreamed of it in moments too fragile to admit. It was her.

But before he could react, a light snapped on above them, and the dim golden glow revealed a second figure standing behind a table, rifle raised and trained directly at him.

He had been so distracted by her voice, her presence, that he hadn’t even noticed the second person.

But it didn’t matter.

His eyes locked on the woman before him, the woman with the dagger at his neck. The woman he had once known like the back of his hand.

Her eyes widened in recognition, flickering with surprise.

She still had her long braids, just as he remembered, but time had only deepened her beauty. Her high cheekbones, those piercing eyes. His breath caught again, and all he wanted to do was reach out and hold her, just wrap her in his arms and finally close that aching space between them.

But he couldn’t.

Not with a blade pressed against his throat.

"Dera," Williams said, his voice low, threaded with something soft, something that had lain buried for too long.

The surprise in her eyes vanished, quickly replaced by a hard frown that made his chest tighten.

"Answer the question, mister. Who are you and what do you want here?"

The voice came from the man holding the rifle, pulling Williams’ attention away from her for the first time. He turned his head slightly, studying the man’s features. There was a stark resemblance to Dera’s father, unmistakable even in the yellow light. The same angular jaw, the same heavy-lidded eyes. But this one was lighter in complexion than the other, paler.

"Answer the question before I put a bullet in your head," the man barked again, raising the rifle a little higher, his finger twitching over the trigger.

"Chidera, is he the Casper guy?" The man threw another question before the first one could be answered, this time to his niece.

"Casper?" Williams frowned deeply. He never thought the day would come when he would be compared to that son of a bastard. "I’m not Casper. My name is Williams."

He straightened, even with the blade against his throat, his voice steady and unwavering.

"Williams Xander?" the man asked, disbelief painted on his face.

Williams gave a small, firm nod. "The one and only," he said.

"Chidera, is that correct?" the man turned to her.

"Yes, uncle," Dera said through gritted teeth, her tone as cold as ice.

The man lowered his gun slowly at her confirmation, but Dera made no move to step away from Williams. The blade still pressed against his skin.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice low, her eyes burning into his. She pressed the blade slightly harder, not enough to pierce, but enough to remind him of his position.

"It’s so good to see you again, Dera," Williams replied, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"That is not the answer to my question," she seethed, her face a mask of hostility. There was no softness there. No reunion. Just fury.

"Let the man go, Chidera," her uncle said, stepping forward now, voice trying to mediate. But she didn’t budge.

"He is one of them, Uncle. I think he should leave. He has no business here," she said, her voice rising, coated in accusation and rejection.

"I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have business here," Williams replied, his voice calm but firm, the weight of truth carried in every word.

"Then state your business and leave!" she snapped, loud and biting, the sharpness of her tone slicing deeper than the blade at his throat.

Williams remained still.

Outwardly, he looked unfazed, composed, unreadable as ever.

But inside?

Inside, he was reeling. Why was she acting like this? This wasn’t the Dera he remembered. The woman who’d once stood with him when no one else would. The one whose laughter used to shake loose his darkness like sunlight cracking ice.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it in the way her uncle kept trying to calm her. In the way she refused to even acknowledge their shared past. It wasn’t just anger.

Williams narrowed his eyes slightly, taking in every detail. The tension in her shoulders. The slight tremor in her hand. The way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes now.

"Do you want him to state his business while you have a dagger to his throat?" the older man asked, his voice softer now, a sharp contrast to the cold edge it had carried earlier. There was a note of reason threaded through his tone, like he was trying to gently anchor Chidera back to a calmer version of herself.

Just then, as though summoned by fate itself, a small figure shuffled into the living room. A little boy, no older than five, stood there in his soft cotton pajamas, a pillow clutched to his chest. His hair was tousled from sleep, and his eyes squinted in the light as he took in the scene before him.

The little boy’s brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at the trio frozen in the middle of what looked like an unfolding standoff. He blinked slowly, the way children do when trying to make sense of a world that suddenly feels unfamiliar.

"Mommy?" he called, his voice small but clear, carrying the innocence and honesty only a child could bring. The single word sliced through the thick silence like a blade, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Williams turned slowly to the boy, his eyes meeting the child’s wide, blinking ones, and something inside his chest gave a violent jolt.

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