Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 45: Strange conversation

Chapter 45: Strange conversation

TERESA’S P.O.V.

Kneeling in the grass, my hands covered in the dry dust of the earth, I was lost in the quiet sanctuary of the valley. It had only been three weeks since I’d come to this small, hidden town tucked between rugged mountains. This was my refuge, the place where I hoped Lucian’s reach wouldn’t extend. The thought of him finding me—and finding out about the babies—was a terror that kept me awake every night. The mountains were my silent protectors, and the whispering trees felt like watchful friends, guarding my secret.

I was picking wildflowers today, little splashes of color to bring back to Mr. Ben’s bookshop, where I’d been helping part-time. He was a very kind man just like everyone I met so far and the idea of adding something bright to that cozy old shop felt comforting, like maybe I could add a little light to my life, too. I tucked a sprig of lavender into my basket, breathing in its calming scent when a faint rustling caught my ear. My heart jumped in my chest, and I glanced up, fingers pausing mid-reach.

A man stepped out from the shadowed edge of the woods, his tall form moving with an easy, almost unnatural grace. He had a long, dark mane of hair that shimmered in the dappled sunlight, his skin was a bit pale, and his eyes—such an unusual, vibrant shade of purple, like violets caught in twilight. His gaze settled on me, soft but intense, as if he saw something more than what lay in plain sight. There was kindness in his smile, almost a warmth, yet beneath it lay something deeper, something unsettling and strangely compelling.

"Good afternoon, Ma’am," he greeted, his voice smooth and echoing, holding an air of calm as if he owned the very concept of time itself. He strolled toward me without haste, each step seeming deliberate. The way he moved, his voice, it all felt... old somehow, like someone from another era speaking through him.

I scrambled to my feet, brushing dust off my hands and feeling slightly off-balance, clutching my flower basket like it might offer some protection. "Oh... hello."

The corners of his mouth lifted, and he extended his hand. "I am Adrian Daegon," he said with a soft, almost solemn formality, his voice animated with an old-fashioned rhythm. "But most folks here just call me... ’Helper.’"

Helper? I blinked, trying to make sense of it, but before I could ask, his hand slipped into mine—a brief, cold touch, like a winter stream against my palm—then retreated, leaving only the memory of its chill. I swallowed, unnerved but intrigued.

"And you are?" he asked, his voice still gentle, the words carrying a weight that made them feel... significant, somehow.

"Teresa... Michael," I said, the lie slipping out smoothly, though the weight of it settled on me. I had told myself I’d be Teresa Michael here, a small shield against my past. My real surname, Gregory Williams, could too easily lead Lucian to me, and I couldn’t risk that. But the way Adrian’s intense gaze held mine, it was as if he saw right through the lie, peeling back the layers to glimpse at something truer.

"Teresa Michael," he murmured, almost respectfully, savoring each syllable like he was tasting the name on his tongue. "How lovely... And tell me, Teresa, when did you arrive in our quiet town? I do not recall seeing you before, and, well," he chuckled softly, "it is difficult for someone new to escape my notice." His words rang all the alarms in my head but somehow I felt compelled to answer him.

"This is my third week," I replied, hoping my tone sounded casual, though my pulse thrummed with unease. His words, his manner—there was something unreal about him, as if he’d stepped out of an old storybook. Or was this all some sort of act?

"Ah, the third week," he echoed, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. "You must still be learning our ways, then." His voice dropped to a near whisper, but I could feel the sincerity beneath the strange, old-fashioned phrasing. "In this town, Teresa, it is good to know one’s neighbors... should the need for a helping hand arise."

I felt his words settle over me, an invitation and perhaps a warning all at once. His gaze remained on me, a study in quiet curiosity, as though he sought something hidden within me. The intensity made my pulse flutter, a blend of caution and curiosity twisting in my chest.

His gaze drifted downward, settling on my belly where my hand had instinctively come to rest. I tensed, half-expecting some remark, but to my surprise, he said nothing about it. Instead, he asked, "Are you... married? Or maybe, is your boyfriend nearby? I did like to say hello."

The question settled heavily between us, and I felt my chest tighten with the familiar ache that came with thoughts of Lucian. That name alone could destabilize me. "No," I replied, managing a small, polite smile. "I’m... single."

A glint sparked in his eyes, followed by a rich, warm chuckle that seemed to wrap around me, lingering in the air. "Ah, well," he said, his voice smooth and low, "I guess that makes two of us, then. There’s something comforting about knowing we’re not alone, don’t you think?"

I let out a quiet laugh, feeling a strange blend of flattery and unease. His gaze settled on me then, deep and probing, as if I were some rare, mysterious artifact he’d just uncovered. His stare was intense, heavy with meaning, and it made my heart skip—a combination of nervousness and something else that I couldn’t quite name.

He leaned closer, his voice lowering to an almost intimate whisper. "My family’s roots run deep here. My ancestors once owned the entire valley, and now... I find myself responsible for it, for everyone who calls this place home."

It was an odd, almost possessive thing to say, but the seriousness in his deep purple eyes held me captive. I cleared my throat, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. "That... that sounds like a lot to carry."

"It is," he murmured with a serious nod. "But that’s the purpose I’ve accepted. And, Teresa," he added, his tone gentle but intense, "if ever you need anything—any help at all—don’t hesitate. Just ask for me, and I’ll be there."

The way he said it felt like a promise, like he was weaving some kind of spell. I shivered, not from fear, exactly, but something close to it, something close to a thrill. Yet, a part of me was drawn to that offer, the safety he seemed to exude, even as my instincts whispered stay away.

"Thank you," I murmured, unsure what else to say.

He gave me one last smile, that unsettling twinkle returning to his eye. "I’ll be back this evening with Flora—the diner owner here. We’ll stop by and check on you. Welcome to the town, Teresa. I think you’ll find it to be... quite welcoming."

And just like that, he turned, his dark form slipping back into the shadows of the woods, leaving me standing alone with a head buzzing with questions. I didn’t move right away, letting the strange moment hang in the air like mist, heavy and hard to shake. My heart still raced, a reminder of Adrian’s unsettling stares and the odd balance of his words.

I glanced down at my baby bump, feeling a pang of protectiveness swell up inside me. Gently, I smoothed my hand over the curve, grounding myself in the small, steady life growing inside. "Well, little ones," I murmured softly, my voice low as if speaking to a secret. "Seems like this town is going to be... interesting."

I forced a small smile, trying to brush away the lingering oddness. This was supposed to be our safe place, our haven. I had chosen this quiet town, nestled between mountains and hidden from the rest of the world, for a reason. It was a place where Lucian would never think to look, a place where I could keep my babies safe from his grasp. "We’re safe here," I whispered, as much to reassure myself as to comfort them. "No one’s going to take you away. Not ever."

But as I spoke, my mind betrayed me, drifting unbidden to thoughts of Lucian. His fierce, guarded face flickered in my memory, and for a moment, I let myself imagine his green eyes softening, his rigid expression breaking. Did he even notice I was gone? Had he realized that I’d left, or wondered why? Some foolish, hidden part of me dared to hope that maybe, in some quiet moment, he missed me. That maybe, there was a part of him—no matter how small—that still held me with something resembling warmth.

But I shook myself, my fingers tightening on the basket as if to fixing myself to the present. Lucian Blackwood was the past. I’d left him and his harsh, unyielding world behind. This was my fresh start, a chance to build something better for myself and for my children. I needed to let him go, to close that Chapter once and for all.

And yet, beneath the resolve, there lingered a quiet ache—a small, stubborn part of me that wasn’t sure it would ever truly let him go.

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