Mumei's POV:
I froze for a moment before giving a small nod.
"My parents passed away when I was very young, so I'm not quite sure," I answered truthfully. After all, in my earlier years, most referred to me simply as 'the girl,' or 'the rogue,' or 'the runt.' A name had never seemed to matter much to anyone.
"Oh, how wonderful," he mused. "Parents are positively dreadful, if you ask me." He exhaled, as though lost in thought. "However, the name doesn't quite suit a beauty like you."
I frowned slightly, unsure how to respond to that. Even though the compliment at the end had me feeling flutters in my abdomen. I didn't really like that feeling however. Especially since it now reminded me of Lucian.
"You can call me whatever you like, then," I said at last. Most people did anyway. A name wasn't something I had ever had the privilege to own for myself.
"Hmm… fine then." He shifted slightly, and I felt the air around us move. A moment later, he finally loosened his grip and set me down. My bare feet touched the cold, hard bedroom floor, and a sharp sting flared through me as I instinctively flinched. A small gasp escaped me before I could stop it.
"Is something the matter?" he asked, his voice carrying a sudden sharpness, as though he sensed my unease immediately.
I shook my head quickly. "No. Nothing. I will leave you to go ahe—"
"Are you blind?" he asked, his voice calm, yet piercing, like a knife sliding through silk.
I stilled. The question struck deeper than I expected. The answer should have been simple. Yes. But for some reason, admitting it aloud felt like a lie. I didn't want to lie to him.
"My eyes are cursed," I said instead. "So I am supposed to keep them shut."
"How odd," he murmured. "There doesn't seem to be any cursed aura emanating from you. Has it been like this since birth?"
I hesitated, then shook my head again.
"I remember being able to see when I was young," I admitted, my voice quieter. "But after that, the pack members made me swear an oath to wear the blindfold… for their safety."
He exhaled slowly, like he was processing something. "I see."
There was a brief pause before he spoke again, his voice commanding. "Zachary, get me a medical box."
A soft hum of assent came from nearby, followed by a sharp gust of wind as something moved swiftly past me.
I swallowed hard, unable to contain my growing anxiety any longer. "Aren't… you going to… umm… eat me?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Silence.
"Pardon?" Alastor's voice held an edge of disbelief.
I clenched my hands into fists. "Well, since you've already marked me… you're supposed to drain me of my soul… right?"
A beat of silence. Then another voice cleared its throat.
"I think what she's referring to are the rumors spread by the wolf packs," the deep, raspier voice of one of the gargoyles interjected.
"And what are those rumors?" Alastor asked, his tone dark with curiosity.
"According to them," the gargoyle continued, "a virgin omega shall be 'sacrificed' to you every decade." He hesitated, as though weighing his words. "To prevent your awakening."
I felt the tension in the air thicken.
"And what," he asked slowly, dangerously, "is the purpose of this sacrifice?"
There was another pause before the gargoyle answered. "Well… it's supposed to prevent you from waking up."
Alastor let out a short, incredulous laugh. "How, exactly, are virgin sacrifices meant to keep me from waking up? Is that what happened here? You were the sacrifice? Why don't people want me to wake up?" he asked, and I could feel the weight of his attention shift back to me.
I nodded stiffly. "Well… yes. I am the sacrifice. However, the reason no one wants you to wake up is… well, you're the Lycan King. Correct?"
"In a way, yes," he murmured after a pause.
I took a breath, then forced the words out. "According to the Alpha, if you were to awaken, war and bloodshed would resume, just as it had centuries ago when you ruled."
The air grew colder. Something shifted in the energy surrounding us, like a storm brewing in the dark.
Alastor inhaled slowly, deeply. And then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
A door slammed shut.
I flinched.
The room was silent for a long moment before the gargoyle who had spoken earlier finally addressed me again.
"You should sit down. We don't have a medical kit, so it might take a while for Zach to retrieve it."
I nodded numbly. I felt the air shift, the gargoyle's touch guiding me gently forward. I walked cautiously, feeling a wooden frame before sinking into a plush, surprisingly warm sofa.
"Thank you," I murmured.
The silence stretched between us again. A part of me wanted to fill it.
"Umm… what's your name, sir?" I asked hesitantly.
There was a long pause and I almost thought he wouldn't answer.
Then to my surprise, the gargoyle laughed softly. "My name is Xavier. You can call me Xavi, though."
I frowned at his casualness. It reminded me too much of Lucian. That bitter ache settled in my chest again, but I ignored it.
"Sir Xavier, what is going to happen to me?" I asked before I lost the nerve.
He didn't seem surprised by the question. "That is for you and the Sire to decide."
I exhaled slowly. That answer did little to ease my nerves.
Alastor—the Lycan King—didn't seem like a monster. If I were to imagine a horrible person the first one to come to mind would be Gareth. But not Alastor. Even after he drank my blood. Though I did feel fear.
But there was something in him. Something dark I couldn't name which made me want to get closer….maybe that was just the mate mark?
I never learned much about it after all. All I knew was that Alpha's mark with a bite on the neck of their Omega's and…I swallowed fiddling with my thumb…and after that they are allowed to be together during their heats and ruts.
However…I had only ever experienced heat once four years ago. Never after that…