Chapter 95: Centuries Old Estate

Chapter 95: Chapter 95: Centuries Old Estate

Zoey stared in absolute disbelief, her mouth slightly parting as her brain scrambled to reconcile the man standing before her with the face she had seen splashed across the financial pages of Forbes and the Wall Street Journal.

Derrick Williams—the ruthless tech titan who had quietly swallowed three major defense contractors in a single aggressive hostile takeover just last month—was standing on the front steps of a gothic fortress in the middle of nowhere, bowing his head in quiet, absolute deference.

Derrick’s expression remained an immaculate mask of corporate composure, but as his gaze shifted slowly from Zoey to Iris, a sudden, sharp intake of air betrayed him.

His eyes dropped down to where Alexander’s hand was firmly, possessively locked around Iris’s fingers, tracking the dark, intricate pattern visible just above the collar of her blouse.

A flash of profound, unreadable astonishment crossed the billionaire’s refined features. He had clearly not expected to see a human girl standing beside his Ultimate Alpha. And he certainly had not expected to see the mark of the Ultimate Alpha resting on her neck.

The pieces fell into place with the force of a falling anvil. Weeks ago, Derrick had been the one to drag Alexander out of his self-imposed isolation, dragging him into Obsidian—Derrick’s private, members-only nightclub in downtown Seattle—hoping to loosen the ancient Lycan’s rigid, solitary habits.

Derrick remembered standing by the VIP bar, nursing a scotch, when he had nearly choked on his ice as he watched Alexander Blackthorne—a three-thousand-year-old immortal who hadn’t deigned to touch a human woman with anything resembling affection in recorded memory—out on the dark, throbbing dance floor with a human girl.

Alexander had held her close, moving with a fluid, terrifying grace that had made every predator in the room flatten their ears.

And then, before the night was half over, Alexander had simply vanished into the night with her.

Days later, Derrick had received a cryptic, non-negotiable directive from his Alpha: Prepare the west wing. Ensure everything is tailored to a human’s comfort. Derrick had scrambled to obey, though his mind had raced with a thousand unanswered questions. Now, looking at the dark ink stamped against Iris Carter’s pale throat, the mystery dissolved into absolute, staggering clarity.

The monster had found his anchor. After centuries of cold, solitary endurance, the Ultimate Alpha had finally found his mate.

"That’s Derrick Williams," Zoey whispered under her breath, her fingers clutching frantically at Iris’s sleeve as if anchoring herself to the physical plane. "The actual Derrick Williams. The guy who dictates market trends from a yacht in Monaco. He’s on the cover of every major business magazine!"

Derrick stepped forward, smoothly bridging the physical distance with the practiced grace of a diplomat stepping onto a global summit stage. He inclined his head toward Alexander in a gesture of deep, unyielding respect before turning his dark, piercing eyes toward Iris, his sharp features softening into something remarkably warm, almost courtly.

"Welcome to the Blackthorne Estate, Miss Iris," Derrick said, his voice smooth, cultured, and carrying a rich timbre that completely belied his intimidating reputation. "Everything has been prepared for your arrival. Your rooms have been readied to your exact specifications."

Iris blinked, her brows drawing together in genuine bewilderment. A cold, heavy knot of surrealism twisted in her stomach. She was just a broke college student—a girl whose bank account currently sat at forty-two dollars and fifty cents.

Yet here was one of the most powerful corporate magnates in North America standing on a marble portico, welcoming her by name to an ancient, secluded stronghold like she was royalty. She squeezed Alexander’s hand involuntarily.

Alexander did not release Iris’s hand. Instead, his thumb swept across the sensitive skin of her knuckles in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, grounding her against the swirling vortex of her own thoughts. His striking blue eyes swept over the silent, watching court before returning to anchor entirely on her face.

"Let us go inside," Alexander said quietly, his low baritone cutting effortlessly through the chill evening air, carrying a weight that brooked no argument. "It is time you see where you truly belong."

He turned, leading her away from the cold night and across the sweeping threshold of the mansion’s massive double doors.

As they stepped past the entrance, both Iris and Zoey let out a synchronized, breathless gasp. The interior was a breathtaking paradox of time.

While the massive stone masonry, vaulted timber ceilings, and sweeping archways whispered of medieval centuries long past, the decor was impeccably, flawlessly preserved. There was no dust of antiquity here, no smell of decay.

Instead, the halls were illuminated by custom wrought-iron chandeliers casting a warm, amber glow across polished obsidian floors, priceless oil paintings, and centuries-old tapestries depicting grand, forgotten wars. Every inch of the space radiated an expensive, regal sophistication that made Iris feel as though she had walked straight into a museum dedicated to a dynasty that refused to die.

Alexander paused near the base of a grand spiraling staircase, keeping Iris close against his side as Derrick followed them inside at a respectful distance.

"Derrick," Alexander instructed, his eyes still fixed on the subtle tension in Iris’s shoulders. "Take the delegation to the conclave room. Tell them to wait for me there. I know they will have no shortage of objections and questions regarding my absence and Iris’s presence here, but I will answer them all once I have settled Iris in."

Derrick offered a crisp, professional nod. "Of course, Alpha. Though... there is a complication you should factor into your timeline. The High Council arrived by private transport nearly an hour ahead of schedule. And a few of the regional Alphas are still en route; their territories are located deep in the northern ranges, and I suspect they received our memo late due to localized communication disruptions."

"I am aware of the delays," Alexander replied evenly, his expression hardening just a fraction. "That is precisely why I am making the Council wait. When I address them, every single regional leader will be present under this roof. I have no intention of repeating myself, and I certainly will not entertain fragmented dissent."

"Understood," Derrick murmured, shifting his weight slightly as his eyes flicked down the long hallway. He hesitated for a heartbeat, a rare flicker of professional anxiety crossing his usually unflappable features. "And... what of your brothers, sir?"

The air in the foyer seemed to drop ten degrees.

Alexander exhaled slowly, a heavy, resonant sigh that carried the exhaustion of a millennium. "I will inform them of the change in our circumstances when the time is right." Alexander said, his voice dropping an octave. "It is not as if either of them is currently in Seattle, are they?"

"No, they are not," Derrick murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers—a subtle gesture of immense exhaustion. "Lucien sent word from somewhere in Eastern Europe yesterday—he claimed he was profoundly bored and hinted that he intended to ’loosen up the local political structure’ by causing a diplomatic crisis.

And Damien... well, Damien had unfinished business with a rogue bloodline in the southern territories. He had personal scores to settle with an old bloodpack in Prague—he didn’t deem the details worthy of reporting to me. But you and I both know that the moment whispers of tonight’s gathering reach their respective bloodlines, and across the continental network, they will drop everything and tear through any borders to get here."

Iris listened to the exchange, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the implications. Brothers. Other Lycans—beasts presumably just as ancient, just as terrifying, and just as powerful as the man holding her hand. The thought of more creatures like Alexander descending upon this fortress made her pulse spike.

Alexander caught the slight stiffening of her fingers within his grasp and immediately softened his posture, turning his gaze back to her with a silent, reassuring squeeze of his hand. He looked back at Derrick.

"When they cross our borders, let them come. Until then, ensure the estate runs smoothly and keep the Council contained."

"Yes, Alpha," Derrick bowed deeply, turning on his heel to marshal the waiting staff and security details.

Alexander turned his attention toward his lieutenant, who stood quietly near the shadows of a massive marble pillar. "Oliver."

"Sir?" Oliver stepped forward immediately.

"Take Miss Brooks to one of the west wing guest suites," Alexander commanded, his voice smooth and absolute. "Ensure she has everything she requires for her stay here. I will attend to Iris."

Yes, sir," Oliver replied smoothly. He turned to Zoey, extending a hand in a polite, measured gesture toward the sweeping stairs. "This way, Miss Brooks."

Zoey swallowed hard, her eyes darting nervously between Oliver, the towering statues, and Iris. She reached out, giving Iris’s free hand a tight, emotional squeeze. The two women exchanged a quiet, profound look—a silent communication born from years of shared apartment living, late-night cram sessions, and the sudden, terrifying descent into a supernatural reality neither of them had ever asked for.

"Call me if you need me to burn this place down," Zoey whispered fiercely to Iris, a tiny flash of her trademark bravado breaking through her fear, before turning to follow Oliver down the dimly lit corridor.