The Alpha King's Mistress Chapter 117: The Call

After a few hours, finally, sleep decided to visit me. I lay curled on the cold stone floor. But just as the edges of consciousness began to blur, a familiar scent pierced the stale air – a blend of cedarwood and sandalwood, a scent that sent a jolt through my body.

Nicholas.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it to be a figment of my tortured imagination. But the sound of approaching footsteps, heavy and deliberate, shattered the illusion. It was then his voice that confirmed it was not my imagination.

“Are you asleep?”

I opened my eyes and instantly sat upright, staring at him.

“W-what are you doing here?” I asked, stunned.

He stopped in the cell opposite mine, leaning to the bars. The clinking of the bottle held the only sound room. He sat on the floor casually clad in casual sweatpants and a t-shirt. My gaze landed on the bottle in his hand, half-empty and held with a loose grip.

"Couldn't sleep," he confessed, his voice tired, "Couldn't stop thinking."

I bite my lip to stop the tears from forming in my eyes. The vulnerability in those words made me broken ten times. “You should have not gone here”

But he just ignored me.

“You're not crying tonight. That’s good” he suddenly mused.

I looked at him shocked and confused. For the past seven days, I have found myself crying to sleep.

“How…how did you?...”

He shrugs, “I would stay on the main door every night, focusing on your sound”

A single tear escaped my eye, tracing a warm path down my cheek. "You did that" I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse croak.

He didn't answer immediately, the clinking of the bottle against the floor the only reply. Finally, he met my gaze, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions – pain, anger, a hint of something deeper I couldn't name.

"Yes, Florence," he admitted, his voice raspy. "Oddly enough, I barely sleep since that day"

My breath hitched. Even in the face of my betrayal, his words held a power that sent waves crashing through me.

I looked down at my fingers and muttered, "I'm sorry"

"I'm sorry as well," he said, his voice strained.

I raised my head looking at him, “For what?”

He takes another gulp of alcohol from the bottle. “I'm sorry you experienced all of that. All those things”

My lips trembled as tears rolled down my cheeks, “You believed me”

“That part. You believed my stories about my family back then. I think it's only fair to believe your story about yours”

I nodded. Then another deafening silence stretched between us. I played with my fingers, gathering the courage to ask the questions that had been bugging my mind for the past few days.

“W-will y-you kill me?”

He glanced down at the bottle in his hand, his grip tightening around it. "No"

My eyes widened in shock as I stammered. “Really?”

“How could I when you are my mate?”

That makes sense. If he killed me himself, he might die as well or feel an excruciating pain he would wish to die. That’s why I heard about some shifters who lost their mates.

"So, what happens now?"

He drank again, holding my gaze. "You’ll stay here for months maybe until I handle Keith and his minions. Then you can be free after that but only in my castle. You’ll need to change your name and no one should see you….”

He trailed off, his voice held that conviction—firm. “I can't kill you so it is better to do everything in my power to ensure you stay alive and stay with me. So, I will change your identity and hide you from the world. No one should know who you are nor you exist”

There's only one thing that was going through my mind while listening to him—prison. Maybe not physically since said he would allow me out of the dungeon but his plan to me felt like prison. It makes no difference. He will hide me here in his castle forever.

“Is it because you don't want to know that your mate was a criminal?” I asked bitterly.

He sighed, “Yes. If they knew that, they would hunt you down until they killed you. You may have lied, Florence. You may have betrayed my trust. But… you're still my mate. And as your mate, I won't let them harm you."

His words offered a bittersweet comfort. He cared, even after everything. But his plan was something I didn't want.

“What if I refuse?”

He looked at the almost empty bottle in his hand. “You can't do anything”

My fist clenched, “It makes no difference. I was hiding half of my life. I have no freedom all my life and you also want me to hide? Forever?”

“Yes. That’s your punishment for your crimes” He stared at me with his cold eyes and lifted the bottle. He was about to drink again when he stopped after I spoke.

“I would rather choose death,” I said straightforwardly.

He put down the bottle. His jaw clenched.

“I would not allow you” he firmly stated before rising to his feet.

He started to walk away but I spoke again, reciting a phone number. He looked back at me with a frown.

I sadly smiled, “Call the number and said this—5144. Someone would talk to you about all the evidence I have. You don't need to worry about anything. I already made a confession video about who I am, all the crimes I did, and pointing Keith Caldwell as my boss. Everything is all ready”

He just looked at me unemotional and continued to walk away, leaving me alone.

“I can't hide anymore. I am already tired of it” I whispered to myself as another fresh wave of tears welled up in my eyes.

.............

The next morning……

Nicholas’s POV

The morning sun cast a weak glow through the office window, barely illuminating the room. I rubbed my tired eyes, bags hung heavy beneath them, betraying the restless night I had.

"Still haven't slept much, have you?" Clifford asked, looking up from his work with a concerned frown.

I mumbled a response, my voice rough like sandpaper. "Three, maybe four hours at most," I croaked, feeling like I hadn't slept for forever.

Clifford shook his head, worry etched on his face. "You'll burn yourself out, man,"

Sleep was the last thing on my mind, though. My brain was churning with everything that was going wrong.

Clifford placed a small device on the desk with a soft thud. "All set," he announced. "Tracker's prepped and ready to roll. Just need a location to set the coordinates."

I nodded and my gaze landed on the phone on my desk. I plan to call the number Florence gave to me last night. I stood up, picking up the phone. I punched in the digits, the click-clack of the buttons the only sound in the room.

My fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the desk as I waited for an answer, the silence stretching into an eternity. The first call went unanswered, leaving an empty echo that made my stomach churn. I could practically feel Clifford's concern rising with each unanswered ring.

Trying again, I got the same result. Finally, on the third attempt, someone picked up, but no greeting came through the line. Just silence.

"5144," I said, my voice clipped.

Finally, a voice, gruff and unfamiliar, sliced through the silence. A beat of hesitation, and then the voice spoke, devoid of any greeting.

"Location?" the voice asked. "Need to know where to send the package."

The directness took me aback. My brow furrowed as I relayed the pack house address, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

The call was followed by a long pause until the voice finally asked.

"Is Florence well?"

"You don't need to know," I replied curtly.

"Expect the package within five days,” the man from the other line said.

With that, the line went dead. Clifford leaned forward, his eyes searching mine. "The call originated from the North," he reported.

"North, huh?" I echoed, the word sparking a memory. The only survivor from the Swiftmane attack, Sara Douglas, had also headed north.

Coincidence? Or was there something more going on here? A feeling twisted in my gut, telling me it wasn't a coincidence. Florence's allies were probably in the north, and she'd likely sent Sara there for safety.