Page 6 of Destined to the Lycan (The Shadow Realms #3)

The way his face closed as he held my gaze without flinching crushed me. I knew that look. Rolf would not be swayed. Desperate, I glanced around the room, attempting to make eye contact with anyone present. But every single person averted their eyes.

“Won’t anyone else help me?” I asked around.

“Do not waste your time,” Ulric said in a gentle but firm voice. “We do sympathize with your plight, but none of the packs will partake in this madness. The best we can offer you is to take you to a shaman.”

I opened my mouth to argue but closed it, defeated.

There would be no changing their minds, at least not right this instant.

I needed to regroup, gather my thoughts, and come up with an alternative that might sway them.

The Weaver would not have sent me here in vain.

There was a solution, and I would find it.

Despite the non-negligible crowd, I spotted a few free tables still available.

Clenching my teeth, I gave the two men a stiff nod then made my way to a booth at the far back of the large room.

Before I even settled on the wooden bench, the musicians started playing seemingly right where they left off when I barged in, and conversation resumed as if I’d never interrupted their evening.

It made me feel even more abandoned and unimportant.

Who cared about some random human? My passing would make no difference in their lives.

And my customers would soon find a competitor to replace me.

In a few months, I’d become one of those ‘funny’ anecdotes that guides would share with their clients regarding the weirdest request they ever received.

With time, the story would get embellished.

They would probably describe me as crazed, my clothes torn half to shreds, foaming at the mouth, walking down the streets made of packed dirt, shouting at the top of my lungs for Ranael to come take me.

Tears pricked my eyes, and my throat constricted.

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to wallow in self-pity more than I wanted to yell at everyone here, to call them out for their cowardice and heartlessness.

And yet, the rational part of me couldn’t blame them.

In their shoes, I’d likely have turned me down as well. But what was I supposed to do?

The Weaver told me to come here. So what am I missing?

Movement at the edge of my vision startled me.

I’d been so lost in my grim thoughts that I didn’t notice an elderly woman approaching.

She was an Asian woman with electric blue eyes.

I vaguely recalled seeing her standing behind the counter when I entered.

To my shock, she was holding a tray with a huge bread bowl.

She set it in front of me, and the delicious aroma of the thick stew filling it wafted to me.

My stomach instantly growled its approval. I hadn’t realized just how famished I was.

“Thank you,” I whispered, giving her a sad but grateful smile.

“You’re welcome, honey,” she said in a motherly tone that had my chest tightening.

“The name’s Misty,” she said warmly. “I’m the owner of this place. May I sit with you?”

Surprised and slightly confused, I nodded and gestured for her to proceed.

She smiled and complied. Despite her slender, almost delicate constitution, Misty wasn’t frail.

An undeniable strength lurked behind her wizened appearance.

Aside from the unusual color of her eyes, her pointy wolf ears, and her slightly prominent canines gave her away as a Lycan as well.

The contrary would have been shocking, considering it seemed to be the main hang out for her species.

“My name is Amara,” I replied as she settled on the bench across the table from me.

“A lovely name for a lovely young lady,” she said gently.

I caught myself smiling. There was something incredibly soothing about the female. To my shock, a powerful desire to have her hug and console me hit me like a ton of bricks. While I undeniably was a cuddler, I didn’t have random urges to hug and be hugged by strangers.

“I’m sorry to hear about your plight,” she said carefully. “As you likely realized, there is no point debating the matter further with the people here. None will take you. But there is another who might.”

I froze, halfway through bringing a spoonful of meaty stew to my mouth. “Another?! Who?”

“His name is Remus,” she said in a conspiratorial tone.

“Misty! Don’t drag the Cursed One into this!” Rolf shouted.

The elder woman jerked her head towards the alpha to glare at him. “He’s not cursed. He’s merely a sick wolf.”

I froze, my eyes widening upon hearing those words.

“A sick wolf?” I echoed, tension audible in my voice.

She nodded with a grim expression. “Remus was born ‘sick’ although even that isn’t quite accurate.

His pregnant mother was bitten by Ranael, the true Cursed Wolf.

She died from the venom, which she sadly passed on to Remus.

He was born with that same poison coursing through his veins, but it doesn’t affect him.

You would never know that his blood is toxic if you saw him walking around. ”

“So he’s not actually sick,” I countered carefully. “He just has venomous blood, right?”

She hesitated. “That’s correct 99% of the time. But the poison only grows more toxic when the full moon rises, which also affects his… mind.”

My jaw dropped in sudden understanding. “He becomes rabid on the full moon?!”

She pinched her lips and reluctantly nodded.

“Yes. But it’s only that one night. Otherwise, he’s the sweetest male you’ll ever meet,” she added quickly in a reassuring tone.

“Remus actually specializes in the type of hard and dangerous missions others won’t take.

I have no doubt he will be open to assisting you. ”

I frowned, baffled by her obvious eagerness to convince me but also by the apparent flaws in her logic.

“Why does he specialize in dangerous missions? Is he suicidal?” I challenged.

To my surprise, rather than being taken aback or fumbling to find an answer, Misty smiled with approval, as if she’d hoped I would ask that specific question.

“He’s not suicidal at all, quite the opposite.

His plight has helped him appreciate life and the hardships people face even more acutely.

Remus knows what it’s like to be desperate for a solution to a problem that appears unsolvable.

His condition has made him bold, determined, and undaunted,” Misty said with conviction.

“Why the fuck would Remus accept this? Ranael cursed him and killed his parents! Why in the world would he want to partake in a mission that would take him right back to the creature who caused his condition to begin with? He’s the last creature Remus would ever want to come close to!

You’re giving this poor girl false hope,” Rolf interjected.

Misty huffed and made a dismissive gesture.

“I’m not! Remus was infected by the demon wolf. Their bloods have similarities. Ranael sees Remus like a member of his pack… almost as kin. He will not attack him.”

My eyes widened in understanding.

“If that assessment is accurate, then this Remus sounds indeed like the ideal guide to take me there,” I mused aloud.

“He absolutely is!” Misty replied enthusiastically.

“He’s cursed!” Ulric objected. “Don’t—”

“Enough!” Misty snapped. “None of you will help this girl, and now you’re trying to spread lies about the one person who just might? Is your hatred for the poor boy so deep you will condemn her to a certain death?!”

The two men recoiled, visibly hurt by her words.

“We do not hate him,” Rolf countered, offended. “And we definitely do not wish this woman any harm. But this mission—”

“ You may not hate him, but your words are just as damaging,” Misty said sternly, interrupting him as well.

“ I do not hate him either,” Ulric protested. “But I’ve experienced first-hand how lethal trusting him can be.”

“You’re conflating completely different situations, conveniently ignoring your own responsibility in that unfortunate mishap, and clinging to something that happened decades ago. Let it go, you foolish boy!” Misty snarled.

Despite their obvious desire to continue arguing, both men kept their peace, the hard glint in the older woman’s eyes daring them to challenge her further. Seeming satisfied when the two men begrudgingly averted their eyes, she returned her attention to me.

“Where is this Remus?” I asked. “In the end, he’s the one who can confirm whether he’ll do it or not.”

“He’s gone hunting,” she replied in a softer tone, her friendly demeanor returning. “He should be here in the morning or the day after tomorrow to sell his catches and see if there are any customers in need of a guide.”

“Perfect,” I said, a sliver of hope seeping into my voice. “I will need a room for a few days then, and I also have a phaeton that your stable hand took care of.”

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll make sure you’re comfortable while you wait. Remus is a good man,” she repeated.

The affection in her voice raised a million questions in my mind. Were they related somehow? She wasn’t his mother, but the protectiveness and the way she praised him hinted at a deep bond.

For some reason, it reassured me. I didn’t know that woman and had no particular reason to trust her. And yet, I did. At a visceral level, I believed her to be honorable.

Reaching across the table, Misty squeezed my hand in an almost maternal fashion, then rose to her feet, and went back to her duties behind the counter. However uncertain things remained, I once more had hope.