He stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the light. His dark hair was tousled, and his broad shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world. Those same crimson eyes from before met mine, though now they seemed softer, less intense.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice deep and smooth.
I scrambled to the far side of the bed, pulling the sheets up as if they could shield me from him. “Who are you? Where am I?”
“You fainted,” he said, ignoring my panic. “I brought you here for your safety. Welcome to my palace.”
“That doesn’t answer my question!” I snapped, my voice shaking.
He sighed, stepping closer, and I noticed the tension in his jaw. “My name is Jacques Caldwell, though most know me as Jack. I am the King Alpha, ruler of all werewolves.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I stared at him, my mind racing. “King Alpha?” I echoed. “You mean… you’re the leader of werewolves?”
“Yes,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
I shook my head, my disbelief bubbling to the surface. “This isn’t possible. Werewolves aren’t real. This has to be a dream.”
“It’s not a dream.” His voice was firm but not unkind. “You’ve already seen the truth.”