Chapter 193: 193 - a prayer
193
~Lisa’s POV
I stared at the door long after it closed. My chest rose and fell too quickly, like I had run a great distance. Fridolf’s words kept echoing in my head, wrapping around me like chains I could not break.
"Child, you are standing in a storm. And you don’t even see the lightning yet."
I whispered it to myself, my lips barely moving. "A storm..." My hands shook. "What storm?"
Fear gnawed at me. My stomach felt tight, and the room tilted slightly. My head grew heavy, spinning as though the floor wanted to slide out from under me. I staggered toward the bed and managed to sit at the edge, pressing my palms against the mattress to steady myself.
"What... what is wrong with me?" I whispered. My throat felt dry. My heart beat too fast, too loud, filling my ears.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, but his smile, his voice, his eyes—they stayed with me.
Why had he come? Why me? Why in my room?
A sharp knock made me jump so hard I almost screamed. My heart pounded in my throat.
"Fridolf..." I whispered, my body stiff, cold.
The knock came again. Louder.
I forced myself to stand, my legs shaking. Step by step, I walked toward the door. My hands trembled on the handle. Slowly, I pulled it open.
Three guards stood outside.
One of them bowed. "Lady Lisa. Alpha Damon asked us to bring these to your room."
Behind them were bundles, boxes, wrapped parcels, and fabric bags tied neatly.
My eyes widened. They were my baby things.
They began carrying them inside, one by one, stacking them neatly on the floor, at the edge of my bed, on the table. The room filled quickly, with bright colors, soft fabrics, wooden toys, bottles, and blankets.
I stood frozen, watching in silence.
When they finished, the guard bowed again. "Alpha Damon said to make sure everything reached you safely."
"Th-thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking.
They left quickly, shutting the door behind them.
And I was left standing in the middle of the room, staring at the mountain of gifts. My knees gave out, and I sank onto the bed. My hands covered my mouth as tears filled my eyes.
"So much..." I whispered shakily. "I didn’t know... I didn’t know I bought so much..."
With trembling fingers, I reached for the nearest parcel. The paper crinkled beneath my touch as I unwrapped it slowly, almost afraid that the moment wasn’t real. Inside was a tiny shirt, soft and delicate, far too small for my hands yet perfect for the child inside me.
My heart squeezed. I laid it gently across my lap, then reached for another package. A blanket, pale cream, woven with fine thread. I pressed it against my cheek, closing my eyes. Warmth spread through me.
I couldn’t stop. One by one, I opened them all. Small shoes, soft hats, and little trousers folded neatly. A cradle blanket embroidered with silver edges. A carved wooden rattle.
I laughed once, softly, through the tears. "You’re already so loved," I murmured to the bump beneath my hand.
But then...
A sudden knock broke the fragile peace. I gasped, the tiny shirt slipping from my lap to the floor. My heart leapt into my throat.
"Damon?" I called quickly, smiling even through wet cheeks. "The door is open!"
The latch creaked.
Relief rushed in me so fast my chest ached. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, already picturing his face, already ready to thank him, to show him everything.
But it wasn’t Damon.
My smile died instantly.
A man stood in the doorway. His face was covered with a dark cloth, revealing only his eyes. Cold eyes. Hard eyes. In his hand was a sword, its edge catching the light as he stepped inside.
My breath froze.
The air shifted, heavy and suffocating. My skin prickled.
I stumbled back a step, clutching my stomach as if my arms alone could protect the life inside. My voice came out broken. "W-who... who are you?"
He didn’t answer.
The door clicked shut behind him, sealing me in with him.
I could hear my own heartbeat pounding wildly in my ears. My legs shook as I backed toward the bed, my fingers fumbling blindly against the sheets. "Please... don’t...don’t come closer!"
Still silence. Only the sound of his boots against the floor as he moved forward, slow, steady, like a hunter closing in on his prey.
"What do you want?!" My voice cracked, rising in panic. "Why are you here?!"
The man’s grip on the sword tightened. His voice finally came, low and rough.
"You."
"You..." I grabbed my stomach before the words even came out. My hands slammed against the soft curve like a shield. "You know I’m carrying..." My voice broke. "You know it’s the Alphas’ child. You know what happens if you hurt their baby. They won’t hesitate. They’ll kill you."
The man’s eyes, only the eyes visible above the cloth, did not soften. If anything, they gleamed. He took a slow step closer, the sword held like a dark promise.
"That’s more reason," he said, his voice low and flat. "You must go so the rest can be easy."
My knees felt weak. "Who sent you?" I begged. My voice felt tiny in my throat. I needed a name. I needed a reason. I needed someone to blame, so it would make sense.
He frowned, almost as if he were annoyed I asked. "Names don’t matter." He moved quicker than my mind could follow. The blade flashed as he lunged.
Something cold and raw exploded in my chest, terror, pure and simple. I shoved aside the small table between us, anything to create distance, and stumbled back.
"Damon!" I screamed, a sharp, animal sound. "Damon! Help.... please!"
The man’s blade came up again. He aimed low, to scare me into stillness, to cut off my escape. I tasted metal and fear. For a heartbeat, I thought I would be caught. I thought of the baby, its tiny life, its helplessness, and I felt anger light up under the fear. I shoved the corner of the table toward him and ran.
My legs found speed I did not know I had. I ran for the door, lungs burning. The assassin’s boots thundered behind me like a second heartbeat. I didn’t look back. I just ran and called his name like a prayer.
"Damon! Please!"
The door slammed open with the force of someone who meant to break the world. Damon stood in the frame like a wall of iron. His face was all knife and thunder, his eyes hard and sharp. In that instant, I stopped being afraid of the dark in the room. I was only afraid of what would happen to the man who had dared.
"Stop!" Damon shouted. His voice filled the hall. It was not a question.
The assassin faltered for a beat, and Damon took it. He lunged forward like a shadow with teeth. He grabbed the attacker’s wrist with one hand, the sword clanging against the tile. The other hand moved in a blur, two, three motions that left the man stumbling, off-balance.
"Drop it!" Damon barked.