The Rejected daughter chosen by the Alpha (Maya and Atila) novel Chapter 69

Chapter 69

– MAYA

A few minutes later, Atilla and I were back on Wilfred’s land.

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The path felt tighter than it had before, like the trees had shifted just to crowd us in. The air tasted… wrong. Sharp. Bitter. Like burned herbs and old metal. It clung to the back of my throat, and the hairs on my arms refused to lay flat.

Atilla walked in front, still holding my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Even with that black cloth wrapped around his head, even with him pulling his presence inward, I could feel him. Not loud. Not showy. Just there. Controlled. Like a predator choosing not to bare its teeth.

When the rusted gate came back into view, he slowed. We pushed it open together, and the squeal of metal was so soft it shouldn’t have mattered.

It still sounded too loud.

The trees were exactly how we’d left them. Broken cups dangling from twine. Twisted pieces of iron shaped like fish and stars. Strips of fabric fluttering like something alive.

Atilla squeezed my hand once.

I didn’t say anything.

The cabin sat ahead, small and crooked, its dark wood warped with age. The door looked ancient. Like it had been hanging there since the world was younger and meaner.

Atilla let go

of my

hand just long enough to step in front of me.

My heart started punching my

ribs.

He lifted his fist to knock.

He didn’t get the chance,

The door flew open like someone had been waiting behind it, listening for our breath.

A bearded old man stepped out with a thick staff in his hand. His hair was white and long, falling

over his shoulders. His eyes were too pale, too sharp. He stared at Atilla first-wide, startled-then snapped his gaze to me like I was the part that didn’t make sense.

“Who are you?”

Atilla and I exchanged one quick look.

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Then he reached up, pulled the black cloth off his head, and let the air around him shift just enough to make the truth impossible to ignore.

“Atilla Volkov,” he said. Calm. Final. “Supreme Alpha of Moonville.”

The old man’s brow furrowed hard. He looked Atilla up and down like he was trying to decide whether he was awake or losing his mind.

Atilla didn’t give him time to recover.

“My partner and I need to talk to you,” he said. “Do you have a moment?”

Partner.

My stomach flipped so fast I almost forgot how to breathe.

The old man spun on his heel and stepped back into the cabin, yanking the door like he meant to slam it in our faces.

Atilla moved faster.

He caught the wood with one hand and stopped it like it weighed nothing.

The door shuddered under his grip.

The old man stared at Atilla’s hand like he’d just watched a wolf pin prey.

“Leave,” the old man snapped. His voice was rough, irritated. “Not even a Volkov is going to disturb my peace today.”

Atilla’s tone dropped lower. Colder.

“This isn’t a request.”

The pressure in the air thickened. Not dramatic. Not flashy. Just enough to make my skin tighten.

I stepped forward anyway, even though my instincts screamed at me to stay behind him.

“Actually…” My voice came out hesitant, but I forced it steady. “I’m friends with Tharok’s daughter.”

The old man froze.

Like his body had locked up around the name.

His staff went perfectly still.

Then his eyes hit mine like a blade.

“How do you know that name?”

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I swallowed hard.

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“I was there when those men took his life.” My voice wobbled for half a second, but I didn’t stop. “I saw it happen. I was with Beatrice. She’s the one who sent me to you.”

The door opened wider in one sharp movement.

The old man stepped toward me, fast, suspicious, hungry for answers.

“Who are you?”

My heartbeat hurt.

Still, I held my ground. I lifted my hand like a normal person would, like my life wasn’t balancing on a thread.

“My name is Maya Melrose,” I said. Saying it out loud in this place made my throat tighten. “I walked all the way from Moonville to get here. Please. Let us in. Just hear me out.”

He stared at me like he was searching my face for a lie. For a trap. For anything he could use to justify shutting the door again.

Then, finally, he said, flat and impatient, “Fine. You have thirty minutes.”

***

The cabin was worse inside.

It smelled like crushed dry leaves and stale smoke, with something bitter underneath it that sat on my tongue even when I wasn’t drinking. The walls had marks in them that looked like old scratches. The ceiling was low, the air heavy, like the space remembered too much.

Wilfred didn’t let go of his staff for even a second.

He motioned toward two thick logs set up like benches. Atilla sat first, his body angled just slightly toward me, like he was already positioned to move if anything went wrong.

I sat beside him.

A woman appeared from the back of the cabin without a word. She placed two cups of tea down in front of us, then disappeared again like she’d never existed.

Atilla stared at the tea like it was a threat.

I picked up my cup and took a small sip, more out of politeness than trust. It was too hot, too bitter, and it coated my mouth like a warning,

“Thank you,” I murmured anyway.

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Then I gave Atilla a small look. A subtle nod.

He hesitated, then took one controlled sip without taking his eyes off Wilfred.

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Wilfred lowered himself onto another log across from us. He still held his staff like it was part of

him.

“So,” he said slowly, staring at me. “You’re a Melrose.”

“Yes,” I answered. My voice was steadier now. “I’m the eldest daughter.”

His face changed instantly.

“The eldest…” he repeated, and the words died in his throat. “So you’re the-”

His eyes snapped to Atilla.

Terrified.

Then back to me, like he’d just seen a picture click into place.

He cleared his throat hard and forced his expression into something neutral, like he hadn’t almost said too much.

“Your time’s running out,” he said, tapping his staff against the floor once. “So you’d better tell me why you came looking for me.”

I set my cup down on the log beside me.

“I came to ask about my past,” I said. Quiet. Direct. “Beatrice told me Tharok knew I was alive. And she said you were the one who told him.”

Wilfred swallowed.

I felt Atilla’s gaze slide to me, sharp with surprise.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. If I looked at him, I’d lose my nerve,

“So how did you know I was alive,” I continued, “when everyone believed I was dead? Were you close with my family too?”

Wilfred’s grip tightened on his staff.

“I have nothing to do with your family.”

I didn’t argue.

I reached up, pulled the blue stone pendant from beneath my blouse, and let it rest against my skin where he could see it clearly.

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It glowed faintly in the dim light. Not bright. Not obvious. Just… awake.

I held it up like evidence.

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“Did you put that on this?” I asked. “Did you do something to it?”

Wilfred’s jaw tightened.

His eyes flicked away for the smallest moment, and I caught it.

That was fear.

That was guilt.

That was someone trying not to step into a confession.

“I’ve never seen that necklace in my life,” he said, flat.

I took a breath and kept my voice calm, even though my fingers were clenched around the stone so hard it hurt.

“Listen,” I said. “I spent my entire life hidden by my parents. Trapped in hell inside my own family’s

house.”

Atilla went completely still beside me.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t afford to.

“I’m finally free now,” I said, and my throat burned like I was swallowing fire. “So whatever is stopping you from telling me the truth… it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Wilfred stared at me, and for a second I saw something ancient in his eyes.

Exhaustion.

Regret.

A kind of fear that didn’t come from Atilla at all.

“Then what difference does it make,” he snapped, defensive, “whether it was me or not?”

My stomach dropped.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t soften it,

“So it was you.”