The Alpha's Fated Outcast Rise Of The Moonsinger novel Chapter 284

Clarissa

The cottage finally came into view—a small stone structure almost entirely covered in ivy. It looked untouched, forgotten by time itself—perfect for our needs.

I shouldered open the door, wincing at the loud creak of the hinges. Inside, it was dark and dusty but dry and seemingly secure. I laid Lyla on the small bed in the corner, disturbing a cloud of dust in the process.

"Sorry about the accommodations," I said, attempting a lightness I didn't feel. "I don't know why I have this inclination not to take you back to the pack house. Am I wrong?" I asked over my shoulders.

Lyla didn't respond. She had slipped back into unconsciousness, her breathing shallow but steady.

I moved around the cottage quickly, finding candles and matches in an old drawer. As light filled the small space, I took stock of our situation. The cottage was basic but had what we needed—a roof, walls, a bed for Lyla, and enough distance from the pack house to give us time to think.

Wait a minute. Why was I saying 'our'?

This doesn't concern me. I should just let her stay at the cottage and go back to the comfort of my room, but then again, I couldn't bring myself to leave.

I pulled out the letter from my pocket and stared at it. Whatever secrets it contained had cost Lyla dearly. Part of me wanted to read it immediately, but something held me back. This was Lyla's legacy, our father's words to her. It felt wrong to intrude.

Instead, I turned my attention to Lyla's injuries. They were extensive—bruises covered most of her visible skin, and dried blood caked her face and arms. She didn't have a wolf, so healing would be impossible.

Sighing, I found a relatively clean cloth and a container for water, then slipped outside to fill it from a nearby stream.

When I returned, Lyla was awake again, watching me with wary eyes.

"You're still here," she observed, her voice raspy.

"Where else would I be?" I replied, kneeling beside the bed. "Hold still. I'm going to clean you up a bit."

She flinched as the cloth touched her face but didn't pull away. "Why are you doing this, Clarissa? Really?"

I continued dabbing at the blood on her temple, not meeting her eyes. "I told you, I—"

"You don't just hate me," she interrupted. "You've hated me since we were children. You reported me to Nathan. You told him that I was conversing with your mother earlier on. Why would you do that?"

I paused, the cloth hovering above her skin. "To win his affection. Since you came back, I've been uneasy, and you cannot relate, Lyla. You have men always swirling around you, and for what it's worth, I never hated you, Lyla. I hated what you represented."

"And what was that?"

"Everything I wasn't," I admitted, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Strong. Special. The daughter our father actually wanted."

A bitter laugh escaped her, causing her to wince in pain. "Is that what you thought? That our father wanted me? Did you see those walls in his study? That wasn't love, Clarissa. That was obsession. I was an experiment to him, nothing more."

I resumed cleaning her wounds, and I am gentler now. "I don't think so. I feel he had no way to express his love for you and your mother," I said softly. "All I saw was how he looked at you, even when he was pushing you away. There was pride there and fear. He never looked at me like that."

"Be grateful," Lyla whispered. "His attention came with a price."

We fell silent as I continued tending to her injuries. There was so much unsaid between us, years of rivalry and misunderstanding. But now, with danger looming over us all, those old grievances seemed suddenly small and meaningless.

"The letter," Lyla said finally. "May I see it?"

I retrieved it from my pocket and handed it to her. Her hands shook as she unfolded it, and her eyes moved rapidly over its contents.

"It's all here," she murmured. "Everything your mom told me... and more."