Revenge to the Alpha Mate - Chapter 242

Chapter 242: Chapter 242
Celena’s Perspective

The beech and spruce trees flashing past the car window grew more and more familiar. So did the unique scent in the air—pine needles, damp earth. We were almost home.

Jacob drove with focused intensity, though the dappled afternoon light softened the hard lines of his profile. His hands were steady on the wheel, but his eyes would flick to me every so often, checking. That look held worry, care, and a bone-deep, relieved exhaustion. He thought the worst was over. We had our answer, we’d escaped, and we were on our way home. Now came the long, slow work of healing. Wrapping the wound in time and the fabric of a familiar life.

He’d done enough. More than enough. So much it made my heart ache.

I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep going on like this.

But I’d decided. One last effort. For Brett.

No, I hadn’t really wanted a new dress. That was just an excuse. A plausible reason to make him stop.

“Pull over.”

My voice came out calmer than I’d expected.

The car eased to the curb on a quiet, well-kept street. Afternoon sun filtered through tall, old trees, casting shifting patterns of light. The buildings lining the street were old, built of brick and stone, ivy clinging to their sides. Small shops occupied the ground floors. One window displayed mannequins in vintage-style dresses.

My heart skipped a beat.

Memory flickered like a faded film reel. Not long ago, Lily and a few of the other girls had been here.

This was also where I’d seen her. That mysterious woman.

That time, I’d caught sight of her. A breathtakingly beautiful woman of indeterminate middle age, wearing a black velvet dress. When she’d lifted her head, time itself seemed to slow. Hers wasn’t the vibrant beauty of youth, but a polished, settled radiance, elegant and poised like a noblewoman from a classic film. Her eyes, though, were deep enough to see into the most hidden corners of your soul.

The street hadn’t changed at all. Time seemed to flow slower here, or perhaps deliberately avoided this patch. Even the air held the same scent—old knowledge, secrets, and a hint of detached dust.

My gaze locked on the shop. A worn wooden sign hung above the door, its edges flaking slightly.

The door was closed, but a soft glow came from within.

It was open.

I took a deep breath. My fingers curled unconsciously, the tips icy cold. *One last time, little wolf,* I told myself. *For Brett. And for… being able to stand beside Jacob with a clear conscience. No ‘what ifs’ left behind.*

Then, I pushed open the heavy, glass-paned wooden door.

*Ding-a-ling—*

An old-fashioned copper bell above the door chimed. The sound was clear, lingering, and unhurried, as if it could cut through any agitation. The moment it reached my ears, the churning anxiety, fear, and desperate resolve inside me were oddly soothed, washed clear by that pure tone, settling into something sharp and calm.

Jacob followed me in. The door swung shut behind him, muffling the street sounds. His large frame felt slightly out of place here.

But he was trying. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets, reining in the natural wolfish intensity, trying to look… normal. Like a man uncomfortably but patiently accompanying his girlfriend into a quaint little shop.

My eyes traveled past the clothing racks, toward the back of the store.

She was still there.

She wore a different dress now, a soft, warm-toned brown cashmere gown with simple, matching embroidery at the collar and cuffs.

She looked up toward us.

Once again, time seemed to slow for her. She looked exactly as she had before. Deep brown hair was loosely gathered at her nape, revealing a smooth forehead and an elegant neck. Her features were so finely wrought they seemed unreal, but her eyes—a calm grey-blue, like a frozen winter lake or a starry midnight—gave her beauty weight and warmth. It was a beauty steeped in the kind of serene, all-knowing detachment that only immense age could bestow. Like a centuries-old vintage; you could sense its complex depth just by being near.

Her gaze found me first. In those grey-blue eyes, a flicker of understanding passed, so faint I might have imagined it. Then, the corners of her lips lifted in a slight, welcoming smile.

“Welcome back, girl.” Her voice was just as I remembered: soft, clear, carrying the pleasing cadence of an ancient language, like the low note of a cello.

She remembered me.

Then, her focus seemed to linger on me for the briefest moment. It wasn’t a look at my appearance, more like a… reading. She tilted her head slightly, her tone holding a hint of something—satisfaction? Confirmation?

“Feels better, doesn’t it? Being restored?”

Her tone was light, as if asking about a friend getting over a cold. But the meaning was unmistakable. She knew the “seed” had been removed from me. And she could see I was… intact.

I didn’t speak, just pressed my lips together. Silence was admission enough. She knew. She always seemed to know.

Jacob, behind me, instantly picked up on the odd undercurrent in that simple greeting.

He took half a step forward, his broad shoulders instinctively shifting to place himself between me and the woman. His posture shifted into something more openly defensive, a low, almost inaudible growl rumbling in his throat.

His instincts were screaming. *This woman is not normal. This is dangerous ground.*

“Jacob.” I said his name softly. At the same time, I reached out and placed my hand on his arm, applying gentle but firm pressure to stop him from moving fully in front of me. I felt the muscles in his arm tense, felt the weight of his disapproving stare.

I lifted my chin, meeting the woman’s placid grey-blue gaze from where she sat. I forced my voice to sound steady, determined, as if I really were just here for a dress and a chat.

“I’d like to look at a new dress,” I said, enunciating each word clearly. “And… I’d like to talk.”

The woman watched me in silence for several seconds. Those all-seeing eyes moved slowly between my face and Jacob’s rigid form. The air in the shop seemed to thicken. The only sounds were the soft *tick-tock* of an old clock and the faint, distant hum of traffic.

Then, she gracefully folded her hands in her lap. That faint, knowing smile returned to her lips, deepening just a touch.

“Of course,” she agreed readily, her voice still that pleasant, melodic murmur, as if I’d asked for nothing more than a cup of tea.

She rose to her feet. The brown dress flowed like water around her, accentuating her tall, slender frame. She gestured toward the clothing racks.

“The new pieces are here. Some lovely styles. As for talking…” Her grey-blue eyes fixed on me, their expression unreadable. “We have much to discuss, girl. Especially when one arrives with specific questions.”