Alexander's ears suddenly picked up the faint sound of approaching footsteps.
Knowing it could only be Jaxon and the others, he went on full alert, his stance shifting as he instinctively moved to block the entrance from view.
Even he—the strongest among them—had fallen prey to this woman's trap and had his blood fed on. What chance would the others possibly have at resisting her?
As both their Alpha and for reasons he couldn't quite name, he refused to let her repeat that with any of them.
With his eyes fixed on her, he called out sharply, "Don't come any closer. Stay where you are."
The footsteps stopped. A moment later, Jaxon's voice echoed down the passage.
"Is everything okay? Do you need our help?"
"Everything's fine. I can handle it. So don't come closer until I say otherwise, understood?"
There was a long pause. Alexander knew he was weighing the situation.
Thankfully, years of trust and understanding as best friends and partners won out.
"Okay," Jaxon finally replied, though the hesitation in his voice was clear.
Alexander exhaled quietly in relief before turning his full focus back to the woman—just in time to catch the gleam of amusement in her eyes.
His voice chilled. "What's so funny?"
She stepped forward, spurring him to instinctively take a step back. Then, her soft whisper floated into his ears.
"Don't worry. I have no interest in the companions' blood. I'm only interested in yours."
He should have felt outraged. Insulted.
Instead, he felt something else entirely—relief... and a twisted sense of satisfaction.
And that unsettled him more than anything else.
He clenched his jaw, forcing down the strange emotion down, locking it behind the walls of discipline he'd spent years building.
When he looked up again, his expression was polite, restrained and distant—every inch the Alpha he was raised to be.
"I am Alexander Moonstone," he said evenly. "103rd generation Alpha of the Werewolves Race, descendant of Alpha King Leonard. How do I address you?"
The woman titled her head slightly, her golden eyes scanning him up and down.
"The 103rd generation?" she murmured, more to herself than to him, her gaze lingering briefly on his modern clothing—a simple long-sleeved black shirt and gray pants.
"Seems like the world has undergone great changes," she commented flatly.
Then, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "What era is this?"
"The 21st century. Year 2025," Alexander replied. "According to the records, it should have been around two millennia since your slumber began."
Something unreadable flickered in her golden gaze when he finished. Pain? Gloominess? Regret? He couldn't tell.
Whatever it was vanished too quickly for him to name.
"Oh."
Silence stretched between them.
Alexander waited, expecting questions—about the rest of her kind, what had happened while she was asleep, or how and why werewolves were in her crypt. Anything.
But none came.
Her expression stayed detached, disinterested and unreadable—as though none of it mattered.
That indifference gnawed at him.
Thousands of years have passed. Did she really have nothing she was curious about?
It was a no brainer that many things had happened—countless dynasties had been overturned, history had changed, many had been reduced to nothing but dirt and bones.
So, was she really that lacking in interest? Or was she just faking it?
He'd barely finished this thought when she proved to him with her actions that he was overthinking it.
She turned around and began walking... toward the altar, or to be more precise, the coffin.
His eyes twitched, a bad feeling creeping up his heart.
"Wait," he called out, his voice now tinged with urgency. "Please... wait."
She paused, casting a lazy glance over her shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Now that you're awake, what are your plans?" he asked, struggling to keep his composure.
Her answer came without hesitation.
"Continue sleeping."
Alexander blinked. Then again.
Although he'd already guessed it, he still had a hard time believing his own ears when it came out of her mouth.
The question slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Sleep? Why?"
She turned back to him, her expression deadpan serious.
"Because waking up this time was a mistake."
A mistake?
The calm in her voice, the complete disregard for everything around her, made something in him snap.
Two millennia of searching—of waiting, guarding, preparing, believing in the prophecy—and she wanted to go back to sleep?
What the actual fuck.
He swore silently, his temple pulsing with an oncoming headache.
Still, he couldn't let her go. Not like this. Not without trying something—anything—to make her stay. He had to make her stay. It wasn't an option, but a necessity.
But how do you stir interest in someone you know nothing about?
He racked his brain.
No stories, no habits, no preferences had been passed down through the generations before him.
Just a title.
Queen of the Vampires.
And a name from a line in the old prophecy—Haven.
Her last name.
That was it.
He knew nothing else.
At the thought of the prophecy, Alexander's eyes glinted with determination.
That was the card up his sleeves. The hope for their race to turn things around.
So, regardless of the cost, he had to make it work.
As long as there was the slightest chance... he'd fight tooth and nail for it.
"Did you know," he began carefully, his brain turning fast. "that not long after you went into slumber, the humans rebelled against the supernatural races?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, one brow lifted in interest.
"Oh?"
Then, she followed up with a question: "Who won?"
Although he'd expected it as much, the disinterest in her tone still stung.
Suppressing his discomfort, his voice was low as he replied curtly, "Humans. They won."
His gaze fixed on her, anticipating her reaction.
But he was bound to be disappointed as there was no flicker of emotion on her face.
No outrage. No sorrow. Nothing.
Just a soft, "I see."
That response settled like lead in his heart.
This was going to be anything but easy.