The Lycan King and his Dark Temptation (Valeria) novel Chapter 260

SIGRID

After several rounds of clashes, things finally somewhat settled.

Silas and I made up a story—we were just a couple. No one spoke of my true origin, and I never mentioned that I was a sorceress.

With luck, no one would recognize me. Elementals weren’t naturally attuned to sensing power in supernatural beings, which was why they were often deceived.

Turns out, the old woman was the healer of the village—another elemental, but one who knew medicinal plants, assisted in childbirth, and had some knowledge of medicine.

Since this cabin had been abandoned for years, they let her live here—she preferred the quiet, the solitude, being close to the forest.

“My father… he should be the rightful owner of this house,” Silas said, standing behind me.

The old woman and I were sitting at the small wooden dining table.

“You’re the boy that was stolen from here, aren’t you?” she asked, her tone calmer now.

Silas gave a rough, quiet nod.

“Your father… after they took you, and your mother died defending you… he hanged himself,” she sighed, her face troubled.

I tensed, reaching up to squeeze his hand on my shoulder.

“It’s fine. I didn’t have much hope left anyway,” he murmured, intertwining our fingers.

My heart wept for him. So much injustice.

“Well then, I’ll admit—you’re the rightful owner of this house. That’s your room. But I have nowhere else to live, and I’m not leaving,” the healer suddenly declared, completely unapologetic.

Silas and the old woman locked eyes. I sensed another storm brewing.

“Fine, fine. We can all live together.” I blurted out the first insane thing that popped into my head.

By now, I had completely disregarded the fact that I was supposed to be playing the role of Electra De la Croix, a powerful, wicked witch who owned an entire fiefdom.

What the hell was I doing agreeing to live with a random old lady in the middle of nowhere?

“I’ll stay wherever you are,” Silas said simply.

“Well, looks like you two already picked your room. Good thing I sleep in the master bedroom,” the old woman muttered as she stood and shuffled toward what I assumed was the kitchen.

“By the way, my name is Mérida. You can call me Grandma Mel, like everyone else in the village,” she said warmly.

“And you—you call me Mrs. Mérida, you rude brat,” she added, pointing a finger at Silas with an annoyed huff.

“Grandma Mel, his name is Silas. And I’m… Sigrid,” I introduced myself, using my real name—the only true thing about me here. Praying she wouldn’t know Electra and would believe me.

“Well then, lovebirds, welcome back to Snow Lake Village.”

She vanished through the doorway, her checkered dress swaying under a thick red woolen shawl.

I took a moment to really look at the little house—worn-out wooden rocking chairs, a soot-stained stone fireplace, a few ornamental plants, and the small wooden table where I sat.

Sunlight and the fresh forest air streamed through the open windows, filling every corner with the scent of nature.

A humble little hut—yet there was something warm about it. Something calming that made you want to stay forever.

“I’m glad to finally have a strong man around. My old bones can’t take much more,” Mérida’s gruff voice returned. She reappeared—holding an axe.

“Go to the pen and kill a chicken. Chop some firewood—there’ll be a cold night. The rabbits need fresh grass…” she rattled off, then scowled.

*****

NARRATOR

Alessandre panted heavily, blood dripping from the wounds covering his body. His chest heaved, the thick stench of death polluting the main hall.

His gaze landed on the body just a few feet away—the man who had been his father.

And the severed head that had rolled to rest at his boots.

The sword in his hand still dripped crimson, pooling onto the stone floor. The dimly lit hall was silent. The Lord of Clan Vlad—leader of the vampire faction—was dead.

Slain by his own son. Alessandre reached down, gripping the long black hair of the head.

The lifeless eyes were still frozen in shock—a betrayal he never saw coming.

He stepped through the thick pool of blood, staining the gray carpet as he walked down the corridor—heading toward the banquet hall.

Screams. Shouts. He could hear the panic from beyond the doors.

They felt it. The disconnection from their leader.

The guards at the entrance stood paralyzed, their eyes locked on the gruesome trophy in his hand.

“Open the doors.”

No one moved.

“I SAID OPEN THE FUCKING DOORS—ARE YOU DEAF?!”