Alpha's Rejected becomes the Lycan's Obsession-Chapter 113: Call the officials

Roman frowned the moment he heard what Williams said. The expression wasn’t just a twitch of his brow, no—his whole face darkened, shadows carving deep into his chiseled features. His piercing eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, studying Williams with a sharp, unnerving calm that could slice through bone.

"Blood magic? You want to dive into dark magic?" Roman asked, his voice low and gravelly, laced with something that sounded like both warning and weariness.

Williams didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, his own eyes steady and unrepentant. "Not want to," he said, voice low but steady. "I have already touched it." He confessed.

A hush lingered in the air for a beat as the confession echoed between them.

Roman’s eyes flicked over him, studying him like a puzzle. "I knew something was different about you," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Then his gaze locked with Williams again, sharp and demanding. "How much have you touched?"

"A little," Williams admitted. "But I will be doing more of it in the coming days." He said, his voice was devoid of remorse, his tone grim with determination. As he spoke, his eyes turned toward the three lifeless bodies lying a short distance away. With witches like that on the loose, and those abominations Casper had created and was still creating, there was no way he could stay away from using all he had in him.

Roman’s jaw clenched. "What if you lose your senses?" he asked, stepping closer, his voice a mixture of concern and accusation. He knew too well the nature of the darkness Williams was beginning to dance with. He knew what it could do to him. What it had done to many before.

He was glad and relieved the guy had decided not to touch it in the past and had stuck to that decision. But now?

"I’ll try not to," Williams said, attempting to shrug it off, like this was just another burden he’d carry.

But Roman wasn’t the type to let things slide. Not something like this.

"If you do?" he asked again, this time with an edge to his voice that made it impossible to ignore.

Williams was silent for a moment, then finally said, "If I eventually fail at keeping myself together... then you can beat my senses back into me."

Roman’s lips curved into a smile. Not a friendly smile. Not even a pleased one. But one filled with something dark and satisfied. "That will be fun," he muttered.

Then, after a beat of silence, Roman added, "Blood magic for location requires you to have access to the person’s blood, or that of someone related to the person you want to find. And I’m pretty sure you don’t have Dera’s blood."

Williams nodded, slowly shifting his eyes back toward him.

"Her deadbeat father and stepmother still live at Monero," he said, his voice thick with disdain. "And I’m heading there now."

Roman’s brow lifted slightly, memories from the past flickering in his eyes. "Same old house?" he asked, already knowing that Dera and her family used to live in the house right next to the one Williams and his mother once occupied in Monero.

"Yep. Same old house," Williams confirmed. "I believe he finally bought the house with the proceeds he got from selling his daughter to Casper."

His voice had turned colder than the mountain wind, and his face was carved with disgust, barely masked.

"Good," Roman said, turning around and striding downhill and climbing into his car. "Then let’s go pay him a visit."

Williams didn’t respond. He simply walked to his car, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Together, they embarked on the hours-long journey to Monero—the city that birthed Williams, and the graveyard of his childhood.

When they finally arrived, the place was as quiet as a graveyard, but Williams knew eighty percent of the population were not asleep at that time. They both stopped their cars in front of the house in question, which was freshly painted in a dull beige that tried too hard to look welcoming.

Williams sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, just staring at the building. The past flooded him like a rising tide. Bits of laughter, slamming doors, the soft scent of Dera’s braids, the harsh voice of her stepmother, Dera’s screams. Beautiful and painful all at once.

The sudden knock on his window startled him.

Roman stood beside the car, arms folded, an eyebrow raised.

"Stop thinking. Start doing," Roman said, his voice flat but firm.

Williams didn’t respond. He pushed the door open, stepped out, and walked with quiet determination toward the front door of the house.

He knocked. Once. Twice. Thirty seconds passed.

The door opened, but only slightly. Not halfway, not even a quarter of the way. Just enough for someone inside to peer out.

A woman’s face appeared. She looked older, wrinkled, but unmistakable. Maggie, Dera’s stepmother.

Before he could say anything, her face twisted into a frown.

"Good grief," she said, her tone drenched in irritation. "When are you going to give up, Williams? I already told you that girl doesn’t live in this house anymore."

Williams didn’t even blink. "I didn’t come here for you, Maggie. I came to see your husband. Where is he?"

"My husband is not in the mood to see anybody," she snapped. "Go find your Dera or whatever you call her name elsewhere. She is no longer part of this family."

The moment she finished talking, she moved back and tried to slam the door.

But Williams was faster.

He shoved his leg between the door and the frame, stopping it mid-swing.

"Do your best to avoid my wrath tonight, Maggie," he said in a low growl, voice dipped in steel. "Go in there and get your husband for me."

But Maggie didn’t understand the atmosphere had changed. She didn’t see the danger simmering just under the surface.

"Take your leg off my door, Williams," she hissed. "Or I’ll call the officials and tag you a thief."

The moment the words left her lips, Roman stepped from behind the door where he had been quietly waiting, and without a word, ripped the door off its hinges like it was made of cardboard. He tossed it aside with effortless strength.

Maggie’s eyes widened in shock.

"What the hell—how dare—AHH!"

She didn’t finish her sentence before Williams yanked her out of the house by the arm. She hit the lawn with a thud, landing hard on her butt.

"I’m calling the officials on you!" she screamed, scrambling to sit up. "Azzima! Call the officials!"

A young voice responded. "Mom?"

A teenage, lanky boy came running down the stairs.

He stopped dead at the sight of the men standing in his house.

"Holy shit!" Azzima gasped, stretched eyes darting from Roman to Williams.

"Where is your father?" Williams asked, voice tight.

"He... he’s sick," Azzima stammered.

"Show us to his room," Williams commanded, stepping into the hallway.

"Umm... he’s not in his room," the boy confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "He’s in the basement."

Both men frowned.

"Why is a sick man in the basement?" Roman asked, voice sharp and cutting.

"Umm... Mom said he is better off there so he doesn’t infect the rest of the family with the sickness," Azzima answered, swallowing hard. His gaze lingered fearfully on Roman. He knew who he was. He had heard the stories, seen the pictures. This was no ordinary visitor. This was the King of Werewolves.

He didn’t know what they wanted with his father, but he sure as hell didn’t want to get in their way.

"What is he suffering from?" Williams asked.

"I don’t know," Azzima answered, shaking his head. "I just know he’s very weak and emaciated right now."

Without another word, Williams turned and started walking. He didn’t need directions. He knew the layout of the house far too well.

Roman followed without hesitation.

Azzima turned and ran outside, drawn by the sound of his mother’s continued yelling.

"Mom, are you okay?" he asked, breathless.

"Do I look okay?" Maggie screamed, rubbing her sore butt. "Those monsters pulled me out like trash!"

"Why did you try to fight them?" Azzima snapped, lowering his voice. "Don’t you know who the second guy is? He is the King of Werewolves! You want to die?"

"I didn’t know he was there!" Maggie argued, her voice climbing. "I didn’t see him at first. He was hiding behind the door. I thought it was only Williams!"

"Even if it was only Williams, you shouldn’t have tried to stand against him," Azzima scolded. "Or have you forgotten that he is not the same Williams you used to know years ago?"

"I didn’t ask you to come here to lecture me!" Maggie barked back. "I said call the officials! They have to pay for what they did here tonight!"

Still rubbing her aching backside, her pride even more bruised than her body, Maggie glared at the house.