Chapter 142 The Cursed Immortal Wolf
Fernando rose from his kneel, eyes still fixed on the cloaked man with a reverence that stunned the guards into complete silence. He stepped closer, arms opening, and pulled the man into a tight embrace.
“It’s been too long,” Fernando said against the man’s shoulder, voice thick with emotion. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
The man returned the hug briefly, then patted Fernando’s back twice before stepping away. “Time moves differently when you’re away from the pack, Fernando. But I’m here now.”
Fernando pulled back, still holding the man’s arms, studying his face. “You look the same. Not a day older.”
The man gave a small, knowing smile. “Some things don’t change.”
He turned his head slightly, gaze landing on Darius who stood frozen near the gate, arms still raised in cautious defense, confusion etched across his features.
“Darius,” the man said, voice calm and certain.
Darius blinked, taking half a step back. “Do I… know you?”
The man tilted his head. “You don’t recognize me?”
Darius shook his head slowly. “No. I’ve never seen you before.”
Fernando looked between them. “You know Darius?”
The man nodded once. “I’m the one who rescued him when the Black Night wolves captured him years ago. Pulled him out of their cage before they could break him completely.”
Darius’s face went slack. “What?”
Fernando frowned. “Black Night wolves? You never told me about that.”
Darius swallowed hard. “Because I don’t remember it. I woke up on the edge of our territory with no memory of how I got there. Everyone thought I’d just run off during a hunt.”
The man’s gaze remained steady on Darius. “They drugged you. Erased the details. But you were young. The memories never fully returned. I made sure you got back safely.”
Darius stared at him. “Why?”
“Because you were worth saving,” the man said simply. “And because I owed your father a debt.”
Fernando’s grip on the man’s arms tightened. “You knew my father?”
The man met his eyes. “I knew many things. But we can talk about that later.”
Before Fernando could respond, Alberto burst out of the packhouse doors, breathing hard, tunic still half-open from earlier.
“Fernando!” Alberto called, hurrying toward them. “Did you stabilize the situation? The guards were—”
He stopped dead when he saw the man.
The man turned fully toward him. His eyes narrowed slightly, then widened in recognition.
“Rhett Stone?” The man called out slowly, voice low but clear.
Alberto blinked. “What?”
The man stepped forward at one pace. “Rhett Stone. That’s your name.”
Alberto shook his head quickly. “No. You’ve got the wrong person. My name is Alberto.”
The man studied him for a long moment. “Which pack do you hail from?”
Alberto shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Fernando. “I… don’t know. I was a slave. Fernando bought me at an auction house. I have no memory of who I was before that. Nothing. Just… blank.”
The man nodded slowly, as though confirming something he already suspected. “Blank. Of course.”
Fernando stepped between them protectively. “What are you implying?”
The man raised a hand in a calming gesture. “Nothing yet. Just… pieces. Old pieces.”
Alberto’s voice sharpened. “If you know something about me about who I was, say it. Don’t dance around it.”
The man looked at him steadily. “I will. In time. But not here. Not in front of so many ears.”
Fernando glanced around at the still-stunned guards, then back to the man. “Then where?”
The man inclined his head toward the packhouse. “Lead the way. Somewhere private. We have a great deal to discuss.”
Fernando hesitated only a second, then nodded. “Follow me.”
He turned, placing a protective hand on Alberto’s lower back, guiding him forward. The man fell into step behind them. Darius lingered a moment longer, staring at the stranger, then followed silently.
Alberto leaned closer to Fernando as they walked. “Who is he?”
Fernando kept his voice low. “Someone I never thought I’d see again. Someone who saved my life once—when I was barely more than a pup. He was like a mentor. A shadow teacher. Disappeared years ago. I thought he was dead.”
Alberto glanced back over his shoulder. “And now he knows me? By a different name?”
Fernando’s grip tightened slightly. “Apparently. But we’ll hear him out. Carefully.”
They reached the packhouse doors. Fernando pushed them open.
“Inside,” he said. “My office. No guards. No interruptions.”
The man stepped past them without hesitation, entering the building as though he already knew the way.
Alberto followed, heart pounding.
Darius brought up the rear, eyes never leaving the cloaked man’s back.
The door closed behind them.
The man drew out a seat for himself at the head of the long table in Fernando’s private office, moving with deliberate calm. He sat, folding his cloak back from his shoulders, revealing a face marked by faint silver scars that gleamed in the low light.
“My name is Rowan Ashford,” he said, voice low and measured.
Alberto and Darius both gasped at the same moment. They rushed forward together, dropping to one knee in front of him almost in unison.
“Master Ashford,” Alberto breathed, head bowed. “It really is you.”
Darius’s voice came out rough with disbelief. “The cursed immortal wolf. We thought the stories were just legends.”
Rowan looked down at them, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth. “Rise. Both of you.”
They stood slowly, eyes wide.
Alberto spoke first, voice trembling slightly. “Are you… are you really the famous cursed immortal wolf? The one who survived the Lycan king’s rampage after the Enigmas were wiped out?”
Rowan’s smile deepened, though it held no warmth. “Yes. That title has followed me for centuries.”
Darius shook his head, still staring. “But the records, the chronicles all said you died. That the Lycan king hunted down every last immortal wolf after he cleared out the Enigmas. They said you fell in the final battle.”
Rowan leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled. “The histories are written by the victors. Or by those who survived long enough to tell the tale. I did not die. Only one person can kill me.”
He lifted his gaze and pointed directly at Alberto.
Alberto took an instinctive step back, eyes widening. “What… what do you mean?”
Rowan’s expression remained calm, almost gentle. “Exactly what I said. Only one being in existence holds the power to end my life. And that being is you, Alberto.”
Alberto’s breath caught. “Me? I—I don’t even know who I am. My memories are gone. I was a slave. Fernando bought me at an auction. I have no past and I don't deserve to hold that power.”
Rowan studied him for a long moment. “Your past is not gone. It is buried. But we will speak of that later.”
He shifted his attention to Fernando. “For now, I have more pressing matters to discuss with you alone.”
Alberto glanced at Fernando, then back at Rowan. “But—”
Rowan raised a hand. “You and Darius will excuse us. I will answer your questions separately. This conversation is not for open ears.”
Darius looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Rowan’s steady gaze silenced him. He gave a short nod.
“Come on,” Darius muttered to Alberto. “Let’s give them the room.”
Alberto hesitated, eyes locked on Rowan. “You’re sure you know me?”
Rowan inclined his head once. “Very sure.”
Fernando placed a hand on Alberto’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Go. I’ll call you both when we’re done.”
Alberto nodded slowly, still stunned. He and Darius turned and left the office, the door closing quietly behind them.
Rowan waited until the footsteps faded down the corridor.
Then he looked at Fernando. “Sit, my old student. We have a great deal to discuss.”