Chapter Ten
POV
The Alpha King
Running, Yet Bound
For three days, Mira avoided me.
Three long, aching days.
I felt it; every minute of her defiance, every tremor of her doubt. The bond between us that once thrummed like a living heartbeat now burned like a tightening cord, pulling me across invisible distances. I could feel her resistance like a knife twisting in my chest.
'She thought she could escape by pretending I didn't exist.
'She was wrong!
Mira changed her route to work.
She stopped walking the beachfront. She stayed late in the office, buried in paperwork and PowerPoint slides, surrounded by screens that glowed cold blue against her tired eyes.
But no matter how hard she tried to drown herself in the noise of the human world, the pull remained.....constant, quiet, unstoppable.
'Once, I watched her through the glass walls of her company's conference room. She stood tall, unbending " the Mira I had always known, fierce even when afraid. She wore a fitted Ankara jacket, deep emerald with gold embroidery, and spoke with the confidence of a queen who didn't yet know she already was one".
"Gentlemen," she said, her voice clear, crisp, commanding, "Nigeria is not your testing ground. If your terms exploit our soil or our people, the deal dies here."
She doesn't need much explanation to express her dispressure on a topic!
The older executives shifted uncomfortably. One cleared his throat. "Miss James, with all due respect..."
She cut him off with a calm smile that carried fire beneath its sweetness.
"Respect," she said softly, "isn't something you ask for. It's something you show."
I almost smiled. My queen. Even when she denied me, her strength still called to me.
When the meeting ended, she turned slightly; and for a fleeting second, her eyes met mine through the glass. Time stilled.
"She froze", the faintest gasp leaving her lips. But before I could move, she looked away, pretending I wasn't there.
She wanted to forget me. But forgetting destiny is like trying to hide from your own shadow.
That night, she met with another of her colleague- Anita, one with the eloquent laugh at a small Nigerian restaurant downtown.
I stayed close enough to feel her heartbeat, far enough to remain unseen.
The restaurant was alive with scent and sound - suya sizzling on charcoal, the deep aroma of pepper soup, the soft hum of Fela's saxophone in the background.
Mira sat in the corner, head bent, shoulders heavy.
Anita watched her carefully. "You've been… distracted, my sister. What's wrong?"
Mira forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"Hmm. You don't look fine. You look like someone who's seen a spirit winding around her."
Mira's fingers tightened around her glass of zobo. Her voice came low, trembling.
"Not a spirit. Something worse."
Anita frowned. "Tell me."
'And Mira did. Not everything... she couldn't find words for half of it, but enough. The night in the alley, the growl that wasn't human, the man with the golden eyes who had saved her but frightened her more than any threat ever could.
Anita crossed herself instinctively. "Jesus. Mira, you need prayers. Big ones. Maybe go to church. Fasting and deliverance, ehn?"
Mira gave a hollow laugh that cracked halfway through.
"You think I haven't tried? I've prayed.
I've cried. I've begged God to make it stop.
But the more I pray…" Her voice broke. "The closer he feels." 'I feel him too but am scared!
Anita reached across the table, pressing her hand over Mira's. "Then you keep praying. If it's not of God, He will scatter it."
But I knew; and deep down, so did Mira... that this wasn't something prayer could erase. Because it wasn't evil.
It was ancient. Sacred. Chosen.
Later that night, when the city's lights dimmed and the moon hung low like a witness, Mira packed a small bag.
A few clothes. Her Bible. A photograph of her mother.
She didn't know where she was going; just away. Maybe another city. Maybe home. Anywhere that didn't feel like a heartbeat tied to mine.
But the moment she stepped onto the street, I felt it; the tearing in the bond, like a blade slicing through my soul. And then she felt it too. Her chest tightened, her breath faltered, her knees almost buckled as invisible pain rippled through her.
That was when I came!
Not in shadow. Not in dream.
'In flesh and blood.
She froze under the dim streetlight when I spoke. "Mira."
The sound of her name left my lips like a prayer.
She spun around, her face pale, her tears glinting in the half-light. "No. No, this isn't happening."
"It is," I said softly.
"Don't come closer." Her voice shook, half-anger, half-fear. "I can't do this anymore. You shouldn't be here.
'You don't belong here."
Her bag trembled in her hand, and her heart pounded so hard I could hear it from where I stood.
"You think I chose this?" she whispered. "You think I want to be tied to a man I don't understand?"
Her voice cracked, pain spilling out between every word. "Back home, this kind of thing; people call it witchcraft. My mother would fall on her knees and pray if she knew."
I stepped closer, my voice low, raw. "Do I look like a curse to you, Mira?"
She hesitated.
"Look at me," I said again. "Really look."
Her eyes lifted, reluctan; and when they met mine, I let the golden fire within me show, not the beast, not the power, but the truth.
She gasped softly. "You're… not human."
"No," I said. "But neither are you... not entirely."
Her breath caught. "What are you saying?"
"You are the last descendant of an ancient line," I said, stepping closer. "A bloodline once sworn to the Moon Crown... my crown.
"Your ancestors fled across seas generations ago, hiding among humans, burying what they were".
But you… you are the one who carries the echo of their power."
She shook her head violently. "No. My father was a teacher. My mother sells fabric. We are ordinary people."
I smiled sadly. "Even ordinary roots can hide divine fire."
She trembled. "Then why me?
'Why not someone who wants this? Someone who believes?"
"Because belief does not bind souls," I whispered, reaching for her hand. "Truth does."
Our fingers brushed, and the bond flared to life, golden light flickering faintly between us, unseen by any mortal eye.
She gasped as heat rippled through her, and for a moment, all resistance melted into the raw pull of destiny.
I held her gaze. "You can fight me, Mira. You can run to the ends of the earth.
But the blood in your veins already knows its King."
Her tears fell freely now, her voice breaking. "I don't know who I am anymore."
"Yes, you do." I stepped closer, until I could feel the tremor in her breath. "You are mine. You were always mine."
The night around us stilled. The air hummed. And for the first time, she didn't move away.
Her bag slipped from her fingers, hitting the pavement softly.
'The Bible she had packed fell open- the page landing on Psalm 139. The verse caught the streetlight:
"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall Thy hand lead me."
She stared at it, her lips trembling.
'A sob escaped her, not of fear, but surrender.
'And I whispered, "Even the sea cannot hide you from what you were born to be."
Her eyes lifted, shimmering with pain and wonder.
"Then what am I now?"
I reached out, my fingers tracing the tears from her cheek. "You,"
I said softly, "are the beginning of everything."
The wind rose around us, carrying the scent of rain and earth; the scent of my world.
'And as the moonlight deepened, the shadows behind me rippled. The forest; our realm- began to bleed through the city, faint outlines of trees glowing behind her like a mirage.
Mira gasped, stepping closer without realizing it, as if something in her blood recognized home.
Because this time, she wasn't running.
And I knew .... the true awakening had begun.