Chapter 16: He Truly Lacks Such Forbidden Fortune

Her ancestral words did not merely flatter Anna’s superficial appearance; they simultaneously delivered a subtle, crushing warning to her standing.

The young trainee’s face turned violently crimson and then a pale white, her vocal cords completely paralyzed as she lost the capacity to construct a response.

Dominic smoothly withdrew his arm from her grasp without a sound, a dark wave of predatory impatience finally bleeding into his aura; the calculated trap Anna was attempting to execute was collapsing directly before his face.

"I am running with my bloodline family tonight. It is inconvenient."

His tone was extraordinarily detached, yet inside Anna’s calculating mind, his baritone seemed to carry a hidden, illicit frequency.

"Then let us share a table another evening, Alpha Dominic."

She cast a submissive, shy look up at his chiseled profile. Was the supreme Alpha King subtly commanding her to isolate his scent for a private dinner at a later hour?

Dominic felt a passing trace of surprise, his amber wolf-eyes narrowing as he subjected Anna to a serious, measuring evaluation.

By raw visual parameters, her physical traits were undeniably outstanding; her soft face bore two delicate dimples, projecting an aura of absolute innocence and youthful vigor. A female carrying such young, radiant flesh would only need to release a fraction of her scent to have lesser males crawling to her den.

No wonder her confidence remained unbroken; even after enduring two flat rejections, she possessed the nerve to aggressively renew her advance.

"Fine. Tomorrow evening," he rasped out in a noncommittal tone.

Anna’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief before a wave of violent, ravenous joy capsized her composure. "Wonderful! At what hour shall the summons arrive, Alpha? I shall robe myself in the finest garments for your presence."

"Await the pack notification."

The exact second the words cleaved the air, the final remnants of Dominic’s patience evaporated entirely.

He pivoted on his heel, his powerful form stepping forward to guide Matriarch Evelyn as he directed a sharp glance toward Clara. "Cross the threshold."

Clara stiffened, a phantom drop of bittersweet poison suddenly corrupting her peace.

For reasons her intellect could not map, witnessing him accept a private mating date with another female did not grant her the relief her strategy demanded; instead, a distinct, suffocating discomfort tightened her chest.

Yet, whatever female he chose to run with carried zero relevance to her existence.

Let it go. The exact hour this formal banquet concluded, she and Dominic Vance would never cross paths within the territory again.

"Clara, my girl, evaluate the selection ledger. Order whatever prey your wolf desires."

The moment the three entities settled into the central hall, the Matriarch slid the heavy velvet menu toward Clara's fingers.

Dominic offered a cold, mocking reminder from across the table. "Matriarch, the text is woven entirely in the High English and Royal French dialects."

The hidden bite in his baritone explicitly stated that a rogue human female like Clara Thorne lacked the cognitive capacity to decipher the script.

Clara’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second against the parchment. Who exactly was this arrogant beast trying to diminish?

"Attendant, handle my selection directly."

She raised her left hand, executing a flawless, razor-sharp snap of her fingers to command the staff's attention. Unleashing a fluid, perfectly accented torrent of pure Royal French, she mapped out several complex, high-tier dishes without a single heartbeat of hesitation.

"Grandmother, does your system harbor any elemental restrictions tonight? Allow my voice to finalize your selection as well."

Clara directed a brilliant, mocking smile straight at Dominic’s stunned features.

Little wolf, there are vast expanses of my history your primitive mind has yet to unearth!

Throughout her three winters of survival in the outer human realm, she had completely mastered three distinct languages—English, French, and German—utilizing them to trade sacred artifacts with elite global collectors without a single barrier. Deciphering a simple dining menu was an absolute joke to her intellect.

"Clara, your dialect carries an incredibly authentic, ancestral rhythm." Evelyn, having navigated the high courts of the warring packs for decades, instantly recognized that Clara’s accent was not forged from dead academic texts.

Her Beta, Silas, had reported that Clara had not entered an educational sanctuary after crossing the borders, meaning this resilient female possessed a fierce, self-driven drive—surviving in an alien territory entirely alone while mastering a complex tongue through sheer strength of will!

The Matriarch’s aristocratic appreciation for Clara intensified to a fever pitch. Initially, she merely felt a passing visual alignment with the girl, but the deeper she pierced Clara's layers, the more magnificent her hidden brilliance became.

She could not resist casting a series of sharp, deeply exasperated looks at Dominic, her spirit filled with ancestral regret and fury.

This foolish pup could not even claim a hot meal before the fire!

Clara must have bound her soul to another male cycles ago; otherwise, how could her pup already have seen three winters?

Her supreme grandson truly lacked the forbidden fortune to claim a female of this magnificent caliber!