The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate

Donovan descended the long, spiraling staircase to join the others for dinner. He had tidied his hair into a sleek, low bun, and had donned the night robe that had been laid out for him — a gesture he suspected was Althea’s doing.

Revana, he knew, wouldn’t bother herself with such thoughtfulness unless it served a hidden purpose. It felt reassuring to know that despite everything, they still retained the essence of their personality from years past.

As he approached the open-roof atrium in the garden, the delicious aroma of roasted pheasant wafted in the air, assaulting his nostrils. He let the scent guide him to the destination where others would be having dinner. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves in the tree, creating a symphony that mingled with the soft trickling of a hidden fountain nearby.

This peace... It was a comforting feeling he would never be able to accept.

The garden atrium was an enclosed space, with its open roof and glass walls that created a sense of airiness.

Silver moonbeams poured in from the roofless top, casting ethereal patterns on the stone floor as he walked by. The glass walls were adorned with twisted vines and lush greenery, while the vibrant blooms and exotic night-blooming flowers filled the air with their heady fragrance. Donovan could tell he was close, as the scent of aromatic dishes had grown more appetizing.

Chattering voices and unfiltered laughters grew audible, more discernible and then he paused. If his memories weren’t eluding him, there used to be about five rows of steps here. He vaguely remembered his mother teaching him to count each step on each floor and in every room.

As a child, he’d stubbornly insisted on moving around without a cane, determined to let his blindness not be a source of his weakness, hence, his mother made him learn the hard way. Back then it seemed like torture, but now that he was older, he was starting to understand the positivity in her teachings.

The memory lingered, and Donovan’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. Why was his mind revisiting a past he’d vowed to forget?

In the heart of the garden atrium, the group had gathered around a grand table, where a lavish, black velvet cloth and dark, metal candelabras set the tone. Flickering candles cast a warm glow on their faces, and the atmosphere was both cozy and inviting.

Having shed their armor, they had donned their comfortable night attire. Tonight was specifically planned to celebrate their long brother’s return, and they had the table set with all kinds of delicacies.

Althea was busy preparing Donovan’s meal with meticulous care, while the four had served themselves, but couldn’t eat without Donovan.

They were all accustomed to Althea’s thoughtful gesture, especially when it concerned Donovan, but Acheron, the fourth member of the group couldn’t help but watch Althea with a hint of jealousy in his forest-green eyes. He pouted in slight annoyance, leaning uncomfortably into his seat as he crossed his arms, his muscles flexing in reaction.

"When do I get pampered like this? If I get whisked away and spend more than fifteen years in Illyria, will you treat me with such care?" He questioned, shooting Althea a side-glance, and she froze. She blinked as if she couldn’t comprehend the words that had just left his mouth, and before the man could process her bewildered reaction, a stinging slap landed on his cheek, leaving him reeling.

Revana, who had been casually drinking water, had to spit it out to laugh. Lothar and the fifth member, Neville, had their eyes wide open in surprise rather than shock. Althea’s eyes welled up with tears as she scolded Acheron, who was still trying to regain his composure from the unexpected slap that had jolted him back to reality.

"How dare you say that to me!" Althea’s voice trembled with indignation. "If you utter those words one more time then I’ll cut ties with you for good, and I mean it! We’ve just gotten our Donovan back, and now you’re spewing such nonsense? You know my heart can’t take it, but you don’t seem to care at all. Are you trying to curse yourself to an early grave?"

Acheron was taken aback by Althea’s fiery outburst, and the stinging slap still left him reeling. He realized only after regaining his composure, the foolishness that had left his own lips. He had been jealous of the attention Althea showered on Donovan, and in a misguided attempt to redirect her focus, he had said those words he didn’t know would affect Althea. Rather than the affection he sought, he received a harsh wake-up call, delivered with a resounding slap to his face.

"Althea, I..."

"Don’t talk to me, hmph!" She shut him off, returning to her seat with her rosy cheeks puffed in anger.

Before Acheron could apologize, Donovan entered, his presence immediately gaining everyone’s attention, and silence ensued within the atrium.

Their attention was magnetically drawn to his approaching figure, and they found themselves unable to tear their gaze away.

He was a captivating sight, exuding an aura of quiet confidence. His hands were casually tucked into his pocket, and the sight of the cursed mark spreading up his neck and onto his face only seemed to amplify his allure. Looking at him now, so refined and refreshed, was almost surreal. It was hard to reconcile this man with the little boy that had left their land only to be held captive by the royal family of Illyria.

The harsh reality was that most of them, including the entire realm, had long given up hope of their Alpha’s return.

"Oh my! Did the people of Illyria give you a makeover before coming here?" Althea’s words spilled out in a fascinated rush, her eyes drinking the sight of Donovan’s rugged features. Revana’s eyes narrowed, tempted to intervene, but Donovan’s calm response stayed her hand.

"Not a makeover, Althea, but I did meet someone fascinating," he replied, his voice low and smooth. He reached out to gently pat Althea on the head, his touch light and comforting. Then, his hands returned to his pocket, whilst he glided towards the head seat, where he finally settled in.

"Someone fascinating, you say?" Acheron arched a curious eyebrow. "Is this person an enemy?"

"Maybe," came Donovan’s subtle reply. "I’d be more surprised if she wasn’t. Though I doubt it."

"A she?" Althea’s eyes lit with excitement, "you mean you’ve found your fated mate already??" Her enthusiasm was infectious, but the other’s couldn’t help but exchange exasperated glances. They often wished they could dial down Althea’s emotional intensity in situations like this.

Unlike Althea who still had hope for humanity, the others were more cynical. They saw no redeeming qualities in the people who sought to destroy them. Even their encounter in the forest earlier had ended in a violent confrontation with the lycans, all to buy their Alpha some time to revisit the fortress – for reasons that still remained unclear.

Neville discreetly made Donovan aware of what was served on his plate. "It’s still hard to believe that you’re sitting with us, after everything. I remember the day you left the barrier like it was yesterday. We were all still children. If only we had known what lay ahead, we would have never let you go."

Acheron nodded in agreement. "At first, I’ll have to admit that we thought you were naive about the dangers outside. But as time passed, and you never returned, we came to the realization that you must have known what you were getting yourself into by going to the palace. Then... the unthinkable happened."

"Neither you nor your mother returned from the palace. The news regarding your mother’s death reached our ears, including the death of the king, and those cowards dared to accuse a child for something so heinous. Now that you’re here, can you set the record straight? Can you tell us that the rumors were all lies? They framed you because you of your mark, didn’t they? You would never harm your own mother, let alone do what those jobless bastards accused you of doing to your brother." Acheron’s voice trailed off, unable to say it.

"What do they think we are, cannibals?" His eyes darted to Donovan, determination blazing in their depths, "tell us what you know, Alpha Donovan." he appealed, using Donovan’s title, "explain to us what really happened when you went to the palace to get your mother. We believe in you, and we’ll stand by you with our lives to bring down Illyria. We’ll clear your name and seek justice! Right?"

Acheron turned to everyone who uttered their agreement. They awaited Donovan’s response, hoping he’d open up to them since they’ve all been good friends since childhood, but instead of speaking, he dropped his fork with a clatter. The weight of his silence grew heavier, making the others shift uncomfortably in their seats. Finally, he broke the silence.

"There’s no need for explanations," he said, his voice low and even. With a deliberate motion, he picked up a crystal decanter and poured himself a goblet of red wine, filling it to the brim.

"Everything you’ve heard is true."