The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate

Esme’s eyes darted to Donovan’s dark blindfold, and her face blanched upon realizing this wasn’t her hallucination.

She instantly recoiled from him, her eyes staring wide-eyed at his unmistakable presence, and she quickly retreated.

He sensed her fears, her disbelief, her anger, and it cloaked around him in a way he didn’t find appealing. Before she had the chance to let out the scream that had been building in her throat, Donovan closed the distance between them, covering her mouth with his palm, and his other finger rose to his lips in a silencing gesture.

"I think it’s better if you don’t," he said, his head tilted slightly as he felt her tremble, and the silence was commanding. "It isn’t healthy to harbor that amount of fear, so swallow your screams." He withdrew his hand afterwards, the softness of her lips still lingering in his palm, and he closed his hand in a gesture of restraint.

Esme remained paralyzed with fear on the floor, unable to move, scream, or flee from this predicament. Memories of his brutality towards Dahmer at the fortress made her anxiety momentarily manageable, but her body stayed frozen. Her eyes tracked his subtle movement as he stood up, his hand extended in a harmless offer to assist her to her feet, but Esme hesitated, her gaze fixed on his outstretched hand as if it were a serpent ready to strike.

"Don’t worry, I don’t bite." He coaxed, his low, smooth tone sending a quick shiver down her restless spine. A strange, eerie feeling stirred in her chest as his honeyed voice resonated in her small head, and she couldn’t help but recall the time when he kissed her at the fortress – only to bite her afterwards. The unwanted memory she struggled hard to bury, had resurfaced thanks to that stupid phrase, yet it left her breathless. ƒreewebɳovel.com

Her eyes shifted to his towering form, and Donovan could sense her gaze piercing him through his blindfold. It was obvious she wasn’t going to accept his hand, and that made him withdraw, habitually tucking them back in the pocket of his dark pants. The negative energy that followed was expected.

A shimmering anger burned in her eyes as she recalled the atrocities his people had committed against her family, the only few people that ever mattered to her. They had slaughtered her father’s pack without a drop of remorse, they murdered Vivienne, and transformed her brother into the one thing she despised. Despite doing all of these, he had the audacity to confront her in the palace. Just staring at him was a stark reminder of the horror she had endured that night, and her fist clenched.

Esme’s eyes flashed with fury as she screamed, "YOU MONSTER!" and swiftly snatched up the silver needles scattered on the floor. She flung them at Donovan without hesitation, their sharp tips glinting in the air as they hurtled towards him with pure, lethal intent. But in a bizarre display of power, the needles halted mid-air just inches away from his face, before clattering to the floor at his feet.

It was so unexpected, to the point Esme couldn’t conceal her shock.

As he began to approach her, Esme sprang to her feet and dashed towards the door. She frantically tried to flee from the tower, to call out for help, but the door refused to budge. It stuck fast, as if sealed by some invisible force. Over her shoulder, she saw him closing in, his movements unhurried, and she redoubled her efforts to escape, scrabbling wildly at the unyielding door.

When she figured it was no use, she stopped trying and proceeded to find any object she could use as a weapon on her desk. Her hands swiftly reached for the sharpened knife laying nearby, and she was the one to lunge at Donovan this time, but he evaded. No matter how quickly she struck, or how calculated her attacks were, her movements were slow and predictable against Donovan’s lightning-fast reflexes. Even though he sensed many advantages in her movements, not once did he try to fight back.

Tears of frustration and anger streamed down her face as he effortlessly evaded her needle-thin attacks. It didn’t matter if he was the strongest; his kind had ruined whatever hope she had left in this world. She was beyond caring if he killed her for daring to attack him like this tonight. All that mattered was her seething hatred for what he represented.

"Just die!"

"I would if I could." he truthfully responded, dodging yet another attack. Esme’s knife sank into a nearby basket of herbs on the shelves instead, and her ragged breathing was a testament to her exhaustion. Her strength waned, and she wondered how long they had been going back and forth with this. However, she froze when she felt him standing behind her.

His gentle whispers made her nerves skitter up to her spine as he murmured, "I can tell you have no fighting experience. If you keep pushing yourself too hard, you’re going to exhaust yourself, so stop." His big hands bracketed her on each side of the shelf, trapping her in the middle, and she felt the warmth of his body against her back. Esme was too terrified to turn around, she didn’t want to.

To an outside observer, their current pose could easily be misconstrued as a tender moment between lovers. But the truth was far from romantic.

"H-how did you get into the palace of all places?" she asked, her words tumbling out before she could catch them. Her hand instinctively flew to her mouth, stopping more questions from blurting out, but to her surprise, he responded.

"I can get to you anywhere, anytime I want. The palace is no exception, neither is it a safe haven. I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you, but if you attract unnecessary attention to this tower, I’ll take care of anyone who dares to intervene." His words were laced with a quiet menace, and Esme built up the courage to finally face him.

She involuntarily shrunk upon noticing their proximity, and her glossy eyes darted to his blindfold. It didn’t make sense each time it dawned upon her that he wasn’t seeing a thing, and she wondered how he could function so well with a blindfold. It was as if he relied on his other senses, but even that information didn’t give her a clue on what his main weakness could be.

How can she get out of this?

Her fingers clutched the hilt of her knife blade, torn between the urge to strike and a contradictory instinct to remain calm. For some inexplicable reason, she didn’t believe he intended to harm her. If that were the case, he would have done so back at the fortress, but he didn’t. If he wasn’t here to hurt her, what exactly made him confront her like this? The question swirled in her mind, refusing to let go.

Esme released the blade, and it clattered to the floor. "What do you want from me?" She demanded. "If you aren’t here to kill me, then what do you want?"

"What I want..." he started slowly, "is to propose a deal with you. In exchange for your cooperation, I’ll help your brother regain his grip on reality." He produced a coin with a flourish, a sly smile spreading across his face. "But it seems to me like you’re not in the right frame of mind to make the right decision, so let me help you with that. Heads or tails?"