The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate

Meanwhile....

Donovan had slipped unnoticed into his chamber using the back door, and he bolted the door of his chamber after getting in, ensuring no one would intrude.

He drew the heavy curtains tight, casting the room into a shadowy darkness. He had only done so for privacy, and his trembling hands reached up to remove his blindfold.

It was happening again...

The dark runes in his skin suddenly flared to life. The marks writhed, sending a searing agony across his flesh, as if molten metal was being poured onto his skin. The demonic energy within him surged forward, and the curse marks crawled like serpents beneath his flesh.

Each pulse of dark runes unleashed a torrent of heat, scorching his nerves with unbearable intensity. It was as if his skin was being branded from the inside out with a branded iron.

"Not... now." He grounded out, his voice strained as he struggled to resist the escalating agony. A crushing pressure built inside him, and his muscles spasmed uncontrollably, responding to the excruciating jolts of pain from the cursed marks.

He fell forward, his hands hitting the floor as he fought for breath. Every nerve in his body was ablaze, and his muscles convulsed in erratic spasms, leaving him helpless and trembling like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Blood trickled from his lips as he coughed, and a sharp, splintering pain pierced his mind, like shards of glasses were being plunged into his brain. Flickers of movement danced at the edge of his dark vision, and his senses reeled, as if being manipulated by some unseen force.

’You’ll never escape....’

’The curse will consume you...’

’Why do you cling to life... ?’

’I can end your agony...’

’You’re just like your father! A monster... !’

’Your time is running out...’

’I can free you from the weight of your past...’

’You murdered your mother, she loathes you... !!’

’Your brother detests you... didn’t you hear his screams when you nearly buried him alive?’

"Ah... fuck." Donovan’s nails lengthened to razor-sharp claws. He clenched his teeth, refusing to scream, and a vein throbbed in his neck. Every fiber of his being was torn between the desperate desire to surrender, and the stubborn determination to resist. The crushing guilt was eating away at him, slowly, but surely, and the curse was busy exploiting his weakness.

"Stupid voices..." he growled irritably, his breath coming short. The burdens of his past were a heavy weight he couldn’t let go, not unless he atoned for his sins. A deep despair washed over him, as if his very life force was being drained away, leaving him vacant and hollow.

He wondered how much longer he could hold on before the curse devoured him completely. But he knew he had to push through – his guilt would be the only push he needed to end the curse rather than ending himself. No matter what, he wasn’t going to let himself succumb to the curse’s influence, no matter how much damage they do to his body. He would bear it. He always had, and he would bear it for as long as he could.

"Not yet," he whispered, wiping the blood from his lips. "Fight it."

His fist clenched in restraint, his clawed nails digging into his skin. More blood trickled from the corner of his lips to his chin, dropping on the floor, and he slammed his fist against the floorboard.

"Fight it... so you don’t regret it." He reminded himself, the urgency laced in his voice.

Despite the agony tearing through his body, he forced himself to stand, his senses reeling from the onslaught. Blinded by pain, he stumbled, unable to focus on his surroundings. He fell, but mercifully landed on his bed instead of the floor.

He recalled a haunting warning from fifteen years ago; The pain of the curse would only intensify with time.

Could anything be more excruciating than this? The curse would eventually consume him, but before it did, he vowed to uncover its source and break its hold. There had to be a way to stop the curse from carrying on to not just his bloodline, but his people as well. His father was not the main bearer of the curse, which could only mean there was someone else plotting behind the scenes of everything happening – and whoever it was is the true bearer of the curse.

He’ll find that person no matter what! And he will free his people from the curse before he perishes.

When his body could no longer endure the agony, Donovan’s consciousness slipped away, and he passed out on the bed.

When he awoke later on only to be swept in the familiar darkness of his vision, the pains in his body had subsided, and his marks had cooled. But what truly roused him was the insistent loud banging on his door, accompanied by Lothar’s muffled voice.

"Are you in?"

Donovan slowly sat up, rubbing the stiffness from his neck. He let out a tired sigh and rose to his feet. He made his way to his wardrobe, where he kept a stash of blindfolds, and he randomly selected one. As he did, he felt a faint dryness on his chin, a telltale sign that the blood from earlier had dried on his face.

"I won’t open the door if you keep banging like that!" Donovan growled, his irritation simmering as the relentless pounding threatened to escalate his headache.

Revana’s voice cut through the noise, "Well, at least we know you’re not dead now." Her bluntless was unmistakable, and Donovan let out a low hiss before heading to his bathroom to wash the dried blood from his face.

Once he’d cleaned up, he opened the door to find Althea rushing forward to envelope him in a tight hug. "Why did you take so long to open the door? And why didn’t you tell us you were back?" she asked, genuine concern etched in her voice.

Neville stepped forward, his brows furrowing slightly in subtle concern. "Do you need me to examine you? You haven’t rested properly since your return, and I’m worried about your health. Are you okay?"

Donovan gently extricated himself from Althea’s embrace. "I’m fine. I just needed some quiet time to recharge. But what’s with the welcoming committee at my door?" He was referring to the five of them, and Acheron explained.

"Tonight’s the Lunar event," he began. "As alpha, your presence is required. We have important guests who will be coming, so we’re here to help you get ready. By the way, you could use a new haircut." He brought out his scissors, a smirk Donovan could not see painting his expression, but the mischief in his tone was clear.

Althea suddenly appeared with a sleek, shimmering dark outfit and a furry coat draped over her arm. "I brought your clothes too! And I chose them personally for tonight. It’s perfect for your rank, and it’ll make a good impression. You can’t miss the event."

Everyone knew the damned had their own rules and hierarchy to be met in order to maintain orderliness, and his absence in the Lunar event would be... noticed.

"Lunar event?" Donovan’s expression fell as the event triggered an unwelcomed memory. Tonight was the night Esmeray’s alliance with the damned king would be formalized. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d wear the pendant he’d given her.

"Come on!"

His thoughts were interrupted by Lothar and the others as they ushered him to a different room to get ready. Neville lagged behind, and he was about to close the door to Donovan’s room when his eyes snagged on a bloodstain on the floor. He had to fix his monocle in place to see it properly.

"Blood?" He whispered, his brows furrowed in curiosity. He glanced in the direction where the others had taken their Alpha, and he slipped inside Donovan’s room.