The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 157: The Bed Is Cold

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"What do you mean why the special treatment?" Kangee asked, "Isn’t this how you’ve always been treated? Special treatment is your norm, isn’t it?"

Esme settled into the chair at her dresser, the soft glow of her lamplight casting a warm halo around her. A small, wistful smile played on her lips as she met Kangee’s gaze.

"No," she murmured, her fingers trailing over the carvings of her dresser, "It’s totally different because it was you and Donovan who did this for me. That alone makes all the difference, Kangee."

"But do I need a reason to draw a bath for my lady?" Donovan inquired, his deep voice, both smooth and unwavering swept through the room. He stepped closer, the heat from his presence warming her more than the crackling fire nearby.

"I don’t need a reason," his hand reached out, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face, the roughness of his fingers making her shiver. "Sensing you’re at ease with it is more than enough reason for me. I’d do more than that if I had my sight." His tone was low, almost tender, as if the answer was carved into his soul.

Her breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in reaction, and the subtle curl of his sinful lips told her he knew what she was thinking. In that moment, the cold from the outside world melted away, leaving only the warmth that seemed to blossom between them.

Kangee’s eyes rolled heavenward, and the raven was starting to feel like an intruder when Esme was the intruder. After all, it found Donovan first, but right now, it felt no less than a third-party.

Esme’s eyes followed Donovan as he removed his blindfold. His movement was deliberate, and each second was charged with an intensity that made her heart pound.

She watched him grab the petal sword from where she hung it, its innocent beauty masking the danger beneath. After that day, she had been reluctant to use the weapon, remembering how it came alive when crimson stained the petals, because how in the moon goddess name does a weapon need blood to function?

"Have you known all this time that the petal sword you gave me was a whip with extremely sharp petals, and that it has a blade that can cut through anything?"

"Is that a hint of accusation?" A faint smile played on Donovan’s lips, shadowed by exhaustion but no less captivating. "I never called it a sword, Esme. That was your own interpretation," he murmured, and Esme opened her mouth to argue, but paused after realizing he was correct.

"As a sword, it’s harmless. But lethal as a whip," he continued. "And it only comes to life when it tastes blood. When the blood fades, it reverts to its harmless disguise. If it activated for you during the battle, that means you’ve used it, haven’t you?"

"How can you tell?" She asked, though she knew he had already pieced it together.

He tilted his head at her question, silver hair brushing his temples as his eyes softened, a hint of mischief mingled with worry. "It’s called insight," he replied, the corner of his mouth curling into a roguish smile that always disarmed her, and then he patted her head.

"Now," he said, his voice low and intimate, "the water in the tub won’t stay warm forever. Go and use it while you still can. This storm is slowly numbing my senses, and until it passes, I’ll be staying here, with you."

He set the blood petal back into place. Kangee let out a soft caw while ruffling its feathers, as if bidding them both goodnight before spreading its wings and taking off. Donovan closed the door after the raven had left.

Esme couldn’t suppress the heat that clouded her cheeks at the thought of him staying. The room seemed smaller with just the two of them, the air thicker, as the storm outside wrapped them in a cocoon of pure isolation.

She watched him move with a quiet elegance to the edge of her bed, the fabric of his loose, dark nightshirt skimming the defined lines of his frame. The scent of fresh linen lingered, along with his scent, telling her he hadn’t been out of the bathing chamber for long.

His silver white hair fell messily across his face, giving him an uncharacteristically relaxed look, which she found strange because Donovan had always been the calm type. The subtle disarray made him even more alluring, and it made sense why he suddenly took off his blindfold, since he doesn’t sleep with them on.

"I’ll be back," she said softly, rising from the chair and picking out a fresh midnight blue nightgown from her drawer. The look he gave her when she dared to look at him, a rare, unguarded flicker of softness – was enough to leave her heart racing all over again, and she hurried to the bathing chamber, closing the door shut.

Esme’s focus shifted as her eyes settled on the tub, and her heart bloomed. The glow of the lanterns in the chamber cast a golden glow over the surface, the scent of lavender and herbs drifting lightly through the steam. It was a gesture steeped in quiet thoughtfulness, one she could hardly believe came from the same man she’d once tried to wound in anger – twice.

Yet, here he was, unflinching in his kindness towards her. A smile ghosted her lips at the absurdity of it all. It wouldn’t be considered much of a big deal, but the fact he did this despite having troubles with his sight meant a lot to her. Dipping a finger in the tub, she realized he must have taken care to stoke the coal to keep the water heated just right.

How considerate!

Letting out a soft sigh, Esme slipped out of her clothes. The water embraced her like a balm as she soaked in it, its warmth seeping into her muscles and easing the tension that had coiled tight from the day’s icy trials. She sank further into the heat, letting it wash away the remnants of the cold that had clung to her skin and spirit. Time seemed to slow down as she lingered, savoring the fleeting comfort before finally stepping out, her skin tingling and flushed.

After toweling her body and doing every other necessary routine, she slid into the silken nightgown and padded softly back into the room, her bare feet quiet against the floor.

Esme was surprised to find Donovan already asleep on the double divan bed, and the dim glow from the candelabras cast shadows that played across the contours of the features, gentling them in a way that caught her heart off guard.

A tender smile touched her lips, and she carefully approached his sleeping form, draping the covers over him. Her fingers hovered for a moment, an indulgent action before slipping into the soft strands of his hair. The touch was fleeting, just enough to feel the silken texture beneath her fingertips before she pulled back and let out a quiet sigh.

Turning away, she moved to her dressing table and sat on the wooden chair. She picked up her hair brush and began to comb her hair, each stroke pulling through the damp locks that had grown longer than she remembered. The memories of why she had to cut it in the first place resurfaced in her mind.

Shaking the painful thought from her memory, her gaze fell on the book bundled in a wrap, the same ones Cora had given her, and she unwrapped it.

The first book had an ancient sigil at the cover that was etched in dark, metallic ink. It was a circular emblem with intertwining lines that formed an elegant, yet complex knot, surrounded by smaller, sharp runes along the outer edge. The design seemed to pulse with an enigmatic energy, and Esme ran her slender fingers gently across the sigil.

"Even lies can be recorded on paper," Esme reminded herself quietly. Still, it wasn’t enough to deter her resolve. The possibility of finding answers was literally too enticing. If this source knew anything about the fire – especially the kind Cora told her her father wielded to summon his wolf, then perhaps there was hope for her too. Perhaps her own wolf was closer to awakening than she dared to believe.

She thought back to the subtle sensations she had experienced when fighting that demon— the flickers of warmth and anger, the strange pull deep within her heart that seemed to rise and then vanish like a whisper. Finnian never went through this experience before his wolf emerged, and that only added to her confusion. The path she needed to tread was shrouded, and its guidance was locked away with the ones who had long distanced themselves from her.

If only my life was easy," Esme sighed quietly before opening the book. The first page greeted her with intricate, almost pedantic details about the founding of Illyria. It made her gaze shift back to the cover, and she realized this was the old sigil that was used to represent Illyria before it was changed by Lennox.

Her eyes skimmed the text, moving listlessly over the dense script, but the weight of exhaustion tugged at her, making her mind wander.

"You’re not coming to bed?" Donovan’s deep and gentle voice sent a shiver through her, and she turned to find Donovan awake, already slipping out of bed. He stood behind her chair, those otherworldly eyes lowering instinctively to her hands before moving to the mirror.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Esme shook her head gently and explained, "Just reading a book. It’s something important that’s why I haven’t slept yet. But you should go back to sleep, Donovan. I can handle myself much better now. So you don’t have to worry about me."

A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder. The contact was subtle, yet it stole her breath away. "I wasn’t worried," he murmured, a teasing note threading through his words. "But I find it hard to sleep alone. The bed is cold."