The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 158: Scene At The Corridor

Esme felt the tension in her shoulder melt away, and the space between them seemed to vanish as he added, "We’ll go to bed when you’re ready."

"And what if I’m not ready?" she asked.

"Then you ask too many questions," he whispered. His eyes shifted to the mirror, meeting her gaze with a startling precision. There was a strange twinkle in those eyes, and it glistened, reminding her of an ethereal glow like constellations waltzing in an uncharted sky.

Esme’s heart stuttered, caught between an unfamiliar fear and the unexplainable pull of him. "If you keep looking at me like that, I might truly fall into whatever spell those eyes are weaving," she said, her voice laced with something she hadn’t dared to name before.

Donovan’s lips curled, almost in defiance of the truth between them before his eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to the refuge of her skin as he buried his face into the delicate curve of her neck. She felt the warmth of his breath, uneven and a little slower than it should have been.

"Is that a compliment?" he murmured, a bittersweet lilt in his words. "Though the last thing I want is to have you under their spell... and yet, maybe there’s a part of me that wants you to fall...hard."

Esme noticed the slight strain on his furrowed eyebrows. "You’re the only one who’s never been touched by their pull. I wonder if you’ll still admire them when the spell reaches you too."

He pulled back, shutting his eyes tightly as if fighting to hold on to his sanity. "Forgive me, I don’t feel... so good."

Esme closed the book, dropping it back on the table before rising to face Donovan. Her gaze softened as she raised her hand and cupped his cheeks, searching his face with concern.

"Are you certain it’s not the events of earlier?" she asked, her voice a blend of worry and calm. "You slept like the dead, yet now you say you can’t find sleep at all. And... your senses, have they dulled?"

Donovan’s brow furrowed, "How can you tell?"

"My hands are on your face. Usually, by now, your body would tense, more like a reflexive response. But you’re not reacting at all. Your body temperature feels warmer than usual too." She withdrew her hand. "I doubt it’s just the blizzard outside. There might be something more."

"Don’t say malaria," Donovan uttered, and Esme shook her head, wondering how he’d think of something like that since werewolves rarely catch those types of illnesses. Unlike her, who could easily be prone to them... though a lot of times when she was still a child.

Suddenly, a recognition dawned in her expression, and her eyes widened as if the truth had struck like lightning. "Of course, the Feral Moon," she whispered.

How did it slip her mind? Tonight marked the night of the Feral Moon.

Donovan’s eyes narrowed, confusion mingling with unease as he asked. "The Feral what? Does it come with a splitting headache too? Cause I’m already not a fan of it. It’s making me feel exhausted."

A small, reassuring laugh escaped her as she shook her head at Donovan’s endless rambling. "How about you sit down first? Your headache can be relieved by yours truly. There’s this remedy I remember. I’ll prepare something that should ease your headache until the night passes, but you’ll have to continue taking it for two days."

"There’s certainly an upside to being mated to someone who knows their way around medicine," Donovan said as he sat on the divan couch across the room. "If it was Neville, he’d charge me a fortune. And I thought I had some exclusive perk for being his friend. In the end they end up tasting like swamp water, which is disgusting."

"So you’re saying my remedies are not only free but remarkably effective?" Esme teased, crossing her arms. A playful smirk tugged at her lips as she continued, "hm... perhaps it’s time I started charging you for my services. Good medicine shouldn’t come without a price, right?" freewёbnoνel.com

Donovan raised an eyebrow, "and that is the downside of telling you things. I didn’t tell you so you can pitch in your own ideas, and besides, what’s mine is yours, I don’t have to pay when you can just take."

Esme’s soft laughter filled the room before she turned and made her way to the door. "Stay put," she instructed. "I’ll fetch the ingredients from the storage room and prepare some tea for us."

Picking up her cloak from her hanger, she fastened it with practiced ease before opening the door and stepping out.

Esme descended the creaking staircase, and the glow of her lantern cast flickering shadows across the stone walls. The soft rustle of her footsteps broke the silence as she made her way to the storage room. The golden light from her lantern traced the carved wood of the door as she pushed it open.

Inside, the air was thick with the earthy scent of dried roots and leaves. Her fingers moved methodically as she skimmed over the labeled pouches and jars until she found the specific herbs needed for Donovan’s medicine.

Her brows furrowed in concentration as she selected additional herbs that would bolster Donovan’s senses, a herb that would prevent the creeping numbness that threatened to steal his awareness, which was a dangerous hindrance for someone who relied heavily on his attuned perception.

The muted clinking of glass was heard, and she wrapped her selected herbs carefully with a paper.

With a soft click, the storage room door closed behind her, and she slipped into the quiet, expansive main hall. The dry, sharp scent of herb surrounded her as she made her way towards the kitchen, her footsteps silent on the flagstone floor.

As she made it through the second hall, a tense whisper halted her in her tracks.

"Althea, wait!" came Acheron’s voice, low and urgent in the dead of night.

Esme instinctively pressed herself into the shadow of a nearby archway, and her pulse quickened. Peering out cautiously, she could see the scene unfold at the corridor’s entrance that led to the garden.

Acheron stood there, his normally composed expression shattered, and his emerald hair in disheveled strands. Those eyes that matched his hair color gleamed as he stopped Althea from leaving. Facing him was Althea herself, her pink nightwear catching the faint glow of the lanterns lined up in the corridor.

Her posture was stiff as Acheron grabbed her wrist, the heat of his touch searing into her skin. The tension between them surged, like an electric current charged with unspoken words and unanswered desires.

Althea’s eyes narrowed, a storm brewing in their depths, but before she could unleash the biting retort poised on her tongue, Acheron’s lips crashed against hers. It was a kiss full of desperation, a raw surrender to the tumult of emotions he could no longer restrain.

Esme’s eyes widened to the point they nearly fell off their sockets, and she closed her eyes with one hand, silently tip-toeing away from the scene.