The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 177: Grim Death

In mere minutes, Donovan lay crumpled and unconscious on the cold stone floor.

The gaolers who brought him forward had unleashed their full wrath upon him, obeying their future king’s command without restraint.

His body was left battered and broken, and his skin was marred with vivid bruises and deep whip marks that criss crossed his bare back. Fresh blood seeped from the raw wounds, painting a gruesome picture of the brutality he just experienced, but when Lennox was starting to feel satisfied, the boy he assumed was unconscious suddenly chuckled.

It came out low, only to heighten with each passing second. The fear in Lennox’s eyes wasn’t hidden, despite being overshadowed by rage.

"Hang him on the post," Lennox ordered without delay, his voice cold and commanding as he rose from the throne. "Let the mad boy dangle there until sunrise. If he refuses to die, it’s far more gratifying to see him suffer a bit more. He has the energy to open his filthy mouth and laugh at my face."

His fist clenched at his side, but he trembled slightly from the fear the boy in front of him made him feel. Everytime he looked at Donovan, he could only recall the way Donovan ordered his own mother to take her life, and that was something he would never forgive or forget.

The gaoler’s wasted no time, and they immediately dragged Donovan’s limp body away to execute their future king’s decree. As their footsteps faded, Lennox relaxed a bit, but he was startled when the minister beside him suddenly spoke.

"You have acted wisely, Your Majesty," the minister bowed his head in submission. "With your authority, no one can oppose the decisions you make to secure the kingdom’s future. That little monster – he dared to meet with Alpha Damon’s daughter in secret!"

A new voice suddenly rang out in the hall as the minister kept ranting. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

"And why," Damon growled in slight indignation as he strode purposely into the hall, "am I the last one to hear about this?"

The minister suddenly fell silent at Damon’s question, his confidence evaporating as Damon’s piercing gaze bore down on him and Lennox.

Lennox folded his arms across his chest when Damon stood in front of him, and he responded. "I plan to tell you everything, Uncle. I just didn’t want to risk an overreaction. You’ve been under enough stress, and I didn’t want to disrupt your rest."

Damon’s piercing gaze shifted from Lennox to the empty hall. "Where is the boy?"

The minister bristled slightly at the commanding tone in Damon’s voice, but wisely held his tongue. Though there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes, he dared not challenge an Alpha like Damon.

"The boy’s been dealt with," Lennox replied, his voice devoid of any sympathy. "I ordered the gaolers to hang him on the post until sunrise. This time, he deserves punishment for what he’s done. Let’s not forget he carries Alpha Zephyr’s blood. That alone makes him a threat."

Damon offered no immediate response, despite wanting to say something. Without a word, he turned and exited the hall. Lennox made no efforts to stop him, and in truth, he welcomed it. If Damon dealt with him, it would save him the trouble of dealing with that so-called monster himself."

Since his parent’s death, Lennox had been unable to find peace. Sleep eluded him, and the crushing weight of his destiny felt like twin boulders pressing down on his shoulders.

He couldn’t escape it – this nightmare. Everything, the chaos, the sleepless nights, including the burden of what he was about to become, everything could be traced back to Donovan and his cursed pack.

Meanwhile, Damon strode into the open courtyard, his dark cloak billowing from the cold air. The post loomed ahead, stark against the night, and his sharp, blue eyes spotted Donovan who was bound to them, with his arms stretched out, and he was on his knees. The cold wind cut through Donovan’s bare skin, his wounds raw and exposed.

Damon glanced around, and he noted the eerie absence of the gaolers.

Shaking his head, Damon approached, his expression a mix of pity and frustration. Donovan’s body trembled visibly, but whether it was from the cold or the pain, Damon couldn’t tell. Without hesitation, Damon reached for the blanket that was hung at the far end of the courtyard, and he draped it over Donovan’s shoulders.

He felt the boy flinch from the contact, his body stiffening. Due to the cold, the effects were more than capable of dulling the boy’s senses, making it difficult for him to properly perceive his environment, and it made sense that he hadn’t sensed him coming.

Damon sighed deeply and stepped back.

"You know the peril of your situation, don’t you?" Damon asked, his voice making the boy shudder. "Then why do you keep gambling with your life like this?"

Donovan didn’t respond. Rather, his head hung low, and his silence held a meaning. He understood his plight better than anyone else. That’s why any word he could muster would make no difference, they never had, and they never would.

Damon’s gaze simply darkened, but his tone softened as he pressed further. "Why did you meet with my daughter?" he asked. "If you meant to harm her, you’ve had plenty of chances to execute something like that. This isn’t the first time, is it?"

At the mere mention of Esme, Donovan’s head lifted slowly, and he exhaled.

"You have a lovely daughter," he said quietly. "She adores you. I could never bring myself to hurt her. But if the royals are so desperate to use her as bait to get rid of me, they’d best act quickly, before I lose whatever motivation I have left to play their game."

Damon’s eyes narrowed. "Do you even comprehend the weight of your crimes?"

Donovan let out a dry laugh at Damon’s question, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. "I couldn’t care less," he replied sharply. "The king is dead. I got what I wanted, regardless of how it turned out for me. If I had a choice to do it again, I would change the course of his suffering and make sure he dies emotionally. He would die—"

"That’s enough," Damon’s calm order forced Donovan to swallow whatever bitter comments he had to make about Lennox’s father. "If you keep talking, it will do you more harm, and your curse might use that as an advantage. If you turn, I’ll have no choice but to kill you myself, so spare us both from that."

"So you do know," Donovan forced his trembling legs up to his feet. "You know we have to turn into Demons."

"I know," Damon replied. "I know that your father’s army is different from your pack entirely. I’ve seen what they’ve become and what drives them to that state. But understand this— I have no intention of harming you or your kind, as long as you don’t turn into what your father already is. Removing your father is the only way to free you and your people from this curse. It is the only solution, since he’s the one who started it all."

A faint, resigned smile tugged at Donovan’s lips. "Thank you," he said. "Perhaps, it is for the best. I cannot defend my father’s actions any more than anyone can justify the King’s. Some legacies were never meant to endure."

Damon’s eyes noticed the marks that were starting to spread by themselves on Donovan’s skin, creeping like tendrils of shadows. He sensed the boy’s discomfort and immediately placed his palm close to the spot on Donovan’s neck, and, as if, commanded by some unseen force, the mark began to recede, coiling back into submission.

"If you want to stay alive," Damon said, his tone firm yet almost paternal, "never surrender to your curse. Your father has caused irreparable damage, and he’s far too gone to undo the chaos he created. That burden now falls to you. If you die, so will the rest of your kind. To protect them and yourself, as their leader and future Alpha, you must keep fighting, no matter the cost."

Donovan hesitated, confusion and mistrust clouding his expression. "Why are you telling me this? Of all people, you’re the last person I’d expect to say all these things to me. Don’t you hate me? Aren’t you just as furious that I’ve been seeing your daughter? I know you are."

Damon’s expression darkened briefs when the boy sensed his inner conflict, a flash of tension crossing his features. "Am I angry? Yes," he admitted. "But just like you, I tend to know when someone harbors ill intent, and that’s not you. We’re not enemies, Donovan. You’re a victim of your father’s curse, and that is why I’m telling you to do whatever it takes to survive. I can’t promise I’ll win the war that is coming, I have a sense it might be my final battle. But if I fall, the burden of ending it will rest on your shoulders."

Donovan’s expression was clearly one of surprise. It seemed as though Esme’s father was entrusting something to him, but he couldn’t quite put his fingers around it.

"But you must survive, Alpha," he said, the sincerity in his voice catching Damon off guard. "For your daughter’s sake, you have to survive. I’m nothing more than a failure, so please don’t build any hopes or beliefs for someone like me."

Damon heard the boy’s discouragement, and he felt nothing but empathy. He knew there was nothing he could do to ease the boy’s suffering. He may be powerful, but not powerful enough to decide against the orders of the kingdom.

His dark robes billowed in the cold breeze as he broke the silence. "Do you know why your father is the way he is?"

Donovan didn’t answer immediately. He lowered his head and nodded faintly. "Because he was sick."

Damon’s voice softened, though it carried the weight of a bitter truth. "Do you know what illness he had?"

This time around, Donovan shook his head, his confusion evident.

"It’s called Noctisveil syndrome," Damon explained. "It’s a hereditary illness that lives under your family’s name. Your family’s legacy was cursed before the demon blood took root and spiraled out of control. Your family’s name isn’t called Morgrim without reasons, child."

"What... what does it mean to be a Morgrim?" Donovan asked, his voice betraying a quiet fear of the answer.

"It means Grim Death." Damon murmured, the words lingering like a cold shroud over both of them.