The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 181: Bearing A Thousand Curses

A few days passed after that day.

Donovan returned to the dim confines of his cell, and his decision had been made. Sitting on the bare floor, his fingers hovered over the metallic cuffs that were bound to his left ankle.

He could feel the faint hum of energy coursing through the device, and it was a stark reminder of the punishment awaiting him if he applied too much force. The last thing he wanted was to trigger another round of electrocution before he had even managed to crack the mechanism.

"Damn it... what do I do?" he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and unease. His hands were already faltering, lingering just inches away from the cuff.

The memory of the searing shock was still fresh. Earlier, when the prisoner had provoked him, the pain hadn’t mattered in that particular moment — his anger had overpowered his reason to be cautious. But now? Now he couldn’t ignore the potential agony waiting to strike.

"This is... terrifying," he murmured, pulling his hand back as the fear of another jolt overtook him. He clenched his fist due to his wavering resolve, and this acute awareness of vulnerability isn’t exactly what he needs right now.

For a fleeting moment, he considered thinking it through, whether any of this would be genuinely worth it. But as his frustration boiled over, the runes etched on his neck began to writhe again. The dark, pulsing markings slithered downwards, disappearing beneath the fabric of his shirt, and he groaned from the sharp pain.

His system froze when the voice, cold and insistent, whispered directly into his mind.

"Transferring the curse of your kind onto you– that is truly the price you wish to pay after everything?" the voice questioned, its tone laced with disbelief. "You would bear the burden of a thousand curses, all to spare the life of someone you hardly know? Do you comprehend the consequences of your choice, boy? No, I suspect you do. And still, you’re willing to embrace this fate?"

"You seem awfully concerned for someone who forced me into this decision," Donovan retorted, his voice strained as beads of sweat rolled down his temples. The curse marks were taking over his body without delay, their dark etchings igniting an agonizing fire within him.

The process was both foreign and excruciating. "This is the only path left for me," he murmured. "Too many lives have been stolen, and... there will be more to lose. I’ll end them all... but first, I need a reason to keep fighting. Do what you must."

Donovan bit down hard on his tongue, stifling the cry that threatened to escape him. If saving Esme was his goal, he knew the steps he had to take. The challenge wasn’t in the decision, it was in the execution.

Reaching her would demand more than he can accomplish alone. For this, he would have to surrender to the curse, even if for a fleeting moment. Letting the voice in his head take control was a gamble, but one he was willing to make if it meant Esme’s life would be spared.

He clenched his fist tightly as the runes spread further across his skin. Once he has fully absorbed the curse, his kind would be free from the torment. They would no longer have to leave in fear of succumbing to the monster lurking within– the creature everyone believed them to be.

As long as they didn’t turn, Esme’s father already swore he wouldn’t harm them. The weight of their salvation pressed heavily on him, but he embraced it without hesitation. He was willing to carry their burden, no matter the cost.

The gaolers stationed at the entrance flinched as an agonizing scream echoed from Donovan’s cell. They exchanged wary glances, their expression a mix of curiosity and pure annoyance.

"What’s he up to now?" one muttered, adjusting the hilt of his sword. "That boy has been nothing but trouble since he was thrown in here. Illyria hasn’t known a moment of peace since the bloodshed began, and I don’t like where all of this is heading."

"Doesn’t matter. We still have to check on him," the other gaoler grumbled, though his reluctance was clear. "Honestly, I wish whatever’s happening to him would just finish him off. But until he’s had a trial, we can’t touch him the way we want."

"Or we could make it look like an accident," the first gaoler guard suggested, a sly grin curling his lips. "He’s the son of Zephyr. We kill him, tell the King he took his own life, and be done with it. No one cares about that monster rotting in there. Who’s going to question us?"

The second gaoler turned to his companion, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "Is someone putting you up to this?"

The first gaoler hesitated, but his smirk faltered under the weight of the question. "What makes you think that?"

"Because we’ve done enough dirty work to recognize when the idea is not our own," the second gaoler said with a knowing smirk.

His companion scowled, turning his gaze to the floor to avoid further scrutiny.

"One of the minister’s wants him dead," he revealed. "So he assigned me the job. We’ll be paid a fortune if we succeed." The gaoler’s voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer, his words causing the second gaoler’s eyes to widen.

"That much money?!" He exclaimed.

The first gaoler simply nodded. "Besides, with those restraints on, the boy can’t use his powers. We can leave him battered, it won’t take much to kill him. If you ask me, we should sever his head from his body. Isn’t that how they’re known to die?"

The second gaoler pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly hesitating. "But if we sever his head, it won’t look like a suicide anymore. The future King Lennox, would figure out someone killed him. As much as everyone wants him gone, not even the king can’t execute him without the proper trial. So who are we to lay a hand on him without orders? And think about it– if this were so simple, the minister wouldn’t be offering such a huge reward."

After listening to what he had to say, the first gaoler gave him a scornful look, eyeing him from head to toe. "If you’re too scared to face the boy, just say so. I’ll handle it myself. But don’t expect a single coin from the prize when I’m done."

Without waiting for a response, the first gaoler turned and headed inside. After a brief pause, the second gaoler reluctantly followed.

Upon reaching Donovan’s cell, both gaolers opened the thick, heavy door, revealing a haunting sight that left them momentarily startled. Donovan knelt on the cold floor, his frame trembling as though gripped by an invisible storm.

His disheveled hair fell over his face, obscuring his expression, while shallow, ragged breaths escaped him. The gaolers froze mid-step, unease creeping into their features at the unsettling scene. Neither of them noticed the dark, jagged marks spreading across Donovan’s arms, concealed by his long sleeves.

The shattered cuff lay discarded on the floor like a forgotten relic of restraint.

"Hey!" the first gaoler barked, his cruel intent evident in the menacing tone of his voice, whilst he ignored the foreboding stillness in the air. His eyes burned with malice as he advanced.

"I’m talking to you, you damned devil!" he snarled, grabbing Donovan by the arm in a show of dominance.

In an instant, there was a sickening crunch, followed by the gaoler’s face contorting in agony. A piercing, searing pain tore through him, locking his muscles in place. His gaze darted downward in horror to where Donovan’s clawed hand had plunged deep into his abdomen, blood blooming across the gaoler’s shirt in a dark, spreading stain.

The gaoler’s eyes widened in terror, his bloodshot gaze fixed on the hand that was plunged inside him. Before he could react or scream for help, Donovan’s claw drove deeper, slicing through flesh and bone until they emerged from his back, his hand slick with blood that dropped onto the stone floor from his sharpened claws.

Donovan shoved the gaoler away in a nonchalant manner, the body crumpling to the ground, lifeless. A pool of crimson spread beneath the body, and the silence was deathly. Rising to his full height, Donovan stood over the body, his menacing aura thickening the air as the surviving gaoler stared in frozen disbelief.

The gaoler remained paralyzed, rooted to his spot by a suffocating blend of shock and terror. His mind struggled to process what he had just witnessed, whilst his gaze dropped to his companion’s grotesque and agonizing death. It was so horrifying it seemed unreal.

More importantly, how did the boy even do that? The boy was incapable of using his powers, or at least reaching his wolf, so how had he—

The thought, however, remained unfinished, severed by a moment that wrenched him back to the present. Donovan bent down, his fingers curling around the broken cuffs that lay discarded on the floor. The metallic clatter as Donovan carelessly flung the remnants aside sent a chill through the gaoler’s body.

Then, Donovan’s gaze found his.

The gaoler immediately felt as though the ground beneath him had vanished, plunging him into a walking nightmare. His knees threatened to buckle as a cold sweat broke out across his skin.

"Where is Esme?" Donovan’s voice was low and deliberate, each word laced with a dangerous edge, but instead of responding, the gaoler took his heels, running away the minute he felt he could move.

Donovan unhurriedly went after him.