The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 173: A Weirdo

Esme’s eyes widened with curiosity, "How can you tell?" she asked softly.

Donovan rose silently, his movement deliberate as he stepped a few paces ahead. He clenched his fist as if suppressing some kind of emotion, but his face gave no hints at all. He then unclenched his fists, tilting his head just enough to address her.

"You should return," he said, his voice calm but firm. The brightness in Esme’s blue eyes dimmed at his dismissal. "Go to your parents, and focus on your health. I have work to do."

"But..." Esme hesitated, her voice wavering as she jabbed her index fingers together. "Father’s planning a huge war right now, and I don’t want to disturb him. Lennox is also consumed with court affairs, and I’m on my own until Father’s done. Can you let me stay? I promise I won’t get in your way while you work."

’this girl’

Donovan sighed, his breath heavy with unspoken burden. When she transferred some of her energy to him, he could sense how her body functioned, a weird gift that came with his heightened senses, and he didn’t like what he sensed. Her heart felt weak, and sooner or later, such a sweet girl was bound to die from it once her body can’t take it.

Despite that, she transferred her energy to him. Doesn’t she know how risky that was for her health? But then again, she’s just a child. He, on the other hand, was old enough to understand this things.

"Pretty please," she added.

Her persistence to stay tugged at something deep within him, but he couldn’t let her linger. He knew exactly which war her father was preparing for, and it was a war against his own. His father and his pack were the target, and he could already sense the chaos brewing. He was prone to negativity, and he was certain things won’t end well.

His father must have been driven to madness after hearing what happened to his wife. Donovan could still feel the weight of his own actions, the accidental strike that had stolen her life. His father’s rage and grief would be unrelenting if he ever discovered the truth– that it was his own son’s hands that ended her life.

It made sense why his father never came for him.

Even if he managed to survive this place, his father wouldn’t let him live. His father would never forgive him, and that was the only situation Donovan wouldn’t be able to blame his father. His mother had been the anchor for both of them, the one person they cherished above all else.

At least, his brother was safe, hidden somewhere far from this looming storm of suffering and vengeance. Donovan clung to that small comfort as the darkness of their reality drew closer.

"Don?" Esme’s voice jolted him to the present, and his shoulders sagged as he exhaled.

"Fine," he muttered. "Find a spot to sit. And don’t... do anything." fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Esme’s eyes immediately sparkled with newfound energy, and without hesitation, she darted toward a nearby stone, perching on it with all the excitement of a child eager to watch. She observed him intently, her presence almost palpable, as though the energy she radiated seeped into him, and it was the only thing that kept him going.

Esme couldn’t help but wonder as she watched him. If she gave him more of her energy, wouldn’t he be strong enough to finally escape from here?

"Hmm," she murmured, tilting her head, clearly lost in her own thoughts now.

When Donovan finally finished his task, Esme handed him a bottle of water, with an expression that was bright with eagerness to help. Gratefully, he accepted the water, using it to rinse the sweat and grime from his face. With deliberate care, he tugged off his blindfold, letting it fall to his side so he could wash his face properly.

Esme’s eyes widened in wonders, and she crouched slightly, blinking as if to confirm what she was seeing.

"Whoa... are those real?" she whispered. "I’ve never seen eyes like that before. You are not a werewolf, are you? What are you? Did you journey from the other realms?"

"Curiosity," he said, his gaze sharp but not unkind, as he reached out to pat her head lightly, "is a trap. Don’t fall into it."

Before he could step away, Esme’s voice rang out again. "Wait here— I’ll grab you something from the kitchen. You must be starving after all that work."

"Esme—" he started, but she was already gone. The way she moved despite her health was concerning. It felt as though she was trying to prove something, and he couldn’t see the outcome of that being positive in anyway.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his long, damp hair. "This girl is going to get me into trouble."

Esme sprinted through the hallway to the kitchen, and on her way, she caught sight of the same councilman who had made her taken the route to the dungeon. He was speaking to the minister, and their expression looked grave.

"I was hoping he would harm the girl so Lennox would be rid of him," said the councilman who shook his head in pure disappointment, his frustration evident in his voice. "After everything that has happened, I was hoping Lennox would take some serious actions, and let us cleanse the land once and for all."

The minister simply frowned, his disapproval clear in his facade. "And Alpha Zephyr? He’s still out there. We cannot purge this land while he remains alive. You sent Damon’s daughter into that monster’s lair. What were you thinking? If anything had happened to her, Alpha Damon would’ve been a wreck, incapable of preparing for the war ahead. Your reckless actions jeopardized more than just her safety."

"Alpha Damon is too full of himself," said the councilman. "He acts as if his every decision is infallible. He made Lennox spare that boy because his daughter begged him to. I don’t understand how he thinks... at this rate I’ll be prone to believe that those two are tied in more than just an ordinary spell."

The minister’s expression darkened further, and he glanced around before saying, "Let Alpha Damon focus on the war. That’s what we need from him. As for the boy, his fate is already sealed. The court will set the date for his execution, and once that happens, not even Alpha Damon will be able to intervene."

Esme’s heart raced as she listened in on their conversation. She hid away when the two men walked by, muttering something else to themselves.

Meanwhile, Donovan sat cross-legged, his posture steady despite the toil of the day’s work. It had been only a short while since a few prisoners were released from their cells to take on labor tasks, repairing the weathered palace ground, and Donovan hoped Esme wouldn’t come back.

Nearby, two burly men, sweat-soaked and weary, slung their axes over their shoulders after chopping and stacking up heavy woods. One of them, a scruffy figure with a wild mane of hair and an unkept mustache, elbowed his companion before gesturing subtly toward Donovan.

Their gazes drifted to the boy in unison. Donovan sat apart from the rest, cloaked in the dim shadows of a distant corner near a dead tree. He exuded an air of pure detachment, and he appeared otherworldly to them, as if the space around him existed on the fringes of their shared reality.

"Why’s he sitting there all quiet like that? What a weirdo." huffed the second prisoner. "What could he possibly have done? Stolen candy from the king?"

The scruffy prisoner snorted softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I heard he’s the one responsible for the damage the palace is currently in."

At those words, the second prisoner’s eyebrows furrowed deeply, and the scruffy prisoner leaned in conspiratorially. "That kid moved all those heavy bricks by himself. Can you believe it? I heard he’s the most dangerous prisoner in this place. That’s why we barely see him outside his cell, except for work like this."

"That scrawny thing over there?" he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. "That’s just a kid. He must have been a thief or...wait."

The man’s eyes narrowed as he took in the dark, jagged marks snaking across the boy’s neck. "Hey, isn’t that... that thing on his neck."

Before the scruffy prisoner could get a close look at what his companion was pointing at, his companion was already approaching the boy, and there was nothing friendly in his stride.

"Hey! Where are you going?! Stay away from him." He whispered-shout, warning his companion, but his companion flexed his muscles and paid no heed. He marched straight into the boy’s space and grabbed him roughly by the collar, yanking him upright as if he weighed nothing.

"I never knew I’d one day meet someone from the cursed pack," said the prisoner, a sneer forming on his lips as he scrutinized the boy’s pathetic state. "Because of what you did to the palace, we’re forced to clean up your goddamn mess. Is it true what they say? That your kind eats people? Huh? You a fuckin’ cannibal?"

The boy didn’t flinch. He didn’t fight back either. He simply stood there, silent and motionless, his face a mask of defiance... or maybe despair.

The other prisoner’s, sensing the tension, stopped whatever menial tasks they were pretending to do. Their attention was locked onto the unfolding scene, and their collective silence filled the air with foreboding.

Within moments, Donovan was being dragged forward, stumbling as his captor shoved him roughly into the center of the yard. A circle began to form around him, the other prisoners closing in, and their expression was a mixture of curiosity and cruelty.

"Guess what we have here fellas!" Said the prisoner as he crouched down before the boy, his voice dripping with malice. "Here is the product of a cursed being. Straight from the cursed pack, the same filthy cannibals who tore through most of the packs in Illyria."

Donovan could sense the resentment coming from all directions. His jaw simply tightened as he absorbed the familiar hate, but it didn’t matter anymore. His own inner battles were more than enough, an endless war he fought alone. He certainly didn’t need anyone else to add fuel to the fire burning within him.

"Is that so?" Another prisoner stepped forward, his voice filled with venom. "Those things killed my entire pack, and made me an outcast since I joined the ruthless pack in the East. It’s unbelievable that I can finally make at least one of these devils pay for what they did to my family...how much they ruined me, and made me what I am today."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the growing crowds of prisoners, their words a litany of grief and rage. Each one was a reminder of the devastation his own father wrought to the land. He couldn’t fault them. How could he? He himself harbored a festering wound of hatred for his father, an unforgivable resentment he carried like a stone around his neck.

Even then, he would not let their pain be a noose for him, a tool to scratch the itch of their vengeance.

He was no one’s scapegoat. No one’s vessel of grief, cause just like them, he too... was in a lot of aches.