Chapter 103: Curse
Alaine was still breathless when she shoved Leo against the nearest tree, her chest rising and falling as though she’d just come off the battlefield.
“You think you can just kiss me and walk away?” she snapped, fury coiled tightly beneath her skin. Her hands pressed flat against his chest, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.
Leo arched a brow, utterly unfazed, his hands sliding to her hips with maddening ease. “You kissed me back,” he said, voice low, teasing and dangerously calm.
Alaine hated how smug he sounded. Hated how his nearness made her tremble, not in fear, but in anticipation. The trees around them swayed in the wind, moonlight slanting through the leaves, but all she could see was him. Leo, infuriating, unshakable, and entirely too tempting.
His complexion was a golden hue kissed by the sun, warm and rugged, with just enough stubble to make her fingertips itch to trace his jaw. His hair, thick, tousled, and blonde with streaks of auburn, caught the moonlight like fire woven through gold. It made him look wild and untamed. Like the enticing allure he carried in his forest-green eyes.
She growled, fisting the fabric of his shirt and dragging him even closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “You infuriate me.”
Leo reached up slowly, his gaze locked on hers, and gently caught a lock of her fiery red hair between his fingers. The wavy strand slid through his hand like silk, glowing copper and gold under the moonlight. He twirled it once, letting the curl dance around his knuckle before tugging it just enough to tilt her head toward him.
"You're all flame," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "and I can’t decide if I want to be warmed by you... or burned."
The way he held that single lock, reverent and possessive, made her breath hitch. He wasn’t just touching her. He was daring her.
He smirked, head tilting down, lips brushing the edge of her mouth like a dare. “I’d hate to be forgettable.”
That was all it took.
Alaine crushed her lips to his, pouring all her anger and longing into the kiss. It wasn’t soft or patient. It was fire and hunger and years of denial erupting in one wild, consuming moment. Her hands tangled in his hair, his grip on her tightening, grounding her as she let herself fall.
She kissed him like she needed to forget who she was, what she was, being an empath was extremely draining, and he kissed her like he’d been waiting his whole damn life.
Her back hit the tree as he pressed closer, one hand sliding up her waist, the other gripping the back of her neck, anchoring her to him. And when she moaned against his lips, he groaned into her mouth, deep and rough and everything she hadn’t realized she craved.
It scared her how much she wanted this. Wanted him.
But for one reckless moment, she stopped fighting it.
Back at the fortress, a different fire burned.
Damian sat rigid beside Isla’s bed, her hand curled tightly in his. She hadn't stirred in over an hour. Her skin had lost its warmth, her pulse barely detectable beneath his fingertips.
A knock came at the door.
Lucia entered, her steps swift and sure, a leather-bound tome clutched to her chest. Her eyes locked with Damian’s, and something in her expression made his heart sink.
“We found something,” she said quietly.
Damian stood immediately, protective instinct flaring. “What is it?”
Lucia’s expression darkened as she stepped closer. “It’s about Isla. About her blood.”
He clenched his jaw. “You said her lineage was powerful.”
“It is,” Lucia said, voice tight. “But power like that always comes at a cost.”
She opened the tome and flipped to a brittle, yellowed page. Strange runes covered the parchment like scars. “The golden-eyed wolves… they weren’t just born strong. They were marked. Touched by something older and extremely dangerous, even deadly to many.”
Damian’s grip on Isla’s hand tightened. “Dangerous how?”
Lucia swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “Their blood wasn’t just powerful.” Her eyes rose, meeting his. “It was cursed.”
The word hit like a storm.
“No,” he said immediately, as if sheer will could deny it.
“I didn’t want to believe it either,” she murmured, “but the symptoms… the dreams, the visions, the weakness… it matches and the pregnancy…”
His head snapped up. “What about the baby?”
Lucia hesitated. “That child may be the key or the trigger.”
Before he could speak, Isla let out a low sound. A whimper. Damian dropped back to his knees beside her, brushing damp hair from her forehead.
“Isla, I’m here,” he whispered urgently. “Take my strength.”
Her lips parted slightly. She was caught in something, some place between sleep and suffering, whilst she was trying to gain strength and he could feel the pull trying to take her.
Lucia’s voice was faint now, but it echoed like a prophecy in the room.
“There was a reason the line was buried. A reason no golden-eyed heir has survived into full power in centuries.”
“What reason?” Damian demanded, his voice barely more than a growl.
Lucia looked down at the page, fingers trembling over the symbols.
“Because once awakened,” she whispered, “the curse cannot be undone.”