Chapter 123 The King’s Miracle
Adrian’s POV
I looked at the mark again…at the intricate details I’ve stared so much at in the books.
No way could this be a lie. She’s really an Oden. This is not a mirage!
Before I could say anything else, the girl broke into more tears.
“Please!” she begged, voice cracking as fresh tears poured down. “I’m just a student… I swear! I’m drowning in loans, I can barely eat. I simply wandered into the woods, saw some crazy things I never knew could happen in real life, and took a couple pictures. That’s all! You can delete everything off my phone right now like I said. I promise I won’t tell a single soul. Just let me go…I don’t know anything, I don’t want to die! I’m still young!”
She was shaking so hard the chair rattled. Real terror. No acting.
She had no clue she was a werewolf. No clue what that mark meant. No clue what we were.
She looked at us like we were human monsters about to put a bullet in her head, not her kind standing in front of the last living Oden.
Her wolf must be locked away so tight she thought the weird dreams she probably has every night and extra strength were just anxiety.
My stomach twisted. But how?
How could anyone have survived that massacre, more or less a child? A mother who ran with her in her arms? Or a pregnant mother who was saved? Someone who chose the human world to bury the truth forever so the darkness would never find her again? It was the only thing that made sense.
But none of that mattered right now.
Because me and Thomas had been searching for one of them in secret for years. No one else knew about it. Not my council. Not my pack and certainly not my dear aunt.
I couldn’t let them. Not when the curse was slowly killing me.
A shadow rot had been eating me alive for years.
Not the kind of poison that burned hot and loud. No.
This one was quiet. Patient. A black rot threaded through my bloodline like roots under winter soil…born from the same curse that had haunted every king in my family for centuries.
Every third Wednesday, without fail, my wolf would rip the leash off my mind. I’d wake up in the palace dungeons with blood under my nails and no memory of the hours I’d lost. Just the metallic taste of madness on my tongue and the echo of my own howls still ringing in my skull.
Month by month the rot deepened. My wolf, Derek…once a storm of silver and fury…grew sluggish. Recently, on full moons, I felt him limping inside me, strength bleeding out like water through cracked stone.
The pain didn’t scream anymore…it whispered. A dull, endless ache behind my ribs that made every breath feel borrowed.
I hid it behind snarls and royal commands, but the mirror didn’t lie. My eyes were losing their wolf-glow. Soon the entire kingdom would see their king fading… and enemies would smell weakness on the wind.
And that was only the first curse.
The second one had been born on the night of the massacre.
I still smelled the smoke sometimes. I still tasted the iron in the air when I closed my eyes. We’d just slaughtered a rogue pack that had dared raid our borders.
Victory should have tasted sweet. Instead, something in me snapped. Derek drunk on blood and battle-rage…turned on our own.
I watched through my own eyes as claws that were mine tore through throats that had sworn fealty to me. The howls of betrayal still lived in my nightmares.
The Moon Goddess, through Shiela, answered that slaughter with a curse carved straight into my soul: ‘Kill more of your people and your heart slows…until it stops.’
Enemy or ally, traitor or brother. It didn’t matter. More dead bodies from my claws among my people…my men…and I will end up dead. Instant. Final.
What kind of king couldn’t even execute a traitor? What kind of alpha had to hand every death sentence to his beta like a child who couldn’t hold his own blade?
Thomas had carried that weight without complaint for years now. But how much longer could I ask him to be my executioner? How much longer before I became nothing more than a pretty figurehead watching my palace burn from the inside while I stood there useless, forbidden to lift a claw?
In another year…maybe two…I’d be a ghost in my own body if this continues. I’ll become too weak to protect the throne. Too cursed to protect her.
Kira.
The thought of my mate seeing me like this…trembling, breaking, eyes dull…made me want to claw my own throat out right here in the warehouse.
I could already picture the horror on her face when she realized the king she’d been bound to was rotting from the inside. That the man who’d promised her the world couldn’t even promise her tomorrow.
I’d hidden it from everyone. Every advisor. Every warrior. Every prying noble who smiled too wide at court.
Only Thomas knew the full truth…how bad the episodes had become, how many nights I’d spent chained in silver just to keep from hurting anyone else.
And Sheila, that sacred priestess with her strange words and hidden meanings.
She’d taken one look at the black veins creeping up my arms last winter and whispered, “The Goddess has turned her face from you, Your Majesty,” before fleeing the temple like I was already a corpse under the excuse of searching for a way out for me.
Which is why we’ve arranged for a new priestess.
Thomas and I had chased every rumor after that. Every ghost story. Every half-mad whisper of an Oden survivor.
We’d torn through scrolls and books until our fingers bled. Sent spies into other regions and kingdoms. Followed trails that led nowhere but ash and silence.
Years of nothing. Just the slow creep of the rot and the cold promise that I would die either mad or powerless…maybe both.
Until today.
Until her.
This girl could save me.
She could end my curse.
One ritual touch from an Oden and the shadow rot would burn away. The second curse would shatter like glass under moonlight…even the curse of the throne.
The scrolls had been clear…their blood didn’t just heal bodies. It rewrote fate. It could unmake curses that even the Goddess herself had bound.
This broke college student with tear-streaked cheeks and zip-tie burns on her wrists… she was my miracle!
She could make me whole again. Strong enough to keep Sebastian’s filthy hands off my queen. Strong enough to protect my throne from enemies within my court. Strong enough to cleanse my bloodline from the curse of the throne.
Hold on a minute…
The massacre happened way back…in the times of my grandfather. This girl…she’s barely a young adult.
How is this possible? Did her parents escape and then gave birth to her in the human world? Was her mother pregnant with her? Even if she was… she shouldn't be this young!
How… What are the odds? Is this really happening? Is she real?
I took one step closer, jaw locked so tight it hurt.
The girl flinched, still sobbing. “Please… I don’t know what you want. Just let me go…”
The moment I reached down and touched the mark, to feel it…to confirm…if she’s real, everything changed.
So fast.
Her crying cut off like someone flipped a switch. Her whole body was still under my touch.
Slowly, she lifted her head. Those sharp black eyes met mine…but they weren’t terrified anymore.
They were glowing faint…green?!
And when she spoke, the voice that came out wasn’t hers. It was layered, older, like something else was speaking through her.
“Hello, King Adrian…”