Chapter 3 Chapter 3

DAMON POV

A guttural groan ripped from my throat as the skin on my back began to sizzle. It wasn't fire, but it felt like molten lead was being poured directly into my spine. I gripped the edge of my mahogany desk, my knuckles turning white, until the wood groaned under my strength.

Every pack I searched. Every maiden I inspected. Nothing but disappointment.

I pulled off my shirt, catching my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The serpent tattoos were no longer mere ink; they pulsed with a sickly, rhythmic light. They had appeared the night I turned eighteen—a death sentence written in black lines. No Alpha in my bloodline had ever lived past twenty-eight. The curse was a hungry beast, and it was currently eating me alive.

I had watched my father wither away, his powerful frame turning to ash and bone. Now, the same clock was ticking above my head.

The heavy oak doors creaked open. Collins stepped in, his head bowed so low his chin touched his chest.

"Alpha. The preparations are complete. The maidens are gathered in the Great Hall, and the council elders are demanding an audience."

"How many times must I warn you?" I didn't turn around. My voice was a low, dangerous rumble that made the glass decanters on the side table rattle. "I don't want to speak to those vultures. I only want the cure."

Collins didn't flinch, though his scent spiked with nerves. "They are pressing for a statement regarding the future of the pack, sir. They served your father for decades. A moment of your time might buy their silence."

"Fine." I grabbed a fresh silk shirt, the fabric feeling like sandpaper against my inflamed skin. "Just this once. Tell them to wait. I’m coming."

I strode into the council chamber moments later. The air was thick with the scent of old dust and stagnant tradition. I took my place on the obsidian throne, staring down the row of gray-haired men.

The eldest elder stood, his hands trembling as he leaned on his cane. "Alpha Damon, we only wish to avoid the tragedy that befell your father. The war you started still shadows our borders. You turn twenty-eight in six months. You must produce an heir before the curse takes you."

"He's right," another added, his eyes darting to my covered back. "Destiny is not a suggestion, Alpha."

The memory of my father’s final night flashed before me. The pack doctors had looked like frightened children. My father had reached out, his grip surprisingly strong for a dying man. “Do not make my mistake, Damon,” he’d wheezed. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford. Destiny is a cage.”

I buried him at dawn and swore I would never let an emotion lead me to a grave.

I stood, my presence filling the room until the elders shrank back into their seats. "My father chose a woman without the mark because he followed his heart. He died in agony. I will not repeat that failure. I will not take a mate unless she bears the serpent. This cursed lineage ends with me, or it is broken. You care about the throne; I care about survival."

"But Alpha—"

"The decision is final!" I roared. The sound echoed off the stone walls like a physical blow. "Bring in the brides!"

The massive iron gates groaned open. Dozens of women filed in, their heads bowed. This was the fifth pack I had occupied in my search. Some girls fussed with their hair, desperate to catch the eye of the 'Devil Alpha.' Others wore gowns so thin they were practically naked, their eyes gleaming with the hunger for a crown.

The hall smelled of cheap perfume and suffocating fear. I looked at them and saw nothing but vessels for ambition. None of them knew the darkness that came with standing at my side.

"Remove your garments," I ordered, my voice like cracking ice.

The smiles vanished. The room turned cold. One by one, they were examined by the pack matrons. One by one, they were dismissed. No mark. No hope.

As the last girl scurried out, a blind rage exploded in my chest. I spun around and struck the throne. The heavy stone cracked and went skidding across the dais, crashing into the wall.

Collins stepped forward cautiously. "Is everything all right, sir?"

"Does it look all right?" I snapped, my eyes glowing a feral crimson. "Leave. Now."

"The Alpha of this pack requested a meeting to discuss a treaty—"

"Tell him I'm not interested!" I cut him off, grabbing my car keys. "I don't have time for politics when I'm dying. I’m going out to clear my head."

"Sir, let me organize the guards—"

I didn't even look back as I slammed the door. I took the first car in the courtyard—a high-powered beast of a machine—and tore out of the gates. I drove like a man possessed, the wind whipping through the windows, trying to outrun the burning in my blood. Death was coming, and I was going to meet it alone.

I was lost in the red haze of pain, my mind wandering to the dark corners of my past. I didn't see the girl until it was too late.

She stepped into the road, a small bundle of fur clutched to her chest. Her eyes went wide in the headlights. I swerved sharply, the tires screaming as I lost control. The world spun. Metal crumpled. The car slammed into a brick building, and my head hit the steering wheel.

Darkness took me.

When I finally fought my way back to consciousness, the smell of antiseptic hit me first. I opened my eyes to find a sterile room. A young woman sat in a chair near the bed, her hands twisting in her lap as she watched me.

"Who are you?" The command left my lips before I was even fully awake.

Before she could answer, the tattoos on my back flared with a violence I’d never felt before. I gasped, doubling over, my knees hitting the floor as the agony tore through my nervous system.

Then, I saw it.

She had shifted in her seat, her shirt riding up slightly. There, just above her waist, was a faint, glowing shimmer. The serpent mark.

The moment my eyes locked onto it, the pain in my back vanished. It didn't just fade—it died instantly, replaced by a cool, soothing hum.

My wolf, silent for weeks, let out a thunderous howl of recognition.

Impossible.

I lunged forward, grabbing her wrists with a grip of iron. The air between us turned electric, heavy with the scent of rain and wild lilies.

"Who are you?" I demanded again.

She didn't speak. Her breath hitched, and she stared at me with wide, terrified eyes. She tried to pull away, but my wolf was clawing at my mind. Find her. Keep her. Claim her.

I leaned in, inhaling deeply. The scent was familiar. It was a ghost from a nightmare I had tried to forget.

The name hit me like a physical blade to the heart. Janet Hope. The woman I had executed years ago for the highest form of treason.

I looked at the girl—her daughter. The daughter of my greatest enemy bore the only mark that could save my life. Karma had a wicked sense of humor.