I'M CURSED

                        🐺ADRIAN🐺

Isora is terrible at lying.

Her heartbeat spikes. Her pupils dilate. That pretty mouth of hers tightens at the corners like she's physically holding back the truth.

She's here for something. Or perhaps someone.

And it's only a matter of days before I find out everything rattling around in that stubborn little head of hers.

That's why I assigned her to my quarters permanently. I've never kept a maid here before—never saw the point. Servants came and went, faceless and forgettable.

But Isora?

She was neither.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, the old saying went. And whatever she was—enemy, assassin, spy—I wanted her exactly where I could see her.

Where I could watch her break.

"Alpha, there's a full moon tonight." 

Garrick pushed open the door to my study without knocking, heavy iron chains draped over one arm and a small vial of black liquid in his hand. "You need to take your medicine."

I didn't look up from the reports spread across my desk. "What did Damon say this time?"

Garrick's jaw tightened. He hated when I deflected. "Alpha—"

"The curse can wait, Garrick. Damon can't." I finally met his eyes—dark brown and perpetually worried. My Beta had been trying to save me from myself for years now. It hadn't worked. Only my mate can save me but it's so obvious she doesn't exist. "What does the bastard want?"

“She lives,” Killian huffed in my head, bored and irritated. “Our mate lives.”

My wolf had been saying that for months now. Insisting. Growling about it like a petulant child.

I didn't believe him.

If my mate existed, I would've found her by now. The Moon Goddess wasn't kind enough to grant me salvation—not after everything I'd done.

Garrick sighed, setting the chains and vial on my desk with a heavy thunk. "Alpha Damon wants a meeting. But I haven't scheduled it yet. The man is—"

"Tricky. Yes. I know." I leaned back in my chair, studying the dark liquid in the vial. It looked like ink. Tasted like death. And did absolutely nothing to stop the curse eating me alive from the inside out. "Schedule it for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Garrick's expression soured. "Alpha—"

He gave me a look. The kind only he could get away with—pointed, exasperated, like he was two seconds from strangling me himself.

I smirked. "What?"

He was the only wolf alive who could look me in the eyes and live. Mostly because Killian had decided, years ago, that Garrick was ‘ours’ to keep. Pack. Family.

The only family I had left.

“I let the maid live too,” Killian grumbled.

I ignored him.

"What is it, Garrick?"

"Esme is coming tomorrow."

Ah. That explained the look.

"Very well then. Have the cars ready to pick her up from the airport."

It had taken the witch three months to return from her latest trip.

Garrick hesitated, then cleared his throat. "And about Nightfall Pack—"

My attention sharpened. "What about them?"

"You asked me to pull their files last week. I have them ready."

"Bring them to me."

"Yes, Alpha." He bowed slightly—an old habit he refused to break no matter how many times I told him not to—and turned to leave.

"Garrick."

He paused at the door.

"Call me by my name. Just once. I dare you."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Not a chance, Alpha."

Then he was gone.

༆༄༆

Silence settled over the study like a heavy cloak.

I picked up the vial, turning it slowly in my hand. The liquid inside sloshed, thick and viscous.

“Useless,” I thought. But I drank it anyway.

It burned going down—scorched my throat, settled like molten lead in my stomach. For a moment, the pain eased.

Then it came roaring back, twice as vicious.

I gripped the edge of the desk,my knuckles white, and waited for the wave to pass.

It always did.

Eventually.

“She can heal us,” Killian whispered. “Our mate.”

"Our mate doesn't exist."

“You're a fool.”

"And you're delusional."

He retreated with a snarl, and I was alone again.

My thoughts drifted back to her.

Isora.

She wasn't a rogue. I'd known that the moment I'd seen her—too clean, too poised, too controlled for someone who'd supposedly been living on the streets.

Her scent was wrong too. Faint. Muted. Like her wolf was broken or suppressed or gone.

And those eyes.

Hazel. Sharp. Full of hatred so pure it could've cut glass.

She wanted me dead.

The question was why.

Garrick returned an hour later with a stack of files, setting them carefully on my desk.

"Nightfall Pack," he said quietly. "Everything we have."

I gestured for him to leave them. "Chain me up."

"Alpha—"

"Now, Garrick."

He hesitated, then bowed slightly. "As you wish."

He picked the heavy iron chains and strapped me up in my seat. It's better this way because if the full moon meets me free… blood will flow endlessly.

And only my damn mate can stop me.