Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 136

Maximus's POV

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I felt at peace.

No noise. No war.

Just silence.

A heavy, cleansing silence that wrapped around me like the first breath after drowning.

Emilia and I walked through the halls still holding hands, our fingers locked tightly like we were afraid the world might try to pull us apart again. We were both filthy—blood, dirt, the stench of war clinging to our skin—but she still looked like the only thing in this universe that had ever made sense.

When the bedroom door closed behind us, Emilia let out a small laugh.

A soft, breathy, unbelieving sound.

Then I laughed too.

We both stood there like two idiots—exhausted, bruised, mentally wrecked—but laughing because we had survived something that should have broken us.

She leaned her forehead against my chest, shaking with quiet laughter.

"Why are we laughing?" she whispered.

"Because," I said, pressing a kiss to her hair, "if we don't laugh, I think we'll collapse."

She nodded, letting her breath settle against me. My arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her closer, grounding me.

We had made it. Against curses, lies, manipulation, betrayal. We had made it.

But the weight wasn't gone. Not completely.

I let out a long, tired sigh and brushed my thumb along her cheek.

"I still have to face my people," I whispered. "Maybe… maybe if I was a smarter king, all of this could have been avoided."

Emilia lifted her gaze immediately, frowning.

"No," she said firmly, taking my face between her hands. "None of this is your fault. Nobody would've stood a chance with a manipulator like Soraya working behind the scenes. Not you. Not anyone."

Her thumbs stroked my skin gently.

"We're glad we won," she said. "We're glad she didn't bring us down."

Her certainty unraveled something tight inside my chest.

"You're right," I murmured. "It's time we all start afresh."

I hesitated. "Emilia… about Raina—"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What happened to Raina?"

I swallowed, guilt scraping down my throat.

"She hates me. She tried to kill me," I said, voice low. "She told me she was from the same pack as yours. The one I… destroyed."

Emilia froze.

Shock flickered across her face, then something softer. Sadder.

I looked away.

"I don't blame her," I whispered. "I must have caused a lot of people pain back then."

Emilia closed her eyes slowly, like absorbing the truth one piece at a time. When she opened them again, her voice came out calmer.

"People heal differently," she said. "Some faster, some slower. Raina has a deep wound, Maximus. But she's going to heal. And one day she'll realize none of what happened was your fault."

I let out a shaky breath. "I pray she forgives me."

"She will," Emilia said without hesitation and pulled me into a tight hug.

I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in. Her hands rubbed circles on my back, gentle and comforting, and I let my body finally sag against her—letting go of the weight I'd been carrying alone for years.

We stood like that for a long time.

Two tired souls wrapped around each other, healing piece by piece.

When we eventually pulled back, there was no rush, no awkwardness—just a quiet understanding. Emilia took my hand again, guiding me toward the bathroom.

The shower steamed up quickly, hot water pouring down like warm rain. We stepped under it together, sighing as the heat washed the night off our skin. Blood mixed with water, running down the drain in dark swirls.

For a moment, we just stood there, breathing, recovering.

Then my hands found her hips.

She jumped slightly, giving me a look.

"Maximus," she warned, pushing lightly at my chest. "We just came back from a war. We still have to go out there and sort things out."

"But I need energy," I said, absolutely shameless, "to talk to my people and go back out there."

She rolled her eyes. "Maximus, behave—"

I didn't.

I pinned her gently against the shower wall, water running over both of us in hot streams. Her breath hitched. I lowered my head, letting a slow smirk pull at my lips.

One that always made her melt.

I leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.

"Yeah," I whispered, "the war just ended."

My hand slid down her thigh.

"And our forever just began."

She lost the ability to speak. I could see it in her eyes—the way her pupils blew wide, the way her lips parted helplessly.

Before she could scold me again, I crashed my mouth onto hers.

The kiss was hungry and slow at the same time. Like I was rediscovering her. Like I had been starved for years and she was the only thing that could bring me back to life.

She moaned into my mouth, her hands gripping my shoulders in desperate need.

My fingers trailed up her body, cupping her breast. Her nipple hardened instantly under my touch. Her back arched, pressing her chest into my hand.

"Maximus," she whispered, breath shaking.

Her voice alone could bring me to my knees.

I squeezed gently, rolling her nipple between my fingers while my other hand braced against the wall beside her head.

The kiss turned deeper—messy, hot, wild.

She tugged on my hair. I growled softly against her lips.

"I'll be quick," I whispered, kissing her again, "I promise."

Then I lifted her with one arm—effortless—her legs wrapping around my waist. The heat of her body pressed against me, making my control snap.

I positioned myself, and in one hard thrust, I entered her.

She gasped. Then moaned. Then clung to me like she was drowning.

"Maximus—" her voice broke, pleasure spilling into every sound.

"Fuck," I groaned. "This is home."

Her warmth squeezed around me, tight and wet and perfect. I pushed deeper, groaning against her neck as her nails carved red lines down my back.

"Harder," she whispered, breathless. "Don't stop."

I pulled back enough to give her a smirk. "Who was talking about behaving?"

She glared. "Shut up and go harder."

I cursed under my breath, pulled out almost fully—and slammed back into her.

Her scream echoed off the shower walls.

Water poured over us as I thrust again and again, faster, deeper, each movement sending sharp pleasure up my spine. Emilia was shaking, moaning uncontrollably, clawing at my shoulders as I drove her higher.

My fingers slid between her thighs, finding her clit.

She gasped, her whole body tightening.

"That's it," I murmured into her mouth. "Come for me."

Her legs tightened around my waist.

Then she broke.

She came with a loud, shaking scream, her body clenching hard around me. I groaned as the pleasure ripped through me, thrusting a few more times before releasing inside her—every drop, every ounce—claiming her again and again.

We both trembled as the high washed over us, breaths uneven, foreheads touching.

"Mine," I whispered against her mouth. "My mate. My heart. I love you so much."

Her palm cupped my cheek.

"I love you too," she breathed.

Slowly, gently, I pulled out of her. She winced softly, then smiled. We cleaned each other in silence, washing away the last traces of blood and war.

When we stepped out, we dried off, dressed, and laced our fingers together again.

I felt lighter. Not healed—But healing.

We left the bedroom, walking down the hallway toward the grand staircase. I was already rehearsing what I would tell my people—what peace meant, what rebuilding meant—when Emilia squeezed my hand gently.

I squeezed back.

But as we rounded the corner, I stopped so suddenly she bumped into me.

Because standing there—tall, tense, staring at me was Damien.

My breath caught.

Before I could think, before I could stop myself, the word slipped out of me in a broken whisper.

"Brother."