Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 69

MAXIMUS'S POV

For one terrifying heartbeat, the world stopped.

Her body was so still beneath my arm, so quiet, I swore I felt the cold breath of death brush against my skin.

Not again.

Not her.

My heart thundered so violently I thought it would rip free from my chest. The curse had always been merciless—every woman I touched was doomed. And last night... last night I hadn't just touched her. I had claimed her in every way I knew how. The thought that my hunger, my need, might have taken her from me—

A low groan broke the silence.

I jerked upright.

"Maximus..." Her voice was a sleepy rasp, soft as a sigh. Then, with a hint of irritation, she mumbled, "Get away from me. You didn't let me sleep until the early hours of the morning. I'm tired... and now you won't let me sleep?"

Relief hit me like a blade pulled free from a wound—sharp, dizzying. My head dropped forward and I exhaled hard, my palm dragging over my face as a shaky laugh escaped. Goddess, she scared the hell out of me.

"You..." My voice cracked with the force of everything I couldn't name. "You scared me."

But Emilia only shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders with a tiny huff.

"Mmm. Good," she murmured, already half-asleep again. "Maybe next time you'll let me rest."

Next time.

The words twisted something deep in my chest. Hope? Terror? I couldn't tell.

For a long moment I just sat there, watching the rise and fall of her breathing. Her hair spilled across the pillow like a dark halo, a few rebellious strands brushing her cheek. Slowly, I reached out and tucked them behind her ear. My fingers lingered on the curve of her jaw. Warm. Alive.

Different.

Whatever she was, Emilia wasn't like the others. The beast inside me—the monster that killed with a single touch—should have destroyed her. Last night should have ended like every cursed night before. But she was still here. Breathing. Glowing.

And somehow, I felt... whole.

I pressed one last, silent kiss to her temple and slid out of bed. The floor was cool beneath my feet, grounding me as I crossed the room. The storm had passed during the night, leaving the cabin wrapped in a damp hush. The air smelled of rain and pine—and her.

The bathroom mirror fogged as I stepped under the shower. Hot water beat against my skin, washing away the sweat, the scent of sex, but not the memory. Every moment of last night replayed in my mind: her laughter, her gasps, the way she whispered my name like it belonged to her.

When I finally stepped out, I felt... different. No ache from the Blood Moon. No hollow pull of the curse. Instead there was a strange completeness, as if a piece of me I didn't know was missing had finally snapped into place.

By the time I returned to the bedroom, a towel slung low on my hips, she was still asleep. Her breathing was slow, deep, untroubled. I let myself watch her for a few stolen seconds, a smirk tugging at my mouth.

I had tired her out.

The thought sparked something possessive and wicked inside me. But instead of crawling back into bed and waking her the way every part of me ached to, I forced myself toward the small kitchen. She would be hungry when she woke, and sore—goddess, she would be sore. The least I could do was feed her.

I found eggs, bread, and a little smoked venison. My hands moved on instinct, cracking, slicing, seasoning, while my mind wandered back to her soft sigh against my neck. Cooking wasn't something kings did. Kings commanded. Conquered. But the simple act of preparing food for her felt... right. Grounding.

The scent of sizzling meat filled the cabin. Still, she slept.

When I finally turned from the stove, plate in hand, my gaze drifted back to the bed—and my breath caught.

She'd shifted onto her back, one arm thrown above her head, the sheet slipping low around her waist. Morning light poured across her bare shoulders, catching on the faint marks my teeth had left along the soft swell of her breasts. My mark. Proof that last night hadn't been a fever dream.

My heart thudded hard enough to make me dizzy.

Mine.

She stirred with a small yawn, stretching like a lazy cat. Her eyes remained closed as she arched, the movement drawing the sheet even lower. When she finally blinked awake, her lips curved into a slow, sleepy smile.

"Good morning," she whispered.

I didn't even try to stop my own smile. "Good morning."

Her gaze flicked to the plate in my hand, then back to me. "Did you... cook?"

"Don't sound so surprised," I said, setting the plate on the small table. "You're going to need the strength."

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She sat up carefully, but the moment her feet touched the floor, she winced, eyes squeezing shut.

Instead of guilt, pride surged through me like a wildfire. I smirked before I could stop myself.

Her eyes snapped open to glare at me. "This is all your fault."

One brow lifted. "How so? If I recall correctly, you were practically begging me." I lowered my voice, mimicking her soft, desperate pleas from the night before. "'Don't hold back. I want you inside me. Please.' Ring any bells?"

Her mouth dropped open in mock outrage, her blush deepening to a furious crimson. "Maximus!" She grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at me.

I caught it easily, laughing. "Don't deny it, Emilia. You sounded beautiful."

She shot me a murderous look and turned toward the bathroom, but I was faster. In one smooth motion, I scooped her into my arms.

"Hey!" she yelped, her legs kicking uselessly. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance." I held her effortlessly, enjoying the way her weight felt against my chest. "You make it seem like I'm weightless," she muttered, half annoyed, half breathless.

I leaned close, letting my lips brush her ear. "I'm strong. Remember?"

Her breath hitched, but she didn't fight me as I carried her into the bathroom and set her gently into the tub. I turned on the tap, letting hot water gush in a soothing stream. Steam began to curl upward, wrapping us in warmth.

She sighed the moment the water touched her skin. "Oh, goddess...this feels heavenly."

I reached for the sponge.

Her eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"Taking care of you," I said simply.

"Taking care of me," she repeated, narrowing her eyes. "Like the Alpha King washing my body is a normal, everyday thing?"

I dipped the sponge in the warm water and squeezed it over her shoulder, letting the rivulets trail down her skin. "I claimed you all night, Emilia. The least I can do is help you recover."

She snorted softly, though I didn't miss the way her cheeks flushed. "The werewolf community would stone me if they ever found out. They'd think I bewitched you."

My hand stilled for a heartbeat. I met her gaze, my voice dropping low. "Maybe you have."

Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, curiosity, something darker. For once, she didn't have a quick retort. She simply watched as I continued, slow and deliberate, gliding the sponge over her arms, down the elegant curve of her back. I worked the lather gently through her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp. She closed her eyes, lips parting in a small, involuntary sigh.

Every inch of her was a temptation—soft curves, hidden strength. My hands wanted to explore, to worship, to mark. But I forced myself to move with care, reverence. This wasn't about claiming. It was about her.

As I rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair, a question burned through me, sharper than any hunger. It had been eating at me since the moment she'd survived my touch, since the forest when she'd trapped my beast without fear.

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"What are you?"

The question hung between us like a blade.

Her eyes snapped open, wide and unguarded. For a long, heavy moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the steady drip of water and the wild beat of my own heart.