Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 98

EMILIA'S POV

By the time we reached the house, Damien could barely stand.

His arm was draped over my shoulder, his weight heavy against me, his body trembling with exhaustion. Blood streaked down his side, and every breath he took sounded like it burned.

"Just a little more," I whispered, helping him through the door. My voice shook. My hands shook. Everything inside me shook.

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at me. His jaw was tight, his eyes distant, his chest rising and falling too fast.

When we reached his room, he dropped onto the bed without a word. I turned and rushed to the bathroom, grabbing a towel, a bowl of water, anything I could find. My heart was beating so fast it hurt.

When I came back, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His blood stained the sheets, dark and heavy.

"Let me clean you up," I said softly, kneeling in front of him. My voice came out small, broken.

Before I could touch him, his hand shot out. He grabbed the towel from me and yanked it away.

"I'll do it," he said flatly. His voice was low, calm—but that calm was worse than any anger.

I froze. "Damien, please, you're hurt—"

He didn't look at me. "I said I'll do it."

The words hit harder than a slap.

I bit my lip, tears stinging my eyes. I sat there for a second, not knowing what to do. My heart twisted as I watched him wipe the blood off his skin, his movements rough, angry, like he was trying to scrub away something more than wounds.

"Damien," I whispered, reaching out.

He stopped, his hand tightening around the towel. His head lowered, and for a moment, he just breathed—slow, shaky breaths.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes were filled with something I'd never seen before. Pain. So much pain it made my chest ache.

"You don't know," he said quietly. "You don't know how I'm dying on the inside."

"Damien—"

His voice broke, sharp and trembling. "Thinking about how you moaned his name."

My heart stopped.

He stared at me, his eyes wet, the gold in them dimming like a dying flame. "Now you have his mark on your neck," he whispered. "Do you know how that feels, Emilia? To see the woman I love—my mate—with another man's scent burned into her skin?"

Tears filled my eyes, blurring his face. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't—"

His voice cracked into a bitter laugh. "You didn't mean to?" He shook his head slowly, then looked away, his jaw tightening again. "First, he had all my parents' attention. Then he took the throne."

He stood up suddenly, running both hands through his hair. His voice rose, filled with raw anger and grief. "And now he's taken you. He marked my mate!"

I flinched at the sound of his voice. Every word felt like a dagger.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. My voice trembled, barely there. "I'm so sorry, Damien."

He turned toward me, and his eyes... God, they were filled with unshed tears. "What else is he going to take next, Emilia?" His voice broke. "My fucking life?"

I covered my mouth as a sob escaped me. "Damien, please—"

"I can't," he whispered, shaking his head. "I can't look at you right now."

"Please," I said again, my voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

He took a step back. "I want to be alone."

My chest tightened painfully. "Damien—"

"Please," he said again, his voice so soft it shattered me. "I just... I want to be alone."

The way he said it—pleading, broken—left no room for argument.

I nodded slowly, wiping my tears. "Okay." My voice was a whisper. "Okay, I'll go."

I turned toward the door, my hand trembling as I reached for the handle.

The moment I closed it behind me, the silence broke.

Something crashed inside the room—a table, maybe a lamp. Then another sound followed. The sound of his growl. Deep. Guttural. Pure pain.

"Damien..." I whispered, pressing my palm against the door.

Then came the scream.

It wasn't loud—it was raw. Like something breaking open inside him. It ripped through the air, through me, through everything.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I leaned against the door, my forehead pressing to the wood. I wanted to go back in. I wanted to hold him, to tell him I'd fix it somehow. But I couldn't.

He didn't want me.

And maybe he was right to push me away.

Because I'd done this. I'd hurt him.

The guilt was a heavy, suffocating thing sitting in my chest. Every breath burned. Every heartbeat hurt.

I wiped my tears and forced myself to walk away, my legs weak beneath me. The sound of things breaking followed me down the hallway.

When I reached my room, I shut the door behind me and pressed my back against it, shaking.

The silence here was worse.

I slid down to the floor, burying my face in my hands. "What have I done?" I whispered to myself.

The mark on my neck throbbed again, a cruel reminder. His mark. Maximus's mark.

And Damien had seen it.

I could still see the look in his eyes—the heartbreak, the betrayal, the fury. It haunted me.

My tears wouldn't stop. They rolled down my face, hot and endless, until I could barely breathe. I wanted to scream. To take it back. To make it right.

But how could I fix something like this?

How could I make Damien forget the image of me with another man's mark?

The memory of his voice echoed in my head—"Now you have his mark on your neck."

I pressed my hand to the spot, trying to cover it, wishing it would vanish.

"I'll fix this," I whispered through my tears. "I'll find a way to fix this."

But even as I said it, I wasn't sure if it was possible.