Alpha king and his cursed mate

Thea's whisper

Thea Mark stood at the edge of the obsidian pool, her reflection rippling with shadows. The full moon hung high above the forest canopy, bathing her in silver light that shimmered off her raven-black robes.

She dipped her fingers into the water. The surface hissed—responding to her touch like a living thing.

"Show me the boy," she whispered.

The ripples calmed.

An image bloomed—soft and innocent. A sleeping baby with eyes like moonfire, resting against the cursed girl’s chest.

Thea’s lips curled into a venomous smile.

“So... the child lives. A Lycan heir born of a cursed womb.”

She turned away from the pool, her eyes glowing crimson in the dark. Ravens perched in the trees above, silent sentinels awaiting her command.

“They think love can break what I crafted in blood and bone,” she hissed. “Fools.”

A wind stirred through the grove, carrying voices from another world—spirits twisted by her magic. They murmured warnings, restless with what was to come.

Thea raised her arms, chanting low and ancient. Black smoke curled from the ground.

“The curse has fractured, yes,” she said aloud, to no one and everything. “But it will not fall.”

She stepped into the circle of runes she had carved into the earth centuries ago, her voice rising like a storm.

“The moon chose her—but I *own* her.”

And with a final incantation, she sent a message through the ether:

“Sleep well, Mara Evans. For when next we meet, it will be your son’s cry that breaks your soul.”