Devil don't cry- cursed mate series

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting its pale silver light over the bustling town of Valdrith. This was a world where the night was not something to fear but a sacred time when the hidden power of the werewolves came to life. In the corners of the taverns, whispers of old legends and the promise of fated love wove through the air like smoke. This world of magic and mystery was all Tirith Melore had ever known, yet there were moments when she longed to escape it. Yet, the pain is enough for her to bear since she was there for this many years/ Tirith stood behind the wooden bar of the Silverthorn Inn, her scarlet hair tumbling in waves over her shoulders as she wiped down the counter. The inn was alive with laughter and conversation, a sanctuary for the weary and the lost. Her grey eyes, with their startling depth of emotion, scanned the crowd. She saw it all—the smiles, the flirtations, the occasional sharp word—but her gaze was distant. On the outside, she was the lively bartender with a quick wit and a ready smile, but inside, she was crumbling. There was no one to see the nights she spent crying alone in her small room, haunted by memories too painful to bear. She forced a smile as one of the regulars—a handsome merchant with more gold than sense—attempted to charm her for the hundredth time. He leaned over the counter, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "Tirith, darling, why don't you and I get out of here sometime? Surely, you must tire of this place. You know, I have some place in mind, and I can give you as many beautiful flowers in there" he said, flashing a grin he probably thought was irresistible. She chuckled softly, shaking her head. This sly fox was thinking again, that he can have her with those gold words. "Oh, Rylan, you'd be lost without me to pour your drinks and listen to your tales of adventure. Besides, this place isn't so bad. It has its charm." Charm. If only that were enough. She turned away before he could press further, pretending to focus on a set of empty tankards that needed filling. She felt the weight of his gaze on her back but chose to ignore it. Rylan was persistent, but she had learned how to handle men like him. She had to. It was part of the job. After all, it was a well-known fact that the barmaid had to be charming and entertain the customers with her person as well. Tirith, however, did not intend to overstep her barriers. Yet, no amount of laughter, no number of meaningless flirtations could fill the void inside her. That void, that ever-present shadow, was her constant companion, a reminder of the trauma she carried. Tirith had long since resigned herself to the idea that this was her life. There would be no great love story for her, no destined mate who would sweep her off her feet. It was easier that way, to believe that the legends of soul bonds were just stories spun by the elders to keep hope alive. She almost had it once and lost it before she had time to discover the charms of this happiness. The door of the inn creaked open, and a figure slipped inside, unnoticed by most. Tirith’s sharp eyes, however, caught the movement immediately. The man who entered was tall, his form almost commanding, yet something about him seemed broken. He was dressed in simple clothing, a dark cloak obscuring most of his features, but even under the hood, she could see his raven-black hair and the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly. Tirith couldn't tear her gaze away. There was something about him, something that called to her in a way that no one else ever had. She watched as he moved to the farthest corner of the room, choosing a seat away from the laughter and light of the hearth. He was trying to disappear, but to her, he stood out like a flame in the dark. Before she knew what she was doing, Tirith was moving from behind the bar, a drink in hand. She wound her way through the crowded room, her heart inexplicably pounding in her chest. When she reached his table, she placed the drink in front of him without a word. Everything was as if in suspense, she had no idea why she was doing it but she knew she had to, as if an invisible force was repeating it into her soul. The scent of orange and cedarwood, which by some miracle suddenly hit her nostrils, only intensified it. The man looked up, his piercing green eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, and all Tirith could see was the pain etched in his gaze, a reflection of her own hidden sorrows. She felt the air shift, as if the very moon above was watching them. He finally spoke, his voice deep and rough, as though he hadn’t used it in days. "I didn’t order this." Tirith smiled, though it was softer than her usual one. "It’s on the house. You look like you could use it." He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to decipher her motives, but then he sighed and took a long drink. "Thanks." "Rough night?" she asked, sliding into the seat across from him without waiting for an invitation.Remember Tirith, you have to look casual. Like you don't care about anything at all,’ she rebuked herself in her mind. The man tensed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You could say that." Tirith studied him, noting the way his hands gripped the mug tightly, the faint tremor in his fingers. She had seen many men try to drown their sorrows in drink, but this was different. This man was not just sad—he was lost. "I’m Tirith," she offered, leaning back in her chair, trying to ease the tension.She herself didn't know why, but she was very keen that he didn't spurn her company. For a moment, he didn’t respond, and she thought he might dismiss her. But then he said, "Ares." A simple name, but it resonated with her. She couldn’t explain why, but it felt significant, like she was supposed to know it, to remember it. "Ares," she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. Did he think she was a fool? No one in their right mind would give the name of a member of the royal family. She was angry that he had lied to her, but she wasn't going to hurl. If he wanted to keep his name a secret so be it. "Well, Ares, what brings you to the Silverthorn Inn tonight? You don’t seem like the usual type that passes through here." He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "I’m not. Just needed to get away for a while." Tirith nodded, understanding more than she let on. "I get it. Sometimes this place is the only escape there is." Ares looked at her then, really looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. There was something in his gaze, something that made her heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just attraction, though she could feel that too. No, this was deeper, more primal, as if some invisible thread was pulling them together. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "How about, for tonight, we forget whatever’s haunting us? Just for a little while. We can pretend we’re someone else—someone free from all of this." Ares raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued despite himself. "And who would we be, then?" Tirith’s smile returned, brighter this time. "A king and a queen. Here, at our grand ball. No worries, no burdens, just the dance." Ares hesitated, torn between his grief and the inexplicable pull he felt toward this woman. He had never believed in the tales of destined mates, of bonds that tied souls together across lifetimes. And yet, sitting here with Tirith, he felt something shift within him, something he couldn’t ignore. He finally set his drink down and stood, extending a hand to her. "Alright, Queen of the Silverthorn, shall we dance?" Tirith’s heart soared as she took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. The room seemed to fade away as they moved to an empty space near the hearth. A few of the patrons glanced their way, but no one seemed to care about the strange couple who had decided to dance in the middle of the inn. Ares’s grip was firm yet gentle as he placed his hand on her waist, guiding her into a slow, deliberate rhythm. Tirith rested her hand on his shoulder, marveling at the strength she felt beneath her fingers. For a moment, she could almost believe that this was real—that she truly was a queen and he, her king. They moved together as if they had done this a thousand times before, as if their bodies remembered something their minds did not. Tirith felt the tension in Ares’s frame begin to ease, and she dared to hope that, maybe for just one night, they could both forget the pain that haunted them. As they danced, Tirith found herself getting lost in the rhythm, in the way Ares’s green eyes softened as he looked down at her. She had never felt so connected to another person, so seen. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. But in the back of her mind, she knew that this moment couldn’t last. The world would come crashing back soon enough, with all its harsh realities. And yet, for now, she clung to this fantasy, to the feeling of Ares’s strong arms around her, to the way the moonlight seemed to bless them from above. As the song in her head began to fade, Ares pulled her closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "Thank you, Tirith. For tonight. For… this." She swallowed hard, her own voice barely more than a whisper. "You don’t have to thank me. I needed it too." They stood there for a moment longer, neither of them wanting to let go. But eventually, reality crept back in, and Ares slowly released her, his hands lingering on her waist for just a second too long. "I should go," he said, his voice tinged with regret. Tirith nodded, though her heart protested. "I understand." But as he turned to leave, something inside her screamed that this couldn’t be the end. She didn’t know what it was, this pull between them, but she wasn’t ready to let him slip away. "Ares," she called after him, her voice soft but firm. He paused, turning back to her with a questioning look. "Will I see you again?" she asked, her heart in her throat. For a moment, he didn’t answer, and she feared she had overstepped. But then, he gave her a small, almost sad smile. "Perhaps."