Derek, the Alpha King, was still bound by laws, rules, and the burdens of governance. Despite the curse gnawing at his very veins, he had no choice but to attend a council meeting in Elbaf, discussing matters that could not wait.
On the way back, barely an hour later, the curse surged. It began as a low thrum in his chest, a fire crawling through his ribs. Then it hit with full force. Derek could not control it. His lungs screamed for air, his muscles tightened as though gripped by iron hands. Pain clawed at every nerve, unforgiving and absolute.
He gasped and wheeled the car doors open, forcing his guards to scatter in a desperate search for help. Wailing erupted from his throat, unrestrained. The world spun. The ground tilted beneath him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed, unable to stand.
At that moment, I was running. Running from wolves or rather, some of their thugs. I had thought my days of fleeing were over. But they had seen me ,a girl and decided to chase me, relentless and cruel. Heart hammering, lungs burning, I ran with everything I had.
I saw a bottle of Yerbi on the ground. Instinctively, I snatched it up and smashed it over the head of the nearest thug. The glass shattered, cutting my hand, but the pain was irrelevant. Fear gripped the wolves as they scrambled back, dazed and bleeding. I didn't pause. I ran.
Then I stumbled.
A figure lay on the wet, rain-slicked street. He looked pale drained of life, as though the world had taken everything from him. Yet something about him was undeniable. A terrifying dominance lingered in his posture, in the faint flare of his aura even as he struggled to breathe.
I didn't think. I acted. I lifted him from the ground. The rain poured heavily, soaking my hair, my clothes, my arms. My blood from the cut on my hand mingled with the rainwater, dripping down in crimson rivulets.
The man's eyes fluttered open briefly, revealing the haunted gaze of a king in agony. I could see the curse within him, writhing, pulling at his body like a living thing. Despite his weakness, despite the fire in his veins, he still radiated an authority that made the world seem smaller, more fragile.
I tried to keep him upright, to carry him, but my strength wavered. My blood my cursed, glowing blood fell into the water around him. Somehow, some impossibility, it touched his lips. I gasped, realizing the significance too late. The rain and my blood intertwined.
His eyes widened slightly. He coughed, weak, rasping, but alive. The weight of him pressed against me, heavy, yet commanding. Even broken, even in torment, even on the brink of death, he was terrifyingly… dominant.
The moment my blood had mistakenly touched his lips ,he eyes lit up , like a new surge of energy had entered his body.
as though a surge of foreign strength had poured into him, breath rushing back into his lungs. Power rolled off him in waves, raw and overwhelming.
Something changed between us.
I felt it instantly.
A pull—deep, undeniable, and terrifying. A bond. Not one forged by choice, but by fate itself. It wrapped around my heart like invisible threads, tightening with every breath I took. I didn't know it then, but the connection was already intensifying.
I forced myself to move.
With trembling arms, I lifted him from the ground and dragged him toward his car parked by the roadside. The rain soaked us both as I struggled, my strength fueled by something I couldn't name. I eased him into the seat, propping him up carefully.
Suddenly, his hand closed around mine.
Strong. Desperate.
"Please… stay," he whispered, his voice hoarse, as though letting go would shatter him.
The words struck deeper than they should have.
But fear snapped me back to reality. Mom would be worried. I had to go. I couldn't stay not with wolves everywhere, not with danger lurking in every shadow.
I gently pried my fingers from his grasp and searched the car. Inside, I found a bottle of water. I lifted his head and helped him drink. His breathing steadied, his grip loosening, though his eyes never left my face.
I didn't understand what had happened.
I only knew I felt something—something heavy and warm in my chest. An inexplicable bond pulling me toward a stranger I should have feared. Toward a man whose presence should have sent me running.
Instead, it felt like leaving a part of myself behind.
I ran without looking back, the rain swallowing my footsteps, praying he would survive.
And unaware that I had just changed the fate of Dark Heaven forever.
When Derek woke, he was already back in the palace. The searing agony that had gripped him hours before had eased, leaving only a dull, persistent ache. But something else had awakened within him a memory that burned brighter than any pain.
He saw her face.
He didn't know her name. He didn't even know if she was human, wolf, or something else entirely. And yet… he could not forget her. Her face was etched into his mind with terrifying clarity, painted in colors sharper than reality itself. Every detail the curve of her jaw, the way her hair clung to her rain‑drenched cheeks, the fire in her eyes was impossible to erase.
Derek could not wait. He could not risk forgetting even a fraction.
Immediately, he summoned his guards. "Find her," he ordered, his voice cold but urgent. "I do not care where she is, what she is called, or what she has done. Bring her to me."
The men hesitated, for the Alpha King had never spoken with such desperation. He did not know her name, yet he knew her face. That alone was enough.
Derek then called for the kingdom's most talented painters. The best of the best those who could capture a likeness so vivid that even memory could not outpace it. One by one, they came, brushes in hand, colors laid out, ink ready.
He spoke, slow and deliberate, describing her face in excruciating detail. Every line, every curve, every imperfection that made her unique. "The eyes," he said. "They burn with fire, yet carry a calm I cannot explain. Her lips full, yet sharp, like they've tasted both joy and sorrow. The hair dark as midnight, wet with rain, but clinging to her face as if it resists the storm. The expression defiant, yet… humane."
The painters scribbled, dabbed, and stroked their brushes across canvas, some in awe, some trembling under the weight of the king's intensity. They tested every technique, every shade, every subtlety to capture what he described.
Hours passed. The air of the palace was thick with paint, ink, and the faint scent of fear. But slowly, a picture emerged. A portrait of a woman who had entered his life in a storm, soaked, bleeding, terrifying—and yet, utterly unforgettable.
Derek studied the painting, his eyes tracing every line, memorizing every detail. This was her. Emma. Even though he did not know her name, even though he had only met her once, he knew this was the woman whose blood had saved him, whose presence had bound itself to his curse.
He would find her. Because only she could change his Fate.