The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate

****

On deck, Atticus and Orion were busy scrubbing away the foul ichor. The stench made Orion's nose twist in disgust, to the point he almost nauseated. He eventually stopped and flung the rag into a basin

before sinking to the planks, already exhausted to the bone.

He glanced at Atticus who was still obediently fulfilling his task, and muttered a curse under his breath before speaking aloud:

"You know, you won't die if you take a moment to rest. The way you go on makes it seem as though the rest of us do nothing around here. We've spent the entire night wiping the vile filth from the surface, and now my poor back is killing me."

"With a stamina like that, how are you supposed to face the true bearer?" One of his comrades drawled, his voice lazy as he lounged back with his arms folded behind his head.

Orion muttered another curse before snatching the wet rag from the basin and brandishing it threateningly, as if ready to hurl it at the man's face.

"What does that have to do with you, huh? Tsk! Worry about your receding hairline first before you open your mouth to spout nonsense, okay? Talking nonsense..."

Atticus's lips twitched as he fought to suppress a laugh. Orion's mood was already sour, and he knew provoking him further would be like throwing oil on a fire. He asked:

"What's gotten into you today, hm?"

"Ah…everyone's annoying me today. Just focus on your work," he muttered, rubbing at the small of his back with a scowl.

Atticus shook his head slightly, his tone more practical than sympathetic. "If your back's really giving you trouble, then take a break. There's a healer on board, so go to him. Maybe he'll have something to ease the pain. We can't afford anyone dragging their feet from exhaustion right now."

Orion didn't need to be told twice.

He pushed himself upright, grateful for the unintentional excuse to step away. A few stolen minutes of rest sounded like luxury to him, especially before whatever new disaster decided to strike next. With any luck from the heavens, they might make it to their destination without further crisis tearing through their ranks.

As he headed toward the healer's quarters, the door to one of the cabins creaked open. Acheron stepped out, doubling over slightly as a fit of coughing rattled his chest. He straightened quickly, as though he didn't want anyone to catch sight of him in that state. However, he looked up and spotted Orion staring at him.

For a heartbeat, he looked caught before forcing himself into composure as he approached.

"Orion," he greeted, his voice rougher than usual.

The young man simply knitted his brows, half-curious and concerned as he asked, "are you feeling alright?"

Acheron gave a dismissive wave, though his pallor betrayed him. "Ah, it's nothing– just a minor malady. Don't trouble yourself." He tried to change the subject quickly, his eyes narrowing. "But what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on scrubbing duty today?"

"Oh…right," Orion shifted his weight, suddenly reminded why he was headed here in the first place. A dull, familiar ache tugged at his lower back, making him wince. "It's… my back again. I was hoping the healer could give me something for it."

"Back pain, how old are you, fifty?"

Orion rolled his eyes and simply walked past him. Nobody in this cursed ship gives a damn about him. He knew Acheron was only teasing, and he might have retorted to that on a normal day, but today is not that day. He wasn't in the mood to be one of Acheron's victims.

When he stepped inside the cabin, Acheron's mask dropped.

The grin on his face was replaced by a grimace as another dry cough rattled through his chest. He had only come to see the healer about his condition, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. The healer had already drawn his blood, and until the tests were done, Acheron could not shake the fear that his sickness was tied to the dark water he had helplessly consumed when he was dragged underwater.

****

Meanwhile, Leonardo was standing near the edge of the ship, staring at the horizon. The salt-stained wind tugged at his coat, his hair fluttering slightly. He was lost in thoughts when something abruptly blocked his view.

A hand, pale and delicate, thrust in front of his face. It held a small wooden bowl, steam curling from the dark, coffee-like liquid within.

Startled, Leonardo turned his head and found Cora beside him, her expression expectant as she extended the bowl.

"This will ease your throat," she said simply, giving the vessel a small shake as if urging him to take it.

Leonardo glanced back at the bowl, suspicion flickering in his gray eyes as he accepted it at last. He shifted it in his hand as though weighing both its content and her intentions. His brows furrowed, his look aimed squarely at her.

Cora sighed and folded her arms across her chest. "Don't worry, there's no aphrodisiac in this medicine."

His brow lifted at her words. "And why would you think I'd accuse you of something like that? I know you're not that kind of woman." For a moment, his words almost touched her heart until he ruined it with a casual, "you must have slipped poison instead."

Cora couldn't believe she anticipated any nice commentary from this man. She held out her hand and said:

"If you don't want it, just give it back."

"I was only joking," he murmured defensively, refusing to hand over the bowl. "Tsk, you're always so serious."

Cora blinked at him, a dry laugh stuck in her throat.

Look who's calling her serious.

She watched closely as he drained the medicine, the bitter scent lingering in the air when he handed the bowl back. She had heard about the affliction the cursed mark leaves on his throat once the activation was over, that was why she had gone to Esme and gathered whatever she could for Leonardo.

He seemed to be taking it well without complaint. That much eased her heart.

Leaning closer, she whispered, "Did you know Anita's been gone since before we left the North? It's not a good sign, especially after you rejected her so openly. I warned you she has a history of dragging people's names through the mud back home."

"She tried to drug me," Leonardo murmured, his lips barely moving as if the memory itself soured his throat. "You want me to follow someone like that? She can do whatever she wants, I'm not bothered about her whereabouts."

"That's because you don't know her, she's crazy upstairs. Just be careful next time, or else, there'll be no one to knock you out when you're hot and bothered."

Leonardo choked on his own saliva at her audacity, coughing as he stared at her in disbelief. Cora, unfazed, gave a nonchalant shrug and sauntered away, her steps light, almost mocking. He followed her with his eyes, a faint glare tugging at his features in a way that carried more confusion than malice.

If anyone else had overheard those words, they would have gotten the wrong impression entirely. Cora had indeed knocked him out, but she hadn't meant it romantically– not in the slightest. No, she had floored him with a frying pan to the back of his skull, and the memory still throbbed faintly when he thought about it. It was already embarrassing enough that she was the one to catch him in such a vulnerable state.

She must really hate him.

There shouldn't have been any doubt about that.

"Then why am I still around this woman?" Leonardo muttered, dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration. He'd ask himself this question a hundred times, and never once had he found an answer that made sense..

If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't bat an eye. He would walk away without a second thought. That was who he was, his care was scarce, and his circle was as narrow as it got. Beyond his brother, Irwin and his wife, Esme, and Finnian, there was no one who truly mattered to him.

But then this annoying woman…

"Can she cast spells?" he thought to himself, but his thoughts were interrupted when Esme joined him. Behind her was Donovan who followed, with that familiar look of quiet reluctance he wore whenever Esme roped him into something.

"Great, you're both here," Esme said briskly, holding a bundle of folded charts tucked under her arm. "I need your help with something."

"I don't know what it is, but I already hate it," replied Leonardo, and Esme's mouth curved into a dry smile.

"Not this time, come with me."

With that, she led them to Donovan's private cabin. She spread the sheet across the table, the papers rustling like restless wings. "After the siren attack, we're diverting our route. I spoke with the helmsman, and he said Don already filled him with that idea from the start, so we agreed it's safer this way. But that means I need to run through the inventory logs and the navigation charts. It's more work than I can imagine alone, so—"

Her eyes flicked between the two brothers who were standing side by side, each wearing the same carefully feigned mask of innocence.

"I need both your help," she finished, her tone brooking no argument.