villainess'ss Secret Service

c147

Altair who lives for love

Altair carefully set the ink-smeared quill down, allowing the black ink to dry on the parchment. He folded the letter into a scroll and tied it with a thin black ribbon. He attached the message to the leg of a large, dark raven perched on the windowsill and sent it off.

As the raven flew away, its wings flapped loudly in the quiet Temple. Altair rose and picked up a sharp letter opener. He walked toward a small mirror on the wall, hesitating as he looked at his reflection. He touched a familiar, painful mark on his neck. Determined yet haunted, he stared at his conflicted expression in the mirror.

Mephisto's insidious whisper broke his thoughts, "You will regret this choice. Once it's done, you'll lose everything you've worked for. They will fight, and you'll be powerless to help. Think carefully, Altair, the cost may be too high."

Altair ignored the demon. He pressed the cold steel of the letter opener to his neck, the dark mark quivering. With a deliberate exhale, he cut into the cursed mark, feeling the warm blood on his fingers. He kept going until the tainted flesh was completely removed.

Overwhelmed by pain, Altair held his neck, surrendering to the agony. This was a turning point, a loss of everything he had lived for-a surrender of faith, power, and his very essence.

It was the end.

The end of Altair whose sole purpose in life was revenge.

And it was the beginning.

The beginning of Altair who now lived for nothing but love.

With a deep exhale, he pressed his hand harder against his neck and let his healing powers close the wound.

Mephisto was silent during the healing, but as Altair's breath calmed, the demon spoke again

"Will you ignore me now? Remember, I won't leave until your time is up. My power is yours until the end."

"Fear not, demon. Your powers will be invaluable in the days to come."

"Oh? Have you already devised a cunning plan?"

Mephisto's unexpectedly cheerful tone made Altair uneasy. He wiped his blood-stained hands with a clean white towel. Afterward, he sat at his desk, pulling out old documents his father had left him. He carefully arranged the ancient papers on the polished wood.

He paused, gathering his thoughts, then spoke slowly and deliberately, "A plan, you say? Yes, you could call it that. I intend to use your powers when I confront Amarath."

***

"Rosalie?" The deep, unfamiliar voice echoed in her mind, making her frown in confusion.

"Well, Rosalie, the pact is complete. Are you ready to give me what is mine? You have nine months. I will be waiting."

With a sharp jolt, Rosalie woke up, finding comfort in the familiar bedroom she shared with Damien.

She turned her head to the left, expecting to see him, and there he was, sitting beside her. His face was pale and tired from restless nights and little food.

He seemed half-asleep, his hands holding hers tightly.

"Damien?"

She softly called his name, struggling to find her voice. But even that was enough to wake him. He immediately hugged her, letting out a long, relieved breath as he kissed her shoulder.

"Finally... Rosalie, you're awake! I can't tell you how relieved I am!"

He pulled back, his eyes frantically scanning her, making sure he wasn't dreaming. Once satisfied, he hugged her again, letting his weight rest gently on her.

He kissed her neck lightly and whispered, "Thank you... Thank you for not leaving me. Thank you for waking up, Rosalie."

Rosalie slowly returned his embrace, feeling a strange, heavy pressure in her chest.

Memories came flooding back—the sudden collapse at the gathering, the strange dreams, and the ominous voice that sealed her fate.

She was pregnant.

A part of herself she had given up to stay with the man she loved.

Now, this precious part of her soul demanded sacrifice, tearing her apart.