"Your last words before death?"
Rosearia stared up at the man standing over her. He looked completely calm, as though executing her was nothing more than removing an inconvenience from his path to power.
"Everyone betrays me", she thought, the cold stone of the execution block biting into her bruised knees. "Why was I ever stupid enough to dream of a better life?"
She had been foolish enough to believe the man she loved could ever choose her. She hadn’t known her supposed best friend had been sleeping with him behind her back the entire time, plotting her downfall from the start.
Tears slipped down Rosearia’s blood-stained cheeks as she shook her head.
If only her parents hadn’t died early.
If only she knew where her elder siblings had been taken.
If only she understood why the pack looked at her like a cursed, toxic omen.
If only...
Beneath her skin, pitch-black veins throbbed, pulsing with a faint crimson glow against her pale flesh.
The curse.
The very thing that had turned the entire pack against her.
Whatever slept beneath her skin, she had never been able to control it, and no one had ever been brave enough to find out what would happen if it awakened.
But it was too late for regrets.
She forced her head up, met the man’s cold eyes, and rasped, "If I get another chance... I won’t show a single one of you mercy."
Mocking laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Oh, Ria, you really are delusional," Jacinta sneered, stepping closer. "You think you’re making it out of here alive? Even if you did, you’re a lowly wolf who can’t even shift. You’re a nobody. A nothing. You should be thanking your stars my family took you in."
Rosearia clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white, refusing to give her the satisfaction of replying to that statement.
"Behead me now. I’d rather join the dead than waste breath on a coward."
Paa!
Richard’s slap landed hard enough to split skin. He yanked her up by her hair, wrenching her neck back, his wolf eyes glinting with cruel delight.
"Careful how you talk around my girlfriend," he hissed into her ear.
Rosearia looked at the man she’d once foolishly loved. Disgust burned hotter than the sting on her cheek. She couldn’t believe how blind she’d been.
"Go to hell, Richard."
He smirked and spat in her face, wiping his hands on his tunic as he turned to the executioner. "Father, finish this up. She’s polluting the air."
The executioner stepped forward, hauling a brutal steel blade over one shoulder. He raised it high, the metal catching the afternoon light.
Rosearia closed her eyes, bracing for the cold slice of death.
"If I may..."
A slick, oily voice cut through the square. The blade stopped inches above her neck.
Elder Toma stepped forward, smoothing down his silk robes with a practiced smile. "I have a suggestion you’ll like much better, My Lord. One that brings revenue to the pack treasury instead of wasting good meat."
Richard’s father paused, interest piqued. "Speak."
"Why not sell her to the Dark Triad?"
The Dark Triad?!
Panic seized Rosearia’s chest like an iron vise. NO. No, no, no.
She stared at Elder Toma in horror. He was the elder who’d sworn to protect the orphans of the pack. Handing her to them was worse than a thousand deaths.
"Just kill me now!" Rosearia screamed, thrashing against the iron restraints. "Don’t listen to him, cut my head off!"
"Oh, look at the terror on her face." Richard’s father’s grin widened as he watched her struggle. "I like that idea very much. The Dark Triad pays handsomely for rare creatures... But first, fetch the Memory Wipe Water."
Rosearia’s blood ran cold. "What?"
Forced amnesia was an unspeakable torture. They didn’t just want to sell her. They wanted to strip away every memory of who she was, so she couldn’t even seek vengeance.
The Dark Triad were more than legends.
They were three apex predators bound by a blood-soaked alliance, and the reason entire kingdoms thought twice before declaring war.
The Lycan Crown Prince, a ruthless beast who had never met an opponent he couldn’t overpower.
The Fallen Demon God, an ancient entity who regarded mortals as little more than insects beneath his feet.
And the Blood Dragon Duke, a merciless hoard-master who ruled his territory through fear, blood, and fire.
Where they went, destruction followed.
Kings lowered their heads. Armies retreated. Even the bravest warriors knew better than to provoke them.
And now Rosearia wasn’t being sent to their fortress as a prisoner.
She was being delivered to them as a nameless, memory-wiped thing they could do whatever they pleased with.
Two guards seized her arms, pinning her to stone. She fought with everything left in her frame, cursed veins burning red beneath her skin, but she was far too weak.
A guard forced her jaw open. Freezing, bitter liquid burned down her throat.
The world shattered.
Her memories dissolved like salt in water. Her late parents’ faces vanished into mist. Her betrayers blurred into shapeless shadow. Her vision went pitch black as the crowd’s chants faded to a distant echo.
"Yes! Sell the cursed monster!"
"Good riddance!"
"I just want peace", Rosearia thought, and then thought nothing at all.
"Package her up," Richard’s father ordered, tossing a leather sack to the guards. "Send her to the Dark Triad’s castle before dusk and collect our gold. Let those monsters use her as their toy, or whatever else they like."
Hours later, deep within the abyssal fortress of the Dark Triad...
In the grand throne hall, thick curtains strangled the sunlight, drowning the chamber in a cold, perpetual dusk.
Aldric, the Dragon Duke, lounged across a massive black settee, a razor-edged dagger turning lazily between his fingers. His slit-pupiled golden eyes gleamed with bored amusement.
Across from him stood Asmodeus, the Fallen Demon God.
He was staring at an ancient map spread across the stone table between them.
Three territories had been marked in blood-red ink.
"Nothing still?" Aldric asked.
Asmodeus’s finger traced the edge of the map.
"Nothing."
"After three centuries?"
"Three hundred and twelve years."
Aldric’s dagger stopped.
"You’re counting?"
"I remember everything."
"The northern ruins were searched twice. The eastern kingdoms have no record of her. The old blood archives were destroyed before we reached them."
Aldric leaned forward, his amusement fading.
"And the prophecy?"
"Still incomplete."
"Meaning?"
Asmodeus’s eyes darkened.
"Meaning we have spent centuries searching for someone whose name we don’t even know."
Silence settled over the throne hall.
Aldric looked down at the dagger in his hand.
"The last fragment said the same thing?"
"No."
Asmodeus turned the ancient parchment toward him.
"The last fragment said something worse."
Aldric read the faded inscription.
His golden eyes narrowed.
When the Cursed Rose awakens, the world shall bleed.
For once, Aldric didn’t smile.
"That’s not a prophecy of salvation."
"No."
"Then why are we still looking for her?"
Asmodeus’s gaze lifted.
"Because if the prophecy is true, someone else is looking too."
Aldric’s expression hardened.
"The kingdoms?"
"Perhaps."
"The gods?"
"Possibly."
Aldric slowly rose from the settee.
"Then whoever finds her first controls the future."
Asmodeus folded the parchment.
"Or destroys it."
Before Aldric could answer—
BANG!
The iron doors slammed open.
Adrian, the Lycan Crown Prince, stormed into the hall, shoulders rigid and blue eyes burning with fury.
Aldric glanced toward him.
"Please tell me you found something useful."
"Political trash from the border elders."
Adrian’s voice came out as a low growl.
"One more ambassador speaks to me like that, and I’m tearing his spine out through his throat."
Aldric sighed.
"Of course."
Asmodeus looked toward the doors Adrian had just entered through.
His expression suddenly changed.
Only slightly.
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
"Wait."
Adrian stopped.
"What?"
Asmodeus’s gaze shifted toward the corridor beyond the doors.
For the first time in centuries, something had disturbed the Fallen Demon God’s composure.
"Do you smell that?"
Asmodeus sat bolt upright, his lazy composure gone, his aura flaring in alarm. "It’s... impossibly sweet."
"Who’s at the gates?" Aldric demanded, dragon eyes narrowing as ancient instinct roared to claim the source.
He didn’t wait for an answer. In a blur of speed, Aldric crossed the hall himself and hauled the grand doors open.
A bound leather sack lay crumpled on the cold stone steps, tossed there like garbage by fleeing delivery guards. The ties had loosened. A girl lay slumped inside it.
Vibrant green hair spilled over her pale shoulders like silk. Dark lashes rested against soft cheeks. Black-crimson cursed veins glowed faintly along her throat. She looked like an exquisite blood sacrifice left on their doorstep.
Silence fell over all three apex predators as the scent hit them at once.
It wasn’t just a smell. It was recognition, slamming into their souls.
Aldric crouched beside her, brushing damp hair from her face with one clawed finger, a slow, possessive smile curving his mouth.
"Well, well," he purred. "Looks like our mate arrived as a package. How cute."
Then his smile died.
He went still.
Adrian stepped closer. "What?"
Aldric stared at the black-crimson veins crawling beneath her skin, pupils contracting to razor-thin slits.
"This isn’t an ordinary curse."
Asmodeus’s gaze snapped to the unconscious girl, and something close to genuine shock cracked through the Fallen Demon God’s expression.
Adrian’s claws slid free.
"Then what is she?"
Aldric reached out and laid his palm flat against her skin.
BOOM.
And all three felt the same thing.
A bond.
Ancient.
Adrian’s face went hard as stone.
Asmodeus’s wings snapped wide. Aldric stared down at the girl in his arms, disbelief cracking his voice to a whisper.
"No..."
"She isn’t just our mate."
The cursed veins across Rosearia’s body flared crimson, bright as fresh blood.
Aldric’s smile was gone completely.
"She’s the one we’ve been waiting for."
Asmodeus’s expression darkened.
"The Cursed Rose..."
Adrian’s eyes turned blood-red.
"She’s alive."