Abamsky

He’s the cursed King of the Night.
She’s the last omega prophesied to break him.

Selene has been hiding her scent, her power, and her past. But the moment Valerian—the cold, dangerously seductive Night King—catches her scent, the hunt begins.

He claims her with one bite.
She burns him with one touch.

Bound by fate. Torn by secrets. Their desire is forbidden… but irresistible. And in the dark palace of the damned, passion could save them—or unleash hell itself.

Fated to Night king

Chapter 22: The Mark Beneath Her Skin

Selene woke with a gasp, her body tangled in the silk sheets, her pulse pounding like war drums. The dream — or was it a memory? — still clung to her skin like frost. Valerian's name had echoed through her mind as though carved into her very bones.

And now, even with the moonlight silvering the canopy above her bed, she felt it: the phantom touch of his hand on her throat, the low murmur of his voice promising protection... and ruin.

The room was empty. He hadn't returned.

She sat up slowly, the gossamer slip she wore brushing against the mark on her neck — no longer a bruise, not quite a scar. It shimmered faintly under the moonlight like a brand, like a secret blooming just beneath the surface.

She remembered what the seer had whispered to her in the forest that night:

> "The bond is ancient, cursed, and blessed. Yours is the blood that can either doom him or save the Night King."

Selene pressed her fingers to the mark, heat thrumming against her skin. Valerian had bitten her — not to feed, but to seal something deeper, something binding.

She rose from the bed, slipping into a cloak, her bare feet padding against the stone floors as she made her way through the quiet corridors of the castle. It was nearly dawn, the sky outside barely blushing with light, yet the halls felt colder than usual, like something ancient had stirred in the night.

She found him in the war room, hunched over an open scroll, his dark cloak pooling around him like shadows given form. The firelight danced against his profile, catching the haunted gleam in his eyes.

He didn't turn immediately. His voice was low, controlled. "You should be asleep."

"I couldn't." She walked closer. "You weren't there."

He finally looked at her. And gods, his eyes — stormy and full of something she couldn't name. Regret? Fear? Hunger?

"I felt it," she said softly. "Whatever happened when you bit me, it wasn't just instinct. Was it?"

Valerian's jaw clenched. He looked away. "You weren't supposed to know. Not yet."

He exhaled like a man giving in to something inevitable. "The curse... it's not just mine. It binds me to my fated mate. If I mark her, she carries the burden too. The madness. The power. The prophecy."

"No, Selene," he said, voice hardening. "I know you can't. Because if the curse wakes in you fully, it will destroy you before it ever saves me."

She walked to him, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart thundered beneath her palm, wild and out of rhythm. "Then teach me to survive it."

He closed his eyes as if her words burned. "You don't understand. If I fall into darkness, you fall with me. There is no surviving that."

Her lips brushed his jaw. "Then fall with me, Valerian. Or fight with me. But don't run from me."

The silence between them trembled. Then he kissed her — not gently, not like a man trying to protect her, but like someone who had already lost the battle. It was deep, claiming, raw.

And when they pulled apart, his voice broke. "You have no idea what you've become."

She held his gaze. "Then show me."

That night, he took her to the hidden chamber beneath the castle — a vault of shadows and blood magic where the first Night Kings had sealed their pacts. Ancient runes burned on the walls. A throne of obsidian waited at the end of the hall.

"I brought you here," he said, "because if I bind myself to you fully... it's not just our souls that will be cursed. The Night Realm will know."

Selene walked forward, barefoot and unafraid. "Then let them."

He stared at her like she was both salvation and ruin.

And then, with a whisper of magic and blood, he knelt before her.