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

(Continuing from Chapter 40 — Valerian has fallen by Selene's hand to awaken the Beast. But fate has more than one thread, and prophecy only tells half the story.)

The scream tore through every realm.

Even the Beast, risen from the gate in a torrent of dark limbs and glowing eyes, paused at the sound of Selene's cry.

Selene crumbled beside Valerian's body, her chest heaving as blood from their twin wounds soaked the altar stone. Her hand still gripped the dagger—the cursed blade that should have destroyed the Night King completely.

And the bond between them pulsed with more than pain. It trembled with something else.

The Beast rose, towering above the ruins of prophecy. It had no true form—only jagged mouths and spines of shadow, eyes like falling stars, claws that reached through dimensions.

"You want me," she said, voice hoarse. "Take me."

The Beast roared, a sound that shattered the last of the stone temple.

Cassian, hidden behind a broken column, shouted her name—but it was drowned out by the fury of fate unraveling.

A thread of silver in her chest pulling back toward Valerian.

> "You were never meant to kill him," came a voice behind her.

The First was there again, no longer wrapped in shadow.

He was human now. Pale hair. Eyes the color of storms stilled too long.

The First stepped forward. "He did. The mortal part. The man."

Selene shook, arms around Valerian's body. "He's still breathing."

"Because you didn't end him, Selene. You completed him."

And Valerian's body rose into the air.

The blood on the altar shimmered, spiraling in patterns too ancient for words.

His fangs were longer now, carved of silver.

Valerian floated there, his chest bare, the wound gone, his crown no longer of darkness but of starfire.

He looked down at her, and when he spoke, his voice carried across realms.

"I remember now. Who I was before the curse. Before the crown."

She stood, legs trembling. "Valerian?"

"I was born to be the gatekeeper," he whispered. "The Night King was never the destroyer. He was meant to hold the Beast back."

"You weren't the key," he said gently. "You were the lock."

Valerian raised his hand—and the world bent.

The Beast swirled, breaking through every defense, growing larger with every lie ever told, every drop of blood spilled for prophecy's sake.

And the light that burst from them both was enough to silence even the gods.

When the storm cleared, the altar was ash.

And Selene lay in Valerian's arms, breathless, body torn but soul intact.

"No," he said softly. "We ended the war before it began."

Far away, in the shattered remnants of a ruined realm, a woman cloaked in raven feathers stood atop a tower and smiled.

"So the Moonblood lives," she purred. "And the Night King remembers."

She turned to her shadow-born son, whose eyes were ink and ice.

"Let's see how long they survive what comes next."

Chapter 41