Chapter 208
The Perfect Host
Midas walked away from the public execution grounds, his legs heavy as if each step was weighed down by the ashes of what had just transpired. The early morning sun had risen fully, casting long shadows across the plaza, but it offered no warmth to him.
Ava was gone—completely gone—and with her, any hope, any connection he had clung to. There was no trace of her, not a single scent, not a flicker of her presence lingering in the air. He had been too late.
He felt hollow. The Queen Mother’s intervention had spared him, yet even that mercy felt like a curse. Uriel’s words echoed in his ears, blunt and unforgiving.
“The Alpha King was merciful enough to release you instead of executing you, thanks to the Queen Mother’s plea for your life. Treasure this second chance, Midas, and do not repeat your mistakes. Gavriel will not give you another opportunity, so be cautious about the company you keep. You are stripped of your official position in the royal court. Take this time to grieve for your mate and reflect on your actions as you return to your pack.”
The words should have brought him relief, a faint glimmer of hope but they did not. Instead, they felt like chains, reminders of his failures. Failures that could never be undone. Failures that had cost him everything.
He made his way to Moonlight Pack, the place that had once been a haven for him, the place that had held Ava’s laughter, her voice, her presence. The pack grounds were quiet now, but the changes were immediately obvious.
The flag of Moonlight Pack no longer bore the familiar emblem that had been theirs for generations. In its place waved the insignia of a new Alpha.
The former Beta, a man loyal to the royal family and personally appointed by Gavriel himself, stood by the entrance, observing Midas with measured eyes. He had expected this encounter. He did not move to stop Midas but allowed him the courtesy of his presence, recognizing the broken state of the man before him.
“You may go inside,” the new Alpha said, his voice neutral yet firm. “I know why you are here. But remember, this is your last courtesy. After this, you leave.”
Midas nodded wordlessly. He had no energy for arguments, no desire to speak. This was his chance to see her, even if only one last time. His legs carried him forward, almost as if pulled by an invisible force.
Each step felt heavier, yet each step brought him closer to the bedchamber that had once been hers, the chamber that held her essence. He stopped at the doorway, hesitating for a heartbeat. The chamber was eerily quiet, bathed in the soft, pale light filtering through the curtains.
Dust motes floated lazily in the air, undisturbed except for the faint hum of residual dark magic that clung to the walls. He could almost hear her voice calling his name, could almost feel the warmth of her presence but it was only illusion, only memory.
Midas stepped inside. His gaze swept the around, taking in everything that had been hers. The bed, still perfectly made, seemed almost untouched by time. The shelves, the small trinkets, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the corners—it was all painfully familiar.
He felt a tight knot form in his chest, a mixture of grief, longing, and guilt.
He made his way to the bed and paused. For a long moment, he simply stared at the space she had occupied, imagining her there, alive and laughing, alive and furious with him for some imagined wrong.
The weight of his failures pressed down harder than ever. He had failed to mark her, failed to protect her, failed to be the mate she had needed him to be. And now, she was gone.
And then he noticed it. A small box, placed deliberately on her dresser. It was unassuming at first, made of dark wood with intricate carvings etched into its surface, but there was something about it that drew him. Something about it hummed with a strange energy, almost whispering to him, compelling him to approach.
“It wasn’t here before,” he muttered, frowning. He knew every corner of Ava’s bedchamber—the books, the trinkets, even the way she arranged her things—since he had been her secret lover for years.
He hesitated, hand hovering over the small box. This was Ava’s bedchamber, steeped in her power and essence. And yet… the box called to him.
It pulled at him in ways he couldn’t explain. He had been cautious all his life, trained to resist the allure of unknown magic, but this was different. It was as if the box had known him, had waited for him.
Midas exhaled shakily and reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, a shiver ran up his spine. The carvings seemed to pulse under his touch, and a faint hum filled the air, vibrating deep within his chest. He swallowed hard and, almost instinctively, opened the box.
A dark mist rose from within it, curling and twisting like living smoke. It poured over him, seeping into his skin, invading his senses. He staggered backward, coughing as the darkness wound around him, curling into his very bones.
His mind screamed to resist, to push it away, but it felt like the mist was a part of him already.
Midas turned away from the dresser, his hands trembling as the gravity of what he had just unleashed sank in. The box sat closed now but the darkness inside it was far from dormant.
He could feel it crawling beneath his skin, threading through his veins like liquid shadow, intertwining with his very essence.
The mist pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, cold and heavy, yet intoxicating. It slithered up his arms, curling around his chest, sinking into his bones, and Midas gasped sharply, clutching at his torso. His vision blurred as a fierce, consuming heat rose from within him.
Every breath was a struggle, every muscle tense with the sensation of being simultaneously pulled apart and fused with something entirely alien.
“Ah… what is this…” he murmured, his voice catching as the mist coiled tighter around him.
It whispered, feeding on his fear and his grief, amplifying the rage and guilt he had carried since Ava’s death. It felt alive. Malevolent. Intelligent. And yet… it was merging seamlessly with him, binding itself to his soul.
The shadows in the room thickened, stretching unnaturally across the walls as the mist engulfed him completely.
He fell to his knees again, panting, his body shaking, his mind splitting under the pressure of the consuming power. His reflection in the window looked… wrong. Darker. Harsher. The light in his eyes seemed to flicker as if being snuffed out.
Then, slowly, inexorably, his eyes went black. Pitch black, as if the light within him had been replaced entirely by the mist. A shiver ran through his body, and when he lifted his gaze, the world seemed different. Clearer. Sharper. Every sound, every movement, every heartbeat of the living and the dead echoed in his mind with perfect clarity.
And then came the smirk—slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly confident. It wasn’t just Midas smiling. It was something else, something living inside him, something that had waited for the perfect host.
“I knew it…” the voice whispered inside his mind, silky, cold, and amused. “This man… he is the perfect host.”