Chapter 533: Precaution and ready
"Alaric," she gasped, her voice trembling but certain. "We cannot go for the hunt. We can’t go."
Alaric sat up instantly, moving with a fluid, terrifying speed that suggested he hadn’t been sleeping at all, but merely standing guard in the dark. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable.
"What did you say, my love?" he asked, his voice a low, steady rumble.
"I said we have to reject the invitation to the hunt," Salviana repeated, her voice gaining strength despite the tremor in her hands. She sat up to face him, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. "It is not safe, Alaric. We cannot go."
He didn’t scoff or dismiss her. Instead, he reached out, drawing her back into the heat of his chest. He held her in a comforting, endearing hug, his chin resting atop her head as his hand traced soothing circles along her spine.
"Why do you say so?" he asked softly. "It is just a royal tradition, a game of pride among my brothers."
Salviana leaned back, her eyes searching his. She told him everything—the many-limbed beast of possessed guards, the arrows that riddled his body, the sickly amber moon that swallowed the light, and the horrific sight of him falling from his horse, pale and lifeless. She described the "Eye" and the lone figure laughing in the shadows of the Great Southern Wilds.
Alaric listened in silence, his grip tightening slightly as she spoke of his own death. When she finished, he pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, his dark eyes softening.
"It was a vivid nightmare, Salviana," he whispered, trying to anchor her. "But you forget what I am. I am a vampire. My speed is harder than their iron, and my senses see through any gloom they try to cast. Don’t you trust me? Don’t you trust that I can protect you from any shadow in that forest?"
"I know you can protect me," she countered, her voice thick with emotion as she gripped his wrists. "I have never doubted that. But Alaric, in my dream, you didn’t fall because you were weak. You fell because you were protecting me. I don’t just want you to protect your wife... I want you to protect yourself. I won’t be the reason you become a corpse in the dirt."
He looked at her for a long moment, the sharp intellect behind his eyes warring with the predatory confidence of his nature. He saw the genuine terror in her emerald gaze—a fire that wasn’t just fear, but a divine warning.
"You saw me die?" he asked quietly, his smirk gone.
"I saw you break," she whispered. She swallowed because she couldn’t tell himbout the blood transfusion she did to bring him back. He will stop her from doing it in real life and she would do it again in a heartbeat– only this time she will be faster. "And I saw the hunt turn into a slaughterhouse. Please, Alaric. If there is even a fragment of truth in what I saw, we are walking into a trap designed specifically for a king."
Alaric’s expression hardened, the softness of the bedchamber replaced by the cold, calculating steel of a strategist. He didn’t pull away; instead, he tucked a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her skin.
"We have to go, my love," he said, his voice dropping to a low, resonant hum that brooked no argument. "I would love nothing more than to stay here, hidden within these walls, but we cannot avoid the problem by turning our backs on it. Fleeing the hunt only tells the ’Eye’ that we are afraid. It gives them the shadows to grow stronger."
He tilted her chin up so she was forced to meet his midnight gaze. "Now we know what to expect. Your vision isn’t just a nightmare, Salviana—it is intelligence. We know the location, we know the method, and we know the treachery. We will take precautions. I will not be the corpse you saw in the dirt, because now I am looking for the archers before they even notch their bows."
Salviana looked at him, searching for any sign of doubt, but found only a predatory hunger for the truth. She let out a long, shaky breath, her resistance crumbling against the sheer force of his will. "Fine," she whispered, her voice tight with a reluctance that tasted like ash. "But if things turn... if the moon turns amber, Alaric, we leave. Promise me."
"I promise," he murmured, sealing the vow with a slow, deep kiss that tasted of lingering sleep and rising fire.
They began to get ready, the mundane movements of dressing transformed into a silent ritual of preparation. Alaric moved to the mahogany wardrobe, pulling out his heavy riding leathers, reinforced with subtle plates of blackened steel. Salviana watched him, her heart still performing a frantic staccato against her ribs. She reached for her own traveling gown—a deep, forest green that felt like a camouflage for the blood she feared would soon spill.
As she struggled with the intricate laces at her bodice, Alaric appeared behind her. His hands, large and steady, took over the task. He worked with a quiet efficiency, his knuckles occasionally grazing her spine, sending shivers through her that had nothing to do with the morning chill.
"You think Jeanie can help us?" she asked, her voice hushed as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. "With her knowledge of the old ruins and the... witchery... she might see the Eye before we do."
Alaric leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to the side of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "If she is loyal, her eyes will be invaluable. If she isn’t, she will be the first one I break."
Salviana shivered, but she didn’t pull away. She turned in his arms, her hands resting on his chest where, in her dream, the arrows had struck deep. She could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart—a reminder that he was very much alive, very much a monster, and very much hers.
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