Married To Darkness-Chapter 338: Wake Up Fiery!

"Salviana,"

She fell. She’d fallen.

And Alaric caught her.

The impact nearly brought him to his knees, but his arms stayed locked around her, clutching Salviana’s limp body to his chest like he could will her soul back into it.

They collapsed together—him slumped against the cold, unforgiving stone at the base of the tower, and her... lifeless.

Her dress—what was left of it—was torn, the delicate fabric shredded from her struggle, clinging to her like a ghost of what once was.

Dirt smeared her skin, dark streaks along her arms and face, and a thin trail of blood from a scrape on her shoulder stained the ivory silk.

Her hair was a wild halo around her head, tangled and matted, a cruel contrast to how he had last seen her—radiant, strong, his.

But now, she looked broken.

Unmoving.

Silent.

"Salviana..." Alaric’s voice cracked, his throat too tight, his chest too heavy. His hands shook as they brushed the strands of hair from her face. "My love..."

Nothing.

A sharp pain lanced through his heart—an ache so deep it felt like claws were tearing through him, shredding him apart from the inside.

Her heartbeat—he couldn’t hear it.

He strained his ears, desperate, his supernatural senses reaching, grasping for even the faintest sound...

But there was nothing.

No soft thrum of life.

No rhythm.

Just silence.

"No, no, no... Fiery, You’re fine. You’re fine," he whispered, his voice more to convince himself than her. "You’re okay. Just... wake up Fiery, you’re strong."

Still nothing.

His mind spiraled. What if—what if—

What if she was gone?

What if she died right here in his arms—without a goodbye, without a chance for him to save her, without a chance to... to love her the way he should have?

What if the last thing she ever knew was fear?

What if—

"No!" Alaric roared suddenly, his voice echoing through the stone courtyard like a wounded beast. "You’re not— you can’t— you’re mine!"

His jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his fangs threatening to pierce his bottom lip.

His vision blurred—not from rage this time—but from the tears burning at the edges of his eyes.

He blinked furiously. No. He refused to cry. Not yet.

Instead, he kissed her—her hair, her forehead, her dirt-streaked cheek—anywhere he could reach, like his lips could spark something in her.

Like he could remind her of the life still clinging to her, no matter how faint.

"Please..." he whispered, voice hoarse. "Please."

He didn’t know if he was begging her, the gods, or himself. Maybe all of them.

He needed her.

Not just because she was his wife, but because she was Salviana.

The woman who teased him until he smiled, who challenged him when the world bowed before him, who made him want to be more than just a prince—a demon—a weapon.

She made him human.

And without her...

Without her, there was nothing.

His head dropped, forehead resting against hers, his body trembling from the weight of her lifelessness.

And then—

A rustle from above.

Alaric’s head snapped up, his blue eyes burning like ice and fire, and there—standing at the broken window of the tower—was him.

The abductor.

Shrouded in cloaks, wrapped in layers of dark clothing, his face obscured but his intent clear—watching. Gloating.

A growl ripped from Alaric’s throat, low and dangerous. His muscles coiled, his rage a storm ready to explode.

He was going to kill him—rip him apart, tear him limb from limb, and bathe the ground in his blood—

And then—

"Let’s... let’s consummate our marriage, Fire..."

Alaric froze.

His heart stopped.

That voice.

Her voice.

"Salviana?"

He looked down, and there she was—her eyes half-lidded, lips parted, voice weak—but alive.

Breathing.

His soul snapped back into his body so violently he thought he might collapse again.

"Fuck," Alaric breathed, his hand sliding behind her neck, pulling her close—desperate, relieved, shaking.

She was alive.

And he wasn’t going to let her go.

He kissed her all over her face in desperation.

Lucius’s jaw tightened as he watched Alaric clutch Salviana like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

She was awake—barely—but alive. Still, the fury rolling off Alaric was a storm, violent and unchecked, his gaze fixed on the shadowed figure in the tower window above.

The abductor.

The coward.

Lucius’ fangs pricked his bottom lip as his own rage simmered just beneath the surface.

He was done watching—done standing idle while Salviana suffered and Alaric unraveled.

"I’ll get the fool," Lucius growled, his voice low and deadly. His dark eyes never left the figure above. "Stay with her."

Alaric didn’t answer—he didn’t need to. A sharp, almost imperceptible nod was all Lucius needed.

And then—he moved.

In a blur of vampiric speed, Lucius vanished, the air cracking behind him as he scaled the side of the tower with the grace of a predator.

His boots barely touched the stone, his body a shadow flickering against the wall, faster than the human eye could follow.

The figure at the window seemed to realize too late—one second watching Alaric with a twisted kind of satisfaction, the next, Lucius was there—slamming into him like a storm, sending them both crashing back into the room.

A sickening thud.

The abductor hit the floor with a grunt, cloaks splayed around him, but Lucius was already on him—fist grabbing the front of his robe, dragging him up before shoving him against the stone wall with a force that cracked the surface behind him.

"You think you can touch her," Lucius snarled, fangs gleaming as his voice dripped with venom, "and live to gloat about it?"

The figure coughed, gasping for air, but Lucius didn’t loosen his grip.

"You’re going to wish I killed you quickly," Lucius whispered, his lips curling into something between a smile and a snarl.

And this time—he meant every word.

He couldn’t believe someone had the temerity to kidnap Alarics wife.

Who was it even?

Lucius ripped the hood away—and froze.

"Jaron?"