Married To Darkness-Chapter 377: Controlled Goodnight Kiss

The city was bustling, filled with merchants unloading goods, sailors drinking and gambling in the open streets, and townsfolk bargaining over the freshest catches of the day.

Alaric tightened his grip on Salviana’s waist as they walked past a particularly rowdy group of sailors shouting over a card game.

Jean looked around with interest. "Damn, this place is alive. I see why he praised the place but I wonder why he had to come poach us."

Their guide turned slightly, flashing a grin. "Wyfhaven’s famous—it’s always moving. Merchants from all over trade here. Money flows, and if you know where to look, opportunity does too. But it’s too expensive, people don’t come while you lots looked like you could afford luxry"

Lucius gave him a sidelong glance. "You seem to know a lot."

"I make it my business to." The man chuckled but didn’t elaborate.

Finally, they arrived at a large, two-story building with a slanted roof and a painted wooden sign that read ’Wyfwharf Inn.’ The inn was a mix of class and chaos—a place meant for travelers, but also where secrets changed hands over ale and whispered conversations.

The windows glowed warmly from the inside, and the sound of laughter and clinking mugs spilled out as they stepped onto the wooden porch.

The guide pushed open the door, gesturing for them to enter. "Welcome to the best inn in Wyfhaven."

The moment they walked in, the energy shifted. Conversations momentarily slowed, heads turned, and eyes flickered toward them—some curious, some wary. This was a place where everyone watched everyone.

Alaric immediately took note of every possible exit. Lucius stayed close to Jean, his usual smirk fading into quiet observation.

Jean glanced around and whispered to Salviana, "Okay, this place is definitely hiding something."

Salviana, who had been rubbing her temples, muttered, "I just want a bed."

Alaric kissed the top of her head. "Soon, my love."

A burly innkeeper—gray-haired but sharp-eyed—walked over, wiping his hands on a cloth. "New faces. And ones that don’t look like lost sailors." His gaze lingered on Alaric and Lucius, before flicking to Salviana and Jean.

Jean grinned. "We’re travelers. Looking for a place to stay."

The innkeeper raised a brow. "You sure? This place ain’t for... soft folks."

Lucius smirked. "Oh, don’t worry. We can handle ourselves."

The man gave them a once-over before nodding. "Alright. Payment upfront. No fights in my inn. And if you cause trouble, you deal with it outside."

Alaric handed him a pouch of coins without hesitation. "We need two rooms."

Jean try to protest but Lucius touched her arm and shook his head. It wasn’t safe here, they needed to stick together.

The innkeeper nodded, counting the money before jerking his head toward the staircase. "Rooms are upstairs. Food and drinks downstairs. Keep your wits about you."

With that, he tossed a key to Alaric, and they made their way up. The group could still feel the weight of watchful eyes on them as they climbed the stairs.

As soon as the doors shut behind them, Jean exhaled. "Okay. That guy? Suspicious. This place? Definitely sketchy."

Lucius smirked. "And yet, here we are."

Salviana sat on the edge of the bed, sighing dramatically. "I don’t care if it’s sketchy. This bed is heaven."

Alaric chuckled and sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Get some rest, my love. We’ll figure things out in the morning."

Jean flopped onto her own bed. "Yeah. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?"

Lucius leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on the bustling streets of Wyfhaven.

The scent of salt and damp wood mixed with the distant smoke of burning oil lamps. His voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but.

"You really shouldn’t say things like that."

Because in places like Wyfhaven, trouble had a way of finding those who least expected it.

Alaric glanced at Salviana, her delicate fingers curled around his sleeve.

She wasn’t fragile—not in the way the world might assume—but she was soft.

Too soft for a city like this, where daggers gleamed in the shadows and people disappeared with the tide.

"We should go to our room," Alaric said, his voice a gentle contrast to the harsh world outside.

Salviana nodded, and together, they retreated into the safety of their quarters at the Wyfwharf Inn.

The room was small but comfortable, the faint scent of old wood and fresh linen in the air.

A single candle flickered on the wooden table, casting golden light across their faces.

Dinner was simple but warm, a welcome relief after the exhausting journey.

Salviana ate quietly, still recovering, while Alaric watched her with careful attention, occasionally lifting a hand to brush her hair back.

He still wore the scented cotton beneath his nose—a small barrier between him and the irresistible scent of her blood. She was divine. A living temptation.

When the meal was done, Salviana shifted closer, her hands resting against his chest. "Take it off," she whispered.

Alaric smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his darkening eyes. "You think it’s safe?"

"I trust you," she murmured.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Trust. A simple word, yet it carried a weight he wasn’t sure he deserved.

But he removed the scented cotton anyway, inhaling deeply.

The scent was intoxicating. Rich. Sweet. Forbidden.

A shudder ran through him, his fingers tightening on her waist. Salviana tilted her head up, her lips parting slightly.

And he was lost.

Their lips met in a slow, deadly kiss—one laced with danger and hunger, passion and restraint.

Alaric’s hands roamed her back, gripping the delicate fabric of her dress as he fought the primal urge to devour her.

She sighed against his lips, melting into him, trusting him even when she shouldn’t.

When they finally pulled apart, her breathing was uneven, her lashes heavy.

Alaric rested his forehead against hers, his voice rough. "Sleep, Salviana. Before I lose all my self-control."

She smiled softly, curling into his arms. And in the quiet warmth of the night, they slept.

Midnight.

In the room Jean and Lucius shared a knock came on the door.

Jean woke up immediately with a gasp.