My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 137: Because You’re Human

Chapter 137: Because You’re Human

Silence settled over the grand hall like a suffocating fog, thick and impenetrable. No one spoke. No one dared to move. Even the candle flames, flickering from their towering chandeliers above, seemed to cower under the weight of the moment.

The air was heavy, dense with a tension that curled through the room like smoke. A foreboding stillness stretched between them, each second dragging like an eternity.

Nothing like this had ever happened before.

It was shocking enough that Zylan Reed, a man known for his ruthlessness, had brought a woman to this meeting. But not just any woman—a human. That alone was unheard of, a deviation so severe that some struggled to believe what they were seeing. Yet, what truly left them reeling was something far more dangerous.

Zylan had chosen to entrust a matter of grave importance—one that could alter the very foundation of vampire history—to his human wife.

A human.

The weight of that decision pressed down on them like a stone. It was one thing to tolerate humans as mere outsiders, as food, as lesser beings meant to exist in the shadow of their kind. But for her to stand among them, to be treated as an equal, as a partner in a matter so crucial—this was something they could not comprehend.

Still, it wasn’t just the sheer impossibility of it that unsettled them. No, it was something else entirely. It was the way she had spoken. The way her voice, calm yet sharp, had cut through the thick tension.

The way she had called them out.

Spoken so boldly. So fearlessly.

Her words rang in their minds even now, as if they were still echoing through the chamber. She had called them disrespectful toward Zylan. A human had accused them—them, high-ranking figures in the vampire world—of failing to give him the honor he deserved.

The accusation sent a ripple of unease through them.

Some trembled where they sat, hands tightening over the armrests of their chairs. Others stole uneasy glances toward the figure at the head of the long table, their throats tightening with silent dread.

They wondered if today would be their last.

And then—

Zylan smiled.

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t reassuring. No.

It was slow. Deliberate.

His dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something sharp and cold.

He let the silence stretch, drinking in the tension that hung over the room. The weight of his presence was suffocating, a force that pressed against their lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

And then, at last, he spoke.

His voice was smooth, light—almost amused.

"Any more suggestions?"

It was a question. But it wasn’t really a question.

The message beneath his words was clear.

Speak, if you dare.

A shudder passed through the room.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

A single breath felt like a risk.

The tension thickened, a vice tightening around them, until finally—she broke the silence.

The woman—one of the elders seated at the table—lowered her head.

She gulped hard before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Mr. Zylan," she said carefully, each syllable deliberate, measured. "We accept whatever decision you make. And regarding what your wife said... we sincerely apologize for any disrespect."

Zylan leaned forward, resting his elbows against the table.

His expression remained unsettlingly innocent, as if he were merely indulging in idle conversation.

"Disrespectful?" His voice was soft, almost thoughtful.

Then—he let out a quiet chuckle.

It was a terrible sound.

Oh no, he murmured. "You weren’t disrespectful at all."

The room froze.

No one dared to breathe.

Zylan’s smile lingered, but there was nothing comforting about it.

And then—

"Sit back down."

His voice remained calm, eerily so. There was no anger, no harshness. But there was no mistaking it—

It was a command.

The woman swallowed hard. She obeyed.

Zylan’s gaze flickered over the others, unreadable yet dangerous.

No one missed the unspoken message in his eyes.

They would remember this moment.

And they would never question him again.

A sharp breath of air whistled through the room as the tension finally settled into something thicker, heavier.

The silence stretched, uneasy and unrelenting.

And then—

The woman hesitated before continuing.

This time, her voice wavered slightly.

Yet, she forced herself to stand.

She lifted her chin, trying to muster what little courage she had left.

"We have come together," she began, her gaze darting from one face to another, as if searching for silent support. "And we have discussed a possible solution."

A pause.

A shift in the air.

A collective inhale.

She swallowed, then spoke the words that made the hall plummet into an even deeper silence.

"We believe that for a half-human—one who is about to give birth to a half-vampire—it would be best if she took a substance to help suppress the newborn’s thirst for blood. As it stands, there is a significant risk to the mother. The child’s craving for blood at birth could be so overwhelming that he may even kill her in the process."

The weight of her words sank into the room like lead.

Kill her.

Naomi felt a slight chill trace along her spine.

She turned her gaze to Zylan.

His eyes—so sharp, so unwavering—met hers immediately.

A flicker of something passed between them.

A silent exchange.

And then—

He smiled.

But this time, it was different.

Softer.

There was something else there. Something unspoken.

Something dangerous.

And yet—

Something gentle.

Something that lingered.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"My wife," he said, voice smooth, expectant. "Please, answer this."

A hush fell over the room.

Naomi straightened.

She took a steady breath, letting the words settle in her mind.

And then, she answered.

"As you said," she began slowly, golden eyes locking onto the woman’s, "the half-vampire baby will have an intense thirst for blood. That much is clear."

A pause.

Then, with a quiet strength—

"But rather than suppressing it completely, I believe the best course of action would be to ensure an adequate supply of blood from the very beginning."

Another silence.

A shift.

A ripple of unease.

The weight of the room changed. It was subtle—so subtle that an untrained eye might have missed it. But Naomi felt it. Like a thread pulled too tightly, the atmosphere strained, ready to snap.

She did not falter.

She let her words settle, let them breathe. She was not one to rush. Not when every second counted.

And then, in the quiet that followed, she spoke again.

"Also," her voice was steady, deliberate, "wouldn’t the mother herself turn into a half-vampire?"

It wasn’t a question meant to be ignored.

Her tone, unwavering, left no room for dismissal. She wasn’t seeking permission to speak.

She was demanding an answer.

A rustle of fabric. A breath drawn too sharply. Someone shifting in their seat.

And for the first time that night—

The woman hesitated.

It was brief. A flicker. A split-second crack in an otherwise composed exterior. But Naomi caught it. The slight press of lips. The fingers tightening ever so slightly. The veil of certainty slipping—just for a moment.

Naomi pressed forward.

"Explain," she said, golden eyes burning. "Enlighten me."

The words cut through the silence like a blade, slicing deep. The hall, grand and looming, stood still. The very air seemed to hold its breath.

No response.

Not yet.

A pause stretched long enough to feel like an eternity.

And then—

A sound.

Soft. Slow. Measured.

A single clap.

Deliberate. Unhurried.

Naomi’s breath hitched. Her pulse quickened. Her skin prickled with something she couldn’t quite name.

Her gaze snapped toward him.

Zylan.

He sat with the ease of a ruler upon his throne, posture relaxed yet utterly commanding. His presence filled the room—not with noise, not with movement, but with something far more dangerous.

Control.

He smiled.

Not wide. Not kind. A curve of lips that held secrets, promises, and something sharp enough to cut.

In a voice so smooth it sent a shiver down her spine—

And then, Zylan chuckled.

A low, rich sound—unhurried, almost indulgent.

His smile followed, slow and deliberate, like a shadow stretching under candlelight. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in.

Closer.

Toward Naomi.

His voice, deep and smooth, carried through the silence.

"I had really missed a lot not taking you with me, my lovely wife."

The hall stood still.

The weight of his words settled, pressing against the quiet. The gentleness in his tone, unexpected yet unwavering, held something far more dangerous than mere affection.

And then, he spoke again.

"Ask more questions." His gaze never wavered. "Because after now, I will make my final say."

A man standing at the front shifted before speaking, his voice quiet—too quiet. Though he tried to command authority, the words left him weaker than he intended.

"If I may ask, Mrs. Naomi," he hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, "are you saying all this because you are a human?"

Naomi smiled

Then, leaning in just slightly, she met his gaze.

"What do you think?" Her voice was soft, yet sharp enough to cut. "Are you all planning this because you are vampires?"