My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 46: Cold Embrace

Chapter 46: Cold Embrace

It was already past midnight, and Zylan still hadn’t returned. Naomi paced back and forth in the dimly lit room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if to shield against the turmoil churning in her chest. Her fingers twisted together in a desperate attempt to calm her restless mind, but nothing seemed to help. How had things come to this? Why did everything feel so wrong?

Was this the universe’s way of telling her that she and Zylan were never meant to be? That their paths, however briefly entwined, were destined to unravel?

Her throat tightened as she replayed the events of the past few hours. She couldn’t forget the way he had looked at her before leaving—his gaze cold, almost hateful. It wasn’t the Zylan she knew. No, this man had been a stranger.

Her heart clenched painfully at the memory, and a surge of anger rippled through her veins. Why was she even waiting for him? What was she expecting? An apology? An explanation? He had made it clear with his actions that he didn’t care. So why couldn’t she let go?

She sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and loneliness. The silence of the room was oppressive, amplifying the ache in her chest. She had spent the evening alone, eaten dinner alone, and now she was facing the night alone. But instead of finding solace in solitude, all she felt was emptiness—a hollow echo where her hope had once been.

Her feet carried her to the glass panel near the ship’s deck, her movements slow and deliberate. With a trembling hand, she pressed the button on the wall, and the sea-through glass slid up with a quiet hum. The salty scent of the ocean drifted in, mingling with the crisp chill of the night air.

Stepping out onto the balcony, she felt the cold wind wrap around her like an unwelcome embrace, lifting her hair and tossing it back. The icy bite should have driven her inside, but instead, it felt oddly comforting—a mirror of the numbness within her. She leaned against the railing, letting the breeze sting her cheeks and steal the warmth from her skin.

The sound of the waves crashing against the ship filled the air, their rhythmic motion soothing in its constancy. Above her, the stars glittered like scattered diamonds across an endless canvas of black. The sheer vastness of the ocean and the sky made her feel small, insignificant, and yet, strangely at peace.

The thin fabric of her nightwear clung to her body, offering no protection from the chill. Goosebumps rose along her arms and legs, but she barely noticed. The cold was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. She stared out at the ship’s gliding path through the water, the scene almost perfect in its tranquility. The stars, the ocean, the ship—they all seemed harmonious.

Everything except her.

With a soft sigh, she lowered herself to the floor of the balcony, curling up against the railing. She hugged her knees to her chest, seeking some semblance of warmth but finding none. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to block out the gnawing emptiness inside her, but it was futile. A single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek and falling silently onto the cold floor beneath her.

Zylan walked through the hallway, his expression dark. The dim light from the balcony reflected his features, but his mind was focused on something entirely different: his hair.

Strands of blonde were starting to reappear, their vibrant color stark against the inky blackness of the rest of his hair. He ran a hand through it, his fingers trembling slightly. He had never felt like this before—not in a very long time.

This phenomenon hadn’t occurred in a century. The last time half his hair had transitioned to blonde, it had been the day Noelle died. It had stopped then—stopped completely once he had resolved what needed to be done.

So why now?

Why was it happening again, without reason, without warning? Today wasn’t significant; it wasn’t even the anniversary of Noelle’s death. Nothing about this day should have triggered it. And yet, the strands of blonde were undeniable proof that something was wrong. In fact, even on the days marking Noelle’s death—those anniversaries that held so much weight—nothing like this had ever happened before.

His jaw tightened as his thoughts raced. This wasn’t a coincidence. Something had changed, and he needed to figure out what before it was too late.

Turning abruptly, Zylan left the room, his movements deliberate but slow, as if weighed down by unseen forces. His feet carried him to Naomi’s quarters almost without thought. He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

What was he even expecting to find? He had no right to face her after how he had acted earlier. But something pushed him forward—a gnawing unease he couldn’t shake.

With a sharp intake of breath, he turned the knob and stepped inside. His gaze immediately went to the bed, expecting to find her there, asleep. But the bed was empty, its sheets untouched.

His eyes darkened as he scanned the room. The faint outline of her figure outside on the balcony caught his attention. She was sitting on the floor, her body curled against the railing, her hair damp from the night air.

What was she doing out there?

He moved toward the balcony door, his steps slow and measured. As he got closer, he froze, his body stiffening at the sight before him.

Naomi’s body trembled visibly, her skin pale and covered in goosebumps. The thin fabric of her nightwear offered no protection from the biting cold, and her eyes were shut, her lashes resting against her cheeks. She looked fragile, almost lifeless, as if the cold had seeped into her very soul.

A surge of anger welled up within him—anger at her for putting herself in such a state, and anger at himself for being the cause of it. What was she thinking, punishing herself like this? Did she want to fall ill?

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. These past two days had been a whirlwind of emotions he barely recognized—frustration, confusion, even guilt. Feelings foreign to him, feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge.

But looking at her now, all he could feel was the weight of his own failure. She was like this because of him.

Without another word, he stepped onto the balcony and carefully scooped her into his arms. Her body was icy to the touch, and he clenched his jaw as the coldness seeped into his hands. She felt almost weightless, her form limp against him.

As he carried her inside, Naomi stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. The warmth of his arms seemed to rouse her from her stupor, and her gaze met his. In an instant, she was fully alert, her wide eyes filled with shock.

"You can put me down. I can walk," she said, her voice trembling, though whether from the cold or the sight of him, he couldn’t tell.

Zylan’s voice was quiet yet tight, laced with an anger he seemed to direct more at himself than at her. "Stay still."

He laid her down on the bed, pulling the duvet over her to ensure she was warm. Naomi shot him a cold, defiant glare, her posture stiff despite the obvious exhaustion in her frame.

"Don’t you ever do that again," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Why do you care?" Naomi shot back, sitting up abruptly.

Before she could rise further, Zylan’s hands were on her shoulders, firm but gentle, pushing her back down. His gaze bore into hers, a storm brewing in his dark eyes. "If you sit up, I’ll be the one to warm you—not the blanket. Now behave."

Naomi scoffed, rolling her eyes. The nerve of him, giving her orders after leaving her all alone, making her feel abandoned and empty. Her glare deepened as she sat up again, her posture challenging him.

"Why should I listen to you? You’re not my boss—"

Her words cut off with a sharp gasp as Zylan pulled the blanket away. Without a word, he climbed onto the bed, pulling her into his arms and wrapping them both in the duvet.

Naomi froze, her eyes wide with shock. Her mind struggled to process what had just happened. His body pressed against hers, warm and firm, enveloping her in an embrace that left no room for protest. She was practically on top of him, her face inches from his chest.

"Now sleep," he commanded, his voice calm but tinged with dissatisfaction. It was clear he was angry about her sleeping outside in the cold.

"Let me go," Naomi protested, her voice trembling with a mix of indignation and disbelief. She tried to wriggle free, but his arms only tightened around her.

"If you move again, Eaglet, I promise I won’t just warm you up—I’ll f*ck you warm."

Her heart raced at his words, her breath catching in her throat."You... you need to stop saying things like that," she whispered, her voice trembling as a flush spread across her cheeks. Her body tensed, every nerve alive under his touch, but something deeper—suprise, confusion, and a strange spark—flickered inside her.

Zylan’s smirk only deepened, his gaze dark and teasing. "Seems like you want this."

Before she could respond, before the words could even form, Zylan’s hand moved beneath her nightwear, his fingers brushing against her skin. He rested them on her plump backside, separated only by the thin fabric of her panties.

Naomi’s breath caught, her mind scrambling to process what was happening. Her hands shot down instinctively to cover his hand, her eyes wide with shock. "Zylan—!"

"I warned you," he murmured, the words dripping with both amusement and something darker. With deliberate slowness, he gave her backside a slow, deliberate slap.