My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 83: Silent Terror

Chapter 83: Silent Terror

Zylan, still standing, tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto the man. The room seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, as though the very air thickened under his intense presence. His dark eyes betrayed no warmth, no flicker of mercy—only the cold, calculating glint of authority, sharp as a blade.

"Now," Zylan began, his voice smooth, deliberate, and laced with a quiet menace. "Let’s get down to business."

He took a single, measured step forward. The hem of his dark cloak swept across the floor like a shadow, its movement soundless, more predatory than human. The man before him trembled, his body betraying the facade of resilience he attempted to maintain.

"Who sent you?" Zylan’s question hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, each syllable weighted with an unspoken threat.

The man’s mind spun, a whirlpool of panic and confusion. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged. His throat was dry, a coarse feeling like sandpaper constricting his airway. The oppressive weight of Zylan’s stare pinned him to the spot, choking out any hope of defense. Silence stretched on unbearably, amplifying the sound of his rapid, shallow breaths.

The man’s trembling intensified, his knees buckling slightly under the crushing pressure of his fear. It was as though the very air around him was closing in, suffocating him.

Zylan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper that sent a chill skittering down the man’s spine. "You know what happens to those who play games with me."

The words wrapped around the man like a tightening noose. His breath hitched, his lips quivering, but still, no response came. The fear in his eyes, wide and frantic, was answer enough for Zylan.

Straightening, Zylan took a deliberate step back. His lips curled into a smile—slow, measured, but completely devoid of warmth. It was a cruel expression, as though he were savoring the moment, reveling in the sense of power he held over his captive. "We’ll get there. Eventually."

Turning his back to the man, Zylan gestured lazily with one hand, as if dismissing him entirely. "But for now, stay put. Enjoy your stay in the VVIP center." His voice carried a chilling nonchalance, each word hanging like an invisible thread that held the man in place. "I’ll be back."

The man’s heart thundered in his chest as he watched Zylan retreat toward the door. Each step Zylan took echoed in the room, the sound amplifying his growing sense of impending doom. The trailing hem of Zylan’s cloak swept across the floor behind him like a shadow come to life, a harbinger of something darker.

The door clicked shut with soft finality, leaving the man alone in the opulent but suffocatingly tense room. He sagged against the chair, his mind racing. How had he gotten himself into this mess? What had he done to deserve the torment of crossing paths with someone like Zylan?

More importantly, how would he survive this?

Just as his panic began to ebb, a strange sensation overtook him. His body jerked violently, as though it no longer belonged to him. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was hurled forward, crashing into the back wall with brutal force.

The sickening crack of impact echoed through the room, reverberating in his skull. Pain flared sharply in the back of his head, spreading like wildfire through his entire body. His vision blurred, the world spinning around him, and he slumped to the floor, gasping for air. It felt as though every nerve in his body was screaming in betrayal.

For a moment, he lay there, disoriented and struggling to regain his bearings. His thoughts were muddled, foggy, his head throbbing with a deep, rhythmic ache. As he tried to steady himself, a deep, cold voice resonated through the room, sending another wave of dread washing over him.

"How... How was that possible?"

He forced his eyes open, the world tilting and spinning as he focused on the figure now standing before him. Zylan had returned. His expression was unreadable, his posture predatory, but unmistakably confident. He was like a looming presence in the room, every inch of him exuding dangerous composure.

The man’s gaze dropped, involuntarily, to the small, gleaming knives Zylan held in his hands. Zylan twirled them casually, as if they were mere toys in the palm of his hand. The faint metallic gleam of the blades caught the dim light, drawing the man’s attention like a moth to a flame.

Zylan’s lips curled into an unsettling grin, the expression sending a ripple of fear through the man’s chest. "I’m bored," he said, his voice light, almost too playful, but there was a cold edge to it that sent a shiver down the man’s spine. "How about we play a little game?"

The man’s breath hitched. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, his body frozen in place as Zylan took a slow, deliberate step closer. The very air seemed to grow colder, more suffocating, as Zylan moved.

"The game is simple," Zylan continued, his tone almost mocking. He spun the knives once, the sound of the blades cutting through the air like a predator’s growl. The motion was smooth, precise—like a warning. "Choose the parts."

The man blinked, disoriented, still not comprehending the full scope of what was happening. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His mind raced, but his body betrayed him, too frozen to move.

Zylan laughed, low and sinister, the sound reverberating off the walls like a death knell. "Heart or lungs?" he clarified, his head tilting to one side as if genuinely curious about the answer.

The man’s eyes widened in horror. His lips trembled, and his breath quickened, shallow gasps escaping him in erratic bursts. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, suffocating him, even though his mind refused to accept it.

"Tick-tock," Zylan murmured, his smile widening further, becoming a twisted expression of delight. "I don’t have all day."

The man’s silence spoke volumes. Zylan’s gaze hardened, his amusement flickering and dissipating. With an almost mocking sigh, Zylan flicked his wrist, sending the first knife sailing through the air.

The man barely had time to process the movement before the knife buried itself with terrifying precision in his chest—directly into his heart. A gurgling gasp escaped him, but before he could even make a sound, the second knife followed, its edge piercing his lungs.

The man’s body convulsed as pain shot through him like a blazing wildfire. Blood welled at the corners of his mouth, a sickening, wet sound escaping as he gasped for air. His vision blurred, his world growing dimmer with each breath.

Zylan stood back, admiring his work with a cruel, almost detached expression. He smirked, as though taking pleasure in the suffering he had inflicted. "I said choose," he remarked casually, as though disappointed. "But I don’t mind taking both. After all..."

He crouched down slightly, his shadow stretching over the man’s crumpled, bloodied form. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper, as though savoring the finality of his words.

"You’re my special guest."

Zylan’s laughter rang out through the room like a sharp, twisted melody, cutting through the heavy silence that followed. It echoed off the walls, filling the air with a sense of maddening intensity. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his voice cold but somehow laced with a sense of dark satisfaction.

"It seems Damon has paid you abundantly," Zylan mused aloud, his voice dripping with mocking pleasure. "For you to be this quiet. But I don’t mind at all—I hate noise."

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief. His breath caught in his throat, his lips trembling as a fresh wave of fear surged through him. How did Zylan know about Damon? How had he known all this time, all along? How was it possible that Zylan was aware of Damon’s involvement?

But why bring him here, then? What was the purpose of this? Why was he being made an example?

His mind spiraled into chaos, each thought crashing into the next, but the answer remained elusive. Panic flooded his veins as the weight of his situation settled in. His hands trembled violently, his legs buckling beneath him as a deep, bone-chilling realization gripped him: there was no escape.

Zylan, it seemed, took a twisted pleasure in the man’s growing terror. His smile only widened as he watched the man’s fear blossom, feeding off of it like some kind of dark sustenance.

"For being such a loyal person," Zylan began, his voice dripping with insincerity, "I think I’ll allow you one last chance."

The man’s heart slammed in his chest, his breath becoming shallow and erratic as Zylan’s next words pierced the air like a jagged knife.

"Call your master’s name one time."

The man’s breath faltered, his body freezing in place as if the words were trapped inside him. His lips parted, but no sound emerged. Daemon’s name sat heavily on his tongue, but the sheer weight of it paralyzed him.

Zylan’s eyes remained fixed on him, the predatory gleam still present. He tilted his head, a slight smirk curling the edges of his lips.

"Well?" Zylan’s voice was soft, but it carried an unspoken threat, the weight of it pressing down on the man. "What’s wrong? Surely you can call out the name of the one who sent you."

The man’s body shook violently, his knees buckling once again. His lips quivered as he tried to speak, but his voice was barely more than a whisper. "D-Damon..."

Before he could finish, Zylan’s hand shot up with lightning speed.

The air seemed to crackle, and before the man could even comprehend what was happening, needles materialized from the shadows, slicing through the air with deadly precision. They pierced the man’s skin, one after another, each strike more agonizing than the last.

The man gasped, his body jerking with every needle’s impact. The sickening wet sound of each puncture echoed in his ears, his vision blurring with each passing second. He could feel his life draining away with each agonizing moment.

Zylan’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and detached, as if he were merely commenting on the weather. "It seems I’m feeling lenient today. I have no idea why," he murmured, as though speaking more to himself than the man lying in agony before him.

But to the man, all he could hear was the chilling satisfaction in Zylan’s words.