My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 90: Tell Her Your A….

Chapter 90: Tell Her Your A....

Zylan sat on the velvet sofa, his long legs elegantly crossed. His posture exuded the composed grace he was known for, yet his neutral expression betrayed no emotion. The room, bathed in the warm glow of the firelight, was silent save for the occasional crackle from the fireplace. The faint sound seemed amplified in the oppressive quiet, filling the space like a thunderstorm brooding in the distance, its power waiting to erupt.

The stillness was heavy, as though the very air had thickened, pressing against the walls and those within them.

Across from him, the lady sat stiffly, her posture upright and rigid, her gaze distant as though lost in another world. Her fingers, delicate and pale, brushed the edge of her dark cloak—a movement so subtle it might have gone unnoticed if not for its frequency. The gesture betrayed her unease, the nervous energy that buzzed beneath her composed exterior.

Zylan remained silent, his piercing eyes fixed on her, as if willing her to speak. The weight of his gaze was suffocating, a quiet demand she could not ignore.

Finally, his voice broke the stillness.

"Elsa," he said, sharp but calm. "Speak."

The single word shattered the fragile peace of the room.

Elsa flinched, startled by the impatience in his tone. She had known him for centuries, had seen him in every possible state—calm, calculating, even furious—but this was new. The sharpness in his voice hinted at something deeper, something hidden beneath his cool demeanor.

Still, she composed herself quickly, her gaze lowering briefly before she dared to meet his eyes.

"I still cannot believe that someone like her... someone who looks like that... was born, and I didn’t know," Elsa murmured, her voice carrying a strange mixture of awe and apprehension.

Zylan said nothing, but the slight narrowing of his eyes suggested his patience was thinning.

Still, no matter how much he tried to bury it, he couldn’t ignore the truth.

The first time he had seen her—on that balcony—he had thought she was... Noelle.

For a fleeting, bewildering moment, he believed his mind was playing cruel tricks on him, conjuring visions from a past he had long tried to forget.

He had sat there, frozen, his gaze locked on her as though the world had slowed around him. How could it be? How could anyone bear such an uncanny resemblance to Noelle?

It wasn’t until she reached out and touched him—her delicate hand brushing against his arm, her warmth grounding him—that he realized this was no figment of his imagination.

She wasn’t Noelle.

But she was something else entirely.

Something that terrified him in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries.

Elsa hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It’s rare," she continued, her voice softening as though speaking the truth aloud might summon it into being. "For a human to look like a vampire. In fact, it has only happened once before. And even then..." Her voice trailed off, her brows knitting together in thought. "She wasn’t fully human. She was half vampire. So..."

Elsa sat in silence, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the puzzle before her. She was desperate to find an explanation, a plausible reason for how someone could look so strikingly similar.

Her thoughts churned like a storm, each fragment of information colliding with the next. Though she knew her Demonear heritage set her apart—her hair alone was an unmistakable marker of her lineage—this resemblance was unnerving.

How could she, of all people, have been unaware of something so significant? The very idea that someone like her existed without Elsa’s knowledge gnawed at her, filling her with an unsettling mix of curiosity and frustration.

She shook her head slightly, her fingers curling against the fabric of her gown. No matter how she tried to rationalize it, the questions lingered. How? Why?

And perhaps most troubling of all: what did this mean?

Her gaze lifted to meet his, searching his face for any sign of agreement or understanding. "Do you think she is—"

"No."

The word was sharp, cutting through her question before it could fully form. His tone was cold and final, brooking no argument. "She is human."

The room fell silent again, but the air seemed heavier now, the tension between them almost tangible. Zylan’s gaze remained steady, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Elsa swallowed, her unease growing. She wasn’t easily intimidated—she had faced countless dangers in her long life—but there was something about Zylan in this moment that set her on edge. Still, she pressed on.

"I need to confirm something," she said finally, her voice almost a whisper. "I believe she might have something to do with... your hair changing."

The flicker in Zylan’s eyes was fleeting, but Elsa didn’t miss it. Surprise, though quickly masked, was still surprise.

"Does her appearance have anything to do with why you’re marrying—"

Zylan’s face darkened instantly, and Elsa stopped mid-sentence. The shift in his demeanor was palpable, a warning she dared not ignore. The atmosphere in the room grew colder, the firelight suddenly seeming dimmer, as though his displeasure had sapped the warmth from the space.

Realizing she was treading dangerous ground, Elsa bit her lip and straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to regain her composure.

"I came to tell you there is a way to cure the curse," she said quickly, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze.

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with implication.

"But I think it might be difficult," she added, her tone deliberate now, each word carrying the weight of the revelation she was about to share. "Still... this is the only way."

For a moment, her voice seemed to echo, soft and melodic, like a faint melody that could soothe and unsettle in equal measure.

Zylan remained unmoved. His sharp, unyielding gaze stayed fixed on her, his expression inscrutable, as though her words had no power over him.

Elsa hesitated, her confidence faltering slightly. Then, as if summoning her last reserves of courage, she spoke again.

"I have a question," she said, her tone tentative now, almost fragile. "But first... may I ask it?"

The faintest glimmer of amusement flickered in Zylan’s cold eyes before vanishing like smoke dissipating into the air. With a curt nod, he granted her permission.

It was a small gesture, almost imperceptible, but it was enough.

"Have you and your... wife consummated your union yet?"

Her question hung in the air, heavy and invasive, like a stone tossed into a still pond, its ripples spreading outward in slow, deliberate waves.

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Elsa’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze lowering slightly as though to shield herself from his unspoken reply.

"I see," she murmured, her voice subdued.

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before speaking again. "So, she’s still... naive. That means she’s your first."

For the first time, something flickered in Zylan’s eyes—a glimmer of satisfaction that was so brief it might have been imagined. Yet, Elsa caught it. Her sharp gaze missed nothing.

"Then this shouldn’t be a problem," she said, her voice firmer now, as though steeling herself for what came next.

"To cure the curse," she continued, her words slicing through the tension like a blade, "you must become intimate with a virgin."

The revelation landed heavily between them, the weight of her words pressing down on the room.

Zylan’s face remained unreadable, a mask of stone. Yet, his eyes darkened, shadows swirling within their depths like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

"There must be another way," he said finally, his voice low but resolute.

The firmness in his tone carried no hesitation, but Elsa sensed it wasn’t reluctance born of fear or doubt. No, it was something else entirely.

He wasn’t avoiding intimacy for lack of desire—she knew him better than that. It was because she was human.

Before such a union could even be considered, she would need to be turned.

"She doesn’t know yet," he added, his voice quieter now, almost as though the admission pained him.

Elsa’s eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing across her face.

"She’s unaware?"

The question was almost incredulous. How could Naomi not know? How could she remain so oblivious to the truth about Zylan?

"You can simply turn her," Elsa said softly, her voice deliberate, as though she were offering a simple, elegant solution to an insurmountable problem.

But the effect was anything but simple.

Zylan’s expression shifted instantly, his features darkening like a storm gathering on a once-clear horizon. The air in the room grew heavier, and it felt as though the walls had drawn closer, trapping them in an invisible cage.

"Then tell her you’re a—"

"NO."

The single word exploded from him, sharp and final, cutting through her suggestion with a force that left no room for argument.

The echo of his outburst lingered, reverberating through the tense silence that followed.

Elsa froze, her breath catching in her throat as her body instinctively stiffened. She had seen Zylan angered before—his temper, though rare, was like the crack of a whip, swift and unforgiving. Yet, this felt different.

It wasn’t the force of his response that unsettled her. No, it was something far more alarming.

It was his eyes.

For the first time, Elsa saw something foreign in Zylan’s gaze—was it... fear?

She blinked, trying to decipher the flicker of emotion that had broken through his otherwise impenetrable mask. Was it truly fear? Or was it something else?

No. It wasn’t a fleeting shadow or a momentary hesitation. It was raw, unfiltered fear.

The powerful, untouchable Zylan Reed was scared.