Married To Darkness-Chapter 378: Whispering Fog Took Jeannette

Jean woke up immediately with a gasp.

The knock resounded through the room again—sharp, repetitive, persistent.

Jean stirred under the covers, groaning in frustration.

She had been comfortably curled up, half-dreaming of warm deserts and lost relics, but the incessant sound yanked her back to reality.

She shifted, waiting for Lucius to do something. He didn’t.

She turned her head, peering at his still form. The vampire lay unmoving, breathing steady and deep—if he even needed to breathe at all. He wasn’t going to answer the damn door.

Jean grumbled under her breath, rolling out of bed. She pulled on her robe, tying it loosely as she padded toward the door.

The knocking had stopped.

Frowning, she pressed her ear to the wood. Silence. But when she turned the knob and opened it, the air shifted.

A strong gust of wind swept through the hallway, carrying the briny scent of the sea, tinged with something else—something damp, old. The hallway was eerily empty, lit only by the dim glow of a flickering lantern.

Jean stepped forward cautiously, peering into the corridor. Nothing.

"Hello?" she called out.

No response.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her arms as a chill crawled over her skin. Something about this felt off. But she wasn’t the type to back away from a mystery, even if her instincts prickled with warning.

She took another step out. "Who’s there?"

The wind howled softly, making the wooden floor creak beneath her feet.

Jean took a step back, deciding to shut the door and forget this ever happened. She had better things to do than chase shadows in the middle of the night.

But then—

Darkness.

A sudden, suffocating void swallowed her whole.

She didn’t even have time to scream.

The hallway, the inn, the night—gone.

Silence.

Jean was gone.

Meanwhile,

In Alaric and his wife’s room Alaric stirred awake, he was never fully asleep anyway.

Alaric moved with practiced ease, slipping out of Salviana’s embrace without disturbing her. The room was dim, but his keen eyes adjusted instantly, drawn toward the door.

A whisper.

Faint. Unnatural.

It wasn’t the casual murmur of late-night drunkards in the city streets or the hushed voices of lovers in the corridors. This was something else. Something calling.

His body tensed.

Jean.

The name surfaced in his mind before he even knew why.

The whisper wasn’t for him.

The door creaked slightly as he pulled it open, his senses sharpening, instincts already on high alert.

And then he saw it.

A strange, fog-like presence slithered through the dimly lit hall, curling and twisting with eerie sentience. It moved like smoke, but it wasn’t just mist—it had purpose. And at its center, Jean.

Her body stood unnaturally still. Her lips slightly parted, eyes unfocused.

And then—

She was gone.

The fog swallowed her in a single breath, dissipating into the shadows as if she had never been there.

Alaric took a step forward, jaw clenched, his fangs elongating instinctively.

What the hell was that?

His mind raced. This wasn’t the first time something strange had happened. The disappearing food. The eerie cries from the night before.

Something dangerous was in Wyfhaven.

Maybe it was in every city they had passed through.

And it had just taken Jean.

Alaric turned sharply, heading back inside.

Then he shook his head and headed for Lucius’ room. The old bat was sleeping for some reason.

"Lucius," he hissed, shoving the other vampire’s shoulder. Lucius jolted awake, eyes instantly alert.

"What—?"

"Jean. She’s gone."

Lucius was up in an instant. No questions, no hesitation. The tension in his jaw was immediate, sharp, dangerous.

Alaric turned to Salviana next, pressing a hand to her shoulder. "Wake up, love." His voice was softer but urgent.

Salviana stirred, blinking at him groggily. "Alaric?"

"Something took Jean." he said.

She sat up instantly, the sleep leaving her eyes. "How, where? when?!"

Alaric shook his head, "We need to move. Now."

Lucius stood frozen, his fists clenched so tightly his nails nearly broke skin.

Jean was gone.

She had been taken right under his nose.

He was in the same damn room with her.

His jaw tightened, breath uneven. His mind replayed the night—her groaning as she got up, the soft creak of the door, and then... nothing. He hadn’t even stirred. He had been so used to drowning out the noises of the night, the distant sea breeze, the shifting of the wooden walls, that he’d missed it.

And now she was gone.

His throat felt tight, his fangs pressing against his lower lip in frustration.

"I should have heard it," he muttered, voice laced with something dangerous. "I should have—"

Alaric cut him off. "Lucius, listen to me."

Lucius lifted his head, and Alaric’s expression was grim.

"I saw what took her."

That pulled him in. Lucius met Alaric’s gaze, waiting.

"It wasn’t human," Alaric continued. "It wasn’t even fully there. It moved like fog, twisting and slithering like a snake—no, like roots of a tree. A hungry thing."

Lucius swallowed hard, his body stiffening.

"The same thing that attacked the carriage that day," Salviana added, already fastening the straps of her boots, her expression a mix of worry and determination.

Lucius exhaled sharply. Of course.

The eerie voices. The vanishing food. The cries in the night.

They hadn’t been coincidences.

Wyfhaven had been watching them. Stalking them.

And it had chosen Jean first.

Lucius shut his eyes for a brief second, but there was no calm to be found. Only guilt. Rage.

"I was supposed to protect her." His voice was low, self-loathing.

Alaric’s gaze was unwavering. "Then let’s go get her back."

Lucius looked up at him, and for the first time since waking up, the haze in his mind cleared.

Yes.

He wasn’t going to sit here and drown in guilt.

He was going to find her.

And whoever—whatever—had taken her was going to regret it.

Lucius was already at the door, fists clenched. Jean had been taken.

And whoever—or whatever—had done it wasn’t going to get far.

The urgency in the air was thick, tension crackling between them like a brewing storm.

"Where do we look first? how do we look?" Alaric muttered, eyebrows schrunched.

"We will look for the oldest of the city maybe, this is insane, it left no trace!" Lucius mumbled.

"Ok, First off," Salviana said, tightening the cloak around her shoulders, "let’s go back to the stable and get our horses."

Lucius gave a sharp nod, his eyes still burning with frustration. He was restless, his hands twitching as if ready to fight something—anything—to get Jean back.

Alaric agreed. "And those men from earlier, the ones claiming this is their city... If anyone knows about this fog, it’s them."

Without wasting another second, they moved.

The streets of Wyfhaven were unsettlingly quiet, too still for a city that had been alive with activity just hours ago. The salty ocean breeze whispered through the narrow alleys, and in the dim glow of scattered lanterns, the shadows seemed to breathe.

Salviana shivered. "It feels like something’s watching us."

Alaric was on high alert, his sharp vampire senses scanning the darkness. "Something probably is."

They reached the stable soon enough. The stable keeper was still there, half-dozing on a wooden chair, an oil lamp flickering beside him. He jolted awake when they approached.

"You lot again?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "What, not staying at the fancy inn?"

"Not exactly," Alaric said coolly. "We need our horses."

The stable keeper scowled. "At this hour?"

Lucius stepped forward, and the sheer intensity in his gaze made the man gulp.

"We’re not here to argue," Lucius said, his voice dangerously low. "Get us the damn horses."

The stable keeper scrambled up without another word, muttering under his breath as he rushed to the stalls.

Alaric crossed his arms. "He is such a job, Where could Manni be?."

"Doesn’t matter," Lucius snapped. "We’re wasting time."

Alaric nodded, "He’s a wizard, he could help,"

"He was there, when the fog took our supplies, I think we’re good" Lucius countered, hopping on his horse.

"You’re right," Alaric replied with a frown, he could understand Lucius’ fear and would not push him.

"Hi, Soar," Salviana cooed when she saw the horse, her palm smoothing its mane.

As soon as their horses were saddled, they mounted swiftly, wasting no time in heading back toward the alleys where they had last encountered the self-proclaimed "owners" of Wyfhaven.

The night stretched on, the scent of the sea mixing with something more... unnatural.

And then, as they neared the marketplace, a familiar voice called out.

"Well, well, well. You lot are up late."

The leader of the group from earlier stood leaning against a post, arms crossed. His two lackeys flanked him, smirking.

Lucius reined in his horse roughly. "We don’t have time for your games. You claim this is your city—so tell me, what the hell do you know about the fog?"

The leader raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening.

"Oh," he drawled, "so you’ve seen it too?"