When Salviana arrived at Jean's chambers, the air inside felt heavy, almost tangible with tension. The storm outside began rumbling again, the low growl of thunder a backdrop to the dimly lit room.
Lucius sat by the bed, his broad shoulders hunched, and his usually sharp features dulled with sorrow. He looked clean and put-together—his dark red eyes almost black under the dim light and his neatly trimmed hair gleaming—but there was no mistaking the anguish etched into his expression.
Jean lay still on the bed, wrapped in a soft blanket. Her delicate features seemed at peace despite the lifeless stillness of her body.
Her previous gown had been replaced with a simpler white dress, but even that looked too grand for the pale, fragile state she was in now.
Salviana hesitated at the doorway. Lucius's presence filled the space, and she didn't know how to approach him.
There was something raw and untouchable about his grief, a depth of emotion she rarely saw in anyone but her husband. Yet, despite her uncertainty, she stepped in, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor.
Lucius glanced at her but said nothing, his gaze returning to Jean almost immediately.
"She'll be fine, Lucius," Salviana said gently, setting the basket of fruits down on a small table near the bed.
He let out a low scoff, shaking his head. "Fine? Look at her," he muttered bitterly. "She's not even moving, not even breathing properly. I can hear how faint her heartbeat is."
Salviana sighed, crossing her arms as she looked at Jean's still form.
She was about to speak again when a sudden, haunting realization struck her. This was the nightmare she had dreamed not long ago:
Lucius rushing to alert them, his voice panicked, his face pale, saying something was wrong with Jean.
That nightmare had been a warning of this very moment.
The weight of the memory made her chest tighten. So it was destined…
She exhaled softly and turned to Lucius, trying to dispel her unease. "You have to trust her, Lucius. She's stronger than she looks."
Lucius shifted in his chair, his lips curling into a faint sneer as his eyes landed on the basket of fruits. "And what exactly is this?" he asked, gesturing to the basket with a raised brow. "Do you think she's going to wake up and crave grapes and apples?"
"Yes, Lucius I think so, it'll energize her and increase the blood you took from her," Salviana glared at him.
"This is…" He scowled, shaking his head.
Salviana chuckled, amused by his distaste. "It's for when she wakes up. She might want something normal before she lungs into bashing you." She arched a brow.
"And I thought you'd be used to this sort of thing. My husband doesn't exactly love human food, but at least he doesn't glare at it like it insulted his ancestors." She added.
Lucius leaned back, his expression softening slightly. "Your husband doesn't glare because he's been a vampire long enough to be civilized. I've only just crawled out of a grave—I'm sure the apples understand."
Salviana smirked, shaking her head. "Fair enough."
Her gaze shifted back to Jean. Despite the unnatural stillness of her body, she looked beautiful, her features serene and untouched by the storm raging outside.
Salviana couldn't wait for her to wake up, for her vibrant personality to fill the room again.
"Alaric left for work before I woke up," Salviana said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Lucius glanced at her, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "That sounds like him. Always up before the sun, always thinking a hundred steps ahead." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You know, for all his seriousness, Alaric's a good man. Stubborn as hell, but good. He doesn't see it himself, but he's built for this… leading, protecting. It's in his blood."
Salviana smiled softly. "He's been through a lot, but he carries it all so well. I'm grateful for him."
Lucius nodded, his eyes drifting back to Jean. "I don't know what I'd do if she didn't pull through," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"She will," Salviana said firmly. "She's strong, Lucius. She has to be."
He didn't respond, but his shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension in his body easing as he let Salviana's words sink in.
After a few moments, Salviana stood. "I should leave you to rest—or wait, since you've probably had enough rest for decades," she teased lightly, earning a faint chuckle from Lucius.
"You're not wrong," he said, his lips curving into a small smile. "Go on. I'll stay with her."
Salviana gave him a reassuring nod before stepping out of the room, leaving Lucius alone with Jean.
As she walked down the corridor, the sound of thunder rolled through the sky again, but her heart felt lighter. Jean would wake up. She had to.
Lucius sighed heavily, the weight of centuries pressing on his shoulders as he sat by Jean's bedside. His crimson eyes, dark as bloodied wine, softened as they traced her delicate features.
Memories surged within him, some vivid and electric, others shrouded in mist. Jean had haunted him for years, long before she even knew of his existence.
It had started the night of her first coming-out ball. She had been no more than seventeen, her youth and innocence radiating from her like a beacon.
Dressed in an opulent gown that shimmered under the candlelight, she had captivated the room—and him.
From the shadows, Lucius had watched her, his predatory instincts momentarily stilled by the sheer beauty of her presence.
For a brief moment, as she glided across the ballroom, their eyes had met—or at least, he thought they had.
Her gaze had swept past him, landing somewhere in the dark recesses where he stood, invisible to the human eye.
She had tilted her head, her expression one of faint curiosity, before shaking it off and returning to her dance.
Lucius had been mesmerized.