Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 190: A Pact with Darkness

Chapter 190: A Pact with Darkness

Emmanuelle had never heard of dark magic before. In her mind, such forbidden sorcery was the stuff of human folklore, not something that existed among vampires. So when the shaman mentioned it, she nearly laughed out loud. It seemed absurd.

But Queen Isolde took it seriously—far too seriously. Her eyes widened with desperation. "Tell me more about this... forbidden magic," she demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

The shaman, a woman well into her nineties, was draped in vibrant, mismatched fabrics from head to toe. She gave a slow, chilling grin—small, but enough for Emmanuelle to notice from across the room.

Emmanuelle stepped forward, her voice sharp with authority. "Hey! What are you plotting? You do realize you’re speaking to the nation’s queen, right? If you try anything foolish, I can have you beheaded right here and now."

The shaman was unfazed. She raised her head, revealing half her face, which was disfigured by burns. One eye was a lifeless, clouded white, while the other was jet black, gleaming with a sinister intensity. Her smile widened, revealing decayed, rotting teeth.

"Young lady," the shaman rasped, her voice dripping with malice, "if I feared death, I wouldn’t be standing here. Can’t you see? I carry a curse far worse than death itself."

A shiver ran down Emmanuelle’s spine, and she instinctively stepped back. The air around the old woman felt thick with something dark, something unnatural. She could feel the weight of the curse, and it silenced her protest.

Meanwhile, Queen Isolde’s fascination only deepened. Her gaze remained fixed on the shaman, hungry for the forbidden knowledge she now so desperately craved.

The shaman turned toward the young queen, her eyes narrowing. "You’re treading into dangerous territory, Your Majesty. Are you certain you wish to continue?"

Queen Isolde, sitting at the edge of her bed with a rigid posture, nodded firmly. Her hands were clenched into fists on her lap, her expression determined. "Yes," she replied with a steady voice.

The shaman’s gaze lingered, assessing her resolve. "You must understand—everything must be flawless. Perfect. There is no room for error. One misstep, one wrong move, and it’s over."

The queen’s eyes gleamed with a desperate excitement as she nodded again, but the shaman remained unconvinced. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low rasp.

"Are you absolutely sure? Do you truly grasp what ’over’ means? It’s not just failure. It means death—yours."

"I know the risks," Queen Isodle said. "Now, tell me everything. I’m ready."

From the corner of the room, Emmanuelle watched in disbelief. She couldn’t bear to see her queen so reckless, so blinded by desire. Desperate to intervene, she stepped forward. "Your Majesty, please reconsider. This is madness—"

But Queen Isolde cut her off with a sharp look. Her decision was made.

With unwavering focus, the queen grabbed a quill and parchment, her hand moving swiftly as the shaman listed the ritual’s requirements. She scribbled down every object, every step, her concentration intense. She nodded at each instruction, not missing a single detail.

The ritual was complex, requiring meticulous precision and preparation. Every step was carefully timed, every object needed to be placed with exact accuracy. With no other choice, Emmanuelle found herself helping the queen, despite her growing unease.

The shaman had warned them: if Queen Isolde succeeded in conceiving a child through this ritual, the pregnancy and childbirth would be unlike any other. Everything had to be hidden—no one could know until the child was safely born, or suspicions would arise.

But Emmanuelle couldn’t shake the doubts gnawing at her. While gathering the rare and unsettling items needed for the ritual, she ventured into the shadowy underbelly of the kingdom—places where those who dabbled in forbidden arts lingered, hidden from the crown but known among commoners.

She discreetly asked about the magic the queen sought—a ritual to conceive a child without a father. Every person she spoke to echoed the same chilling warning: it was a perilous path, fraught with danger.

But those answers didn’t satisfy her. She was sure the shaman was withholding something vital. It was as if the slip-up during their conversation was deliberate. Emmanuelle couldn’t ignore the sense that the shaman had an ulterior motive.

Then, she met a witch—one who had been banished long ago for performing a forbidden spell to switch souls between two people. When Emmanuelle mentioned the ritual, the witch’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"No one in their right mind would ever suggest such a ritual," the witch said, her voice filled with alarm. "Unless they had already made a pact with the devil."

A cold shiver ran down Emmanuelle’s spine. She knew instantly she had found the right person.

The witch before her, exiled for her own dangerous practices, offered to reveal the truth through her crystal ball—for a price. The sum was steep, more than a year’s wages, but Emmanuelle needed answers.

The witch’s hands floated above the ball, her eyes fixed on it as though she could see what lay hidden within its depths. Moments passed in eerie silence, until the witch’s face twisted with horror.

"That shaman..." she whispered. "She’s made a pact with a demon."

As if confirming the witch’s words, the air in the room grew heavy, and in a sudden, violent surge, the witch was flung across the room. She hit the wall with a sickening thud, blood dripping from her nose as she struggled to sit up, her body trembling with the force of what had just transpired.

"What... what just happened?" Emmanuelle gasped, her face pale as the blood drained from it.

The witch wiped her face, her hands shaking. "The demon..." she stammered. "It’s not just any demon. It’s one of the most dangerous. That shaman—she’s out of her mind, toying with powers beyond her control. I’m sorry, child, but your queen... your queen is in grave danger, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it."

Heart pounding, Emmanuelle rushed back to the palace, determined to warn Queen Isolde of the horror she had uncovered. But when she arrived, the queen remained calm, almost disturbingly so.

"Emmanuelle, I appreciate your concern," Queen Isolde said calmly, stroking her belly as a soft smile played on her lips. "But I don’t believe the shaman meant to use me. The ritual succeeded, and I’m pregnant now. Nothing else matters."

Emmanuelle stared at the queen, her words dying on her lips as she watched her stroke her stomach with a mother’s tender affection. But deep down, a sense of foreboding gnawed at her—something far worse was at work, and the queen had no idea what she had unleashed.