Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 191: Consumed by Darkness

Chapter 191: Consumed by Darkness

It was undeniable that Queen Isolde was pregnant—Emmanuelle couldn’t dispute that. But something about the whole situation felt off, like a puzzle missing its key piece. Emmanuelle’s unease grew as time passed, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of her suspicion.

Since discovering her pregnancy, Queen Isolde had all but disappeared from public life. She politely declined every invitation to social gatherings, offering excuses to her noble friends who continued to invite her to banquets and garden parties.

Yet behind her polite refusals, her mind was consumed by one pressing question: how would she explain this child when it was born?

Everyone knew that King Valentin’s heart belonged to his mistress, Lady Maris. He had made it clear he would never touch the queen, and rumors about their loveless marriage had long circulated.

Queen Isolde couldn’t help but wonder if her pregnancy would ruin the king’s relationship with his mistress—though it wasn’t something she actively wished for.

As her due date approached, Isolde still hadn’t decided how to explain the sudden and miraculous pregnancy. She considered fabricating a tale about a secret lover to justify the child’s existence, but she remained undecided.

The pregnancy itself, as the shaman had warned, was unlike any other. Instead of the usual nine months, the queen carried the child for only four.

By the end of the first month, her belly had grown so rapidly that her usual dresses no longer fit, the tight waistlines straining against her swelling abdomen.

By the second month, the queen could feel the child moving—sharp kicks and flutters that startled her. She spent more and more time confined to her chambers, her energy drained.

The vibrant queen who once hosted tea parties and strolled through the gardens now remained in bed, wrapped in sleeping gowns, too exhausted to rise. Emmanuelle had to feed her, as even the simple act of sitting up had become a struggle.

By the third month, Queen Isolde had abandoned her dresses entirely, spending her days in a daze, while Emmanuelle grew increasingly worried.

The child within her seemed to grow at an unnatural rate. Its movements became more pronounced, more violent.

By the fourth month, the baby’s shape pressed visibly against the queen’s skin—tiny hands, feet, and even its head could be seen shifting beneath her flesh, as if it were desperate to break free.

It was a haunting, eerie sight—something no one could have prepared for.

Yet, strangely enough, Queen Isolde seemed to revel in it, stroking her belly with an odd mixture of delight and obsession. She was entranced by the life growing inside her, oblivious to the unnaturalness of it all.

Meanwhile, Emmanuelle couldn’t shake the feeling that something far darker was stirring, something that went beyond the queen’s maternal joy. She knew in her bones that the witch’s warnings weren’t empty threats, and this pregnancy—so different, so unnatural.

The day of labor finally arrived, and Queen Isolde was engulfed in agony. Her body twisted and convulsed on the bed as waves of pain coursed through her.

She gripped the blankets tightly, her knuckles white, kicking at the bedsheets in desperation as each contraction tore through her. The queen’s face was pale, her brow drenched in sweat, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

Emmanuelle, who had helped deliver babies back in her village, sprang into action. She had witnessed childbirth before, but this was different—there was an unnatural intensity to the queen’s suffering.

Nevertheless, she did what she could, filling a basin with cool water and gently wiping the queen’s damp forehead with a wet cloth, hoping to offer some comfort.

"Your Majesty, breathe with me," Emmanuelle urged softly, kneeling beside the bed. She coached the queen through her labored breathing, trying to keep her calm amidst the overwhelming pain. "Is the baby pushing downward? Can you feel it?"

Queen Isolde’s eyes were wide with confusion, her mind too clouded by the excruciating pain to comprehend the question. Emmanuelle realized that asking wouldn’t help.

Desperately, she leaned closer. "Just push, Your Majesty. You need to push!"

Gripping the sheets, the queen did as instructed, her body trembling with effort. She pushed, teeth clenched, her gasps turning into guttural cries as the room filled with the sounds of her labor.

But even as Emmanuelle guided her, a gnawing sense of dread grew. The labor was fierce—too fierce, too fast, and something about it felt terribly wrong.

With each agonized push, Emmanuelle couldn’t help but wonder if they had truly understood the consequences of the ritual they had set in motion.

The queen’s anguished cries echoed through the hidden dungeon, though no one above could hear them. The dungeon was soundproof, its walls thick and impenetrable, sealing in every sound, every scream.

Nothing that happened in this room would ever reach the outside world.

"Arrgghhhh!! Emmanuelle, it hurts! It hurts so bad!" Queen Isolde’s voice broke through the suffocating air, her words desperate, drenched in both sweat and tears. Her body writhed in agony as she clutched the sheets, her face contorted with pain.

Emmanuelle remained by her side, wiping the queen’s soaked brow with trembling hands, trying to soothe her, though she knew her efforts were in vain.

She had helped many women through childbirth before, and usually, there were brief moments of relief between contractions. But not this time—there was no reprieve for Queen Isolde. The pain was relentless, wave after wave crashing over her without pause.

In her mind, Emmanuelle knew labor could last for hours, sometimes even a full day. But the queen’s body was betraying those expectations—something unnatural was happening, speeding up the process unnervingly fast. Barely two hours had passed, and already, Emmanuelle could see the crown of the baby’s head beginning to emerge.

"Your Majesty, you’re almost there," Emmanuelle said. She crouched beside the queen, holding her trembling hand. "Just a little more, one last push. You’re doing great. The baby’s almost out."

Queen Isolde groaned, her breath ragged as she gathered the last of her strength. Emmanuelle could only hope the queen’s ordeal would soon end.

The queen gave one final, agonizing push, and the baby slid onto the bed. But before Emmanuelle could even reach for it, the newborn’s eyes shot open, locking onto hers with a fierce, unnatural glare.

Startled, Emmanuelle stumbled backward, her heart pounding. She lost her balance and collapsed onto the cold dungeon floor, her breath caught in her throat.

"Emmanuelle, what’s wrong? What happened to my baby? Tell me!" Queen Isolde cried out.

But Emmanuelle couldn’t respond. She was paralyzed, unable to move or speak. A heavy, suffocating pressure weighed on her chest, like an invisible force was holding her down.

Her eyes were wide, fixed in horror as a dark, swirling smoke began to seep from the baby’s mouth. The child’s small body twisted unnaturally, bending into grotesque shapes that no human—or infant—should ever move in.

The smoke, thick and black, coiled upward from the baby’s mouth, never severing its connection. It rose higher and higher, gathering itself until it formed a massive, shadowy beast with curved horns that scraped against the ceiling.

Its eyes glowed red, and a wicked grin spread across its smoke-formed face, revealing rows of sharp, white teeth.

The creature hunched over the bed, grinning as it surveyed the queen. "Ah, my payment," it purred, its voice deep and rasping. "How delicious. Your desperation, your sin, your willingness to sacrifice everything for this. Your desire."

Its tongue, long and forked, slipped between its lips, tasting the air. In one swift, terrifying motion, the beast opened its gaping maw and lunged forward, devouring Queen Isolde whole.

Her scream echoed through the dungeon, filled with raw terror, but it was quickly swallowed by the beast. Silence fell just as the creature straightened its back, its grotesque form looming even larger in the dim light.

The queen’s body lay still on the bed, her once-white nightgown now soaked with blood. There was no movement, no breath—only lifelessness. The demon’s grin widened as it looked down at Emmanuelle, who remained frozen in shock.

The beast’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if savoring the fear radiating from her trembling body. Then, with a dark, satisfied smirk, it slowly retreated back into the baby’s mouth, its smoky form disappearing into the small, fragile body from which it had emerged.

Emmanuelle, still shaking, could barely comprehend what she had just witnessed. The dungeon seemed to close in around her, and the air hung thick with the scent of death and dread.