Married To Darkness
Chapter 271: Catching Jaefel

Chapter 271: Catching Jaefel

Around the cauldron, a group of witches and wizards moved with unsettling precision, their whispers filling the air like the droning of insects.

At a glance, they appeared human, their faces seemingly ordinary.

But a closer look revealed their unnaturally pale skin, hair clumps missing from their scalps, and nails blackened and cracked like ancient wood.

Three women were tied to crude wooden stakes at the edge of the circle. Serenity, Mire, and Miss Margaretha.

Their faces were pale with fear, their eyes darting toward the witches with growing dread. Serenity’s lips quivered as she tried to speak, but the gag silenced her.

Mire strained against her bindings, the muscles in her arms and neck taut as she fought to free herself.

Miss Margaretha, though visibly shaken, maintained a hardened glare, her defiance unbroken.

"They’ll be pleased when he arrives," one witch whispered to another, her voice like the rustling of dry leaves.

"The one from the castle?" a young wizard asked, his tone tinged with nervous excitement.

"Yes. He’ll finally show himself. This ritual will grant him power beyond measure."

"And us?" the young wizard pressed.

"We will be rewarded," the first witch hissed, baring her teeth in a sinister smile.

"We would be vampires,"

The group’s eerie movements came to a halt as a tall figure emerged from the shadows.

The witches and wizards turned in unison, their faces lighting up with anticipation.

The witches and wizards began chanting, their voices rising in a haunting melody.

The cauldron bubbled violently, and the mass of melted skin in the bowl started to stretch and twist, forming rudimentary shapes.

The question hung heavy in the air: Would the third prince and his crew put an end to this madness, or would they become the witches’ next victims?

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Lucius’s group moved like specters, their steps muffled by the forest floor. Jean kept glancing back at Emma, whose pale face reflected her unease.

Ahead, a figure moved silently, tall and slim, weaving through the trees.

Something about his gait, the familiar rhythm of his movements, made Emma’s heart clench.

Her chin quivered, and she slowed slightly, her pulse quickening.

"That could be him," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible.

Lucius’s sharp gaze cut toward her. "You know him?"

Before Emma could answer, the man stopped abruptly, as if sensing their presence.

Lucius acted without hesitation, his vampire speed propelling him forward. In an instant, he had the stranger pinned against a tree, his red eyes glowing faintly.

The man gasped, struggling under Lucius’s iron grip.

"Stay where you are!" Lucius commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Emma darted forward, her breath catching as she saw the man’s face clearly. "Jaefel?"

Hearing her voice, the man stopped struggling, his tense body relaxing slightly.

Lucius, still suspicious, kept his hand clamped over Jaefel’s throat but glanced at Emma. "You know him?"

Emma nodded, her voice trembling. "Yes... I—yes. It’s him."

Lucius removed his hand slowly, but his glare didn’t soften. Jaefel rubbed his throat, his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief as he looked at Emma.

"What are you doing here, Enmalyn?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, a note of concern that only deepened Emma’s unease. "It’s dangerous out here at this hour."

Emma flinched at the sound of her full name. He’d always called her that, back when she—

No. She couldn’t think about that now.

"We’re here to arrest you," she said, her voice rising. "For the killings. For the young women, Jaefel. How could you?"

Jaefel’s expression twisted in confusion. "What are you talking about? I’m not—"

"You’ve changed!" Emma interrupted, her voice breaking. "You’ve become someone I don’t recognize. You kill innocent people, and I—" Her voice faltered, trembling with anger and fear. "Why?"

Lucius and Jean exchanged a glance, both clearly out of their depth with Emma’s emotional outburst.

Jaefel raised his hands, palms out. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, his voice sharper now. "I’m not killing anyone. I’ve been tracking the real killer, and you’ve just let them get farther ahead!"

Lucius stepped closer, his tone icy. "Convenient story. Why should we believe you?"

Jaefel rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated. "Because unlike you, I don’t go around tackling people without proof!" He gestured in the direction he’d been heading. "The real killer is out there, and if we don’t hurry, they’ll strike again."

Emma blinked, her anger giving way to doubt. "You’re... tracking the killer?"

"Yes," Jaefel snapped, rubbing his neck again. "And I was getting close before you jumped me."

Jean raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If you’re innocent, who do you think the killer is?"

Jaefel hesitated, his jaw tightening. "I believe it’s someone close to the Third Prince."

Lucius stiffened. "If you’re implying it’s me—"

"I’m not, I don’t even know you," Jaefel cut him off. "But someone in his circle. Maybe someone he trusts."

Jean let out a laugh, but it sounded more nervous than amused. "Well, that narrows it down to half the kingdom."

Lucius frowned, his instincts warring with the information Jaefel had just dropped. "You’re coming with us," he said finally. "But don’t think for a second I trust you."

Jaefel smirked bitterly. "The feeling’s mutual."

"Good," Lucius growled. He jabbed a finger toward the path ahead. "You’ll walk in front. And if you so much as breathe wrong—"

"I know," Jaefel said, stepping forward. "You’ll kill me. You’ve made that abundantly clear."

Jaefel could tell this person wasn’t human.

As they resumed their trek through the woods, Jaefel led the way, his steps steady but his shoulders tense.

Emma walked behind him, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and lingering affection.

Jean stayed close to her, whispering reassurances when her expression grew too troubled.

Lucius brought up the rear, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. His frustration was palpable, his eagerness for action simmering beneath the surface.

The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or snap of a twig.