Married To The Mad Vampire Lord

"The knowledge just came to me," she said softly. "And from what I've seen in the land of the dead, I truly believe that's how it works. Death is not the end of life."

For some reason, Rohan did not like that she knew this kind of knowledge, or that she suddenly spoke of death as if it were nothing serious. He also didn't like that she had begun seeing memories by simply touching things again. He would have preferred to believe his wife was nothing more than human, his little bunny, with no strange ability that could pose a threat to their lives.

Not knowing what was causing this might just be as dangerous as knowing it.

He studied her for a moment before he asked, "Aside from the memories you see... has anything else strange happened since we got here?"

His voice was quiet. She looked thoughtful for a moment before she nodded.

Rohan's heart knotted. "What is it?"

"Well, it's been a while now... It happened when I was still recovering from childbirth, when I was on bed rest. I...I had that nightmare again. The one where I saw myself in a graveyard with people mourning. But this time, I woke up much faster than the first. I didn't even get to see the tombstone or look at my strange body.

It wasn't as scary as it was the first time, so I didn't think it was worth worrying about..."

"Next time," Rohan cut in, his voice sharper than intended, "even if it's the silliest dream, even if it's about a rabbit biting you, I want to know. Do you understand me?"

His tone came out much stronger and harsher than he meant, but he couldn't help it. The memory of that nightmare had disturbed him then, and it still did now. And now that she was telling him it happened again, he felt a fresh wave of dread tighten around his chest.

A dream occurring once could be taken as nothing, but twice, and the same, was not something that should be taken lightly or dismissed casually. He had learned from firsthand experience not to mess with Death, he had died and come back to life. He had glimpsed the other land and knew that if one wasn't friends with Death itself, it was over once taken there.

Not that he believed in any way that Belle was anything but a living person, but he didn't want to take a chance.

He was suddenly reminded of why he needed to meet her parents.

The weight of it all, the nightmare, the unknowns, the fear, suddenly pressed down on him again. He still wasn't used to these overwhelming emotions, wasn't used to how much they could shake him now, when he had lived for years without them.

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

He was suffocating.

His throat, which had just been quenched not long ago by blood, was dry again, scratchy and raw, like something clawing from the inside.

He needed air.

Not trusting himself to speak without sounding harsh, and to hide his fear again, Rohan gathered his son and gently laid him on the bed. Without looking at his wife, though he could tell his tone had affected her in some way, he rose and stepped down from the bed, saying over his shoulder,

"I need to check on something. I'll be back. Don't wait for me at lunch."

He sped out of the house before she could stop him.

Belle, on the other hand, stared at the spot where he had been standing just a second ago, her hazel eyes wide with stunned hurt. What had she done wrong to make him suddenly so angry, to speak to her like that? she wondered in dismay. He rarely ever got mad at her. Lord, he never got mad at her, and even when he did, it was only because she pushed herself beyond her limits while still recovering.

Was it because she spoke of something as simple as death? Or because she failed to mention the nightmare, which he himself had assured her was nothing important, nothing connected to her life? He was the one who had told her it was merely her mind playing tricks when she first had that nightmare.

The person being mourned in the nightmare was someone else entirely, someone she believed her subconscious had created. There was a saying that not every dream carries truth. She had trusted that, and that was why she hadn't thought it necessary to tell him, especially when the dream didn't return to haunt her repeatedly.

Kuhn had told her she hadn't visited the land of the dead because of her pregnancy, and Belle believed that this sudden ability to glimpse memories of death had something to do with the birth of her child.

"So much for wanting to cherish our last moments in this lovely place," Belle muttered as she gathered her son, who was beginning to fuss on the bed, already working up to one of his dramatic cries for milk after drinking blood.

Though her heart now felt unbearably heavy at the thought that Rohan was angry with her, she nursed her son and swallowed down her emotions.

He had told her not to wait for him for lunch, but Belle was too used to eating with him. In the end, she didn't touch a single bite of the meal she had cooked. Instead, she sat on the rocker with Angel cradled in her arms, watching from the porch as the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of orange and blues.

Now, as she replayed their conversation in her mind, Belle began to understand why Rohan had been so upset. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, she no longer feared death or even being in the land of the dead. That numbness had started after she gave birth.

But the sight of souls being taken still pained her. And she had spoken of death to Rohan so casually… too casually. Now she realized that if their roles were reversed, if he had talked like that, she would've been just as hurt, maybe even furious.

Death was inevitable for humans, yes. But how must it have felt for him, hearing her speak so lightly about it? Belle quietly scolded herself for being so insensitive.

She desperately wanted to make things right, to explain, but it seemed he had been too angry. Because even after the sun had completely disappeared from the sky… he still hadn't returned.

The lunch went cold.

She was preparing dinner when she heard the front door open, the one she had deliberately left unlocked for him. She recognized the weight of his footsteps against the wooden floor. Even without turning around, as she pretended not to notice his return after being gone all day, Belle could feel his presence in the doorway, and the weight of his eyes lingering on her back.

She fought the urge to spin around, to fling her arms around him, to apologize. But no. She wouldn't do that. Because doing that would make him believe it was completely acceptable to storm off in anger and disappear for hours instead of talking things through with her. He wasn't the only one allowed to be mad. She could be angry, too.

And she intended to ignore him until he realized his mistake!

So Belle carried on, pretending he wasn't there. She moved around the kitchen with stiff determination, washing vegetables in the basin, chopping onions with sharp, focused motions, her back firmly turned to him.

Rohan, meanwhile, stood quietly at the doorway, watching her. He could tell, just by the set of her shoulders and the silence in the air, that his little wife was angry. And though he had been upset with her that morning for the things she'd said so casually, that fury had long since faded, swept away with the fierce wind that had slapped against his face while he flew across the mountains and fed on a hunter for blood.

The wind had cooled him, and the heat he had carried with him outside had vanished, replaced by a hollow emptiness inside, because he had been far away from home. Now, he realized that being gone the entire day had been a mistake, because it had clearly upset her. He could tell she knew he was there, but she acted as if she didn't notice him.

Rohan leaned against the kitchen doorway, crossed his arms over his chest, and decided to watch her for a while, to see how long she would keep up the act of pretending and ignoring him.

She wore one of the many dresses he had recently gotten for her, as most of her old ones were now too loose after giving birth. It was a simple dress, but made of expensive material. The soft blue fabric clung to her torso, emphasizing her slim waist and the sharp curve of her hips. It stopped just above her ankles, allowing her to move freely around the house without the hem getting in the way.

A gold anklet shimmered around her right ankle, and she was barefoot. Her small feet moved softly across the kitchen floor, and just watching her made something inside him grow insanely warm.

Her golden blonde hair was tied in a loose bun at the top of her head, with a few strands having fallen messily around her face, the curls bouncing like coiled ribbons.

Rohan watched her for a long ten minutes. And when she still continued to ignore his presence, he lost the silent battle of who would speak first. Pushing off from where he had been leaning, he walked up to where she stood before the stove, frying bacon in the pan.

She seemed to sense his approach, because she momentarily paused her stirring, then resumed with renewed vigor, as if determined to ignore him.

Rohan found her attitude more amusing than displeasing. He came to a stop right behind her, and then, without a second thought, he leaned towards her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin against her shoulder.

She jolted, as though she hadn't expected him to hug her from behind. And just when he thought she would push him away, she surprised him by continuing to turn the bacon in the pan, pretending she wasn't suddenly unnerved by his embrace and the warmth of his body.

Rohan inhaled the delicious aroma of the seasoned, frying bacon, then leaned closer and whispered into her ear, "That smells delicious, love. What else are you cooking with it in the other pot?"

He asked, hoping to make her talk, to clear the air and dispel the silent hostility between them. Anger was not something a man should allow his wife carry for long, not when that emotion was heavy in the room.