Transmigrated: The Lycan King's Pet-Chapter 359 Grief

Alaric turned around slowly, his breath hitched the moment his eyes met with hers.

Seraphina looked around, her brows knitted in confusion. "Where are we?"

Alaric couldn’t bring himself out of the daze, he felt mixed feelings, and relief, relief that she had gained consciousness.

Alaric turned around slowly, his breath hitched the moment his eyes met hers.

Seraphina looked around, her brows knitted in confusion. "Where are we?"

For a few seconds, Alaric did not answer. He was still standing there, his body tense, his mind lagging behind reality. Relief sat heavy in his chest, mixed with fear, confusion, and something he did not want to name. She was awake. That was all that mattered in that moment.

"We are in the Bloodshade pack," he finally said, his voice low and careful, as if raising it might shatter her again.

Her gaze drifted from the stone walls to the unfamiliar ceiling, then back to him. The confusion in her eyes slowly shifted, replaced by something darker. Her lips parted slightly, and her breath became shallow as memory came crashing back.

"The Queen," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Alaric’s jaws tighten. Seraphina’s hands clenched against the bed as her body stiffened. Her eyes widened in horror as the image replayed in her mind. The battle, the chanting, the obliteration spell that consumed everything.

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "No... she wouldn’t."

Before Alaric could stop her, she pushed herself up from the bed. Pain shot through her body instantly, her knees buckling as she stumbled forward. A sharp gasp tore from her lips, but she ignored it, forcing herself to stand.

"I have to go back," she said urgently, taking an unsteady step toward the door. "I have to find her."

"Seraphina," Alaric said sharply, moving toward her. "Stop."

She did not.

He caught her arm gently but firmly, pulling her back before she could collapse. "You are still ill," he said, his grip tightening when he felt how weak she was. "You can barely stand."

She struggled against him, her strength nowhere near what it usually was. "Let me go," she said, her voice shaking. "I need to go back.

"The Queen is dead," he said quietly.

The words landed like a blade tearing through the little hope she had left.

Seraphina froze completely. Her body went still in his grasp, as if all strength had drained out of her at once. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him, disbelief flooding her eyes.

"No," she whispered. "That’s not true."

Alaric did not look away. "She activated the spell," he said. "There was no way to stop it." That was what the other witches said.

Her breath hitched. Tears rushed to her eyes before she could stop them, spilling over and trailing down her cheeks in silent streams.

She shook her head again, harder this time, as if refusing to accept reality. "If I was stronger," she whispered, her voice breaking. "If I was faster... she wouldn’t have done it."

Her legs gave out, and Alaric tightened his hold, guiding her down before she could fall. She sank against him, her body trembling violently as sobs finally tore free from her chest.

"I should have protected her," she cried. "It’s my fault. If I was strong enough, she wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself."

Alaric swallowed hard. He had never seen her like this.

To him, Seraphina was always fierce. Sharp-tongued, unyielding, and she was like fire wrapped in flesh. He had seen her angry, reckless, even cruel, but never broken like this, crying as if the world had ended.

His hand hovered above her back, uncertain, unsure of what to do. He did not know how to comfort someone like her. He did not even know how to comfort himself.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly, his voice rough. "I truly am."

But his words meant nothing to her because she didn’t even hear them.

Her hands fisted into his shirt as she sobbed harder, her forehead pressing into his chest as if she had nowhere else to go. Her words came out tangled and broken, filled with guilt and grief that had nowhere to settle.

"I failed her," she repeated over and over. "I failed her."

Alaric cleared his throat, his own thoughts spiraling. His memories of the battle were fragmented, pieces missing as if someone had torn pages out of his mind. Midnight was silent, buried deep in sleep, and the confusion unsettled him. He did not understand why his instincts had nearly pushed him to mark her earlier, why his body had moved on its own.

He pushed the thoughts aside.

Without thinking twice, he pulled her into a hug.

The moment his arms wrapped around her, both of them stiffened.

Their breaths halted and their bodies froze.

The closeness was unfamiliar, awkward, and wrong in a way that felt too loud in the quiet room. Alaric could hear her heartbeat pounding wildly, matching the heavy rhythm in his own ears. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, the weight of her grief sinking into him.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved.

Then Alaric began to pat her back slowly, awkwardly, in a steady rhythm, trying to break the tension hanging between them. The small motion seemed to undo her completely.

Seraphina cried again, harder than before, her grief pouring out without restraint. Her body shook as she clung to him, no longer pushing away, no longer pretending she was fine.

For the first time, neither of them argued and neither of them held onto their differences.

They stayed like that, holding onto each other, choosing for once to embrace their differences, offering comfort even when they thought they were a mismatch.

Alaric closed his eyes, his heart ached for her. "It’s going to be better. It was her choice to save you and the other witches, it was not your fault."