Chapter 56 Chapter Fifty-Six
The road stretched endlessly beneath the tires, painted silver by moonlight and the occasional wash of distant headlights. A low hum filled the car—engine, wheels, wind—but inside, it felt like silence.
Julian sat in the passenger seat, body stiff, eyes locked on the passing blur of trees and asphalt. He hadn’t spoken since he’d woken up in a cold sweat over an hour ago. Hadn’t moved much either. Just stared out the window like the night might offer answers.
Jace kept his focus on the road but glanced at him every so often—like he was checking to see if Julian was still breathing.
Outside, the world was sleeping.
Inside, Julian was anything but.
Finally, Jace cleared his throat and spoke. “We should be there right before sunrise.”
Julian gave the faintest nod. Barely a movement. His jaw was tight. His hands rested uselessly in his lap.
The silence lingered again, stretching thin before Jace dared to break it.
“Look…” he began, cautious now. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to ask.”
Julian didn’t look at him.
“You still want to do this? Even after she told you to stop looking?”
Slowly, Julian’s head tilted toward him, eyes shadowed and unreadable—but alive. Fractured, maybe. Flickering.
“You didn’t feel what I felt, Jace.”
His voice was hoarse. Quiet. Like it had barely survived whatever hell he’d just come from.
“When he spoke to me—when he was in my head—it wasn’t just words. It was like… like something dark was draped over me. Heavy. Cold. Ancient. Like a presence that didn’t belong in any living world.”
He swallowed hard.
“He wasn’t just showing off. He wanted me to feel small. Powerless. He wanted me to know he could take her… and I couldn’t stop him.”
Julian looked out the window again, his voice barely a breath now.
“And for a second… I believed him.”
Jace tapped the steering wheel lightly, eyes flicking from the road to Julian’s profile. “He’s an Unseelie fae, Julian. We read about this. Manipulation, illusion, psychological warfare—it’s what they do. It’s who they are.”
Julian didn’t move at first. The passing blur of trees reflected faintly in the window, a ghostly mirror of the storm still brewing behind his eyes. Finally, he turned—just slightly—his voice low, scraped raw.
“No,” he said. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see it the way I did.”
He shifted, facing Jace fully now.
“It wasn’t just some illusion. It wasn’t just trickery. I didn’t sense that darkness with Kaelani when she dream-walked me. There’s something else in him. Something… off.”
Jace gave a slow exhale, the quiet hanging in the air.
“Is there something off?” he said carefully, “… or are you just having a hard time with him being a rival for Kaelani’s affection?”
Julian let out a bitter breath, running a hand down his face like he could scrape away the weight pressing on him.
“I didn’t do right by her, Jace.”
His voice was quiet at first—hoarse, unraveling.
“I did everything wrong. From the very beginning. I pushed her away. I left her. I chose duty over her. Over us.”
He watched the darkness beyond the glass—but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
“If I could go back… gods, I would. I’d do it all differently. I’d fight for her the first time. I’d never walk away. But I can’t. That chance is gone.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, regret clawing at his insides—vicious and unrelenting. And yet beneath it, something worse: the quiet knowing that she had given him more grace than he ever deserved.
“He was right about one thing—I don’t deserve her.”
His voice cracked—just once.
“But I’ll be damned if I stand by and let him twist her mind into something she’s not. I may not be worthy of her love… but I’ll burn before I let her be used.”
Jace gave him a long look. “Kaelani’s smart. Independent. You know that better than anyone. She’s never needed anyone to save her.”
Julian’s body tensed. “That’s because she’s never had anyone to count on butherself.”
His voice grew rough—quiet, but ignited.
“Garrick sure as hell never stood in her corner,” he said bitterly. “And from what that Fae prick said… sounds like her mother wasn’t any better.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
“And then what do I do?” he went on. “I go and make the biggest mistake of my life by making her feel like she was just another regret I’d rather forget.”
He stared straight ahead, voice thick with conviction now.
“I can’t undo the pain I’ve caused her.”
Grief softened his expression. But his next words struck like a vow.
“But I’d rather be there and she not need me… than her need me and I not be there.”
Jace exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes on the road. “Well… let’s just hope Count Dickula has the answers we need.”
An unbroken hush descended—tense, grim—as the weight of what they were walking into settled between them like fog.
The tires crunched over gravel as they reached the end of the road.
The Vampire King’s estate rose before them like a fortress from another world—modern in design, but cloaked in an unsettling stillness. Sleek black stone gleamed under the moonlight, and towering spires loomed in the distance like the horns of some slumbering beast. Its windows were dark as onyx, its perimeter walled in stone as black as the sky above.
At the front gate, floodlights snapped on—harsh and blinding. Two figures stepped out from the guardhouse.
They didn’t walk so much as appear, one on either side of the vehicle.
The man looked ordinary at first—mid-thirties, dressed in sharp black, no weapons visible. But as he stepped beneath the glare, his eyes caught the light. His pupils contracted into narrow vertical slits, not just once, but with a flickering twitch—like something resisting its mask.
Serpent shifter.
Beside Jace stood a woman with raven hair and impossible poise, as though she’d stepped out of a painting—flawless skin, crimson lips, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. She looked human… almost.
Until she was close enough to smell.
Smoke.
Ash.
Sulfur curling beneath perfume.
Demon.
To a Lycan, it was unmistakable—a scent that clung to the sinuses, thick and hellish, like scorched earth and something older than fire. Her presence wrapped around them like tar in the lungs. It wasn’t quite fear—but unease, primal and sharp, that prickled beneath the skin. Their wolves stirred restlessly, teeth bared, hackles raised.
“State your business,” the serpent shifter said coolly, voice crisp and level.
Julian leaned out the window, locking eyes with him. “We need to speak with your master.”
The woman tilted her head, smile too polished. “Species?”
“Lycans,” Jace answered without hesitation.
A beat of silence.
She studied them like a cat studying a trapped bird. Then turned and spoke into a sleek silver communicator clipped to her ear. The language was smooth, elegant… and ancient. Neither of them recognized a single word.
Minutes passed. Or maybe just one.
Time stretched strangely here—until finally, the demon turned back, her gaze unreadable.
“You’re lucky,” she said. “He must be in a good mood.”
The gates groaned open, metal grinding against metal as the road ahead was revealed—lined with cryptic statues and flickering lanterns that cast dancing shadows through the trees.
“Drive straight,” the serpent muttered. “Don’t wander.”
Jace gave a slow nod and eased the car forward. They drove in silence as the gates shut behind them with a resounding clang that felt final.
The car rolled to a stop at the base of a sweeping staircase carved from polished granite, each step gleaming like it had never known dust.
Julian and Jace stepped out into the still night, the cold air clinging to them like a warning. The mansion loomed above—sleek and angular, yet old in the bones. Windows stretched tall like watchful eyes, and each step leading to the door gleamed with unnerving precision, polished like a blade.
They climbed slowly, footsteps echoing. Halfway up, they exchanged a look—silent, braced, and understood.
Julian raised a hand and knocked twice.
The door opened with a heavy groan.
Framed in the entrance was a man who looked more beast than bodyguard—easily seven feet tall, shoulders like boulders, arms thick enough to crush skulls. His chest rose with a deep, measured breath. Eyes dark and unblinking. Hair buzzed close to the scalp. Bare forearms dusted with coarse hair and veined with power.
Bear shifter.
The wolves in both men bristled instantly, tension rippling beneath their skin.
A low growl thrummed in their chests.
The bear’s nostrils flared. He let out a huff—more warning than greeting—and narrowed his eyes as if the sight of them offended him. But he said nothing. Instead, he stepped aside with deliberate slowness and motioned them in.
“Down the hall,” he said, voice like gravel. “First door on the right. Knock three times.”
Julian gave a curt nod. Jace did the same.
They stepped past him, but not without a backward glance—more instinct than distrust, but heavy all the same. The bear shifter didn’t move, just watched them go, jaw clenched tight.
They entered a long hallway veiled in dim lighting—walls a deep matte black, lined with silver sconces that flickered like candlelight. Their footsteps were the only sound as they walked, every shadow whispering of things best left unseen.
They stopped in front of the door—the first on the right, just as instructed.
Julian knocked three times.
The sound echoed down the corridor, then faded into silence.
Then—quiet footsteps. The click of a lock.
The door opened.
Standing in the threshold was a young woman—striking, with long red hair that shimmered like flame and eyes the color of freshly cut emeralds. Her gaze landed on Julian first, scanning him with impassive precision.
Then she looked past him.
And stopped.
Her eyes locked with Jace’s.
Something passed between them—silent, invisible—but unmistakable. Her pupils darkened slightly, a flicker of recognition… or something deeper. They stared at each other, caught in a moment too long to be casual.
Julian’s brow furrowed as he looked between them, confused.
The woman finally blinked, tearing her gaze from Jace. “Come in,” she said softly, stepping aside.
Jace let out a slow exhale, like he’d been holding it the entire time.
Julian gave him a side glance that asked: You good?
Jace nodded once—tight, wordless.
They stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit—furnished in shadow and velvet, with gilded corners and a stillness that felt almost ceremonial.
“The King has agreed to speak with you,” the woman said, closing the door behind them. “Do you know what his terms are for requesting an audience unannounced and uninvited… or shall I explain them to you?”
Jace didn’t blink. “We’re aware.”
Their eyes met again. Another pulse passed between them—quieter this time, but still there.
She nodded. “Very well. Let’s get to it then.”
She turned without waiting for a response, her back straight, every movement graceful.
They didn’t need further instruction.
Julian looked at Jace. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “You can wait in the car.”
But Jace shook his head. “No. I told you—we’re in this together.”
Julian held his gaze for a beat longer… then nodded.
Then together, they began to undress.
Shoes first. Then socks. Shirts. And finally—pants.
The woman turned back around slowly, eyes scanning them both with a critical gaze. “Everything,” she said. “Every piece of clothing must be removed.”
She didn’t quite meet their eyes as she said it—her gaze drifting past them with a flicker of discomfort, like she was reciting a rule rather than making a request.
Julian and Jace exchanged a look. A shared breath. A low exhale of annoyance. But neither argued.
They slipped out of their last remaining layer—the boxer briefs dropping to the velvet-lined floor. The air felt colder now. Exposing. Intentional.
She turned back to check.
Her gaze swept across Julian quickly, then paused when it landed on Jace. It moved downward, slow and unhurried… and lingered. Just for a second longer than necessary.
When her gaze finally lifted, Jace’s brow arched—a smug flicker in his eyes. Not embarrassed, not even surprised—just amused. And proud.
The corner of her mouth curled—just a little—into a smirk. Flirtatious. Fleeting. But it was there.
Then she turned, walking to a wooden box perched on a nearby accent table.
Julian shot Jace a narrow look—half amused, half incredulous. What the hell was that?
Jace only grinned.
The woman returned with two black collars, each one made of supple leather and silver-lined clasps.
She handed them over.
They hesitated—just for a breath—before fastening them around their necks. The click of the clasps echoed like punctuation.
The woman stepped forward again and, without fanfare, clipped silver leashes to the rings at their throats.
Then she smiled sweetly.
“Follow me, boys.”
And with that, she turned, the leashes taut in her grasp as she led them forward—two Lycans bared and bound, walking not as warriors, but as offerings into the lair of a king who preferred his guests humbled before they ever spoke a word.