Chapter 62 Chapter Sixty-Two
The black sedan moved like a shadow along the winding road, sleek and silent beneath the early afternoon sun. It was just past one—bright, cloudless, and far too open for the passengers it carried.
Inside, the back seat was cloaked in artificial darkness. A privacy divider separated them from the driver’s area, its matte surface swallowing any stray illumination. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the soft creak of leather as someone shifted their weight.
Julian sat stiffly, fingers drumming once against his knee before stilling. Across from him, Lazarus and Sebastian were nearly unrecognizable.
They were covered head to toe in ultraviolet-blocking suits—sleek and black with an almost tactical sheen. These weren’t your average UV suits. They were made from photosensitive carbon-silicate mesh—prototype tech Lazarus had bankrolled through a shell biotech company in Geneva.
Their gloves were lab-sealed in nitrogen to prevent light seepage, and their faces were concealed beneath fitted ski masks crafted from the same material as the suits. Thick, reflective goggles glinted like the dark lenses of futuristic soldiers, engineered to bend UV light away from the retina entirely.
Julian couldn’t see their eyes. Couldn’t read their expressions. But he could feel their presence.
Unbothered. Wise. Ancient.
Sebastian leaned back, casual despite the gear, one leg crossed over the other like he was riding to brunch and not preparing to smuggle Lycans onto sacred ground.
The sedan slowed, then turned sharply onto a narrow road lined with tall hedges. Ahead, a gated checkpoint opened without them stopping.
Beyond it, a sprawling private airstrip came into view—its long stretch of tarmac empty but immaculate. A single jet waited near the hangar, sleek and silver, engines already humming with quiet impatience.
Julian’s chest tightened as he exchanged a glance with Jace.
The sedan rolled to a stop beside the jet, the sharp scent of jet fuel and scorched tarmac hitting instantly.
A moment passed before the rear door was opened by a broad-shouldered man, with skin the color of dark honey, sunglasses perched low on a blunt nose, and the kind of no-nonsense competence that didn’t need announcing. He wore a black utility jacket zipped to the throat and moved with the casual menace of someone used to hauling threats by the throat.
Julian’s brows lifted slightly. The driver—no, the driver and pilot—was a bear shifter.
Of course he was.
Julian stepped out first, Jace close behind. As they straightened, the bear met their stares with a single grunt, nostrils flaring just enough to make his point.
The tension hovered—three apex predators silently sizing one another up. Not out of aggression. Just instinct. A low huff escaped the bear’s chest, more exasperated than threatening.
Lazarus emerged next, his movements smooth despite the cumbersome suit, goggles flashing in the sun. Sebastian followed, stretching slightly as he stepped into the light, adjusting his lenses with a flick of gloved fingers.
“Now, now, boys,” Lazarus said, his voice only slightly muffled through the mask—amusement cutting through the tension like a scalpel. “We can eye-fuck each other another time.”
He tilted his head up toward the sky, posture stiffening beneath the sunlight.
“Let’s move. My skin’s beginning to itch.”
The soft hum of the jet’s engines was the only sound as it sliced cleanly through the upper reaches of cloud cover. The windows were blacked out, the cabin dimmed to near twilight—intentional, sterile, and utterly still.
It had been several hours since takeoff—long enough to cross hemispheres, long enough for the weight of what lay ahead to settle like fog in their lungs.
Lazarus and Sebastian sat across from them, still fully suited—goggles in place, gloves undisturbed. The only hint of ease was the relaxed angle of their posture, legs crossed, hands steepled loosely over one knee.
“You have the map?” Lazarus asked.
Julian nodded, tapping the chest pocket of his jacket. “Right here.”
Lazarus studied him for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping—lower now. More precise.
“Remember what I told you. Use logic. Use reason. Do not take the bait.”
His gaze flicked to Jace, then back again.
“Your mind will play tricks on you. That’s its nature. But if something doesn’t make sense…”
“…then it isn’t real,” Jace finished.
Julian nodded grimly. “Not real.”
A sudden mechanical whir shattered the stillness.
The rear cargo hatch began to open with a heavy groan, metal straining against pressure and wind.
Julian and Jace instinctively tensed, rising from their seats as cold air rushed inward, tousling their hair and clothes.
They both turned back toward Lazarus, confusion flickering across their faces as the wind howled louder through the widening hatch.
Two parachute packs hit the floor at their feet with a heavy thud—tossed without ceremony.
Sebastian, unbothered as always, gestured lazily. “Straps go over your shoulders and across your chest. Back rig goes on your back, obviously. Secondary can be clipped across the front. They’ll latch at the sides.”
Jace bent to inspect one of the rigs while Julian just stared, jaw tightening.
“Hold up…” Julian said slowly, a hand lifting. “Time the fuck out.”
His gaze snapped to Lazarus.
“You never said anything about jumping out of the plane.”
Lazarus tilted his head, voice calm beneath the mechanical din. “Would it have stopped you from proceeding on this journey?”
Julian let out a tight breath, closing his eyes for a moment as frustration pulled at his features. “No,” he admitted. “But it would’ve been nice to have a heads up. I could’ve mentally prepared for this.”
“You’ll do just fine,” Lazarus said breezily. “You’re Lycans. Lycans always land on their feet.”
Jace gave him a flat look. “That’s a fuckin’ cat.”
Lazarus hummed. “Mmm. That’s right, isn’t it?”
He and Sebastian chuckled, the sound amused and entirely unperturbed.
Julian scowled. “This isn’t funny. Neither of us have ever skydived before.”
Sebastian stepped closer, his tone shifting from amusement to something colder. More technical.
“We can’t land the jet,” he said. “Not here.”
Julian frowned. “Why not?”
Sebastian pointed toward the thick, reinforced door still groaning open. The wind howled louder now, rushing in with a bite.
“You’re headed into hostile terrain. No runway, no clear zone. Just deep snowbanks and jagged ridges iced over from centuries of subzero storms. We can’t risk the landing gear—too much wind shear and not enough visibility at ground level.”
He gestured toward the hatch, where swirling white blurred into the open air.
“You’ll be dropping into a wind corridor—cold air funnels through this mountain basin. Once you’re out, don’t fight the drag. Let the wind carry you at an angle. It’ll feel wrong at first, but that’s when it’ll stabilize.”
His voice dipped slightly as he continued.
“When you hit the colder pocket—like dropping into ice water—that’s your cue. Pull your chute right after that shift.”
Julian blinked. “What shift?”
Sebastian’s voice cut through the roar of the wind.
“Trust me. You’ll feel it. It’s like the air thins, then slaps you. That’s the break in resistance.”
Julian nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
Sebastian stepped forward first, helping Julian pull the harness snug across his shoulders and clip the chute into place. The straps locked with a sharp click, and Sebastian gave a final tug for security.
Behind them, Lazarus assisted Jace—adjusting the buckles with an unexpected efficiency, his knowledge surprisingly sure for someone who hadn’t jumped from anything in decades.
“Leg straps tight,” Sebastian said, checking Julian’s gear with a critical eye. “Chest rig secure. Emergency chute front-loaded.”
Julian gave a sharp nod. “Got it.”
They stepped together to the edge of the cargo hatch. The roar of the wind was near-deafening now, white squalls swirling just beyond like ghostly serpents waiting to devour them.
Lazarus approached with his usual calm, voice raised slightly over the howl. “We can offer a swift push… if that will help.”
Julian looked down, exhaled, then slid the goggles over his face. “No. I think we can manage.”
Lazarus smiled faintly. “As you wish. May the wind carry you true. And may love be reason enough to survive.”
Julian looked back, his expression taut with equal parts tension and gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “For everything.”
He turned to Jace, eyes sharp behind the lenses. “It’s not too late to back out, you know.”
Jace snorted, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up beside him. “And miss the chance to freeze my dick off while crashing into a snowstorm with ancient gatekeepers trying to kill us?” He gave a crooked grin. “Not a fucking chance.”
Julian huffed a laugh under his breath and glanced once more at Jace, a reckless glint in his eyes.
“Alright then… race you to the bottom.”
And with that, he turned and launched himself out of the hatch.
Jace stared after him, wind whipping like a thousand tiny needles against his skin.
“Show-off,” he muttered, then leapt.
For a moment, it was everything.
The rush. The freedom.
They cut through the air like blades, wind roaring past, their bodies slicing clean lines through the sky. Below them, the landscape rolled in shades of white and slate gray—snow-choked cliffs and jagged treetops vanishing into the storm-hazed horizon.
They glided parallel, just a few yards apart, whooping into the wind. Jace tilted his arms, adjusting his descent with smooth precision.
Julian grinned back at him. A rare, wild kind of thrill lit his face.
The adrenaline surged—exhilarating, electric—until it wasn’t.
A sudden crosswind slammed into them from the east.
Unexpected. Violent.
Julian’s body jerked hard, spinning off-course.
Above, from the edge of the jet, Sebastian swore under his breath and gripped Lazarus’s arm.
“Shit.”
“Julian—!” Jace shouted, but the wind swallowed the sound.
Julian fumbled midair, arms flailing as he fought to stabilize. Panic surged.
He yanked his chute—
The cords twisted across his shoulder and leg, locking him into a half-spin. The chute snapped and flapped uselessly behind him, dragging but not catching.
He spun faster.
Too fast. Too high.
Jace’s instincts took over.
He pulled his limbs in tight, adjusting his angle and diving hard.
Below him, Julian clawed at the cords, eyes wide.
The ground was rushing up too fast—just a blur of snow and shadow now.
“Reach for me!” Jace roared through the mind-link.
Julian tried. Their fingers brushed—then he spiraled again, helpless.
Jace bared his teeth, repositioned, and dove harder.
Every second bled pressure. His skin burned from the speed. His muscles screamed.
But he didn’t stop.
He wouldn’t stop.
One last lunge.
Their hands locked.
Jace snarled and hauled Julian toward him, gripping his harness with both hands. The moment they connected, he reached for his own chute cord—and yanked.
It exploded open above them, jerking their bodies upward in a violent, lurching snap.
The descent slowed.
The earth was still coming, but no longer at a lethal speed.
Julian’s breath rasped hard in his throat. He clutched Jace’s harness like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.
Because it was.
They hit the snow hard—feet digging deep into a powder-thick drift as the chute collapsed behind them. Not graceful, but alive.
Julian stumbled, dropped to one knee, then ripped off his gloves and shoved them into the snow. His breaths came fast and sharp, every exhale fogging in the subzero air as he tried to pull his heart out of his throat and shove it back into his chest.
Jace, still breathing heavy, unhooked himself from the chute and slapped Julian hard on the shoulder—part relief, part reprimand. “See?” he muttered. “You need me.”
Julian coughed out a laugh. “Shut up.”
Above them, the jet was already banking away—its engines roaring as it cut through a break in the cloud cover.
Lazarus stood at the edge of the cargo hatch, arms folded, the fabric of his suit snapping in the wind. Sebastian lingered beside him, silent, watching the two Lycans become specks in the snow-covered world below.
The hatch began to close.
Lazarus’s voice was quiet but firm—etched with something rare. Respect, perhaps. Or hope.
“May their Goddess be with them.”