Chapter 342

Chapter 342

Off to another journey.

I am exhausted. My body feels heavy, drained in a way that sits deep in my bones. Whatever the fox placed inside me is still lingering—I don’t know what it is, but it leaves me weak, like something has quietly siphoned the strength out of me. Zinnia tells me to breathe through it, but even her voice feels distant, muffled under the fatigue.

I tighten my grip around Gillian’s neck as he carries me on his back. His shoulders tense under my weight, and every few minutes he shivers, not from the cold, but from the murderous pressure radiating from our front.

Drix.

I don’t care. Not right now. As long as I stay on Gillian’s back, my aura keeps things tolerable for him, pushing back against Drix’s suffocating temper just enough to stop Gillian from collapsing under it.

Drix and I are not speaking.

Scarlette returned while I was unconscious, so I never got the chance to calm him down. What I did get, however, was the aftermath.

Scarlette’s injuries are not subtle. A jagged scar runs along her arm and cheek, the skin still struggling to knit itself back together. It looks like she was burned with something unnatural, then torn apart by something just as brutal. No one told me what happened. Not directly.

So I forced Gillian to.

My command overrides most Guard-gifted hierarchy when it comes from me, and he gave in.

When Scarlette brought my unconscious body back, Hendrix lost control. Completely.

He attacked her.

Without a single hesitation, he went straight for lethal force, binding her with solar radiation chains and unleashing that black flame I have only ever heard about—the one he reserves for serious battles. Scarlette broke free, but extinguishing that flame is not simple. It burns beyond flesh. Her body is healing, but slowly. Too slowly.

In return, Scarlette nearly tore Hendrix apart. Gillian says she came close to ripping his left hand clean off, and he only avoided a sword through the heart by sheer instinct and distance.

That is part of why I feel like this.

Not just exhaustion. Anger. A heavy, simmering exhaustion that comes from being furious for too long without release.

They could have killed each other.

And Scarlette and I are partly to blame for leaving without him. We both knew Drix would never allow me to disappear from his sight, not even with Scarlette acting as my protector. But Drix escalated it. He crossed the line first.

What makes it worse is Scarlette didn’t fight back immediately. Not because she was weak, but because she was thinking about me.

That only makes me angrier.

Gillian says she only retaliated properly when she realised she might actually die.

My mate and my best friend almost killed each other.

And I almost forgot the most important part—she’s pregnant.

I am furious. I am shaken. I am exhausted. And I am not speaking to Drix.

Scarlette, meanwhile, is avoiding me completely out of guilt, which only feeds the tension sitting in my chest like a tightening knot.

Still, she told them what the deities said. Drix, in turn, claimed he knew where the temple was.

So now we are here.

Moving. Again.

We are hiking up hidden mountain paths carved into old stone. Staircases so old they feel like they have been here since the beginning of time. Yet, surprisingly, still as strong a new one.

I cannot make it on my own, so Gillian carries me, and Jericho carries Scarlette.

“The temple will come into sight soon,” Drix grumbles ahead us.

“I still can’t believe there’s a whole temple here I didn’t know about,” Jericho says, still sounding half-stunned. “And a temple filled with sexy priestesses on top of that.”

Drix doesn’t even look back.

“I’ve told you already, Jericho, behave yourself. They are not priestesses. They are scholars—fanatics, if you want the truth. They are lunatics obsessed with the moon goddess and werewolves. They document everything related to our kind. Especially ours. They are… unsettling. And they believe bearing the child of their so-called saints is an honour.”

Jericho whistles under his breath. “That sounds bad.”

Scarlette makes a face. “It is worse. The so-called high priest sleeps with them. All of them. And they think being chosen is a blessing.”

A beat of silence.

Then Jericho blinks slowly. “So… he sleeps with his own children too?”

No one answers immediately.

Drix doesn’t.

Scarlette doesn’t.

The silence that follows is all the confirmation anyone needs.

Gillian physically shudders.

“Right,” he mutters. “That’s… disgusting.”

“Why are they still around? Shouldn’t someone have taken care of them by now?”

“It’s a problem the wolves of Greece are meant to deal with,” Drix replies flatly. “As long as they don’t expand beyond their territory, no one interferes. And they’ve never tried to push their influence outward. Yes, they’ll approach shifters—male or female—and try to conceive, even if they’re already mated. And yes, they’ll seek out willing werewolves for the same purpose. But they don’t force anyone. It’s always a choice.”

My brows furrow. “What if one of them finds a mate?”

“That,” he says, “is considered an even greater honour than sleeping with the priest.”

I stare at him. “That’s still unsettling.”

Scarlette shifts slightly ahead of us, voice quieter. “From what I know, a woman is considered ‘worthy’ to lie with the priest once she turns thirty.”

I blink. “Is the priest immortal or something?”

“Something like that,” she answers.

Gillian scrunches his nose. “That’s completely messed up. We should just call it what it is. The cult of Selene. Or Selene’s psychiatric hospital. Or Selene’s—”

“I get it, Gil,” I cut in with a small laugh.

He huffs. “If Selene herself hasn’t dealt with it, I don’t see why anyone else bothers.”

Zinnia’s voice brushes through my mind, colder than usual. “She’s a goddess. They’re organised degenerates. She ignores it because it suits her. All the gods are like that.”

There’s a bitterness there I don’t question.

I’ve learned by now when to listen—and when asking questions will get me nothing but silence.

Scarlette continues speaking, explaining what she knows as we climb. Drix eventually falls into step closer to me, his gaze fixed too intensely on my face. I ignore it completely.

The climb drags on until finally we reach the top of the staircase.

The temple comes into view.

It is not what I expect.

There is no grandeur, no traditional sacred elegance. Instead, it looks like a modern structure disguised as an older building—part mansion, part temple, all of it wrapped in an unsettling, almost clinical stillness. It isn’t beautiful, but it is impossible to ignore. It carries a strange weight, like it has been built to watch rather than welcome.

Drix exhales beside me.

“As I said, I know the priest. We won’t have trouble entering. The only issue is that they don’t allow vampires inside. Scarlette will have to wait outside.”

He places a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off before he can get comfortable. The movement earns a tired sigh from him.

“You’re going to forgive me sooner or later.”

“Hmph.”

“I’ve already apologised to Scarlette, and she understands. I'm sorry I lost my temper, but you need to see it from my perspective—”

I turn and look at him properly.

Not a glare.

Not a scowl.

Just a long, steady look.

Whatever he sees on my face makes him stop talking.