The corridor outside the sun-drenched living room stretched in both directions, all polished marble and tall, arched windows that let in far more morning light than any vampire residence had any business allowing.
Kristen stood at the junction of two identical hallways, his bare feet cold against the stone, and realized he had absolutely no idea where he was going.
Julian, the dramatic bastard, had vanished without so much as a pointed finger in the right direction.
‘Left,’ his wolf suggested.
Kristen turned left.
The hallway curved past a series of closed doors, none of them labeled, all of them identical.
He tried the first handle.
A linen closet.
The second: a bathroom larger than his entire cabin.
The third was locked.
‘Maybe right was better,’ the wolf amended.
“You’re useless,” Kristen muttered under his breath.
‘You’re the one who didn’t think to ask for directions before he stormed off.’
Kristen didn’t have a response to that.
He’d been too busy feeling victorious about his small act of defiance to consider the practical consequences.
Now, wandering barefoot through a vampire’s mansion like a lost tourist, the victory felt considerably less satisfying.
He rounded another corner and stopped dead.
A man stood at the end of the hall, silhouetted against a tall window.
He was tall—taller than Julian, broader through the shoulders—and dressed in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been stitched directly onto his body by someone who charged more per hour than most people made in a year.
His hair was dark, swept back from a sharp widow’s peak, and when he turned to face Kristen, his eyes were the color of old blood.
There was nothing warm in them.
Nothing even approaching the dark amusement Julian wore like a second skin.
These eyes were flat, assessing, and devoid of anything that might be mistaken for kindness.
‘Kristen,’ his wolf said, very quietly.
‘Do not move.’
Kristen didn’t move.
Jonathon Vance—because who else could this be, the crushing weight of his presence pressing against Kristen’s ribs like a physical force—let his gaze travel slowly down Kristen’s body.
It wasn’t the way Julian looked at him.
Julian’s attention was predatory, yes, but there was a heat beneath it, a fascination that bordered on obsession.
This was different.
This was a butcher examining a cut of meat, calculating exactly where to make the first incision.
“You must be the wolf,” Jonathon said.
His voice was deeper than Julian’s, smoother, like oil spreading across water.
“My son’s…
bride.”
Kristen’s throat had gone dry.
“Kristen,” he managed.
“Ironbound pack.”
“I know what pack you’re from.” Jonathon walked toward him, each step deliberate and soundless.
Up close, the resemblance to Julian was unmistakable—the same aristocratic bone structure, the same sharp jaw, the same elegant hands.
But where Julian’s features carried a certain cruel beauty, Jonathon’s had hardened into something far more severe.
The handsomeness had been carved away by centuries of whatever it was that could turn a monster into an even brutal monster.
He stopped directly in front of Kristen, close enough that Kristen could smell him—aged leather, cold stone, and underneath it all, the faint copper tang of blood so old it had gone stale.
His eyes dropped to the hem of Kristen’s tank top, then lower, to the exposed skin of his thighs below the gray shorts.
“What a pity,” Jonathon murmured, almost to himself.
Kristen’s skin crawled.
“What?”
“That my son had to have you first.” Jonathon reached out and patted Kristen’s shoulder, his palm heavy and freezing even through the thin cotton of the tank top.
“I do so enjoy breaking in new acquisitions.
But Julian has always been…
possessive of his toys.”
The words slithered into Kristen’s ear and settled in his chest, cold, slimy and wrong.
His wolf had gone completely silent, a stillness that felt more like terror than calm.
Jonathon’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment too long, then dropped away.
“Well.
Shall we?” Jonathon resumed walking, his stride unhurried, as if the encounter had been nothing more than a casual greeting between acquaintances.
Kristen stood frozen for a heartbeat, his pulse hammering in his throat, before his legs remembered how to function.
He followed.
Not because he wanted to, but because he still didn’t know where Julian’s office was, and the thought of wandering these halls alone with Jonathon somewhere in them was infinitely worse than following the monster directly.
The office was at the end of the east corridor, past a set of heavy double doors that Jonathon pushed open without knocking.
Inside, the room was all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and Julian’s familiar winter cologne. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
A massive desk dominated the center of the room, and behind it, Julian sat with a stack of documents spread before him, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharply alert.
Those eyes flicked to Jonathon first, then to Kristen, and something in them changed.
The crimson deepened, hardened into steel.
Julian didn’t move from his chair, but the temperature in the room dipped perceptibly.
“Father,” Julian said, his voice perfectly neutral.
“You’re early.”
“I’m punctual, Julian.
There’s a difference.” Jonathon settled into one of the leather chairs facing the desk, crossing his legs with the ease of a man who had never felt unwelcome anywhere in his life.
“I ran into your little wolf in the hallway.
He was…
lost.”
Julian’s gaze shifted to Kristen.
For a split second, something flickered in his expression—concern, maybe, or irritation, or both—before it smoothed back into that impenetrable mask.
“Kristen.
Sit.”
There was a second chair beside Jonathon’s.
Kristen sat in it, keeping as much distance from the patriarch as the armrests would allow.
His hands were trembling slightly, and he pressed them flat against his thighs to still them.
“The contract,” Jonathon said, not bothering with pleasantries.
“I trust the terms have been made clear to the wolf?”
“They have.” Julian’s voice was clipped.
“Kristen is aware of his obligations.”
“Obligations.” Jonathon repeated the word with a faint, cold smile.
“What a diplomatic way of putting it.
Tell me, little wolf—do you understand what you’ve agreed to?
The submission clause, the cohabitation requirements, the full transfer of your pack’s defensive autonomy to the Vance Clan in the event of an external threat?”
Kristen’s jaw tightened.
He remembered every word of the contract.
He’d had it read to him while his father wept and his sister choked on the floor.
He’d signed it with the phantom feeling of Julian’s cold fingers on his throat.
“I understand,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands.
“Good.” Jonathon leaned back, steepling his fingers.
“Then you understand that any breach of these terms—any act of defiance, any attempt to flee, any communication with your former pack without prior authorization—will result in consequences.
Not for you.
You’re far too valuable for that.
But your family, your friends, your precious little pack…” He let the sentence hang, the threat unmistakable.
Kristen’s vision swam.
He thought of his family and friends, and decided to say nothing.
“Father,” Julian interjected, his tone sharper now.
“The terms are clear.
There’s no need to belabor them.”
Jonathon’s cold gaze slid to his son.
“I’m merely ensuring that our newest acquisition understands the gravity of his situation.
You’ve always been too soft with your possessions, Julian.
It’s why they break so often.”
A muscle in Julian’s jaw twitched.
“I don’t recall any of my possessions breaking.”
“No,” Jonathon agreed, rising smoothly from his chair.
“They simply stop being yours.” He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket and turned toward the door.
“I’ll leave you to…
settle in.
The coven will expect a formal introduction within the fortnight.
Do try to have the wolf presentable by then.”
He didn’t look at Kristen again.
He simply walked out, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
Kristen sat rigid in his chair, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls.
His wolf was still silent, a cowering presence in the back of his mind that he couldn’t reach.
A movement to his left.
Julian had risen from behind the desk and was crossing toward him, his steps soundless.
He stopped just beside Kristen’s chair, looking down at him with an expression that was difficult to read.
“He said something to you, didn’t he?” Julian asked quietly.
“What did he say?”
Kristen swallowed.
The words felt lodged in his throat, too ugly to repeat.
“He said it was a pity that you had to have me first.”
The temperature in the room dropped another degree.
“I see.” His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“He touched you.”
Kristen blinked.
“What?”
“He touched you.” Julian’s crimson eyes were fixed on the exact spot where Jonathon’s hand had rested.
“I can smell him on you.”
Kristen didn’t know what to say to that.
He didn’t know what any of this meant—the possessive edge in Julian’s voice, the barely restrained fury vibrating under his skin, the fact that he had noticed such a small detail.
It didn’t fit with the mocking prince who had embarrassed him so readily.
“I’m fine,” Kristen said, because it was the only thing he could think to say.
“He just….” Kristen trailed off uncertain.
Julian stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he reached out and brushed his fingers against Kristen’s shoulder as if he were wiping something away.
His fingertips were cold, but the gesture was unexpectedly gentle.
“You should have listened to me,” Julian said, but there was no mockery in it.
Just a weary statement of fact.
Kristen looked up at him, at the strange, unreadable expression on his beautiful, sharp face, and felt a shift in his chest.
It wasn’t trust.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
But, a glimmer of something.
A crack in the armor he wasn’t ready to examine so soon.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
“I should have.”
Julian held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then withdrew his hand and stepped back.
“Come.
I’ll walk you back to the room.
You should rest.”
Kristen stood on legs that felt steadier than he’s feeling.
He followed Julian out of the office, down the long corridor until they reached the grand foyer.
The morning light had shifted, spilling through the tall arched windows in pale golden rectangles across the marble floor.
Julian led him to the sweeping staircase.
They ascended in silence.
At the top of the stairs, the corridor stretched toward the master suite, lined with closed doors Kristen hadn’t yet seen behind.
Julian paused at the bedroom door, his hand resting on the frame, and for a moment it looked like he might say something else.
But he didn’t.
He simply stepped aside and let Kristen pass.
The door clicked shut, and Kristen was alone.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, the charcoal silk cool beneath his palms, and stared at the wall.
His wolf stirred at last, tentative and shaken.
‘That man…
he’s not like Julian.
He’s dangerous.’
Very dangerous, Kristen thought.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
This was his first day in the mansion and he’s already drained.
He thought about his pack.
Their warmth…their love.
Tears streamed down his face.
He curled up in a fetal position.
I want to go home.
Ouch, hurt my buroburo with that last line(´;︵;`)