Chapter 285: The Last Chapter of Part 3

Grand Lord Vladya and Grand Lord Ottai sat by the door until dawn. Emeriel’s voice had long since failed her, reduced to raw, broken whispers of suffering. The girl was utterly spent. Occasionally, a tired sob escaped her lips, but otherwise, the air was deathly quiet, though they both knew the beast within was still active. At one point, Ottai had soaked his robes with tears, his shoulders trembling as he listened to the horrors beyond the thick wooden door. Yet neither man moved; their promise held them captive, waiting, hoping.

Because Vladya was attuned to the room beyond, he heard it first: the faint, almost undetectable sound of fangs piercing flesh. His body snapped upright, every muscle coiled and alert. “What’s going on?” Ottai croaked, jerking awake from a shallow sleep. “It’s coming to an end,” Vladya replied. “He is finally drinking from her.”

Ottai’s ears flared as his senses sharpened. Vladya heard the beast’s stuttered rhythm, low, muffled growls as Daemonikai reached his peak. But the drinking continued, dragging on as seconds turned into agonizing minutes. Ottai rose. “We have to go in there. He will drain her completely.” But Vladya pressed a firm hand to Ottai’s knee. “Not until she uses the safe word. We vowed.”

“I know we did,” Ottai snapped, his teeth grinding. “We have listened to her suffer all night because of that damned promise! But Vlad, the girl is exhausted. What if she can’t say it? What if she’s too weak? Or doesn’t remember it?”

“K–Keira…”

The soft, weak cry silenced them. Vladya and Ottai sprang to their feet, rushing for the door. Vladya reached it first, throwing it open with a force that rattled the hinges.

The scene was nightmarish. Daemonikai, still in his beast form, hovered over Emeriel at the far end of the room. They were sprawled on the floor; the scent of blood and sex hung heavy in the air. The once-immaculate bed was soaked in blood, trails marking every corner of the room—everywhere he’d dragged her, taken her, ravaged her.

Their intrusion made the beast pause, its head whipping around, bloody fangs bared. But as the drinking ceased, its strength abandoned it, and the beast collapsed beside the motionless woman. Emeriel hadn’t moved since they entered.

“Ukrae,” Ottai cried sorrowfully.

Vladya avoided looking at the broken figure, staring instead at the now-slumbering beast. “Now is our chance,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “We have to move him.”

Ottai glanced at the unconscious beast. “What do we do with him?”

“He’s still in beast form,” Vladya replied grimly. “And we don’t know when—or if—this will fade. We’re taking him to the Forbidden Chambers.”

Ottai nodded, his face pale. They shifted into their beast forms and carried Daemon out of the blood-soaked room into the dark corridors of Blackstone. The fortress was eerily silent. Only the soldiers remained at their posts, still as statues. As though the entire citadel was in mourning. It was like that night two years ago, when the court decided to kill Feral Daemonikai.

The journey to the Forbidden Chambers of Frostfall was long. Upon arrival, they sealed the beast inside, shutting the massive oak doors and metal gates behind them. They dismissed the lone guard and returned to Emeriel’s bedchamber. She lay exactly as they’d left her, curled in a fetal position, her face hidden beneath tangled hair.

“I will take her,” Vladya told Ottai, who remained in the doorway. Bending low, Vladya lifted Emeriel into his arms. She felt so light, so small, stirring his protective instincts. Too late. Trying not to notice her bruises, he cradled her broken body.

Vladya carried her to one of the master chambers in Blackstone. Livia waited inside with human slaves and Urekai maids. Her face was composed, but her swollen, red-rimmed eyes betrayed her grief. When Vladya entered, a young human girl sobbed at the sight of Emeriel.

“Amie, now is not the time to cry,” Livia said sternly, though her voice trembled. “Get the herb bag—quick!”

The girl scrambled to obey. “Yella,” Livia continued, “start preparing the potions.”

Vladya laid the unconscious girl on the bed while Ottai remained outside. Finally, he allowed himself to examine her. Emeriel’s knees were scabbed, dark with dried blood. One arm was swollen, bruised, and mottled. Several strands of her hair clung to her sweaty skin. Bruises covered almost every part of her body. Her complexion was nearly white, drained of blood. Even the bite mark on her neck was rough and open; the beast hadn’t closed the wound. It would scar—of that Vladya was certain.

Steeling himself, he elongated his fangs and leaned over her neck. Gently fitting his teeth over the bite, he pierced it just enough to draw the faintest trace of blood. The elixir in his saliva activated, and he swiped his tongue over the wound to close it. It was a small thing, a single wound among countless others, but it was something.

As he stepped back, Livia climbed onto the bed and parted Emeriel’s thighs. Vladya looked away. “Oh, heavens…” Livia whispered, horrified. Vladya turned his head…and stopped breathing. The bruises on her thighs were worse—deeper, angrier. Blood and semen stained her skin and the sheets. She looked so small, so broken.

Vladya’s chest felt like lead. How had it come to this? What could have gone wrong? How had Daemonikai and Emeriel stumbled onto this cliff? Was this the end of the road for both of them?

As Livia began cleaning the girl, the feeling in Vladya’s chest intensified. He rubbed his hand over it, trying to ease the ache. Livia wiped a cloth over Emeriel’s bruised and bloodied genitals, and the girl stirred, her eyelids fluttering weakly.

“St–stop… pl–please,” she whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. “Hurts…”

Vladya’s eyes watered. Turning away sharply, he walked away.