Let Them Kneel (kaelani and Julian) novel Chapter 102

The night was black as pitch, the only light coming from the high beams slicing through the empty road ahead. Julian’s hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, his eyes fixed on the never-ending stretch of asphalt. Fourteen hours straight behind the wheel and it was starting to catch up with him.

He rolled the window down an inch, letting the icy air slap his face. It helped—a little. He blinked hard, forcing his vision to stay sharp, then inhaled deeply through his nose. The crisp air filled his lungs, but it didn’t clear the fog settling over his mind.

The road was hypnotic. Endless. And dangerous when paired with a man running on fumes.

Jace had wanted to stop back in the last town, even suggested they crash at some rundown motel just off the highway. But Julian had insisted they push forward. His wolf had demanded it—restless, agitated, refusing to wait. Every mile closer felt like another inch toward Kaelani. Stopping hadn’t been an option.

But now, in the middle of nowhere with fatigue clawing at him, he was starting to think his Beta had been right.

He glanced sideways.

Jace was out cold in the passenger seat, arms folded across his chest, face turned slightly toward the window. Completely gone.

Julian sighed through his teeth and turned his eyes back to the road. No way he could wake him—not when they’d only switched a couple hours ago.

Julian pulled off to the shoulder of the road, the tires crunching over gravel as the car came to a slow stop. He turned off the engine, letting the silence wrap around him like a blanket. The ticking of the cooling metal was the only sound in the stillness.

He leaned back against the headrest, eyes heavy, the weight of exhaustion finally dragging him down. Just an hour, he told his wolf. That’s all I need. Then we’ll move again.

His lids lowered. His breath evened out.

In seconds, the lines between waking and sleep blurred.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was different.

The garden stretched before him—lush, familiar, and soaked in soft twilight. Stone paths twisted through rows of blooming flowers, and the scent of fresh earth and lavender clung to the air.

He frowned.

What the hell?

He hadn’t seen this place in weeks. It was the private garden back at the Blackthorn estate.

There’d been word that their fathers were looking for them, but no way they’d found them. They covered their tracks too well for anyone to trace.

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