Let Them Kneel (kaelani and Julian) novel Chapter 114

The vampire led them down a shadowed corridor, where the walls shifted to polished black marble veined in crimson.

The double doors at the end were tall—arched, lacquered black, and inlaid with intricate silver filigree. When they opened, the room beyond whispered of old wealth and older power.

Lazarus’ study was cavernous but not cold. Heavy velvet drapes lined the walls, pooling like spilled ink across the floor. Gothic candelabras flickered with blood-colored flame, casting long, shifting shadows across ornate bookshelves, skull-topped hourglasses, and ancient tomes bound in cracked leather.

A fireplace crackled low in the background, its flames casting a ruby glow over the centerpiece of the room: a wide mahogany desk carved with serpentine details, sharp enough to draw blood if one weren’t careful.

Behind it sat Lazarus.

He lounged—not with laziness, but with complete ownership—on a high-backed gothic chair upholstered in jet-black velvet. A deep red silk robe, loosely tied at the waist, clung to his frame like liquid sin. The collar was open just enough to expose the sharp line of his collarbone and a hint of tattooed script winding down his chest.

To the right, Sebastian reclined in a tufted antique armchair, elbow propped against the armrest, the side of his face resting lightly in his hand. He said nothing, but his eyes—cool, unreadable—were fixed on the two Lycans now standing before them.

Neither of them spoke.

The man who’d led them in moved past with practiced ease, making his way to a drink table nestled beside a glass cabinet of rare spirits and preserved relics. He bent to open a discreet fridge, pulled out a blood bag labeled O negative, punctured it with a gleaming silver spike, and began pouring the contents into two crystal wine glasses.

The blood was still settling in the crystal glasses when Lazarus finally spoke.

“Please,” he said, his voice rich and unhurried, “have a seat.”

Julian and Jace moved cautiously toward the two chairs set across from the desk—deep mahogany with clawed feet and blood-red upholstery that matched the candelight’s glow. They didn’t sit so much as perch, alert and wary, like they were waiting for the chairs to bite.

The vampire who had poured the blood stepped forward and placed the glasses before Lazarus and Sebastian, who each accepted them with the ease of ritual.

“Do you care for any refreshments?” Lazarus asked smoothly, lifting his glass and swirling it once before taking a long, deliberate sip.

Julian watched as Sebastian followed suit, closing his eyes as if savoring the vintage.

The smell—thick, coppery, alive—hit the Lycans like a punch to the gut.

Both men straightened slightly, their expressions neutral but taut. That curdled feeling in their stomachs tightened, instinctive and unshakable.

“No, thank you,” Julian said, voice clipped but polite.

Sebastian laughed softly, eyes gleaming over the rim of his glass.

“We do have other refreshments, you know,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Things that bleed a little slower.”

Julian’s jaw flexed.

“We’re fine,” he said firmly, nodding once. “But thank you for the offer.”

Lazarus’s smile was faint, almost unreadable. He set his glass down with a soft click.

“Then let’s get on with it.”

His gaze flicked to the candelabras, noting the inching flame.

“Sunrise is nearly upon us… and we’ll need to retire soon.”

Julian leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“We came here because of a map,” he said. “Ancient. From a time before packs… before kingdoms… before anything resembling order.”

Lazarus tilted his head, interest flickering in his crimson eyes.

Julian continued.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify