Let Them Kneel (kaelani and Julian) novel Chapter 56

Julian’s hands balled into fists, every tendon tight as steel. His breath came sharp, jaw clenched against the pressure building beneath his skin.

The wolf clawed at the edges of his control, demanding release. Demanding blood.

Nobody threatened her.

She was his.

No—she was theirs.

His body locked, chest rising with shallow, ragged breaths as the beast surged closer to the surface.

It took everything in Julian not to shift.

Not to let the wolf rise and rip the air apart with a bloodthirsty growl.

Elara tossed the ruined satin toward him like a gauntlet and turned on her heel.

The door slammed so hard the windows trembled. The echo of the impact hung in the air long after she was gone.

Julian stared at the door for a hot minute after she left, the silence vibrating in its wake.

The dress lay in a heap of torn red satin across the floor—bright, violent, and final. He crouched and gathered the shredded fabric in his hands, the smooth material sliding between his fingers like blood made tangible.

How blind he’d been.

He’d mistaken Elara’s vanity for confidence, her cruelty for strength. He had fed her ego, let her believe she was untouchable, and in doing so he helped create the very monster now threatening someone who never deserved any of this.

Kaelani.

The thought of her name alongside Elara’s venom made something hot coil in his chest. Rage, guilt, grief—they tangled together until he couldn’t tell them apart. And yet he knew what came next. He would still have to mark Elara, still have to stand before the pack and take her as his Luna.

The thought made his stomach

twist—

and his wolf began to turn on him, unable to comprehend why he’d betray the one it had already chosen.

Julian looked down at the ruined gown again. Even torn, it was beautiful—fragile, deliberate, like the gesture that had sent it back. She really returned it. She didn’t want it, didn’t want him, didn’t want a single thread that tied her to his world.

It was a door closing.

One he had no right to try and walk back through.

Julian swallowed hard, knuckles white around the fabric. Slowly, almost reverently, he began to fold the dress—lining frayed edge to frayed edge, as though precision could somehow preserve what was left of it. The dress was limp in his hands, stained with finality.

Knock. Knock.

He didn’t lift his head.

Knock. Knock.

His jaw clenched tighter. He tucked one half of the dress under the other and gently pressed the folds flat.

Knock. Knock.

He lowered it into the box, smoothing it as best he could. The silk ribbon lay beside it, curled and mocking.

Knock. Knock.

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