Let Them Kneel (kaelani and Julian) novel Chapter 88

The cell reeked of mildew and regret.

Julian paced, every step as tense and deliberate as a predator in a cage. The gray jumpsuit itched like it was stitched from fiberglass, coarse seams scraping across his skin with every movement. He hadn’t slept in days—not really. Not with the weight pressing against his ribs like an iron brand. Not with his wolf howling relentlessly inside his head.

One week.

Seven days of isolation, of sterile meals and cold stares from guards who once bowed their heads in respect. He’d called his mother every day, clinging to the hope that she’d say the words he needed to hear.

But every time, her voice would land like a lull after a storm.

“It’s not that easy, Julian. We need time. Your father is working on it.”

He’d slammed the phone down more than once, hating the desperation in his own voice.

Because while they worked on it, she was out there.

Kaelani.

His mate. His everything.

Vanished in a burst of violet light, and he hadn’t been able to follow. Hadn’t been able to protect her. Every second in that damn cell was a second lost—a second he could’ve been searching. Fighting. Fixing it.

The guilt was a living thing in his chest. Gnawing. Heavy. Loud.

Where did she go?

Was she safe?

Does she think I abandoned her again?

He raked both hands through his hair, pacing harder.

Then—footsteps.

His head snapped up, hope flaring so fast it hurt.

Two guards approached, keys clinking and expressions unreadable. Julian’s stance tightened, his breath held on a wire.

One of them stopped at the bars and muttered, almost too casually:

“I guess it’s your lucky day.”

The metallic slide of the cell door echoed like thunder.

Julian didn’t resist when the guards stepped into the cell.

One of them grabbed his arm and slapped the cold metal cuffs on his wrists—standard procedure, but it still sparked something primal in his chest. Not fear. Fury. He could’ve broken them both in seconds if he wanted.

“Let’s go,” the guard muttered.

Julian turned his head slowly, his eyes burning into the man like a beam of pure, concentrated hatred.

The guard hesitated—then shoved harder.

Julian dropped to one knee, the metal cuffs catching the light.

He looked directly at the council, not once looking away from the people who’d dared to keep him caged… while the one thing that mattered to him slipped further and further away.

The elder’s voice echoed through the chamber like a gavel striking stone.

“Let’s get right down to business, shall we? The charges brought against Julian Hale and Jace Romano are as follows,” he declared. “Aiding in the escape of a volatile fugitive. Harboring one who defies the Council’s authority. Obstructing an ongoing investigation.”

Julian’s jaw locked. Beside him, Jace didn’t move a muscle.

The elder continued coldly, “Consequently, Julian Hale, you are hereby stripped of your title as Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack. Effective immediately, Alpha James Hale is reinstated as acting Alpha.”

A sharp murmur rippled through the chamber. Julian felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders, heavy and final.

“As for you, Jace Romano—” the elder turned, voice unflinching, “—you are also stripped of rank. Your lineage shall not shield you either. Former Beta Elias Romano is reinstated as Beta of Blackthorn.”

Julian cast a glance toward Jace, whose expression didn’t flinch even as the blow landed.

“Both of you,” the elder said, “may petition for reinstatement if, and only if, you prove yourselves loyal, just, and honorable Lycans in service to this Council and our people. Until then, you are not Alpha. You are not Beta. You are but sons of them. Is that understood?”