CHAPTER 57: CHAPTER 57: VICTOR’S FURY (5)

Victor’s steps carried him deeper into the manor’s interior, the lights overhead flickering once as the temperature shifted almost imperceptibly.

His ether was no longer still.

It moved like a tide through the walls, sliding along the etched ward‑lines, brushing over cameras, scanners, and the subtle currents of power that fed the estate’s security grid.

It hunted.

The first tremor came from the west control post, three levels above, tucked behind reinforced glass and consoles still humming with data streams. The night watch officer was slumped in his chair, pale with dread, hands hovering uselessly over the console. He felt it before he saw it: a red shimmer bleeding into the monitor’s reflection, forming threads that coiled around his wrists and tightened like living rope.

His breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping him as the ether slid higher, cold and burning all at once, pinning him to the chair.

"You saw the breach," Victor’s voice came over the comm, low and calm, the way a blade is calm just before it strikes.

The man stammered, "M–my lord, I... I thought the ward glitch was a false read. I didn’t..."

"You didn’t act."

The words were soft, but the ether flared. The officer convulsed against the bindings, the air smelling faintly of ozone as sparks jumped from the console’s edge. His scream was choked, broken, as the threads loosened just enough to keep him alive, barely.

"Strip him of clearance," Victor’s voice ordered through the grid. "By dawn, I want him out of my house."

The second failure was in the sublevel perimeter. Two guards who had abandoned their patrol point for coffee. They never saw the crimson mist seep under the door until it was too late.

It coiled around their ankles first, crawling higher, chilling their veins with the weight of power far older and sharper than their training could ever prepare them for. Both dropped to their knees as Victor’s voice bled through the comms, calm and terrible.

"Did you think the perimeter kept itself?"

"We... we were gone five minutes..." one gasped.

"Five minutes," Victor repeated, almost thoughtfully. "Long enough for someone to stand where he sleeps."

The ether tightened. Not enough to kill. Just enough to leave pain singing through their bones, enough to brand the lesson into muscle and marrow. When the bindings fell away, they crumpled to the floor, panting, eyes wide with the knowledge that they had been spared only because Elias had been spared.

Ashwin followed behind Victor silently, tablet in hand, watching as the reports updated one by one. Revoked access, medical flags triggered by Victor’s punishment, clearance levels dropped to red. He didn’t speak. There was nothing to say to the men responsible for Elias’s quarter did their job poorly and now they paid for it.

Victor moved through the halls like a storm passing through a city, swift, merciless, and unforgettable. His ether receded behind him slowly, leaving the walls cold, the air heavy with the scent of scorched wards and the memory of a wrath that would not be forgotten.

By the time he reached the central stairwell again, the manor was silent. No one dared speak over the comms.

Victor paused at the railing, gazing down into the shadowed courtyard, crimson light fading under his skin as he inhaled slowly.

Elias was safe.

But every man in this house would remember what it meant to fail him.

—

The door shut behind Robert with a muted click, leaving Elias in a quiet so complete it almost rang in his ears.

He stayed still for a long moment, letting the hush settle. His pulse had steadied by now, but the bitter aftertaste of Matteo’s voice still lingered, like smoke clinging to the back of his throat. He rubbed at his eyes once, then let his hand fall, pushing a long breath through his teeth.

The suite Robert had led him to was... calm. Too calm, after the charged halls and the distant hum of ether faded behind him. Warm lamplight softened the edges of the modern furnishings; the air smelled faintly of cedar and something sharper, sweet smoke. Victor’s scent.

Elias hesitated in the doorway, one hand brushing the cool metal frame as he peered into the room beyond.

Victor’s bedroom wasn’t ostentatious the way he’d expected a man of such power to live. It wasn’t full of gilded frames or gaudy displays of wealth. Instead, it carried that quiet weight of things chosen carefully, pieces that didn’t shout their value but whispered it in the way they felt permanent, built to last decades, maybe centuries.

The floor was a dark herringbone wood, smooth underfoot, catching the low amber glow from recessed lighting along the ceiling. A massive bed dominated the center, its frame a clean, modern silhouette in blackened steel, the bedding a deep charcoal with a faint sheen that spoke of absurdly fine fabric. The throw at the end, cashmere, by the look and texture, was folded with geometric precision.

Elias stepped inside, bare feet silent on the rug that sprawled under the bed, a hand‑knotted piece in muted gray and cream, with abstract patterns so subtle they seemed to emerge only when the light struck at the right angle.

His gaze caught on the details: a single armchair by the window, upholstered in storm‑blue leather so soft it looked worn‑in despite being immaculate; a slim table beside it bearing a single glass of water, condensation still faint on its surface, as though Victor had been here recently, pacing, thinking.

The wardrobe door was half‑open, and curiosity tugged him forward. Elias slid it further, the quiet rollers gliding without a sound. Inside, everything was arranged with unnerving precision: dark suits lined up like soldiers, each hanger evenly spaced, shirts in muted shades of black, white, and deep gray folded into clean stacks. There was no clutter, no excess, but the tailoring alone spoke of hours and money poured into making each piece flawless. A faint trace of Victor’s scent lingered here too, woven into fabric and leather: smoke, cedar, and something warm and metallic beneath.

Elias let his fingertips ghost over the lapel of a midnight‑black jacket, feeling the impossibly fine weave beneath his skin. He hadn’t known what he expected, maybe something colder, harsher. Instead, it felt... private. A room lived in by someone who knew exactly what he liked and would accept nothing less, even in the quiet corners of his life.

His hand lingered on the edge of the wardrobe door, and for the first time since Robert had left him, Elias felt the tension in his chest shift, easing just slightly. He stepped back, taking in the muted luxury, the strange intimacy of being in a space so clearly Victor.

And then the thought hit him, sudden and sharp.

This wasn’t just Victor’s wing.

It was his suite.

Elias’s eyes drifted back to the bed, the quiet space, the scent still hanging in the air. A flush crept up his neck before he could stop it, heat blooming in his chest that had nothing to do with Matteo, or danger, or even fear.

Victor had brought him here, to his own room.

Elias swallowed hard, closing the wardrobe softly. He let the sound of the click settle into the quiet and stood there, still, caught between the fading memory of fear and the unexpected intimacy of realizing he was standing where Victor slept, where Victor breathed, where Victor dreamed.

For the first time that night, his pulse quickened for reasons entirely different than before.