CHAPTER 93: BOND WITH THE ENEMY

Kieran’s POV

The main club space was a jarring shift from the intimate darkness of the private room. The bass was too loud, the lights too bright, the hungry stares from other women an annoying buzz against my skin.

I’d pulled my clothes back on, the fabric feeling like a cage after the freedom of touching her. Eleanor walked beside me, her confusion a tangible thing. She thought she’d done something wrong.

She hadn’t. It was me.

Her words, breathed in a moment of pure, surrendered pleasure, had been a trigger I never saw coming. "You’re so good at this. I want more."

It was exactly what he used to say. My slave master. A patronizing, possessive praise tossed at me like a scrap to a dog after I’d performed some degrading act.

The memory had slammed into me with the force of a physical blow, ice water dousing the fire she had so beautifully stoked. I’d had to stop. I couldn’t let the ghost of that monster taint what was happening with her.

If I’d kept going, the rage and self-loathing would have taken over, and I might have done something I’d regret—something she definitely wouldn’t have liked.

"This is your driver," I told her, gesturing to the man waiting by the curb. My voice was tighter than I wanted it to be. "From now on, whenever you want to come here, you call this number. He’ll always be ready for you."

She looked up at me, those wide eyes still clouded with uncertainty. "Isn’t that a bit much?"

"No," I said, the word absolute. "I’ll always want you around when I need you." I needed to fix this, to make her understand it wasn’t her fault. She was trying to avoid my gaze, so I gently caught her chin, forcing her to look at me. Under the pulsing neon and the thrum of the music, I let a fraction of my guard down.

"You didn’t do anything wrong tonight," I said, my thumb stroking her jawline. "I’m the one who should apologize for ruining the mood. I just... remembered something. A painful memory. I didn’t want you to see that side of me."

Her expression softened. "It’s fine. Thank you for tonight."

She turned to leave, and I couldn’t help myself. I blew her a kiss, a flash of my usual charming self breaking through the grim interior. I watched her slide into the car and watched it drive away, a hollow feeling in my chest.

A few women nearby started calling out, vying for my attention now that I was alone. I didn’t even glance their way. I just turned and walked back into the club’s shadows, the memory of her scent the only thing I wanted to cling to.

The door to the private room clicked shut, sealing me in blessed silence. I ripped the mask from my face, the stifling leather feeling like a layer of my own skin being peeled away. I tossed it onto the plush seat where she had been, where the scent of her arousal and nervous sweat still clung to the air.

I went straight to the private bar, not bothering with a glass. I grabbed the neck of the nearest bottle of amber whiskey, uncorked it with my teeth, and took a long, burning pull.

The liquor was a familiar fire, but for us, its effects only stays for a little while. Our metabolism burned through toxins like a forge, leaving us sober and painfully clear-headed within minutes.

But the little while were all I needed.

I carried the bottle back and slumped into the seat, the ghost of her warmth still imprinted on the cushions. I took another deep swig, welcoming the temporary haze that began to cloud the sharp edges of my memory. I just wanted to be a little drunk. Just for a little while. Just long enough to forget the nightmare her innocent words had unleashed.

A shrill ring cut through the hazy silence, grating on my already raw nerves. I grunted, not needing to check the screen to know who it was. Only one person would call with such impeccable, irritating timing.

I stood up, my body still holding onto the faint, wobbly echo of the alcohol, and retrieved my phone from the cupboard where I’d stashed my clothes.

"What?" I barked into the receiver.

Keith’s voice was like ice water. "Why did you take Eleanor to the club alone?"

"I have the right to have personal time with her," I shot back, the defensiveness rising in me like a shield.

I heard him sigh, the sound full of weary exasperation. "I hope you’ve finished ’enjoying yourself.’ I need you back home. Now."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Lucky for you, the party’s already over. She’s on her way back. So what’s the world-shattering issue that couldn’t wait and that you found so satisfying to interrupt?"

His next words wiped the last of the drunken fog from my mind, my body snapping straight as a rod.

"It’s about our curse."

Every muscle tensed. The club, the memories, Eleanor... it all vanished, replaced by a cold, familiar dread.

"I’ll be right there," I said, my voice now grim and utterly sober. I ended the call without another word.

If Keith was talking about the, it wasn’t just bad. It was catastrophic. Whatever he’d discovered was a game-changer, and not in a good way. I stormed out of the private room, yanking the door open only to find Damon, with his fist raised, about to knock.

"Keith called," Damon said, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by a grim seriousness. "Told me to drive you."

"I can drive myself," I snapped, my patience worn thin.

Damon shook his head. "Not after what I have to tell you on the way. You won’t be able to focus."

The fact that Keith had looped Damon in meant the situation was dire. I gave a nod and followed him out, the throbbing music of the club now feeling like a mockery of the dread coiling in my gut.

The car ride was a blur of streetlights and Damon’s low, urgent voice laying out the facts Keith had uncovered. With every word, my disbelief grew, curdling into a cold, hard knot of confusion and simmering anger. It had to be bullshit. It had to be.

We reached the estate in record time. I barely registered the grand foyer, taking the stairs two at a time until I burst into the private office.

Keith and Kayden were there, their faces carved from stone. Even Sir Alfred was present. The grim finality on their faces confirmed it all. The bomb Damon had dropped in the car wasn’t a theory. It was our new, horrifying reality.

"Is it true?" I demanded, my voice rough as I stared at Keith. "Tell me it’s not."

He gave a single, grim nod. "It’s true."

The air left my lungs. Damon had laid it out in the car, but hearing Keith confirm it made it real. Our slave master, the monster who had tormented us, broken us, wasn’t just some powerful sadist. He was from the Thorne family. The royal cohorts of the Shadowmere, the very heart of the Shadow Cult. And the curse that had haunted us for 16 years, the one we thought was a divine punishment from the Moon Goddess, was a man-made shackle forged by that bastard and his bloodline.

"This can’t be happening," I breathed, running a hand through my hair. "Why is this happening to us? First, we find out they used the Serpent’s Kiss as their damn ritual ground so that they can resurrect their evil queen. Now this? How long have they been keeping an eye on us?"

Keith’s expression was granite. "The only reason we’re finding out now is because they’ve stopped hiding. They’re revealing themselves because they think their plans are advancing."

Damon cut in, his voice low. "The Thornes have been operating under a fake name for years. They’ve only recently started using their real one openly. They’re the fourth most powerful werewolf bloodline. And their masters, the Shadowmere... they’re the second."

"I don’t give a damn about their ranking!" I snapped, the anger finally boiling over. "My only business is this: if we weren’t cursed by the Moon Goddess, but by a mere supernatural mortal, does that mean we can finally find a way to break it?"

Keith gave a sharp, decisive nod. "Yes. In theory, if we can find the specific individuals who cast it."

"But there might be another way," Damon interjected, drawing all our attention. He looked at me, his gaze intense. "I’m still investigating the viability, but ancient texts suggest a life-for-a-life exchange. Sacrificing a member of the bloodline that created the curse—a Thorne, or even a Shadowmere—could shatter it."

But it was a chance. A real, tangible chance we have to break the curse.

"For now, it’s just a theory," Damon cautioned.

Keith’s voice was like steel. " Which is why we can’t confront them openly. If it gets out that the Vexxon triplets are laboring under a blood curse, every rival and opportunist will see it as a fatal weakness. They’ll swarm us."

"Which is why we proceed with discretion," Damon agreed. "We meet with the Thorne family. We play the part of interested business partners. We get close. We learn their hierarchy, their secrets. We cannot make a move until we have positively identified the person, or people, responsible for the curse."