CHAPTER 182: A BOOGIE WITH DA HOODIE - KING OF MY CITY

Kyllian looked Talon squarely in the eye, his tone turning to steel. "Well, the council isn’t king."

*****

Gabriel arrived at the underground hideout outside the border that housed Williams and his army.

Williams emerged from the shadows.

"Do you have it?" Williams asked.

"Yes," Gabriel replied coolly, stepping forward. "I have it."

"I thought you said it was difficult."

"It was," Gabriel said, his tone clipped. He pulled something from his pocket and unwrapped it from a cloth. "But I have eyes and ears inside the castle."

From the cloth, he revealed a comb. Tucked between its teeth were a few strands of hair. Damien’s hair.

Gabriel offered it to Williams with a faint sneer, as though the object disgusted him more than the treachery it represented. "So how is the prince’s hair supposed to help you find his mate?"

Williams’ mouth curled into a thin, malicious smile. "You can find anything, Lord Gabriel, if you want to. You just need the right tools."

His fingers brushed over the strands of hair. "And all I need now, is a human sacrifice to bind the spell."

Gabriel exhaled heavily, irritation etched in every breath. "Fine! You never ask for something simple." He rolled his eyes and muttered a curse beneath his breath. "I’ll get you your human."

He didn’t ask why. He never did. There were darker things in Williams’ arsenal he chose not to understand.

Williams barely looked up, already engrossed in preparation. "Is the princess still getting her steady supply of blood?"

"Yes," Gabriel said, his tone colder now. His shoulders stiffened. "And the trap for Veyron is almost ready."

"None of these will be ready before the coronation," Williams pointed out, shifting his gaze back to Gabriel.

Gabriel’s smile returned, this time cruel and knowing. "It doesn’t matter if Damien becomes king," he said, "because what I have planned will ruin him... and his little mutt."

"Why not just let him die? I mean that will be easier."

Gabriel stiffened, jaw clenching as he faced the sorcerer. "Because then, the bastard child the mutt carries will be next in line to the throne which will put the mother in charge." He turned from Williams and walked toward the table that held potions, running a hand through his hair.

The idea alone made his blood boil.

"You really have thought this through," Williams muttered, though his tone was more mocking than impressed. He studied Gabriel carefully, eyes narrowing just enough to note the way his fingers curled into fists. Gabriel’s hatred was personal now, just like his.

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he exhaled a slow, bitter breath as though it were the only thing keeping him from combusting. Then, with quiet fury, he replied, "I have been thinking of how to get the throne back since it was taken from me."

His voice trembled with restrained rage. Every syllable carried the weight of years lost, of titles stripped, of dignity dragged through the mud. He could still remember the night Lucivar was crowned instead of him, the whispers behind court doors, the mocking glances. He had been born for the crown. Instead, he was cast aside.

"And when you get the throne back?" Williams pressed, stepping closer, his footsteps whispering across the floor. He needed to be sure Gabriel hadn’t forgotten the agreement—the real deal that bound them. His mate’s death had to mean something, and if Gabriel strayed from the path they’d forged, he’d regret it.

"I burn the werewolf kingdom to the ground," Gabriel said coldly. "Don’t worry, Williams. Your fight has become my fight."

Williams smiled, his lips curling into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Good," he said. "Very good."

*****

Veyron arrived at the abandoned docks in the human territory that night, the salt-stained air thick with fog. Moonlight danced on the black water, casting silver trails that vanished as quickly as they formed.

Doctor Thessa’s car rolled in behind his, headlights momentarily sweeping over the rusted chains and forgotten crates that lined the dockside. The engine died. She stepped out—poised and confident.

Veyron turned to her, shadows casting his sharp features in half-light. "Thessa... I’m sorry."

The words came abruptly, and even he wasn’t sure what exactly he was apologizing for. Maybe it was the burden. Maybe it was everything.

"Why?" she asked, one brow rising with curiosity.

Veyron hesitated. "It just feels like I am asking too much of you, taking care of the princess and also overseeing the dispensing of the blood. There is no one else I can trust."

She studied him for a moment. Underneath the stoicism, the tired lines around his eyes, the grim tightness of his lips—she saw the strain. Veyron was a man who carried too many lives depending on him.

"I am honoured to do this, Sage. Besides, it’s almost over. The baby is growing steadily. Strong little maniac he is," Thessa chuckled.

"He better be," Veyron said, the corners of his lips tugging into a brief smile. "He is destined to take charge of a vast and strong empire."

There was a long silence as they walked past stacked containers, their boots echoing faintly against the metal ground.

"And if it’s a girl?" Thessa asked softly, eyes forward, though Veyron could feel her glance shift to him.

He stopped, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he turned his eyes to the vast darkness of the sea. "Then she has to work twice as hard to prove herself," he said at last, his voice low with something close to regret. "This world doesn’t make it easy for women—not even ones born of legends."

Thessa didn’t argue. She knew better.

"I wouldn’t worry," she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s in both parents’ genes to lead."

Veyron turned to her then.

"I pray you’re right."

They reached the container at the edge of the dock. Two guards flanked it, each armed to the teeth with rifles. Their faces were expressionless, trained, but their eyes flicked nervously toward Veyron and Thessa. No one liked being stationed at this particular site, no matter how well-paid.