Ren sprinted to the balcony, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Below, in the pale, sickly moonlight, he saw the ivory speck of Julian's tuxedo. The boy was walking toward the heavy iron gates of the estate—the boundary between the Blackwood sanctuary and the predatory world outside.
Standing on the other side of the bars was a shadow. Then two. Then three. The men with the scarred faces had returned, their tattered hoods fluttering like the wings of vultures.
Julian had called them before hand.
Julian reached the gate, his hand trembling as he reached for the latch. He was going to open it. He was going to offer himself—and Ren—up to the "First Debt" just to end the agony of being a second-choice husband.
"Julian, no!" Ren's voice was lost to the gale.
Suddenly, the night was pierced by a violent, mechanical roar.
A pair of blinding LED headlights cut through the mist from the main road, moving at a lethal speed. A black sedan—not the polished one from the city, but an armored, mud-splattered beast—tore around the final bend. It didn't slow down. It didn't signal.
The car slammed into the gravel, skidding to a halt mere inches from where Julian stood.
The driver's door didn't just open; it was thrown back with enough force to bend the hinges. Vane stepped out.
He looked like he had walked through hell. His black coat was torn at the shoulder, his shirt was stained with something dark that wasn't wine, and his eyes—usually cold and calculating—were burning with a primitive, terrifying rage.
"Get away from the gate, Julian, do that and you cease to be my son" Vane's voice boomed over the wind, a sound of pure authority that made the scarred men on the other side retreat into the trees.
"No!" Julian screamed, his voice cracking.
"You don't get to save us! You don't get to be the hero after you broke me!"
Julian grabbed the iron latch, his knuckles white.
Vane moved faster than Ren had ever seen a man move. In three strides, he reached his son. He didn't use a weapon. He grabbed Julian by the collar of his ivory tuxedo and yanked him back so hard the younger man sprawled onto the gravel.
"I said get away," Vane growled. He didn't look back at his son. He turned his attention to the gates, his hand reaching into his coat. He pulled out a heavy, obsidian-handled pistol and fired three shots into the darkness beyond the bars, hitting the figures.
The three men dropped to the ground. The sulfur smell dissipated, replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of gunpowder.
He never misses a target.
No one comes to his territory and takes what what is His.
Vane stood at the gates for a long moment, his chest heaving, jaw clenched, his silhouette a jagged line against the moon. He looked like a god who had just defended his temple from lesser demons. Then, he turned.
He ignored Julian, who was sobbing in the dirt, and looked up. High above, on the balcony of the Master's wing, his eyes locked onto Ren's. Even from that distance, Ren felt the pull—the gravity of the man he had craved for seven days.
Vane didn't say a word. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a spare key, and held it up.
Ten minutes later, the lock on the bedroom door turned.
Ren was standing in the center of the room, his breath hitching. The door swung open, and Vane stepped inside. He was covered in the dust of whatever war he had been fighting, his knuckles bruised, a thin cut bleeding over his cheekbone.
Ren didn't hesitate. He didn't ask about the debt or about Julian. He ran.
He crashed into Vane, his arms locking around the man's neck, burying his face in the tattered wool of his coat. The scent of cedarwood, tobacco, and blood filled Ren's senses, a cocktail of everything he had been starving for.
Vane's arms came around him, crushing him so tightly Ren could barely breathe. It wasn't a hug; it was a reclamation. Vane's hands, rough and cold from the night, slid into Ren's hair, tilting his head back.
"You're here," Ren gasped, his eyes wet.
"You came back."
"I told you," Vane whispered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble against Ren's lips. "I own the ground you land on. Did you think I'd let a few ghosts take what's mine?"
Vane leaned down, his kiss desperate and punishing, a release of the tension that had been building for a week. He tasted of copper and rain, and for the first time in his life, Ren didn't feel like he was falling. He felt like he had finally hit the bottom—and found it was made of solid, unbreakable iron.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, and somewhere below, Julian was being led away by Elias to a room that would truly be a cage. But in the Master's wing, the debt was silent. For now, there was only the man and the masterpiece he had fought heaven and hell to keep.