WOLFLESS: Accidentally Marked By The Devil's Son-Chapter 84: Maddening red eyes.

Hello guys please sorry for the late update but I rewrote the last Chapter ending so please go back and refresh so you don’t miss it, sorry for this stupid mistake from your author, please forgive me.

Refresh that so u can read this new Chapter without confusion.

Chapter 84

The five naked figures walked with a haunting, synchronized gait, their bare feet silent against the cold marble.

They were humans, their skin pale under the heavy chandeliers, their bodies marked only by the strange patterns painted in charcoal across their chests.

The crowd of vampires parted like a dark tide, their eyes glowing with a sudden, sharpened hunger.

The figures came to a halt in the very center of the hall, standing motionless, their heads bowed.

"The Feast of the Five," Cyrus murmured, leaning toward Lucian with a glint of ancient pride in his eyes.

"An ancient tradition, Sire. One established by your own hand in the First Age. To remember the law of the hunt, and the dominance of the Sovereign."

Lucian looked down at the human offerings. He remembered the decree. It was a brutal ritual: the humans were brought in, completely compelled to silence their fear, and then drained of every last drop of life in a single, synchronized feeding to mark a new era.

He was momentarily impressed. Compelling humans to that degree of total vacancy was a lost art for many of the younger generation.

It required a crushing will.

"A fine reminder of our heritage," Lucian replied, his voice devoid of emotion, though his eyes remained fixed on the clock.

11:55.

Cyrus continued to drone on about the significance of the blood-rite, his voice a low buzz in Lucian’s ear. "And for the Sovereign," Cyrus whispered, gesturing to a side door near the podium. "A special vintage to break the fast of the gala."

The door creaked open, and a sixth figure emerged. It was a woman, her long hair falling over her shoulders like a veil of silk. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

She walked up the steps of the podium, her eyes glazed and empty, her movements fluid and dreamlike.

She stopped directly in front of Lucian, tilting her head to the side to expose the delicate pulse point of her neck.

"Please, Sire," Cyrus urged, his voice oily with anticipation. "Do the honor. Lead the feast."

Lucian looked at the girl’s neck. Ordinarily, the scent of fresh, high-born human blood would have set his instincts on fire.

But tonight, all he could smell was the stale, metallic odor of something that wasn’t Isabella. The girl meant nothing to him. She was a doll. A prop.

He looked past her, his gaze locking onto the golden hand of the clock.

11:59.

The room went deathly silent. Hundreds of vampires held their breath, waiting for the Sovereign’s first strike to signal the massacre below.

Lucian stood up, he took a step toward the girl, his shadow looming over her like a shroud. He reached out, his fingers cold against her warm skin as he tilted her head further back.

Usually, this was the highlight of his existence—the power, the submission, the absolute silence of the room as they waited for his signal.

His fangs extended, aching with a primal need, but it wasn’t a hunger for the girl before him. It was a hollow craving he couldn’t name.

He leaned in, his teeth piercing the delicate skin of her throat. The blood hit his tongue, and the ballroom erupted.

Below the podium, the vampires lunged at the five figures in a frenzied, synchronized massacre.

The sound of cheers, the tearing of fabric, and the rhythmic gulping of hundreds of predators filled the hall, a symphony of violence that should have been thrilling.

Lucian drained her, his throat moving as he forced the liquid down. It was supposed to be a feast, but to him, it felt like drinking dust.

He waited for the rush, the surge of life, the satisfaction of the Sovereign’s rite.

Nothing.

Then, just as the girl’s body went limp in his arms, a smell hit him. It was faint at first, a tiny prickle at the back of his nostrils, but it grew with an overwhelming speed.

It was a scent so sweet, so tantalizingly pure, that it felt like a physical blow to his chest. It smelled of jasmine, and honey, it made the blood in his own veins boil with hunger.

Lucian abruptly retracted his fangs, blood dripping down his chin. He sniffed the air frantically, his eyes wide and wild.

He leaned over the girl’s body, smelling her skin, but it wasn’t her. This wasn’t the scent of a human, he pushed the lifeless girl away.

His head snapped toward the massive clock on the wall. The golden gears gave a final, heavy click.

00:00.

Midnight.

On the dot, the world seemed to tilt. The heavy, dark pressure of the Blight—the connection he had used to track Isabella’s every heartbeat—didn’t just fade.

It evaporated. In its place, the sweet scent intensified, blooming through the gala hall until even the feasting vampires below stopped, their heads turning toward the windows, their noses twitching in confusion.

Lucian’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew that smell. It had been faint before, a mere whisper in the back of his mind whenever he was near her, but now it was a roar.

He looked down at the ballroom floor and saw that all eyes were no longer on him. The feast had took their mind off him as the guest.

Lucain watched as the council members too were not focused on him and he didn’t care about explaining to them about his disappearance or about the breaking the tradition.

He moved out of sight in a blur of motion, leaping from the high podium and bursting through a side exit before anyone could see him.

The moment he hit the night air, the smell doubled in intensity. It was pulling him, guiding him like a hook in his gut.

He blurred, his shows barely touching the pavement of the private road as he pushed his body to its absolute limit.

The wind whipped his hair back, and the trees on either side of the road became nothing but a smeared green tunnel.

He knew exactly where he was going. The scent wasn’t coming from the city, and it wasn’t coming from the distant mountains. It was coming from the heart of his own territory.

As he tore down the winding asphalt, the familiar iron gates of his estate loomed in the distance.

But the smell wasn’t coming from the house. It was radiating from the woods behind it. He could feel the atmosphere changing the closer he got.

The air was becoming thick, charged with an electrical hum that made the hair on his arms stand up.

He swung around the final bend of the mansion road, his eyes fixed on the treeline. The scent was so thick now it was almost a taste on his tongue.

But as the mansion came into view, he saw something that made his dead heart skip a beat.

The air didn’t just smell like that jasmine and honey anymore, yes, it was most dominant smell there but underneath it was another.

Lucain heart skipped and he vaulted over the stone perimeter of the garden, his black and red suit catching the moonlight like a streak of fresh blood.

Every instinct in his body was screaming that he had been robbed. He tore into the thicket, the branches snapping against his face, until he reached the secluded grove.

He skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a manic, possessive fury. In the center of the clearing, bathed in that strange, celestial light, was Isabella.

She stood tall, her skin porcelain-perfect, the blackened veins of the Blight completely gone.

But she wasn’t alone.

A man was holding her. A man with broad shoulders and a presence that made the very air in the woods vibrate with authority.

The stranger’s back was facing lucain—a man Lucian had not given permission to cross his borders, let alone touch what was his.

"How dare you," Lucian whispered, the sound a low, lethal vibration that shook the leaves.

The man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around.

He simply pulled Isabella closer, his hands resting on her waist in a way that screamed intimacy.

The sight snapped the last thread of Lucian’s control. With a roar of pure, unadulterated rage, he blurred.

He covered the distance in a fraction of a second, his hands reaching out like talons.

He ripped Isabella out of the man’s arms with a force that sent a shockwave of displaced air through the clearing.

Isabella let out a sharp, startled gasp as she was jerked away from the warmth of the stranger and slammed against the hard, cold chest of Lucain.

Lucian’s grip on her arms was like iron, his fingers digging into her skin as if he were trying to weld her back to him.

Isabella’s head snapped back, her hair flying across her face. She looked up, and the first things she saw were Lucian’s red maddening eyes.