2026-09-15 07:37:48Today was supposed to be the final day the day Derek would finally leave this mountain behind after fifteen long years of isolation, fifteen years since that blood-soaked night when his entire family was slaughtered in their beds and he woke the next morning half-dead in Master Zachariah's arms, pulled from the ashes of everything he had ever known.
He still did not understand how he survived that massacre, how his small body had been buried beneath the corpses of his parents and cousins and aunts and uncles, how Master Zachariah had found him at all in that burning estate when every other living soul had been butchered where they stood. The old man never explained it fully, just said that fate had a way of keeping certain people alive when the world wanted them dead, and that Derek had been one of those people whether he liked it or not.
So Derek stayed. He learned. He trained. He studied every herb and root and tincture Master Zachariah put in front of him until his hands moved faster than his thoughts, until he could grind medicine in his sleep and know the difference between poison and cure by smell alone.
And now, fifteen years later, he was standing in the herb storage room arranging the last bundles of dried fennel and wolfsbane when the door swung open behind him without warning and four women walked in like they owned the place.
Sophia entered first, her long dark hair tied back with a silk ribbon that probably cost more than most families made in a month, her family name carrying weight in every military circle from here to the southern border where her father commanded an entire legion as one of the Five Gods of War. Behind her came Madison, whose father was not just Master Zachariah's oldest friend but also the man who controlled half the trade routes running through the eastern ports, which meant Madison had grown up in luxury most people could not even imagine.
Then there was Brooklyn, a prodigy from the Harlow family line, a bloodline so famous for their healing arts and potion-making that queens and emperors paid fortunes just to get their remedies shipped across oceans, and Brooklyn herself could heal wounds in seconds with nothing but her hands and a few whispered words. And finally there was Savannah, the youngest of the four but perhaps the most dangerous, a War Goddess in her own right who had earned her title in actual combat at nineteen years old and wore the scars to prove it.
All four of them had been studying under Master Zachariah for the past two years, and since the old man had disappeared into the southern provinces on some mysterious errand six months ago, Derek had been the one left behind to teach them whatever he could manage, which turned out to be more than he expected because they were sharp and focused and learned faster than most men twice their age.
But they also had another hobby. Seducing him.
It had started small lingering glances during lessons, hands brushing against his when they reached for the same mortar, voices dropping into softer tones when they asked him questions they already knew the answers to. Then it escalated.
Sophia began wearing gowns that hung just a little too loose at the shoulders. Madison started finding excuses to lean over his workspace so her body pressed close against his arm. Brooklyn would bite her lower lip whenever he corrected her technique, her eyes locked on his mouth like she was memorizing the shape of every word. And Savannah, who was usually the most direct person Derek had ever met, had taken to sparring with him shirtless under the excuse that her training robes restricted her movement too much.
He had ignored all of it. Politely. Firmly. Consistently.
But today, it seemed, they had run out of patience.
Sophia stepped forward first, and Derek noticed immediately that something was different about the way she was dressed her silk robe hung open at the front, the sash barely tied, the fabric slipping off one pale shoulder to reveal the curve of her collarbone and the swell of her chest beneath, and when she walked the robe shifted with every step, showing more skin than it covered. Her hips swayed in a way that was absolutely deliberate, her fingers trailing along the edge of the wooden table where Derek had been working, and when she stopped in front of him she let the robe slip just a little bit more, the neckline dipping low enough that he could see the valley between her breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach, the way her breathing made everything move in a slow rhythm that was impossible not to notice.
Madison came up beside her, and she was wearing even less—a thin white slip that clung to her body like a second skin, so sheer that Derek could see the dark outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric, could see the shape of her thighs and the curve of her hips and the way the hem barely reached mid-thigh, leaving her long legs completely bare. She leaned against the table, arching her back just slightly so her chest pushed forward, her hair falling over one shoulder in soft waves, her lips parted as she looked up at him through dark lashes.
Brooklyn moved to his other side, and she had undone the top half of her dress entirely, the fabric hanging loose around her waist, her breasts completely bare except for the long curtain of her hair that barely covered them, and when she shifted her weight the hair moved with her, revealing flashes of soft pale skin and pink nipples that hardened in the cool air of the storage room. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the movement deliberate and slow, drawing his eyes to the exposed curve of her neck, the dip of her shoulder, the way her entire upper body was on full display without a single trace of shame or hesitation.
Savannah stood directly in front of him, and unlike the others she had not bothered with any pretense of modesty at all she was wearing nothing but a pair of thin undergarments that rode low on her hips, her entire torso bare, her breasts firm and round and completely exposed, her stomach flat and toned with the faint lines of muscle visible beneath the skin, her arms crossed just beneath her chest in a way that pushed everything upward and made it impossible to look anywhere else. Her eyes were fierce and unblinking, her jaw set, and there was a challenge in her expression that said she knew exactly what she was doing and she was not going to apologize for it.
Derek stared at them, at the four half-naked women surrounding him on all sides, their bodies on full display, their skin glowing in the dim light filtering through the small window above, and for a long moment he said absolutely nothing.
Then he exhaled slowly and shook his head.
"Pull your clothes back on."
Sophia's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"You heard me. Pull your clothes back on. All of you."
"Derek—"
"Now."
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Chapters 100
Inside, Derek washed his face. The water was cold, and it woke him up a little, and he changed his shoes — the ones still wet from the dew — and he stood there for a moment in the quiet room, looking at nothing, thinking about what she had said."Be careful."The first kind thing she had ever said to him. And now he had a choice to make, and he knew it, and he made it anyway.Kane's house. Nine o'clock. The book. The name. Vic, who had days and not weeks. Or the old man. Who had asked for him. Who had said, tell him I remember. He couldn't do both. He'd told himself all afternoon that he could — go to the old man first, be quick, be back by nine — but standing there in the quiet room, he knew that was a lie he was telling himself. Visits to dying men were never quick.Derek walked to the West mansion. He didn't run. He didn't hurry. He passed the market on the way, the stalls coming down, and he checked the clock above the square. Past eight. He still had time, if he was quick. If fiv
chapter 99
Derek left the old quarter with the sun going down.He'd told Samuel to leave tonight, and Samuel had nodded, slow, like a man agreeing to something he didn't want to agree to, and Harold had put a hand on his shoulder, and that was that. There wasn't anything else to say. Derek walked back through the lane, past the baskets and the cooking fires, and the smoke hung low, and it got in his eyes, and he didn't bother rubbing it out.The market was closing. The stalls were coming down, the traders packing up, and a woman was shouting at a boy who'd knocked over a basket of oranges, and the boy was laughing, and the woman was trying not to laugh, and Derek walked past all of it and thought about what he'd say to Kane at nine o'clock. He'd ask about the house on the hill first. See what he said. If he knew it, then the name in his book — the one that was scratched out — it lived in that house. And if he didn't know it — Derek didn't finish the thought. He never finished that thought. He ju
chapter 98
Derek hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, either, and his stomach knew it. His shoes were wet with dew from the walk, his coat smelled of the room under the house — dust and old herbs — and his eyes burned every time he blinked. He stood at the estate gate and waited for Harold, and the waiting was the worst part, because there was nothing to do but think, and thinking kept coming back to the same thing.The footsteps. In the house. Above him.He kept hearing them. Even now, in the quiet morning, with nothing around him but the gate and the road and the first smoke rising from the market. He kept hearing them.A car stopped at the corner. Harold got out, out of breath, carrying a paper bag."Young Master." Harold held the bag out. "Bread. Still warm. I didn't know if you'd eaten, and you never eat when you're —""I haven't," Derek said. He took the bread. It was warm. He tore off a piece and ate it standing there at the gate, and it was the best thing he'd tasted in days, w
Chapter 97
Derek walked to the estate in the dark.He did not go home. He did not call Harold. He walked through the quiet streets, past the closed shops and the shuttered stalls, and the key sat heavy in his pocket with every step. The city was asleep. The only sound was his own footsteps, and once, far away, a dog barking. He passed the market, its stalls covered and dark, and the river, black and still under the night sky. A night watchman stood at a corner, half asleep, and did not see him pass.He thought about the key, and about the room under the house, and about Vic, who had days and not weeks. The key had waited fifteen years. Vic could not wait. That was why Derek was walking now, and not tomorrow.The estate gates stood open. Derek walked through them and across the courtyard, and the house rose up in front of him, dark and silent. He had been here before, in the daylight, with Harold waiting at the gate. Now there was no one. The windows were dark. The front door was shut.Derek push
Chapter 96
In the morning, Derek went to the old quarter to see Samuel.The old quarter sat behind the market, down a narrow lane where the houses leaned close together and the air smelled of smoke and cooking oil. Derek had been there once before, in the dark, three nights ago. Now he came in daylight, and the lane was full of people carrying baskets and buckets, and children running between the stalls.Samuel's room was at the end of the lane, a small room with a wooden door and a window covered by a piece of cloth. Derek knocked. The door opened, and Samuel stood there, blinking in the daylight, his grey hair uncombed, his worn jacket hanging loose on his shoulders."You came back," Samuel said."Yes," Derek said.Samuel stepped aside and let him in. The room was small and bare — a bed, a wooden chair, a lantern by the door, a clay cup on the floor. Samuel sat down on the edge of the bed, and Derek sat on the chair across from him."I have been thinking since you came," Samuel said. "About th
Chapter 95
At nine o'clock, Derek stood outside the tall iron gate.He had walked the last three streets alone. Harold had driven him as far as the corner and waited there, the way Derek had told him to, and Derek had walked the rest on foot. He had stopped twice, once at a shop window and once at a street corner, and listened for footsteps behind him. There were none. The street was quiet.He passed the warehouse district on the way. Warehouse 7 stood dark and quiet by the river, and the smell of diesel and fish hung in the air. The ledger was still in the office drawer. The wage note was still folded in his pocket. Derek kept walking.The gate did not open. Derek stood outside it and waited. A full minute passed. Then another. The house was dark and quiet behind the iron bars, and no one came. Derek did not knock. He did not call out. He stood still, and he waited, and he thought about the book sitting on Kane's desk, and about the trap he had walked into — or the deal.Then the gate opened, a
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