Chapter 21
King Declan Calloway
Verdant Hollow had a way of lulling you into peace, then reminding you just how little you deserved it.
The air was sweet; the wind perfumed with wildflowers and damp earth, every step cushioned by a carpet of moss so thick it felt obscene.
But the beauty was a trap: the deeper you wandered, the more the trees closed in, the more the sky became a memory.
It was said that Verdant Hollow could kill you with kindness, and if you looked at the number of vanished envoys on record, you’d believe it.
I followed the winding path to a grove of ancient oaks, their branches locked in a silent argument that had gone on for centuries.
The roots bulged above ground, tangled and black, making the whole place feel like a set for a funeral.
In the center, seated on a low stone, was Elaina Rowan—Wyrdmother of the Hollow, the oldest living witch on the Council, and the only one I feared in my bones.
She was waiting for me, as I knew she would be.
Her skin was the color of old bark, her hair a mass of silver-white curls that framed a face more wrinkled than alive.
But her eyes were clear, cold green, and they saw through every lie before you’d even spoken it.
As I stepped into the grove, she didn’t move, didn’t even blink.
“You have nerve, Calloway,” she said, her voice a dry rustle. “Not much else, but plenty of that.”
I bowed, slow and shallow. “Wyrdmother Rowan.”
She cocked her head. “You never come unless you want something.”
“That’s true of everyone.”
She made a noise—a click of the tongue, or maybe a curse in her native tongue. “Sit then. Let’s get this over with.”
I did, perching on a mossy root across from her, the damp seeping through my trousers in an instant. “I’ll be quick,” I said. “You remember the Purge.”
Her lips thinned. “I remember a lot of things.”
“In the third year, the hunters had you cornered. You lost a dozen priestesses, more in the fire. But I intervened. I brokered a truce. I gave you a path to escape.”
“You gave me a week,” she said, voice sharper now. “It cost me thirty years of penance to the Hollow. My people still bear the scars.”
“It was better than extinction.”
She was silent. The wind whistled through the branches, carrying the scent of sap and wood smoke.
“You owe me a favor,” I said. “That was the deal.”
She looked at me, and for a moment I saw the animal in her—something old, dangerous, desperate to be free. “You waited all this time for this?”
“It’s important.”
She closed her eyes, as if savoring a foul taste. “You want my vote.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “You’re asking me to go against natural law. The mate bond is not some contract. It’s the bedrock of the world.”
“My daughter violated pack law first. She set this in motion.” I let my voice soften just a little. “You know as well as I do, the world doesn’t run on love. It runs on balance. If the Council bends for one, it’ll snap for all.”
She studied me, the icy green of her gaze rooting me to the spot. “Do you believe that? Or are you just playing the part?”
“I believe in what works,” I said.
“Always did.” She glanced away, fingers tracing the fissures in the stone. “If I do this, the favor is spent. No more debts between us. I don’t care if your house is burning and the only water is in my well.”
“One favor,” I agreed. “And then we are done.”
The wind gusted, lifting strands of her hair and making them dance like white fire. For a second, I thought she’d refuse, call my bluff, unleash the Hollow on me and let the forest swallow my bones.
But she nodded once, the movement so slight I could have missed it.
“I’ll vote your way,” she said. “But don’t mistake this for loyalty. I’d sooner see you rot.”
I grinned, showing teeth. “I’d expect nothing less.”
I stood bowing deeper this time, and turned to leave. The trees parted for me; the roots shifting just enough to let me through.
Three down. Two to go.
But as I walked away, I felt the weight of the bargain. Some debts, once paid, never really vanish.
The portal to the Demon Kingdom opened behind the Council Tower, tucked in a ruin that was once a power substation, now just a tangle of wire and rust. No one came here on purpose unless they had a death wish or a standing invitation.
I had one of those, so I stepped through the ring of smoldering sulfur and let the air dissolve around me.
Hell wasn’t what the books promised. It was worse.
The sky was a furnace, all reds and oranges with no relief, and the ground was a crust of black glass that sliced your shoes with every step.
The wind was constant, hot as a blast furnace and thick with the taste of blood.
I wiped sweat from my brow and kept moving.
You didn’t linger here, not even if you were a king.
The obsidian throne room was built into the side of a volcano the world was oblivious to.
The walls pulsed with veins of magma, casting the whole chamber in a living, hungry light.
Maltraz sat at the far end in his monster form, half-man, half-monster, his body covered in black scales, his horns twisted like a ram’s, his fingers ending in knives.
He lounged on a throne made of fused skulls, each one still faintly aware.
He watched me cross the room, eyes burning gold.
“The Wolf King comes begging,” he rumbled, smoke curling from his mouth.
I ignored the heat and the smell. “Not begging, Maltraz. Collecting.”
He grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “It is rare for your kind to collect here and leave whole.”
I approached, stopping just outside the reach of his arms. “You remember the Angel Wars. You remember who kept your lines open when the celestials tried to purge you from the east?”
He nodded, a slow, ponderous gesture. “You slaughtered a choir for me. That was a good day.”
“You owe me a favor.”
His tail flicked behind him, gouging a furrow in the glass floor. “Always with the favors, Declan. What is it this time?”
I glanced at the fire pits lining the room, the small demons chained there for warmth, or maybe just for show. “Tomorrow’s vote. I need your voice.”
He leaned forward, scales clicking. “The Council’s old game?”
“Yes. My daughter’s bond. I want it broken. I want the Council to stand by the old laws.”
Maltraz snorted a cloud of cinders. “Family troubles? How… mortal.”
“I know what happens if the wolves fracture,” I said. “So do you. The Council falls, and then the celestials come again. No more songs, just silence.”
He let out a laugh, the sound like a tree snapping in a fire.
“You are still the only one who understands consequence, Wolf King.” He rose from his throne, looming over me, the heat radiating from his skin like an open furnace.
“If I vote your way, you will owe me nothing. Our ledger will be clear.”
“Agreed.”
He grinned again, and this time the flame in his eyes softened, almost friendly. “It will be a pleasure to watch the world burn with you, Calloway.”
He offered his hand. It was three times the size of mine, tipped with obsidian claws. I shook it anyway, feeling the skin blister where our palms met.
“Done,” I said.
“Done,” he echoed.
He let me go, and I staggered back, the air filling my lungs with smoke and power.
I bowed, just enough to acknowledge the beast, and turned to leave.
As I walked out, his laughter followed, echoing off the walls long after I’d crossed back to the ruins and the taste of sulfur faded from my mouth.
When I saw him for the Council vote, he will be in his more palatable, less monstrous form. I can’t say I’m not happy about it.
Four down. One to go.
And the last was the most dangerous of all.
The vampires didn’t do subtlety. Otero’s local compound was almost as grand as his one on the west coast. It was a cathedral of marble and crystal, every wall a mirror, every corridor designed to make you feel small and hungry.
The air was icy and thick with the scent of rare flowers, cut with the tang of old copper and expensive cologne.
Even the servants here glided—no footsteps, just a sense of passing breeze and a flash of dark eyes.
I was ushered through three sets of doors, each guarded by twins with perfect skin and teeth so white they hurt to look at. No one spoke. No one needed to. I was expected, and the expectation pressed down with every step.
Varic Otero waited on a terrace overlooking the city, his body framed by the moon and the pulsing grid of traffic below. He wore a suit three shades darker than blood, a high-collared shirt, and a ring on every finger. In one hand, a goblet; in the other, nothing but patience.
“Declan,” he said, nodding once. “The wolf who would be king of all things.”
“Otero.” I matched his stillness with my own, refusing to let him pace me.
He gestured to the seat beside him, a spindly thing of polished bone and velvet. “Care for a drink?”
I took the chair but not the offer. “I don’t mix.”
He smirked, a flash of fang. “Your loss.” He sipped, and I saw the red line left on the crystal. “I assume you’re here about your daughter.”
“I’m here about tomorrow’s vote.”
He made a soft sound, almost a purr. “You’re losing, you know.”
I let that pass. “It isn’t over until the last hand is shown.”
He glanced down at the traffic, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Your daughter’s happiness means so little to you?”
“This isn’t about happiness. It’s about order. If you want chaos, let the southern packs off their leash and see how long you keep your empire.”
He looked at me then, eyes so dark they swallowed the light. “You threaten me?”
“I warn you.” I leaned in, letting my own hunger bleed through. “Without structure, everything falls. Even your house, Otero.”
He nodded, a slow, measured beat. “And what do you offer in return for my… compliance?”
“Exclusive hunting rights in the East Territories, for one. And next time the Council selects a leader, I’ll cast for you.”
He laughed, a cold, brittle sound. “You’d make yourself my puppet?”
“I’d make us both kings,” I said, and smiled. “With greater reach.”
He studied me for a long moment, the silence between us cold enough to raise frost. “You’d sell your daughter for a piece of territory?”
“I’d sell myself for a larger kingdom. My daughter is a casualty, not a currency.”
He raised his glass. “You’re more honest than your predecessors.”
“I outlived them for a reason.”
He sipped again, the wine or whatever it was staining his lips. “You’ll have your vote, Declan. But know this: the day you fail me, I will drink you dry.”
I stood, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeves. “The day you can, you may.”
He didn’t answer. He just watched me leave, the glint of his eyes following until I was out of sight.
Five votes. The ledger was set.
I walked out into the night, the city below a tangle of light and noise, and wondered for the first time if I’d traded too much for a win. But that was the curse of kings: you never knew until the blood was on the floor.
Tomorrow, Savannah would learn what I already knew.
There was no such thing as a happy ending.