Chapter 192: Chapter 192: The Next Stop

THE DRIVE RESUMED without ceremony.

No dramatic ignition. No ominous announcement. Just Lucson’s hand settling back onto the wheel and Carson swinging his legs in with a satisfied hum, like they’d simply paused for coffee instead of hovering at the edge of something that didn’t care whether they crossed it.

Mailah buckled herself in, putting her bag on the seat next to her. She caught Lucson’s reflection in the mirror—already focused, already recalibrated—and wondered, not for the first time, whether he ever truly rested or if stillness was simply another form of vigilance for him.

The landscape slid by in long stretches of muted color. Roads folded into each other. Town names blurred past too quickly to read. She stopped trying to map where they were and started letting the motion carry her.

Lucson and Carson talked.

Not to her.

Not even at her.

Just… talked.

It sounded like logistics at first—dates, times, vague references to gatherings—but the longer she listened, the less it resembled anything human. Names surfaced that felt heavy with implication.

Phrases that sounded transactional but carried an undercurrent of ritual. Something about leverage. Something about optics.

Mailah tuned it out after a while.

She leaned her forehead against the window, watching clouds stack like unfinished thoughts, and let herself drift.

Grayson would have hated this part, she thought suddenly.

The waiting. The not-knowing. He’d always been the kind of man who needed motion—purpose—even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

The idea of him being moved like an object, herded between intentions that weren’t his, made her chest ache.

She must have fallen asleep without realizing it.

Because when she surfaced again, it wasn’t gently.

It was to sound.

Low. Intimate. Measured.

Lucson’s voice—quiet, controlled.

Carson’s—lighter, threaded with amusement.

“…not during daylight,” Carson was saying. “Too many variables.”

Lucson replied without looking at him. “Night draws attention.”

“Attention is currency.”

“So is restraint.”

Mailah kept her breathing slow.

Even.

She didn’t open her eyes.

Feeding.

They were talking about feeding.

Carson continued, unfazed. “There’s a summit in Lucerne. Another in Prague. Both noisy. Both rich in emotional overflow.”

Lucson considered. She could hear it in the pause. “Two stops,” he said finally. “Prepare contingencies.”

“And her?” Carson asked casually.

Mailah’s heart thudded.

Lucson didn’t answer immediately.

“She comes,” he said at last. “If she behaves.”

Carson laughed softly. “You hear that, human? High praise.”

Mailah stayed still.

Her neck ached. Her jaw cramped. She didn’t dare move.

Because the terrifying thing wasn’t that they were discussing her presence.

It was that they were deciding it.

And even more terrifying—

Lucson sounded like he meant to keep her close.

When Mailah finally woke for real, it was to warmth.

A blanket tucked just enough to be considerate. The seat angled for comfort she hadn’t requested.

She opened her eyes slowly.

Carson noticed immediately.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, twisting in his seat. “Sleeping Beauty returns.”

She stretched carefully, masking the stiffness in her neck. “How long was I out?”

Lucson checked the road ahead. “Long enough.”

She sat up fully this time. The world outside looked different—sharper architecture, colder sky. Signs she didn’t recognize. Language she couldn’t immediately place.

“Where are we headed?” she asked.

Lucson answeredd, “The trail converges near Lucerne. After that, it fractures.”

Mailah absorbed that. Switzerland. Borders. Neutral ground that never truly was.

Eventually, exhaustion crept back in. Human exhaustion. The kind demons politely ignored.

She slept again.

When she woke the second time, they were stopped.

Carson tapped the glass. “Pit stop. The human requires maintenance.”

She blinked. “I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

She grabbed her bag and climbed out, grateful for the solid ground.

They left ten minutes later.

The road pulled them onward.

Night fell hard.

Not gradually. Not poetically.

One moment the sky held color—then it didn’t.

Lucson drove faster.

Carson grew quieter.

Mailah noticed both.

“Are we close?” she asked.

Lucson nodded. “Close enough for her to notice us.”

Carson grinned. “Which means she already has.”

The house appeared through the darkness like something from a different century—all stone and timber, sprawling across the landscape with the kind of permanence that suggested generations of the same family adding rooms whenever they felt like it.

Warm light glowed from multiple windows, giving the impression of life and comfort and people gathered for evening meals.

Mailah’s stomach twisted with unease.

Something about those lights felt wrong. Too steady. Too unchanging. Like someone had left them on and forgotten to come back.

“Big place,” Carson observed from the front seat, leaning forward to get a better view. “Probably has servants’ quarters, guest wings, the whole aristocratic package.”

“Had,” Lucson corrected quietly.

The distinction made Mailah’s skin prickle.

Carson opened his door. “I’ll scout for alternative entry points. Main gate’s probably locked, and I’d rather not announce our presence by breaking it down.”

“Discreet,” Lucson said. “We don’t know who else might be watching.”

“Please. Discreet is my middle name.” Carson grinned. “Well, actually it’s Malachi, but discreet sounds better.”

He disappeared into the darkness with unsettling speed, leaving Mailah alone with Lucson in the suddenly quiet car.

“How does he do that?” she asked. “Just vanish like that?”

“Practice. Supernatural enhancement. Natural inclination toward chaos.” Lucson kept his eyes on the house. “Carson’s always been the best at infiltration. He treats security measures like personal challenges.”

They sat in silence, the engine ticking as it cooled. Mailah studied the house, trying to pinpoint what felt so off about it. The lights were part of it, yes. But there was something else. An absence where sound should be.

No dogs barking. No movement behind curtains. No smoke from chimneys despite the cold.

“Lucson?” she said carefully. “When you said ’had’ instead of ’has’…”

“I meant what I said.”

“So you think whoever lived here is—”

“I think we’ll know more once we’re inside.” He checked his watch. “Carson’s been gone seven minutes. That’s either very good or very bad.”

“How can you tell the difference?”

“If he’s not back in three more minutes, it’s bad.”

Mailah counted seconds in her head, watching the darkness where Carson had disappeared.

Ninety seconds. One twenty. One fifty.

Headlights flashed once from somewhere to their left.

Lucson started the engine. “That’s the signal.”

“What signal? He just flashed his—wait, does Carson have a car?”

“He has just acquired one. Apparently.” Lucson put the vehicle in gear. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.”

They drove slowly around the perimeter of the property, following a path that barely qualified as such. Branches scraped against the sides of the car. Rocks pinged against the undercarriage. Mailah gripped the door handle, certain they were going to get stuck or tip over or both.

Then the smaller gate appeared ahead, standing wide open like an invitation.

Carson leaned against the gatepost, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He waved them through with a flourish that would have been more appropriate for a carnival barker than a demon breaking into private property.

Lucson drove through without comment, though Mailah caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested disapproval.

Carson jogged after them, catching up easily and swinging into the backseat next to Mailah. “You’re welcome, by the way. That lock was nineteenth-century German engineering. Beautiful craftsmanship. Almost felt bad breaking it.”

“Almost?” Mailah asked.

“Almost.” He grinned. “But then I remembered I’m a demon and got over it.”

Lucson parked about twenty meters from the house, positioning the car for a quick exit if needed. He killed the engine, and the sudden silence felt oppressive.

“Protocols,” he said, his tone shifting into something more authoritative. “We enter together. No one goes anywhere alone. If you see or hear anything unusual, you report it immediately. Mailah, you stay between Carson and me at all times.”

“What counts as unusual in a potentially demon-infested murder house?” Mailah asked.

“Anything that makes your instincts scream,” Carson said cheerfully. “Humans have excellent prey instincts when they actually listen to them.”

They approached the house as a unit—Lucson leading, Mailah in the middle, Carson bringing up the rear. The front door stood slightly ajar, which Mailah found more disturbing than if it had been locked or broken down.

Lucson pushed it open slowly.

The hinges made no sound. Someone had maintained them recently, or the house was just that well-built.

The entryway was beautiful in that old-world way that suggested money earned over generations rather than won quickly.

Wooden floors polished to a gleam. Tapestries that looked original rather than reproduced. A grandfather clock in the corner that had stopped at 11:47.

“Power’s still on,” Carson noted, gesturing to the chandelier above them. “But the clock’s dead. Interesting.”

Lucson moved deeper into the house, and Mailah followed, hyperaware of every sound. Their footsteps seemed too loud despite the carpets. Her breathing felt amplified in the stillness.

The first room they checked appeared to be a library or study. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A desk sat positioned near the window, papers still scattered across its surface like someone had been interrupted mid-work.

“No body,” Mailah whispered, unsure why she was whispering but unable to speak normally.

“Not in this room,” Lucson agreed.

They moved on.

The dining room was next. A long table set for eight, plates and silverware arranged with precision. Wineglasses still held dark residue at their bases. Candles had burned down to nubs.

“They were hosting a dinner party,” Carson said, picking up one of the glasses and sniffing it. “Recently. Within the last few days, I’d say. This wine hasn’t gone to vinegar yet.”

Mailah’s unease ratcheted higher. “Where are the guests?”

“Excellent question.” Lucson opened a door that led to what appeared to be a sitting room. “Let’s find out.”

The sitting room was where they found the first body.

An elderly woman in an elegant evening dress sat in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, positioned as if she were simply resting. Except her skin had the same desiccated quality as the body from the warehouse—dried out, papery, wrong.

Mailah’s hand flew to her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Same method,” Lucson observed clinically. “Complete life force extraction. But more controlled this time. Look at the positioning.”

Carson circled the body, his expression thoughtful. “She didn’t struggle. There’s no sign of distress or attempt to escape. Either she was restrained somehow, or she didn’t know what was happening until it was too late.”

“Or she trusted whoever did this,” Mailah managed, her voice shaky.

“That’s a worse possibility,” Carson agreed.

They found the second body in an upstairs bedroom. A middle-aged man, collapsed on the floor beside the bed, one hand reaching toward the nightstand where a phone sat just inches from his grasp.

“He tried to call for help,” Mailah said.

“Almost made it.” Lucson crouched beside the body. “This one shows more awareness. More fear. The feeding was faster here, less careful.”

“Why the difference?” Mailah asked.

“The person doing this is getting stronger,” Carson said quietly. “The first feeding—the woman downstairs—took time and control. This one was quicker because they had more power to draw on.”

The third body was in another bedroom. Then a fourth in the hallway. A fifth in what looked like a guest room.

All desiccated. All drained. All positioned in ways that suggested some had no idea what was happening while others had died in terror.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep