All Chapters of His Straight Pet: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Jude’s POVThe library was not built for mortals.It loomed beneath the bones of the Culling citadel, a cathedral hollowed from obsidian, every shelf etched with wards that bled faint blue light. The smell was not paper or ink, but iron and ash — the remnants of sacrifices bound into knowledge.I had not set foot here since I was a child. Not since Calix dragged me by the wrist and told me, “History will either chain you or sharpen you. Choose which blade you want.”The echo of his voice haunted the stones even now.I descended alone. The guards at the outer stair looked relieved not to follow; they would not enter this place without compulsion. Even the Lords came rarely, for what was housed here was not for convenience but for weight — a record of every rise and every fall.I needed that weight. I needed to know how Calix’s voice still lived in me, if he had been banished beyond the veil.The first figure I encountered was skeletal in posture, robed in parchment-colored cloth that t

Jude’s POVThe tome lay shut before me, but the laughter hadn’t stopped.It echoed off the vault’s black marble like a wine glass struck by a knife. Thin, sharp, endless.I dragged a hand through my hair, my claws nicking my scalp. The Scholar-Keeper was watching me as though I might break into flame. Perhaps I already had.“Where,” I rasped, “are the records of my mother?”His lips pressed thin.“Do not test me,” I said, voice low. The shadows at my feet trembled, eager. “You kept Calix’s filth sealed for centuries. Don’t tell me you can’t keep a ledger of a name.”The Keeper’s knuckles whitened around his staff. “She was… expunged.”I stalked forward. “Then un-expunge her.”He shook his head. “It is not so simple, Lord Jude. When the Crimson Court erased her, it was total. No name, no sigil, no line of descent. To speak of her was—”“Forbidden,” I snapped. “Yes, I’ve heard that word too many times.”“She was dangerous.”I seized him by the collar, lifting him from the ground. “She w

Selene’s POVThe forest’s silence still clung to me as I returned to the marble corridors of my dominion. The scent of moss and damp soil lingered on my cloak, mixing uneasily with the perfumed torches that lined the hall. I hated that clash. The wildness of the woods suited me far better than these perfumed cages. Yet, to rule, one must keep appearances. And appearances required walls, velvet, and endless torchlight.My heels struck stone as I ascended the staircase toward my chambers. The servants bowed as I passed, but I barely registered them. Their thoughts were so loud—fear, awe, suspicion. A lesser mind would drown in the noise, but I had long since trained myself to sift through the whispers. Tonight, I didn’t need the chatter. I already knew what must be done.“Leave us,” I commanded the nearest maid without so much as a glance. My voice was smooth, but there was steel buried beneath. She scurried away, head bowed so low I wondered if her nose scraped the stone. Good. Fear ma

Selene’s PovThe boy knelt before me with the stiffness of someone who had sprinted through corridors and rehearsed every word along the way. His cloak was damp, his chest rose and fell quick as prey, but his eyes—my favorite part—were clear and terrified. Good. Fear sharpens honesty, or at least makes the lies stumble.“My lady,” he began, pressing his forehead to the stone floor. “I bring news as you demanded.”“News,” I echoed, leaning back against the high-backed chair that faced the dying embers of my chamber fire. The forest’s chill still clung to my skin, but I let the silence stretch until the boy trembled. “Go on. If you stammer, I will know you’ve wasted my time.”He swallowed. “The kin and Lord Perez quarreled again. This morning, before the steward’s eyes. The kin—Raymond—shouted that he was not a prisoner. That he would not be kept like livestock.”A smile curled my mouth before I could stop it. Livestock. He had chosen the exact word Calix would have loved.“And Perez?”

Selene’s POVI have always believed timing is sharper than any blade. Strike too soon, and the prey bolts. Strike too late, and someone else claims the kill. But the perfect moment—that is an art, one I have refined into cruelty.Raymond walks the corridors at predictable hours. Not because he is disciplined, but because Jude has made him so. He is summoned, drained, dismissed, and he retreats to the same paths as though the stone remembers him. A mortal set into a pattern by an immortal’s hunger—how deliciously fragile.I know where he will be tonight. I chose the place carefully: the narrow east wing, a hall where torchlight trembles and shadows cling thick on the stone. Few guards linger here; the paintings are faded, the chamber doors locked and unused. Silence reigns. Silence, and the sound of footfalls that will belong to him.My own steps are soundless. My guard asked where I went—I told her to mind her post. Even she does not deserve the truth. Truth is for weapons, not for ke