Chapter 140: Fox In The Fangs Of The Foe

Kane slammed his fist against the door, crimson sparks hissing where his knuckles met Cyrus’s magic.

"You bastard!"

He spun away from the door, pacing the length of the penthouse like a caged animal. His fox ears pressed flat against his skull, tail lashing behind him.

Kane pulled out his phone, scrolling through his Bureau contacts.

Emergency bypass protocols existed for exactly this situation—supernatural imprisonment by hostile entities.

He located the BSA ward-breaking app and quickly typed in the penthouse’s magical signature, his fingers flying across the screen.

The app crashed immediately.

"What the hell?"

Kane tried again, then switched tactics. He closed his eyes, drawing on his fox spirit heritage, weaving illusions to confuse the barrier’s sensors.

Silver light danced around his fingertips as he crafted false identities, phantom signatures meant to trick dragon magic into believing he wasn’t Kane Ashwood.

The barrier didn’t even flicker.

Kane growled, abandoning subtlety for brute force. He threw his full weight against the windows, the balcony doors, and even the service entrance to the kitchen.

Every surface hummed with the same crimson energy, sealing him inside.

Cyrus hadn’t just locked the penthouse—he’d designed a cage specifically for Kane.

Every escape route Kane knew, every trick he’d learned, Cyrus had anticipated.

Kane’s fingers found the black diamond pendant resting against his chest, the familiar weight both comfort and accusation.

The stone pulsed with Cyrus’s energy, a constant reminder of the dragon’s protective obsession.

He pressed his thumb against the warm surface, feeling the tracking magic humming beneath his skin.

"This is so unfair," he muttered, jaw clenching. Cyrus could pinpoint Kane’s exact location through this thing.

But Kane? He was locked in a penthouse prison with no clue where his so-called boyfriend had vanished.

Kane grabbed his phone, fingers stabbing at the screen.

This is bullshit, Cyrus. You can’t just lock me up like some pet and disappear. Where the hell are you?

He sent it, then immediately started typing another.

I swear to god, if this is your idea of keeping me safe, I’m going to murder you when you get back. UNLOCK THE DOOR.

The pendant grew warmer against his skin, responding to his agitation.

Kane yanked the chain, considering ripping the thing off entirely.

But he couldn’t do it.

This was Cyrus’s first gift to him after they’d become official, after that confession in the office that had turned everything upside down.

The weight of it against his chest felt like an anchor—not just the tracking magic, but the memory of Cyrus’s careful hands placing it around his neck and the way his eyes had softened when Kane hadn’t pulled away.

Kane dropped his hand, pacing faster.

His phone buzzed in his grip as he fired off another message.

I’m going to starve to death in here. Is that what you want? My ghost haunting your fancy penthouse?

Send.

Actually, forget starving. I’m going to burn all your romance novels. Every single one.

Send.

I’m serious, I’ll torch the whole collection. Your gaming consoles too.

Kane paused, thumb hovering over the screen. That felt too cruel.

Fine, maybe not the books. But I WILL burn this entire penthouse down if you don’t get back here and unlock this door. Do you hear me, Cyrus? FIRE. EVERYWHERE.

Kane thinks that was a bit dramatic, even for him; he deleted that message and wrote this instead.

If you’re hurt and not answering, I’ll never forgive you. So you better be fine when I see you again.

Send.

Just then, his fox ears flicked forward as footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Kane spun toward the door.

"Cyrus?"

But something sounded off. There were multiple footsteps. At least three, and possibly four, people were moving down the hallway.

These footsteps did not resemble the shuffling gait of cleaning staff or the casual rhythm of maintenance workers.

Kane backed away from the door, muscle memory taking over as he sprinted to the bedroom.

His gun lay where he’d left it on the nightstand. He checked the chamber—loaded with spirit-piercing rounds.

The footsteps stopped directly outside the penthouse door.

Kane’s ears swiveled forward, catching the faint whisper of voices through the reinforced walls.

Too quiet to make out words, but the tone carried threat.

A sharp metallic click echoed through the hallway—someone testing the door handle.

Kane’s grip tightened on his gun as he heard muffled curses, followed by the distinctive hum of magical probing.

The intruders were trying to breach Cyrus’s wards.

Sparks of foreign energy crackled against the doorframe, met immediately by the violent flare of crimson magic.

The protective barrier held firm, repelling whatever spell they’d attempted.

Kane’s ears flattened as understanding dawned on him.

Cyrus hadn’t locked him in to be controlling—he’d predicted this exact scenario.

But who knew where Cyrus lived? The penthouse’s location was heavily guarded, accessible only through private elevators with biometric locks.

Kane crept closer to the door, straining to catch fragments of whispered conversation.

"—can’t breach the dragon’s wards—"

"—try the service entrance—"

"—just need the fox—"

Kane’s blood turned to ice. They weren’t searching for artifacts or Veyr Corp secrets.

They were here for him.

Kane pressed against the door, counting heartbeats as the footsteps retreated down the hallway.

The voices faded, replaced by the mechanical hum of elevator doors closing.

Kane’s shoulders sagged with relief. Cyrus’s wards had held—whatever those intruders wanted, they couldn’t breach dragon magic.

He lowered his gun, exhaling slowly as tension bled from his muscles.

"Nice try, assholes," he muttered, stepping back from the door.

Suddenly, the penthouse lights flickered.

Kane’s head snapped up, fox ears twitching as electrical systems stuttered around him.

Suddenly, something dark descended over his vision—fabric sliding across his face as hands seized his arms.

A mask pressed over his nose and mouth, flooding his lungs with sweet chemical vapor.

His gun clattered to the floor as his knees buckled.

The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding into gray static.

When the mask was yanked away, Kane found himself in a windowless room lit by harsh fluorescents.

"Cyrus will come for me," he snarled, baring his teeth at the masked figures surrounding him.

Footsteps echoed across the concrete floor.

A familiar silhouette emerged from the shadows, amber eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"That’s exactly what I’m counting on."

Elias Thorne stepped into view with predatory satisfaction.