Prophesy 3: His Righteousness by A.E. Via

 

 

Adres kept his speed to a minimum, not wanting to show off any more of his abilities than he already had, as he and Belleron flashed towards the main compound. He was disappointed to see quite a few shifters and their families standing outside with curious frowns on their faces while the vampire guards got into a five-line formation. Ramon stood in front of them, his dark brows scrunched into a tight scowl.

Adres immediately got to the point. “Why are these people outside of their homes, Lord Protector? We are not sure that the threat has been fully eliminated.”

“I have already assigned one hundred men to secure the perimeter. But the pack is concerned about the explosions, and they want answers,” Ramon said tightly. “They want to hear from one of their alphas, my Lords… not me.”

Adres saw a curvy woman with shoulder-length hair the color of roasted almonds addressing the pack. She had a striking resemblance to Macauley. Adres knew there was a female Volkov alpha, but he had yet to make her acquaintance. The pack members hung on her every gentle word as she assured them that everything was okay and that her brothers were going to have some information for them very soon. She bent and hugged a couple of children to her hip before shooing them back into their parents’ arms. It didn’t take long before she had everyone feeling calm enough to return to their cabins.

Light still filtered from many of the cottages littering the vast lands, some that were embedded in cliffs, some two-story, others flat level. There were even some beautiful log homes built into the trees. Adres had never inhabited such a place, and he wasn’t sure it was an environment that he would stay in for long, but one thing was certain… he did not want to see it destroyed.

“I think they’re good for now,” the lady alpha said as she came and stood with them. She stuck her hand out towards him and confidently introduced herself. “I am Farica Volkov. I’m the baby girl. I believe you’ve met all of my brothers.”

“Except the wise one,” Adres muttered, accepting her firm handshake. He was pleased that she didn’t come off as cautious as her older siblings. It was as if they were night and she was day. She had an aura that made Adres feel as if he didn’t have to be so guarded.

“Ahh. So you haven’t met Taleb. I’m sure he’s in the main house, probably in the kitchen.”

“No, I have not. Is he a master of the culinary arts?”

She chuckled lightly, and it reminded Adres of the fireflies in the Shibuya gardens. Serene. “He doesn’t cook at all. But the kitchen is where you’ll find Henry.” 

Ramon snorted while Belleron hid his grin behind his fist. Adres just refrained from turning his back on them and walking away. He didn’t play games. The young wolf was attacked and his own family was treating it as if it was nothing while Adres was still in combat mode.  He wasn’t used to keeping company with these kinds of vampires. Young, smiling, snorting, kissing, happy… in-love vampires. It all made his stomach twist into irritated knots.

“Let’s go inside for a moment.” Belleron appeared to notice Adres’s lack of humor and began to move him towards the AZ’s residence. They climbed the few steps to the two-story cabin that had a wide wraparound porch overcrowded with deck chairs. The interior furnishing and décor seemed fitting for an alpha shifter. The foyer was warm and well-lit, with high vaulted ceilings and plenty of skylights to allow the sun to shine in. It would be a death chamber for a vampire between the hours of seven a.m. and six. He followed Belleron’s slender frame through the large home that was obviously used for not only the AZ but his family and pack as well.

Several men sat in a den on a long, curved leather sectional, engrossed in a conversation about a challenge between two alphas from a pack in West Virginia. They were dressed in jeans and roughened long john shirts—he assumed they were Justice’s betas or maybe his house guards. Adres hadn’t been there long enough to have met everyone, and so far, he’d prioritized learning the king’s soldiers and his legion instead of focusing on the shifters. The AZ’s pack was vast and appeared to operate like a well-oiled machine.

It was the vampire community that was in shambles.

“Those are Taleb’s betas,” Belleron said, as if he knew what Adres had been thinking. “The dining room is this way.”

“I think I should be getting the legion assembled in the war room,” Adres said, careful to keep the bite out of his tone. His skin was buzzing again, and it felt as if stag beetles were crawling over his back. “I would not want to keep the AZ waiting. It was his land that was attacked. I am sure he will want a debriefing within the hour.”

“It will take a little while to gather everyone, especially the pack officers. Remember… shifters don’t operate in the middle of the night. I’m sure a majority of them were in their beds. Some may have been out for a run since it’s almost a full moon.” Belleron turned the corner into a grand dining room that could probably have seated twenty people, but there were only two men sitting at the table. The alpha sat in the third seat from the head with a slim-figured, smiling vampire sitting on his lap.

Adres was appalled at what he was witnessing. The vampire king had just declared war, and these men were romancing as if it were any other wintery night in their log-cabin manor. A vampire swooning over this alpha and oblivious to what was happening to his people. His own brethren were struggling in a world ruled by humans, facing daily prejudices, covens ignored and practically starved because of new laws implemented by the government to protect shifters, yet this privileged vampire sat enjoying the literal lap of luxury.

Adres let his anger simmer inside him, keeping his shields in place and allowing only a part of him to be exposed. If the wolf was unable to scent him at all, he was sure it would present more problems that he did not need. If he managed to get past this last Volkov, he could proceed with why he had changed his mind at the last minute and swore an oath to stay here.

He needed to get back to Macauley.

Belleron held his cane-sword in one hand while he used the other to pull out two chairs on the other side of the table and motioned for Adres to come farther into the room. “Please.”

He didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was this vampire and alpha were doing. He could smell they were not mates, but the vampire reeked of the shifter’s pheromones. It was enough to sour Adres’s stomach and turn his appetite.

“Taleb. This gentleman needs no introduction in our species, but it is my great honor to present to you the eldest of the Cavalerie clan. I give you the Lord of Arms, Adres Neculai.”

Taleb’s nostrils flared as the vampire slid from his lap, and he stood and took Adres’s outstretched hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you since I returned, Lord Adres.”

Adres matched the alpha’s grip before he released his palm. “I would not believe everything I hear, Alpha. And please… Adres is more than respectable enough for me. I have never been much for formalities.”

Taleb grinned, his full lips curving into something cunning. “I know.”

La naiba.

Taleb assessed him with deep blue eyes that weren’t as brilliant as his brother’s but no less sharp. Wise. “Henry has been going on and on about you and your family for days. I feel like I already know you.”

Adres kept his back rigid, but inside he slumped with relief as he sat in the chair Belleron offered.

The slim vampire stood to the side of Taleb’s chair, his cheeks still flushed from probably being caught. “My Lord. I am Henry Fitzwell, King Bentley’s Lord Chamberlain.”

Lord Chamberlain. Adres sneered. An embarrassment of riches.

“I tend to the king’s home and any domestic needs he or his beloved may have.” Henry gazed down at Taleb, and his fingers twitched as if he was restraining himself from touching him. “But mainly I just cook a lot of meat for a bunch of the AZ’s brothers.”

“I told you to stop cooking for them and only cook for me,” Taleb growled, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he wrapped his muscular arm around Henry’s waist and pulled him close.

Henry was quick as he maneuvered out of the hold. “I do not think that is appropriate right now,” he attempted to whisper, but of course they all heard it.

“Can I get you dinner, Lord Adres? It would be an honor to serve you.”

Taleb growled low, but Adres ignored it.

“No, thank you, and—”

“You should eat,” Belleron insisted. “Wick’s officers do not get much downtime to venture into the city for donors.”

“I have a rare type-O blood from an Australian aristocrat, my Lord. It is divine if I may say so myself,” Henry said proudly, his grin stretching across his face and making him appear far younger than he probably was. Adres figured he couldn’t have been any more than sixty or seventy years old.

“That would be much appreciated.” It did sound delicious, and he had been starving earlier when he’d been close to Macauley. “But please do not go to any trouble. I am used to surviving on minimal means. I have lived off the blood of sewer rats more times than I care to admit… so am not overly selective, Lord Henry.”

“That sounds absolutely hideous.” Henry cringed, and Adres was glad he’d said it. “I couldn’t imagine.”

“I am sure you could not,” Adres gritted out. Maybe they should hear how others less fortunate had to survive.

Henry must’ve picked up on Adres’s tone because he gave him an uncomfortable smile before he bowed and left, disappearing through a set of double doors that Adres assumed led to the kitchen.

“You will have no problems from me, Lord of Arms,” Taleb spoke. “My wolf likes you. You are wise and extremely intelligent.”

Adres didn’t say thank you because that hardly felt like a compliment.

“But rest assured. I will tear your goddamn throat out if you in any way upset the man that’s about to serve you.”

Adres didn’t appreciate the threat, but he knew not to challenge a man in his own home at his own dinner table. “I would never—”

“Yes, you will.” Taleb closed his laptop and sat back in his seat, his hard glare freezing Adres in place.

Damn these alphas.

“One look in your eyes and I could read your disdain. You will judge us, call us arrogant, privileged. Even our titles offend you, my Lord. So, I asked myself, why on earth would you swear an oath and assume one to serve the royals you despise?” Taleb narrowed his eyes. “Unless you hadn’t intended to stay… until you got here.”

La naiba, this man was too smart. He spoke as if he was one thousand years old. He spoke as if he was inside Adres’s mind. Imposibil.

“You have lived and learned much, and I have no doubt that you are wise beyond your many years.” Taleb rose to his feet, and he had to be at least six-two, his broad chest stretching his white dress shirt. “But unless you want that journey to end now, be mindful of who you judge while you are on this land. I don’t know your story, Cavalerie, and you don’t know ours. But I will say that you won’t find what you’re here searching for if you don’t open yourself up to receive it.”

Adres’s tongue was stuck as Taleb packed up his computer and the few books he had scattered in front of him. “I’ll meet you in the war room, Lord of Arms. Catch you later, Bell,” he said to his brother-in-law and left the table.

“Well, that was uncomfortable,” Belleron murmured. “Why keep the shield up, Adres?”

“Are we speaking casually, Lord Belleron?” Adres faced him.

“I would hope we can, if it does not offend. Please call me Bell. And you can call the king Wick if you’d like. He prefers it. Most of us are on a first-name basis here. If you give it a chance, you will see that things are different now, horseman.” Belleron’s inky-black hair fell over the back of the chair before he moved a shock of white locks behind his ear when he added, “This is not the same hierarchy that ruled your ancestors.”

Adres nodded. “I certainly hope not.”

“But—”

“I need to witness it for myself. And so far, all I have seen are shifters and vampires mating and living lavishly, safely secluded from the harshness that the rest of the world has to live with every day.” Adres pushed his hood farther off his head, and Belleron’s gaze went to the revolting scar along the side of his skull. “I do not know who I can trust.”

“Has anyone given you trouble?”

Adres thought of Macauley and the way he stalked him at night, the way he challenged him, the way he dug at his core, begging to be let in, and by gods, for a second he had wanted to more than anything. “No. No one.”

“The soldiers have all had great things to say about the changes you’ve implemented.” Bell smirked. “I think they miss having someone so battle-ready and capable commanding the army. Since I have mated with my cherished, my duties in the royal guard have changed to a more diplomatic role.”

Adres appreciated Belleron’s honesty. “I did come here under obligation… at first. Until your beloved, Wrath saved my brother’s life, and as the eldest of my family, I know that debt falls on me to repay. And I will. But I do not approve of the way our species is being governed.”

“Well, you have the king’s most trusted confidante right here.” Belleron linked his slim fingers together in front of him. “Speak.”

Where do I even begin?

“My Lord. Your dinner,” Henry said, placing a crystal glass in front of him filled with crimson-colored liquid that was warmed to a perfect ninety-eight-point-six degrees. It should have had his mouth watering… but it was as dry as tree bark. “You will not find a better quality, sir.”

“I am positive of that myself, Henry.” Adres quirked one brow and glared pointedly at Belleron.

He shrugged. “Okay, so it can probably be served in a paper cup. So what? Just drink it. Nothing tastes more delicious than my mate’s, but I remember Australian blood. It used to be my favorite. Enjoy. I would say you’ve more than earned it tonight. You saved Macauley’s life.”

Adres would indulge this once since it’d been days since he’d eaten properly. But then he’d tell Belleron how the blood banks all over the world were being depleted. And how covens were getting weaker, some even dying out. He took a decent gulp of the rich blood and almost spat it across the table. Belleron was watching him expectantly, and Adres was glad he’d been able to keep his features neutral. He licked the remnants from his lips and gave a slight nod.

This blood was the crème de la crème—it was the equivalent of Almas caviar on a chef’s palate. So, why did it taste as bland as tap water?

Futu-i! What in the gods is happening?