Prophesy 3: His Righteousness by A.E. Via

 

 

The war room was a large underground bunker made into the side of a steep mountain about four miles from the main compound. Taleb had it set up with the latest state-of-the-art technology, complete with satellite and black-market hacking software allowing them to gather intelligence and strategize if under attack. The bunker had been his little brother’s brilliant idea as a precaution. They’d been run off their birth land after the last war. And they all agreed that it would be best to be ready if it ever happened again.

That was many years ago. They had made quite a bit of use of it since then.

Everyone was already waiting for him when he and his betas walked inside. His eldest brother, Justice, sat at the head of the long table with the vampire king looking regal and important at his side. Wick was having a private, animated conversation with Belleron, who sat to his right. All heads turned in his direction, and discussions quickly died to complete silence. With his shoulders back and his head high, Macauley went and took his seat, third down from his AZ.

Are you okay, brother?

Macauley met Justice’s assessing blue eyes. I’m fine. Let’s get started.

Important pack members, officers, and Wick’s royal court were all in attendance and about to hang on his every word. Macauley wasn’t used to being the center of attention. His voice was dominant and held weight in this room, but he rarely needed to speak. He would always concur with Justice and Alek’s counsel since his role in the family was more of an enforcer. A worker. The AZ and his second oldest brother had to do the diplomatic traveling, and Macauley was usually required to stay home and protect the pack with Farica. Now, he had to try to explain what the fuck had happened tonight. There were only three people that could give an account, and one of them was missing.

“Mac. In your own words, as simple as you can put it, tell us exactly what happened when you were near the border tonight.” Orwin St. Charles was Wick’s lead intelligence officer. Macauley had gotten to know the older vampire well over the last several months when he’d arrived with Wick. He had several files and books spread in front of him as if he’d been researching all evening. “And please start at the beginning. The first thing you remember.”

“I remember it all.”

Macauley retold everything that happened up until Adres had presented him with an assassin’s severed head. He was careful to leave out his and Adres’s personal conversation and what he’d discovered when he caught a glimpse of his core.

He wouldn’t start out whatever it was they had building by violating Adres’s trust.

Adres stood out of sight, beyond the entrance to the tunnel that led to the holding cells below ground. He’d already recounted the events to the king and AZ in private; he wasn’t interested in talking politics or war strategy. They most likely wouldn’t appreciate his suggestion of killing any and all who had anything to do with the attack, even ones that had secondhand knowledge but did nothing. That was his irrational feelings about the attack on the young wolf.

He had all of his shields up so the other vampires could not smell that he was just on the other side of the wall inside the war room, but as he listened to Macauley tell his version of the events tonight in his deep, throaty tenor, he felt them slip when he glossed over the parts where he’d pressed Adres against the tree and he’d allowed a minuscule portion of his soul to be seen.

Zeii! What was I thinking? It was not in his character to lose control like he had… especially for a shifter he barely knew.

“We are your intelligence officers, Your Majesty, we should be permitted to question the other witness.”

“Orwin, I already told you and the other officers, Justice and I questioned the Lord of Arms. You all have his complete transcript before you.”

There was an extended moment of tense silence, and Adres imagined each entitled vampire in King Bentley’s court, glaring back and forth at each other, appalled that they were being denied anything.

“We have a Cavalerie in the royal court, my king. The eldest no less.” Another spoke up, his tone revealing his offense. “It would be a great honor if he would sit with us.”

“An honor for you, maybe, but not for him.”

Adres’s heart sped up at Macauley’s sharp comeback.

“Excuse me?” the uppity individual balked. Adres could imagine the outrage on the vampire’s face. “Are we no longer required to speak to each other with respect?”

“I said nothing disrespectful.” Macauley replied.

“Adres Cavalerie does not wish to participate in the king’s official business or in Justice’s pack politics—”

“Yet he swore an oath and accepted the title as Lord.” The vampire cut Belleron off, and Adres smelled the pungent stench of anger inside the darkened cave.

Belleron’s voice traveled on a higher sound wave, and Adres knew he’d stood to address whatever lower-ranking officer had interrupted him. Belleron’s tone held warning. “We do not need Adres for planning and strategy. He has sworn to execute the king’s orders without question and protect his territory.” Belleron paused before he finally added, “Tonight, he went above and beyond that duty.”

“He saved my brother’s life.” Justice rumbled. “I couldn’t care less if he wants to sit here and have a back-and-forth or not.”

“Our brother could be dead if Adres did not kill those assassins—”

“Farica, I mean no disrespect by cutting you off, but—”

“You don’t mean to be disrespectful, but yet, you still decided to interrupt me.” Adres heard a delicate sigh. “Now, like I was saying, General, before you so rudely interjected. If those assassins would have made it into the mainlands, heaven knows what kind of havoc they might have caused. The Lord of Arms is a hero. Yet it sounds as if you are sowing doubts.”

“I’m simply stating what no one else here will. That Adres Cavalerie should be questioned. Our king has not been attacked in the United States since his mating. Something seems off.”

Adres felt his insides start to heat with rage as he quickly picked up on the insinuation. And this particular vampire—the general—was not surrendering without a decent fight.

“I’m far too old to believe in coincidences. The horseman is here for a week—a family that has built their legacy on challenging royalty—and then suddenly, assassins lethal enough to breach your stronghold, Justice, appear in the middle of the night.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Adres heard Macauley growl.

It was amazing how Adres could easily distinguish Macauley’s voice amongst the twenty other alphas in that room. He pressed his back against the cold stone wall as he put a tight clamp on his fury and reinforced his shields. How dare he be accused of such treachery and dishonor? Adres might have been evil, but he still lived by a moral code. This vampire spoke boldly of his family’s origin, but he spoke false truths.

An offense punishable by death.

The room suddenly erupted with stern murmurs and passionate threats. So many spoke up at once that Adres didn’t try to keep track. Instead, he was more focused on the long, threatening snarl that came from one wolf.

“What are you trying to say?”

“How dare you, sir?”

“You are way out of line, General.”

“That is a solely baseless theory.”

“We were there. We saw the horseman fight with honor. A real soldier can recognize true heart on the battlefield.” Adres recognized the Lord Protector’s Hispanic accent. “He wielded a power that is not of this world. And I and the king’s legion were privileged enough to witness it tonight.”

“You are being blinded by his stardom. How do you know that you have not all fallen for his act? We have to at least consider deception.”

Adres had heard enough. One should be more hesitant before they spoke about him so casually. The room burst into more angry disagreements. Many of them coming to his defense and others giving consideration to what was being implied.

Adres pulled his hood lower on his forehead and eased from behind the wall. He moved like the stealthy killer he was, until he was standing a couple of feet from the back of Macauley’s chair.

Belleron was the first to spot him, his voice catching before he stood to his feet and announced, “Lord Adres. Thank you for coming.”

Adres ignored the startled gasp when the others turned and saw him, as it seemed that he had appeared out of thin air, but he had not. They had been too busy bickering and sowing division within the ranks to notice him.

Adres stared at the vampire who had sullied his name and called him out. He felt an icy hand curl around his anger and squeeze before he gritted out, “So, you have a theory, General…”

The one who had been so strong in his convictions and had almost fallen out of his chair when Adres appeared now sat paralyzed with his heart beating too fast. The smell of panic tore through him and caused an odor vile enough to clear the room.

“Are you finally feeling honored, General Telek?” Macauley asked.

The legion vampires snapped to attention and returned to their tight formation behind the Lord Protector, showing Adres the respect his title earned. All eyes in the room were on the parts of Adres they could see—his nose, his mouth, his chin. No one could overlook the leather armor over his chest and the charmed sword across his back. His hood had been designed with a specially crafted fabric that allowed him to see out, but no one could see through the thick, midnight cloth.

The general’s nostrils flared before he gnashed his fangs. “Yes. It is indeed an honor. I am General Telek Denys of the Northern Forces Defense Alliance.” He stood slowly and extended a shallow bow in Adres’s direction, appearing more than uncomfortable. “You can lower your shield now, my Lord.”

“Disregard that,” Macauley growled. “He does not need to scent you.”

Adres had a difficult time tamping down his body’s reaction to Macauley’s possessiveness… to his commands.

Neither the king nor the AZ interfered, though a single word from either of them would have put an immediate end to the standoff, but Adres was glad they understood a man was responsible for his own actions… and his words.

General Telek tugged at the immaculate Windsor knot of his black silk tie as he stared at the dark tribal markings on Adres’s fingers.

All vampires knew the markings of death.

“You have questions you wanted to ask to my face, General.” Adres released a fraction of his power and shot it at the general as not to affect the others. He was old enough to faze with intimidation, a trait passed through his lineage that served him well.

The general bolted his chair away from the table and clutched his chest as if he’d been stabbed. The betas in the room moved closer towards their alphas, but Justice was quick to wave them off.

Adres rounded the table. “Ask your questions, General … if you dare.”

“I do not wish to quarrel with you, my Lord.”

I would not want to quarrel with me, either.

“But I was called here—on emergency—to discuss the possibility of war,” he gasped, fear piercing each word. “And you are the Lord of Arms.”

Adres stopped twenty feet from the general, just the distance he needed to throw his trench knife through his heart. “And…”

“And why… I mean, how did you…” The vampire’s uneasy gaze darted back and forth between Adres and the king, realization dawning that he was alone. “How did you end up in the exact place that the attack occurred?”

“Enough.” Belleron stood. He glanced at the king, receiving an almost imperceptible nod from his friend before he continued. “General Telek Denys, you are dismissed from this meeting and any future strategy sessions.” The vampire sputtered as Belleron added, “You are hereby demoted to corporal of the Northern Infantry Battalion.”

“This is absurd!” The vampire’s chest began to heave, his gaze lasering in on the king. “I have served in this court for over three hundred years. I was a major in your father’s personal guard. And you have the audacity to allow your second to dismiss me so flippantly.”

“Your opinions were once valued and considered wise,” Wick said calmly.

“Until…?” The general seethed.

“Until you decided to forsake a god in our very presence.” Belleron finished. “Your life is cursed.”

“He”—the general thrust his pointer finger towards Adres’s chest, and he was tempted to sever his hand at the wrist but he refrained— “is no god.”

“Correct. Adres Cavalerie is not a god. But he did pray to one on the battlefield. And a god answered.” Belleron moved around the table until he was standing behind his cherished, Aleksei Volkov, with his hand on his broad shoulder. “You were ignorant to challenge my decision to make Adres my lord, implying he tricked me into doing so. But are you that foolish to forget my beloved?”

Aleksei placed his hand over his mate’s and glanced up at him with crystal-blue eyes and a peaceful smile on his handsome face. But when he turned back to the general, Aleksei was gone, and Belleron’s other mate was in his place. Telek recoiled at the eyes that were on him—pitch-blackness except for the outer ring of smoldering flames that were his irises. The freezing cavern became engulfed in heat, and condensation began to drip down the stone crevices, creating puddles on the floor.

“You are suggesting that my beloved was also deceived.”

A demigod that could summon the flames of the underworld had just been called a fool. No one dared move.

“Wrath.” The general fell to his knees with his forehead touching the floor. His perspiration had already soaked through his expensive suit as he pleaded for leniency. Adres wanted to slash his blade across the vampire’s throat and end his shame. “Forgive me. I only speak of the Cavalerie… not of you, my Lord. Mercy… please.”

Wrath stood to his full height, triggering a domino effect as every officer, shifter, alpha, and vampire in the room stood and bowed at the fire-god’s appearance. Adres noticed that Wrath was a couple of inches taller than Aleksei. Also, his stubbled jaw was sharper, his chest broader, and his aura far darker than the alpha he possessed.

With each step Wrath took, the general flinched. His voice was the sound of raw power, his tone laced with rage and hate. Others in the room covered their ears or glanced away, but Adres was mesmerized. And again, he felt that pang of familiarity in the demigod’s presence, as if he and Wrath had history. Maybe during a time in his life that had been imprisoned by the curse.

“I felt Cavalerie’s rage tonight,” Wrath said, his voice echoing around them. “It was intense and genuine. I did not know at the time what triggered it. It is not my will to justify the anger. But I assure you… I. Was. Not. Tricked.”

Wrath touched his fingertip to the side of the general’s mouth, singeing the pale skin. Most of the vampires cringed at the shrill scream that left their comrade as Wrath rained down punishment fitting for a dishonest tongue. “Now, I have answered his prayer for vengeance twice tonight.”