Prophesy 3: His Righteousness (The King & Alpha 3)

Adres’s hunger spiked to epic heights shocking him backwards as Macauley inched closer. He was being far too invasive, yet Adres didn’t force him away, and Macauley didn’t push any more of his energy at him. Gazing into those honest eyes, Adres slowly began to lower one of his defenses. No one—not even the vampire king—knew of his reinforced shields that were protected by an enchanted magic. They could not be detected or penetrated. But damn if the powerful Alpha Zenith hadn’t been close. Too close.

What did these do-gooder wolves expect from a vampire who’d lived for over three hundred years?

Of course he had secrets.

Macauley tilted his head higher, scenting as deeply as he could, so much that he could smell the otter searching for food in the shallow depths of the Saco River behind him and the smoke rising from the chimneys in town, miles away, but he smelled very little of the vampire he was almost standing on top of. It was as if Adres Cavalerie was only allowing him to scent the parts of him he wanted Macauley to smell. And that was unacceptable.

Adres was a cruel vigilante who was known for despising royalists and killing whomever he deemed an enemy of his kind. Macauley told himself he was just being careful and cautious for his family, but the truth was, from the moment Adres had shown up on his pack’s lands, his wolf had been in an uproar. His beast was confused and intrigued by Adres to the point that Macauley had barely slept the entire week.

Adres had come to them in a manner no shifter had ever seen before—with the head of the Lord High’s enemy in a burlap bag. An actual head! He’d bowed before he’d placed it reverently at Belleron’s feet. Belleron Liatos was the second-in-command to the king, his best friend, and the commander of his army. Adres killing the king’s enemy—in their culture—had been considered an honor, a gift worthy of his king’s praise and recognition. And with little hesitation, the gift had been accepted.

Macauley trusted his oldest brother, Justice. He was their AZ, and he’d been the one to make the final decision to allow Adres to stay and provide additional protection for Belleron and help command the army. None of his siblings were able to scent any evil from Adres, and the king’s elite legion of vampires had all vouched for the legendary horsemen. While the vampires had been stunned to see and meet a Cavalerie—the true champions for their people—they were climbing all over themselves to work and learn from him.

But instead of enjoying the small moment of peace Macauley had at home, since those times were few and far between, he had followed Adres around with an ever-watchful eye while he got familiar with his new home. His siblings teased him, and the vampires mocked his paranoia. But Macauley’s hesitation to accept Adres had nothing to do with suspicion. He trusted his wolf, and it was telling him that Adres was not the vampire he presented himself to be.

“Smell anything yet?”

Even that Romanian accent that made Adres’s English words sound as if he were whispering them raised the hairs on the back of Macauley’s neck. He inched close enough that he could feel the rise and fall of Adres’s chest against his own. It should’ve humiliated him that he was behaving so irrationally to a welcomed guest, but his wolf refused to let up. Macauley dragged his nose up the hard edge of Adres’s jaw, hovering near his temple. It was the first time he’d had another chance to get this close to him since he’d arrived last week.

Macauley’s body throbbed, feeling as if his blood levels were climbing, but he blamed it on his obsession to find out why there was a void in Adres’s soul. It was something corrupt and tainted. He could no more ignore his wolf’s nature than his siblings could ignore theirs. Justice would not be able to ignore the unjust, nor would Aleksei be able to resist the pull of another’s rage, since his wolf was also the demigod, Wrath. Taleb must learn and educate for his wolf to prosper, and his sister Farica’s sweet soothing wolf had never been able to turn away from a wounded heart.

Macauley was so obscenely close, his lips brushed over a ragged scar on the side of Adres’s skull that began at the tip of his ear and disappeared somewhere behind the hood of his midnight cloak. His wolf howled long and melancholy inside him, sensing a tragic story behind this wound. He raised his hand to remove Adres’s cover. There were tiers to him that were endless beneath his many layers of heavy clothes, and Macauley was about to start disrobing him right there in the middle of the goddamn woods. The scent of leather and spices not known to him flooded his senses, but he was just at the tip of this massive iceberg. Adres groaned, his cool breath causing Macauley’s skin to pulsate with a peculiar sensation. He’d never touched another individual like this, a man… a vampire.