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

None of them could, except…

A low warning growl came from behind the legion of soldiers, and they parted to allow Macauley to walk through. He’d shifted back to his wolf at some point while Adres had been fighting, and as he stalked forward, the air rippled around him with his righteous energy, his ears flattened to his head in warning and his bushy tail aimed towards the dark sky. He was alone in the woods with an army of vampires, after narrowly surviving an attack by a coven of vampire assassins. His threatening posture was more than warranted. Whomever had sent those attackers had done it with a sole purpose: to kill a Volkov alpha. The siblings were all mentally connected. If one fell, they all would.

Adres’s heart was thundering, but he had each of his shields up to keep those nearby from overhearing it. There was no way they could know that for a moment when he’d been at Macauley’s side, he’d faltered. It had to mean more than Adres was willing to admit.

Macauley stopped a few inches from him and sat back on his haunches, his thick chest expanded and covered in pure white fur so dense that it looked as if Adres’s hand could get lost in it. They stared long and hard at each other until Adres thought he could sense what Macauley was thinking.

Is he… proud?

Adres breathed through the tightness in his throat as he stood behind the head of the traitor who’d taken a shot at the alpha. He went down on one knee, and stern murmurs rose from their spectators, but Adres focused on the crystal-blue eyes tracking him as he lowered himself to the ground.

“For you, young wolf.” Adres’s voice was rough and fractured, and he found himself tilting his head before he hurried to correct himself, hoping the wolf hadn’t noticed his slip of submission.

“The greatest tribute by any of our kind.”

“Better than favor of the king.”

“Better than a gift from the gods.”

“The head of a horseman.”

“Silence, men,” Belleron scolded, and the chatter came to an immediate halt.

Good. Adres wanted Macauley to accept his gift of his own reasoning. It wasn’t common for him to bestow such an honor—the victim’s head of their tormentor—without just cause. Death was not their only means of dispensing justice. And Macauley was far from being a victim. But the urge to kill for him had formed in Adres’s mind and tore through his body so fast that he’d already called on his warhorse as he made the promise.

Once the words were spoken, he had to honor it.

Macauley inched forward until he was on him, his head tilted high as he pressed his muzzle against the base of Adres’s neck. It wasn’t the same feeling as before when Macauley had inspected him—this touch felt almost like a caress. Adres didn’t tilt his head back, but he’d be damned if the mere thought of it didn’t send pleasure through his stomach that continued towards his groin. Heat pooled in his lightweight linen pants despite the freezing temperatures. Macauley huffed against his throat, his breath warming Adres’s skin, and he prayed that the ground would swallow him whole if the wolf smelled his arousal.

Keeping his facial features neutral, Adres whispered close to the wolf’s peaked ear for only him to hear. “Your enemy is now my enemy… therefore your enemies, young wolf… are raposat.”

Macauley snarled, and it made Adres’s cock thicken even more.

La naiba! Of all the years to start to show signs of life, his penis had to choose tonight. At first, he thought Macauley could smell his lust he was so close, the beast’s wide nostrils flaring and his blown dark pupils devouring him. Or was the wolf appalled by his gift, just like Macauley had recoiled when Adres brought Belleron’s captor’s head in a bloody sack?

But Macauley surprised him when he dipped his black nose towards the assassin and let out a sharp, angry bark before he dug a hole with less than four swipes of his huge paws. Macauley didn’t hesitate as he shoved the head into the hole and flipped the fresh dirt over it.

The treasonous vampire didn’t deserve any form of a proper burial, but Macauley’s moral wolf could behave no other way. Remarcabil. Adres chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning.

Macauley gazed at him one last time, and again Adres felt as if he could feel the wolf’s appreciation before he bounded into the woods, disappearing quickly. Macauley’s cabin was inside the compound but still nestled far enough away that he was afforded a modicum of privacy from his large pack. The captain approached when he seemed sure the alpha was out of hearing range.

“We await your orders, my Lord. Vampires attacked you on land the king has deemed royal territory. This will mean war.”