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

Macauley smoothed his hands everywhere that he could reach. He stroked the imperfections of Adres’s face and the battle wound along the side of his head. He mapped the curves and muscles beneath his armor. Adres wore a heavy midnight shawl shoulder wrap that had a hood ornamented with intricate beadwork and gemstones. Beneath was a black wool blazer with a standing collar that was longer than a traditional suit jacket and stitched with gold embroidery. His muscular legs were clothed in coal-black lightweight linen, allowing him to fight without restriction.

He was magnificent and regal, whether he intended to be or not.

And he was his. Flaws and all.

Adres couldn’t take Macauley staring at him the way he was. He was so lost in the aqua-blue depths of his gaze as his cherished touched him in places that no one had before. Places and parts of him that had repulsed every other lover he tried to have… but not Macauley. He seemed to almost worship them. Perhaps it was because he was a Volkov alpha, but Macauley was not afraid of him and whatever lurked inside. And that was what would make walking away from him that much more difficult. But, gods, how was he going to give him up?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Macauley rumbled, his voice husky and richer than before, “but you are my mate, Adres. We can figure this out. I don’t believe fate put us here in this moment if we couldn’t be together.”

Adres stared at him as if Macauley had hung the moon and stars tonight especially for him. With his shields completely down and his spirit exposed, he trembled at the strangeness. It was as if he’d just stepped out of his cabin naked. No heavy shroud to cover his face, no weapons, no shields, just him and all of his internal chaos.

“There’s more,” Macauley said, glaring at his chest. “I need more.”

Adres’s heart sank, and his stomach soon followed. He wanted to give Macauley so much more—he wanted to give him every fucking thing, but he could not. That was what he’d been trying to explain. But every time he opened his mouth, Macauley would fill him with more goodness, and all that would escape was a moan or a contented sigh.

Without breaking his eye contact, Macauley slid his hand under Adres’s shawl and began to slowly undo the buttons, starting with the clasp over his throat. Once he’d unbuckled the leather straps of his chest armor and opened the vest, there was nothing between Macauley’s skin and his but his silk dress shirt. He thought he’d stop there, but Macauley’s gaze darkened as he undid the top four buttons and slid his hand behind the material, placing his hot palm directly over his heart.

Adres almost shattered. “You won’t feel what it is you search for… you won’t find the one thing that you need from me.”

Razboi made a neighing sound in the distance, and Adres knew his companion could sense his distress. It’d be so easy to flash away and jump on Raz’s back and take off into the night. Just ride away from all of his problems. But a shard of hope had splintered in his mind, and two tediously aggravating words began to play on repeat.

What if?

“Then let me feel what I can.” Macauley grazed his cheek again, the ugly cratered side. “I know something is different with our bond. Not wrong or broken or anything else—just different. But I need you to let me see for myself.”

Adres swallowed his anxiety and gave his beloved a jerky nod as he gripped the hand still over his heart, clutching it for support because he didn’t know what he was about to experience. Adres inhaled a deep breath, filling himself with the scent of Macauley’s wholesomeness that smelled of woods, pine, and a hint of something sweet like honeysuckle.

“Close your eyes, mate. And don’t try to fight me.”

This is it.

He felt Macauley’s presence the moment he slid inside him, his power fluid and comforting when Adres wasn’t battling with it. His animal’s spirit was dominant, but most of all confident as it moved through his core to try to connect with his. His wolf was so close now, closer than anyone had ever attempted, and Adres again felt the urge to push him away. For the first time in his life, he was petrified. Scared his beautiful, flawless beloved would take one look at the emptiness of his soul and recoil in disgust.

Adres hissed as Macauley’s beast clawed at the ward of evil surrounding his core that had been held captive for centuries. His lack of a soul had served him well in the field, his brutality becoming infamous amongst every species. But his fighting days were almost over, and he now felt the plague inside him for what it truly was.