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

Adres put his lips close to the blade and whispered against the base of gleaming steel. Macauley watched in horror as his mate slung his midnight shawl over his head and leapt out of the window without opening or shattering the glass, disappearing clean through it.

Macauley was still howling in misery when Justice, Farica, and Aleksei burst through his bedroom door with his betas close behind them. Alek and Justice scanned the room while Farica climbed onto the bed and curled up beside him.

“Mac, what’s happening? What’s wrong?” She was smothering him with her tranquility, but he didn’t want it. He wanted nothing but to feel the life force of his mate. He dropped his head in his sister’s lap and whined like a fucking lost pup.

Razboi practically threw Adres into his cabin and out of the harmful rays of the setting sun. He stumbled across the floor before falling to his hands and knees, feeling as if he was going to be sick. His stomach was full of his cherished’s blood, his winter-earthy taste still fresh on his tongue. Adres felt as if he’d drank enough to sustain him for weeks which meant… My beloved is probably dying right now. He’d reduced a great alpha like Macauley to dribbles and unintelligible sounds. Adres clutched his stomach, wanting to plunge his dagger through it to end the pain and crushing guilt. If Macauley’s wolf hadn’t attacked him… he would have drank until there was nothing left.

Like a fool, Adres had allowed himself a moment of pleasure, and look what had happened. “Oh gods… have mercy, va rog. Take my life… not his.”

The sound of Macauley’s fading howls made him slam his hands over his ears. Adres had lied to himself when he thought he could control his hunger until his curse was lifted. He’d never lain with another, slept beside an individual where he’d had to concern himself with the actions of his slumber. Now, he understood why he’d never had the desire to mate.

Adres’s front door was kicked open, and he scurried to the other side of the room to avoid the light filtering in behind Belleron. He leaned against the doorframe and turned his face towards the warm, orange sun as a wistful smile graced his face, the heat turning his pale cheeks a faint hue of pink.

“You can have this too, horseman,” Belleron stated in a smooth tone, as if he was oblivious to Adres’s inner turmoil. “Have you ever seen a butterfly suck the nectar from a coneflower or watched a pack of pups play chase with squirrels under a cloudless powder-blue sky?”

Squirrels, butterflies. What the fuck was Belleron even talking about? Adres was a vampire… he’d never act as sappy and absurd as the ones he’d witnessed living here on the pack lands. His brethren had gotten so content in their romantic bubble that they’d blocked out the real world.

“What makes you think I want that, day-walker?” Adres could only imagine how disheveled he appeared hovering in a corner with his rumpled clothes and hair, reeking of Macauley’s come.

“Because who wouldn’t?” Belleron chuckled lightly.

Adres clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms and his blood dripped onto the carpet. He wanted to feel anything but this.

“Adres.” Belleron came farther inside. His disapproving scowl lessened the smile lines around his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that Macauley was your cherished? I had to hear it from my own.”

How did Aleksei know?

“My other mate.” Belleron tucked the streak of white hair behind his ear. “He smelled you in the room despite what you did to try to hide it.”

“Please leave, my Lord,” Adres said between clenched teeth. His mate’s blood churned uneasily in his stomach as guilt rode him hard enough to make him wish for death.

“How could you do that to Mac? Why did either of you think it had to be kept a secret?”

“It is not your concern—” Fear clamped Adres’s mouth shut as Wrath ducked his head and came through his front door with a cloud of heavy smoke trailing behind him. The heat in the room amplified to the point that Adres had to tear his heavy cloak off.

“I was handling this, Ira,” Bell sighed.

“Yes you were, fragile mate, but men like Adres only understand one language.” Wrath moved around Belleron, his burning eyes lasered on Adres in a way that made him tremble. Thick, black fog whirled around him angrily as Wrath cocked his head to the side as though he didn’t recognize who Adres was… but should have.

His insides twisted as he fell to his knees and bowed his head, needing one last blessing from the demigod, hoping he’d grant his prayer for death as he extended his hand towards him like a begging scoundrel.

Adres heard Belleron’s gasp a second before Wrath’s smoke clutched him around his throat and threw him backwards until his spine connected with the wall. Adres clawed at the restriction crushing his windpipe, but his limbs were useless against Wrath’s heat.