“Are you sure you can get him back, Alek?” Wick sighed. “I hate to have to keep asking. It’s just… Bell is very important to me. He’s… he’s always been there.”
Alek, let me forward, Wrath said smoothly.
W-what? Alek stuttered a moment, wondering if Wrath was serious. Did he want him to take all his clothes off right there and shift to Wolf and then to… What the hell was he thinking? He realized they had a deal, but this was insane. What if Wrath got mad and…
Hey! We have an understanding, at least for now, right? That I won’t hurt anyone. Now trust me. Let me forward. There’s no shifting needed, I just want to speak to the King. Your mouth will work fine, Wrath said slowly, now close your eyes and fade back but don’t go far.
Um… Alek hadn’t done this in… he couldn’t remember if they had done this before. Wrath always emerged through Wolf. Wrath was a wolf.
Alek! Stop questioning him and let him through. Justice is staring at us like we’re insane. While you all needlessly debate, our mate waits and suffers, Wolf scolded them. Wrath, make this quick.
Alek let out a deep breath and told his brother. “Wrath wants to talk to Wick.”
Justice reared back, studying him. “No. Not after that display this morning. He can’t be controlled.”
“I wasn’t asking,” Alek said, then closed his eyes. He thought of the powerfully supreme force that lived within him and called him forward, as opposed to fighting him. Immediately, he felt Wrath’s gratitude, and he let that very strange but welcome sentiment in.
In a blink, Wrath’s presence was on the surface, but Alek was right there with him, and so was Wolf. When Alek’s eyes opened he no longer saw in his usual, slightly enhanced vision. Everything was in high definition, as if going from black and white to 4K resolution. Their body felt warmer, but not the blazing inferno that usually assaulted them when Wrath battled to the forefront. He felt heads turn in their direction when Wick and Justice let out loud expletives and took a few steps backwards, not sure what they were seeing.
“Don’t be afraid. I only send out my vengeance when it’s warranted.” Wrath’s voice heated the frigid air around them. “I never had my targets set on you, Alpha Zenith. On none of you. I have one mission now, and that is to save Belleron. And as long as no one. No one,” Wrath warned, turning and meeting the sharp midnight eyes of the hired mercenaries, and even the King’s men who stood rigid at the head of the aircraft. “Gets in my way, then no one will meet my rage. King Bentley, do not send any more of your guards to be slaughtered. Pull back your reserves, because I don’t want there to be more innocent casualties on my hands. I will destroy the rebellion and I assure you, King, I will return with our mate.”
Wrath eased their transition back to Alek as effortlessly as if they did it every day. Alek felt energized, confident, unbeatable, and ready to get his goddamn mate. Without another word, he hefted his large duffle bag and was the first to jog up the few steps leading into the jet, as if it belonged to him. He took the first seat he saw, Wrath telling him to sit near the window. So he did, feeling fearless.
Oh yeah. They were ready.
Bell hissed and clawed desperately at the stony ground as he was dragged deeper into the recesses of the hill. The tomb had been raided all to hell. He could smell the rotten decay of death and fractured souls around him as they passed one empty tomb after another. Some of them still with half-used bags of blood lying beside them that the rebels had used to rip the inhabitants from age-long slumbers. As Bell felt sharp edges of concrete tear through his expensive suit and cut into his flesh, he tried to keep his eyes open so he could report in detail when he escaped. If he escaped. If he ever made it home again. The ones who’d ambushed them weren’t at full strength but had the numbers to overcome them. They’d greedily drained his entire team, and Bell was certain that when they’d seized him he was about to be mauled as well. But they’d gotten a good sniff of him and recoiled as if he had dung smeared on his throat.
Bell yelled and bucked as hard as he could while twenty or so vampires hustled him down deeper into the earth—stronger ones this time. These weren’t the weakened prisoners. These were the group of rebels he’d seen on the videos. They were young and angry with power-lust written all over their scowling faces. He knew where they were taking him—to the center hub where the guards’ station and records keeper were. The national tomb was maintained and operated by vampire council officers—high-level vampires whose sole job was to receive and sustain the tomb’s occupants. There were also record keepers who maintained confidential documents on every single prisoner—their crime, conviction date, sentencing report, extensive personal data, as well. All that information appearing to be vulnerable and in jeopardy of being stolen if these assholes had indeed taken over the—