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

“He doesn’t smell right,” snarled a hostile shifter standing to the right of the AZ, which meant he must be one of his three brothers.

A vampire standing in front of the army informed them, “He’s blocking most of his scent.”

“Easy. Let’s see what he wants,” Justice said.

Adres slowed his pace and moved across the property with his hands loose at his sides, his swords strapped securely to his back. He scanned the even rows of trained vampires ready to attack at a flick of the king’s wrist, and the Alpha’s enforcers who had shifted and were prepared to tear his throat out. As Adres stared at the impressive display of power he questioned if these privileged individuals even deserved the honor of his presence. He was careful to keep his emotions hidden so they didn’t affect his shields, which were undetectable to most—but he had also never encountered a Volkov.

“Justice, that’s close enough. He needs to state his business,” a dark-haired man told the AZ.

Another brother, Adres presumed.

“Agreed,” Justice said. “Stop him there.”

Adres wasn’t sure what “stop him there” meant, but they were more than welcome to continue to try. Chadwick Bentley was the most powerful vampire in the world because he was the king, but he was far from the strongest. However, he was the only vampire Adres had ever encountered that could shift into an animal. But he still was not the strongest. As far as Adres was concerned, he’d earned that title. Adres locked eyes with the brother walking forward and held his glare with his own. He knew that each Volkov brother had a supreme wolf inside them with a unique trait that strengthened their senses tenfold.

He’d been prepared to combat whatever energy this brother possessed, but he’d been mistaken. Heat fiercer than the Nubian Desert rushed towards him as he threw his hood over his face in an effort to combat the scorching temperature. The air shimmered angrily around him, and with each step he took, the grass singed and charred beneath his boots. Adres gasped for breath, choking on the fury and rage being burned into him. Unless he showed them now that he wasn’t a threat, he would perish, for he knew now who stood before him.

“I’m not here to fight.” Adres gritted out, no longer able to move.

“We don’t know why you’re here. Drop your shields,” the king commanded. “If you mean no harm.”

If Adres dropped his guard now, he’d be incinerated. “The shield is there for protection. I only wanted a chance to explain my appearance here.” Adres extended his hand towards the visible air sizzling a few inches from his face. The moment the tip of his middle finger made contact, he yanked his hand away. He inhaled sharply, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at a man with flames burning in his eyes. The fire-god. “It’s true. You have returned. These are the waves of Wrath. It’s really you.”

“If you attack, you’ll die slowly.” The words were coming from the mouth of the second-to-oldest Volkov brother, but it was not him speaking. It was the god that possessed him.

Adres was not often surprised by life anymore, but today was a special day. “Those are not my intentions.” He had no desire to have his skin scorched from his bones. Once Wrath retreated, his black smoke dissipating at his will, Adres was able to inhale easier. He continued until he stood in front of an audience of his peers and his natural enemy. “I would like to introduce myself.”

“Drop the shield,” another vampire ordered. Adres presumed him to be the king’s Lord Protector, Ramon Vega—a well-known soldier of their species—because he stood in front of His Majesty’s court, demanding his full compliance.

Adres wouldn’t be able to get another word in if he didn’t do as he’d been ordered. With precision, Adres lowered his outside shield just enough for them to smell his family’s lineage. He hoped it was enough to satisfy the curious—and exceptionally vicious-looking—shifter who stood several yards off, scenting him. Adres lowered his head in a slight bow as a sign of respect—though he felt none—before he addressed the hierarchy.

“Please, my Lords. A moment. My family’s name… is Cavalerie. I am the oldest, Adres Neculai. I am here to honor our code, pledge my loyalty to your crown King Bentley, and to hopefully swear an oath.”

Once Adres said his family’s name, many of the king’s guards broke from their formation as hushed whispers rose and ignited into barely restrained fascination. They all stared, assessing his dark clothes, the artistic beading of his native land decorating his cloak and hood, his half-covered face, and his tattooed hands. Hands that had killed many and would kill many more. Adres felt as if his reinforced shields were holding well enough to avoid suspicion, until the third eldest of the Volkov brothers made his power known.