Prophesy 3: His Righteousness (The King & Alpha 3)
Adres quickly shook those thoughts from his mind and concentrated on his task. He still had hundreds of miles to cover and not a lot of time to get it done. Another attack could occur at any moment. He pushed himself to go harder, farther, knowing he was overdoing it. He was tired, his body aching and cramping with hunger.
Before he’d arrived on the Volkov territory, Adres used to be able to go weeks between feeding, even a month if he had to. And sleep was not a daily requirement. However, all of that had been before he sensed his cherished. Now that he’d foolishly allowed Macauley inside him, his desire to taste him had grown to epic heights. His throat burned from his thirst, as if he had swallowed a shot of brandy.
After he’d placed one more protective ward, he knew it was past time for him to get to the war room. If the prisoners didn’t come forward with the truth, he knew the king would order them killed and send his army to the coven they originated from.
He hoped they came to their senses and decided to confess, because Adres wasn’t sure he had enough energy to even swing his sword.
By the time Adres was back in his hiding spot in the war room, everyone was already assembled as before, and the prisoners were being brought in to stand before Wick and Justice. The two vampires he’d captured had gone down without much of a fight, while Wrath had gone after the deadliest ones. He had not been the one to interrogate them over the last couple of days, but he’d heard they had refused to speak to anyone but the king himself. As if they wanted their last words to be before the royal court.
Adres could feel his cherished only feet away, making his heart pound and his throat constrict. He closed his eyes and inhaled, filtering out every other scent in the room except Macauley’s. If he wasn’t careful, one of his shields might end up slipping. He needed to focus. He crept closer to the edge of the wall so he could see inside the room but remain concealed by the darkness.
Chains clanked along the stone floor as four of the king’s legion soldiers ushered the captives closer to the raised platform where Wick sat beside Justice in two black leather, high wingback chairs. The vampires’ hands were bound in front of them by thick metal cuffs and their feet so restricted they could only cover a couple of inches at a time. They were still in their dark clothing, though parts had been torn from the scuffle, but neither appeared as if they had been beaten or tortured, just hungry and exhausted.
“Do you not know to bow before your king?” Ramon began. He sat two seats down from Wick with the legion standing behind him, a powerful leader, but the captives did not cower at the sharp order.
They glanced back and forth between each other, standing shoulder to shoulder, upper arms pressed together, and Adres could tell they were more than just comrades. One had shock-red hair down to his waist, and though it was tangled and caked with dirt, it was still beautiful. It made his pale skin almost glow, and as Adres homed in on his features, he saw he did not fit the mold of an assassin. He did not look like a murderer.
The vampires were not like him.
The men Adres and Wrath had gone after were elite, corrupted. They could not be captured, only killed. But these two had come almost willingly. His partner was blond with delicate features, not the typical hardness one got from years of battle. He licked his chapped pink lips before he spoke with conviction. “I speak for my lover and myself when I say that Chadwick Bentley is no king of ours.”
Ramon snapped to his feet like the dedicated soldier he was, but it was Justice who put his hand up to stop him. The AZ was a large, handsome man, his commanding aura fitting for his title. His siblings sat to his right, his force of imposing betas behind him.
“I would like to hear what they have to say if you don’t mind, Ramon. Kneeling is a gesture of respect that is earned… no one is entitled to it. When my shifters bare their throats, it is out of their own will. I don’t demand it.”
“Neither do I,” Wick agreed. He leaned forward with his forearms on the padded armrest and his slim fingers linked together in front of his stomach. “You have demanded to see me…”
They glanced at each other again as if they had a secret language, and Adres noticed the courage in them, but he could also scent the fear. He eased away from the wall and got into a better position. These men were on a different mission.