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“I want you to stay beside your brother, no matter what happens.” Francis said to his eldest son, Vincent.
He was heir to the throne, and as king he’d done all he could do to prepare him for the role, should it fall on his shoulders. Vincent was pragmatic, serious, and committed to being king one day. As he was at his age.
He was also very aware Brayden was a powerful vampire. More-so than his brother. Not that the heir was weak. He wasn’t. Brayden was extremely alpha, but he showed no signs of wanting to dominate his brother.
His chest tightened with pride.
He was proud of them both, and when the day came for him to leave the crown to his sons, he knew they would both protect the throne and run the vampire race with passion and loyalty. Despite their frolicking ways with females of both races, they were loyal and protective of each other, and the queen.
Their mother.
His mate and love.
Guiliana Moretti.
Vincent nodded in response and glanced around the courtyard. “They could challenge me next, you know.”
“They could,” Francis said. “The power will transfer to you in minutes, which is why I want you to remain near Brayden and Craig.”
He was referring to the Moretti royal family’s greatest secret. Only his mate, Guiliana, and his sons knew of the power hidden in the Moretti blood.
As the direct ascendents of the original vampire, they were linked to all others. He wasn’t truly sure how it worked, but all Moretti’s benefitted from it.
As king, most of the potency was held within him. When he died, the energy would transfer to his firstborn, or the next living heir.
It was why they were careful who they shared blood with. It wasn’t uncommon in battle, or at other times, for vampires to share blood to heal one another. However, when one of the royal family shared, they passed on their power. Temporarily, it seemed. The only time it became permanent was after a full blood transfusion, which took place when one became your mate. Human or vampire.
Fortunately, the Moretti blood power had remained a secret until this day, and he hoped it continued to.
Receiving the power when his father had died was an overwhelming experience.
As the sole heir to the throne, he had no siblings. It was why he was so urgent when he found his mate. One, so he could make her his, and two, so they could birth heirs to the throne. With him alone to protect it, the royal family had been vulnerable.
Francis had seen the way Kate and Vincent danced around each other, despite their relationship, and he was certain she was his mate.
His mind flicked back to a long ago promise.
“I don’t need protecting, father.”
“No, you do not, but these vampires play dirty, so there is safety in numbers. Remember what I taught you, Vincent. Fight with your body and your mind.”
“A carriage draws near, my lord,” Regan, his long-time advisor, said.
“Thank you. Keep yourself safe this night.”
The vampire nodded. “I look forward to a fresh glass of the finest red when you have defeated this dis-loyalist, my lord.”
The slight, but incredibly organized and loyal male slipped away into the shadows of the stone pillars.
Francis closed his eyes and listened. He could hear the horses chewing hay and moving about in their stalls, vampires moving about in the castle, the sound of the wind in the trees, and the creatures moving across the ground searching for food.
Smiling, he heard the soft lilt of his mate’s voice as she instructed the household on preparing the end of the day meal. They would all be hungry after this. He’d kept this little skirmish from her, and she would be angry with him.
She would still open her legs for him when he took her to bed. His Lia always did, such was the passion and hunger which existed between them, even after all these years.
He saw Brayden’s body stiffen. Always the warrior ready for battle. His youngest would struggle to stand on the side lines for this, he knew. It was another reason he wanted Vincent with his brother.
He glanced at Craig and received the nod he was looking for. Their commander also knew how hot-headed Brayden could be. Neither of them were strong enough to hold him back, but their interference may be enough until he could command him.
The last thing he needed was a distraction that cost him his head.
Or his heart.
The only two ways to kill a vampire. Dagger, or sword, through the heart, or removing the head.
Not today.
The carriage stopped and four of the Russo males climbed out. Roberto, the challenger, and his sons Stefano, Marco, and Luca.
As were they, the Russo’s dressed all in black. Gone were the suits, replaced with loose pants and open-necked shirts, and long swords strapped to their backs.
Hidden on their bodies would be knives, just as the Moretti’s had done.
He glanced up at the full moon hanging in the sky, offering ample visibility for the vampires. No animal could see in pure darkness. Even nocturnal cats needed some light to see.
Roberto made his way across the cobblestoned courtyard of the castle.
“I don’t trust the asshole,” Brayden muttered.
“To be fair, you don’t trust anyone,” Craig said, leaning casually against an empty carriage.
He ignored the boys’ chatter and monitored the head of the Russo family. He, too, did not trust the vampire.
“You can stop there,” Francis commanded, and took a step forward. His sword loose in his hand.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“My daughter!” Roberto ground out.
Francis lifted a brow. “Is this about your daughter’s honor? She mated with the male, Roberto. Neither of us have the power to interfere with the laws of nature.”
“I want to see her.”
“It is not my role to interfere with mating of a male and female, and you well know it. Even if it is one of my soldiers.”
“That motherfucker,” one son scowled.
“Get in line, the rapist is mine.”
Craig snorted.
“Do you boys need a lesson about the birds and bees?” Brayden taunted, leaning beside his friend on the carriage. The two of them looked relaxed, but Francis knew they’d be in flight with swords in a matter of milliseconds if one of the Russo boys even blinked.
Roberto’s fangs extended.
“One last chance,” Francis said darkly. “Think carefully, before I end your life. Your daughter will visit when and if she is ready.”
“You know well this is not about my daughter, Moretti.” He waved his free hand at the castle. “While you tax us and we live under your rule, many vampires live poor lives. Struggling.”
Francis let out a laugh.
“What do you know of a poor life, Russo? Your homes in Italy are large and luxurious. You rub shoulders with politicians, royalty, and high society. You have lush lands while jewels fill your coffers.”
Roberto was well known to be bloodthirsty for power.
He did not care about the poor and the suffering of others. They had reason to believe the Russo’s were taxing them a secondary tax for his protection but could not yet prove it. The rebellion had been a problem for the royal family for centuries.
Francis suspected they were getting impatient and thought to take him, and possibly his son’s down today.
They would be mistaken.
“Filled with gold from the same vampires you claim suffer. Lay down your sword and confess to your illegal practices Russo.” Vincent said.
Vincent, he knew, would be a different king to him. He had a powerful mind and believed things could be sorted out around the table.
“You know not what you speak of child.” Roberto hissed.
Francis took another step forward. “Be careful how you speak to him. He will be your king one day. Or today, should you be successful.”
Roberto stepped forward, now several feet apart. “Then let me get on with it.”
Clash.
Their swords slammed together. Once, twice, thrice, and then the dance began. Power shimmered around them as their vampire power and abilities flared to life. They both grunted, sneered, and pushed each other to their limits.
Francis was impressed by the male’s strength. It had been a long while since he’d been challenged by someone worthy. Still, he was unconcerned with the outcome.
Around and around the courtyard they went, rolling on the ground, kicking the other, bouncing off the sides of the castle walls.
Their sons rallied about, calling out encouragement, despite this being a serious challenge which would end in one father’s death. Not his.
Roberto rammed the hilt of his sword into his throat and gripped his hair, a grin lighting his face.
“Surrender and let me take your head, king.”
Francis kneed him in the groin and shoved him off, flipping backwards, then rushing the vampire. Together they tumbled, swords scattering. Using their fists, they both punched at their bodies and faces and kicked legs.
Slipping his leg between Roberto’s, Francis tripped him and got him on his back. Gripping his throat, he looked down at his enemy.
“You have taken things too far this time, Roberto. Now your children lose their father.”
Under him the male wriggled, attempting to free himself, and as his eyes widened, the king knew the reality of his power had become clear.
“I’m sorry, I cannot let you walk away.”
The three boys began shouting out to their father in desperation.
Francis glanced around him and decided out of respect he wouldn’t rip the male’s head off with his bare hands. Tempting as it was.
Pulling out a long knife from his ankle strap, he held it up. “Let this be a warning to all of you,” he bellowed across the courtyard.
“You motherfucker.” Russo cursed at him.
Francis shook his head and ran the blade along the male’s neck.
He heard the gurgle, then continued running the blade black back and forth until the head rolled free of the body. Under him, he felt a shudder and then nothing.
He stood.
Walking over to Stefano, Luca and Marco, he dropped their father’s head to their feet. One male dropped to his knees in horror.
“Your family’s challenge has failed.” Francis’ heart was thumping in his chest, furious at having to kill one of his own. “My role as king is to protect my race, not kill. Your father brought this here, to my home, never forget that.”
He felt his sons step up behind him.
“You will stop taxing vampires and cease this rebellion immediately.”
Neither of them nodded, but he gave them the benefit of the doubt.
“Go. Take your father and return home. I will send my army in two rises of the full moon to see things have improved. If not, we will take necessary action.”
“This is not over, King Moretti,” Stefano, the eldest, said.
“You had better hope it is, son.”
“I am not your son,” he spat, literally, on the ground inches from his foot. Vincent stepped forward, and Francis grabbed hold of his hand to stop him. There had been enough bloodshed this day.
“Go. Now!” he boomed.
The youngest tugged at his brother’s sleeve. “Come, Stefano. We knew the risks today. We have lost. Let’s take father home.”
The young male glanced at the king, sorrow in his eyes, and then dropped them. A small nod of respect.
Perhaps all was not lost in the Russo bloodline after all.
