Adres glanced over a split second later, and his hand was buried in thick, soft, white fur. Startling blue eyes were focused on the subtle movement of their attackers closing in. If Macauley was calling telepathically on his siblings, then Justice and his pack would be defenseless against this weapon.

“Do not call for your brothers. These darts are poisonous,” Adres said quietly. “They will kill you.”

Macauley growled, his large canines bared, his sharp claws digging into the frozen earth.

“Tell your brother to send the king’s elite legion.” Adres didn’t wait for a sign that Macauley had done what he’d asked. Instead, he hesitantly removed his hand from the wolf’s neck and released a soft whistle into the air. Within seconds, Adres felt the ground tremble before Război appeared behind the tree a few feet away.

Macauley shifted, his mouth falling open. “How’d he do that?”

“Not now,” Adres ground out.

“Belleron is gathering the soldiers now,” Macauley informed him.

Macauley was an open target as he crouched beside Adres, and he felt the sudden urge to protect him like a thunderstorm raging in his chest. He had never hesitated in battle before, but he struggled with leaving Macauley’s side. He could smell the enemy getting closer, and the thought of the man beside him getting killed had him second-guessing himself in the field for the first time. Darts flew at Război, each of them ricocheting off the portion of his flank not concealed by the tree.

“How is he—”

Adres felt the dart whiz by his forehead, and he thrust his hand out in time to catch it midair before it lodged into Macauley’s throat. If he had been a hint of a second late, then…Angry flashes of red and orange clouded the corners of Adres’s vision as he squeezed the six-inch projectile in his fist and disintegrated it into pieces.

Macauley’s eyes widened in disbelief as he got almost face down in the dirt. “Fuck!”

Adres felt as if his core was on fire. It was rage. He never showed emotion, especially not while in the midst of a fight, however, there was no other way to describe his feelings and motives at this moment. He needed to kill. He glanced at Macauley, and he could see the ferocity in his eyes. He was an alpha—it wasn’t in his nature to cower and hide—but Adres was glad he was smart enough to obey him and sit this fight out. It showed him the alpha’s intelligence, his restraint, and his immense level of discipline.

The vampire who’d shot the last dart peeked his hooded head from behind a wide maple tree almost a hundred yards away before he flashed to another hiding place. Sorcerer’s assassins.

Adres’s vision got darker, scarier. And even in the midst of his rage, he was able to concentrate enough to track the vampire’s pattern. He felt a murderous thirst to drive his dagger through that assassin’s chest before he ended his life in a manner befitting his crime. Raw power coursed through him, his voice terrifying. “I will bring you his head, young wolf.”

A surge of courageous energy seeped into Adres’s chest slowly, warmly, and he turned to see Macauley staring at him, before he rumbled in a voice that did nothing to calm Adres’s anger, but in fact, exacerbated it, “Be careful.”

Adres’s tongue was tied. Be careful. He didn’t have time to analyze anything transpiring between them as all he could think of was slaying. He gazed high into the mountains and saw black smoke rising into the air, whatever it was, barreling its way towards them, singeing everything in its path. As it got closer, Adres’s anger increased to the point that his body began to tremble.

Macauley followed Adres’s line of sight, the expression on his face changing to one of concern. “It’s Wrath,” he warned, his fingers clutching the ground as it shook beneath them. “He can feel your rage. It’s about to get very dark… and very hot.”

“Then may the gods have mercy on their souls.” Adres flashed to his feet and Război sprinted towards him in time to shield his body from the attack. He yanked his Hwando sword from the hidden compartment attached to his horse’s saddle and mounted him in one swift motion. Adres couldn’t turn around and risk getting lost in Macauley’s penetrating glare again as he bolted into the dark woods.

He held the reins loosely as he crouched and clenched his thighs, the speed and agility of his war companion always sending a thrill of excitement through him. Război had been bred to sense his distress, so he’d always come when Adres needed him, even if he was unable to hear his call. His comrade could feel the shift in his heartbeat, could sense the flames licking up the walls of his soul as he trained his eyes on the vampire who had almost struck the young wolf. The assassin was on the retreat now, having gotten a glance at the embroidery on Adres’s dark hood, his midnight-black Friesian, and the symbols on his knuckles as he charged at him with his sword out to the side, ready to behead.

The black smoke became so thick and overwhelming until the only light Adres could see was the orange sparks from Wrath’s flames that he threw at the assassins who were almost to the border of the territory. The vampires had been able to take their time climbing over the steep mountains and down into the deep valleys of the forest, but they were unable to use their speed to make their way out.

And it’d made them easy prey.

Adres heard men screaming, their skin being burned off their bodies before they fell to the earth in a heap of ashes. He caught a glimpse of the huge, all-black wolf with embers of fire clinging to the ends of his fur as he killed the assassins without hesitation, regret… or remorse.

Wrath. The wolf glanced in his direction as if he’d heard him, the flames in his eyes glowing brighter before he turned towards the faint sound of a twig snapping. It was the vampire Adres had chased and now cornered. He’d left two alive for questioning, but this one… would understand the true meaning of his name. The inescapable. For attempting to kill his… his…

Adres met the demigod’s forceful gaze, a hint of familiarity flaring, before he told him that the kill… the vengeance… belonged to him. Wrath snarled and bared his long canines as he inched backwards into the shadows until he’d disappeared.

Two vampires that were running shoulder-to-shoulder didn’t have crossbows in their hands, and appeared non-threatening, but were cloaked in the same black garbs as the assassins. Adres didn’t kill them but he ran them down with ease, throwing a set of enchanted binds towards them that clamped around their hands and feet.

The vampire who shot at Macauley must’ve assumed with Wrath retreating and Adres distracted that it was his only chance at freedom. The hooded figure darted from behind a rocky alcove and attempted to flash toward the cliffs, but Adres shot his sword out in a wide arc, the old-world magic ignited inside the steel causing it to curve like a boomerang and slash clean through his target’s neck muscles and tendons. The blade was so sharp, the assassination so precise, that the now dead vampire still stood erect, his death frozen in time, his severed head resting atop his neck, his eyes wide in shock. Adres’s blade never touched the ground, the spell making it complete its kill before it flew back towards him and slammed into the sheath in Adres’s right hand. Only then did the assassin’s body slump to his knees, the detached head rolling across the cold ground to where Adres stood.

“All the gods.”

He turned at the sound of Belleron’s astonished voice, his own cane-sword drawn as he stood in front of the elite soldiers. Adres faced the king and gave him a slight bow as he tried to contain the power and energy still flowing through his system. “My king.”

“Your speed is incomparable.” King Chadwick Bentley said as his personal guard quickly draped his purple robe around his naked body. “I shifted as soon as Justice relayed the message, and we came immediately. Next time, I’ll know to move even faster.” Wick stared at the two vampires bound on the ground a few feet away from him and motioned for them to be taken for later interrogation.

“I was not alone. Your praise belongs to the gods,” Adres confessed, not wanting to take the glory away from Wrath. He was a demigod that was known for not preferring to share the triumph.

“Yes.” The king surveyed the melted ice and the charred earth Wrath had left in his wake.

The soldiers bowed to Adres. It wasn’t the first time they’d done it since he’d assumed his new title, and it still felt like a strange gesture. Eleven immaculately groomed guards in black suits stood behind Belleron as he continued to stare at the sword still clutched in Adres’s fist. He assumed they could feel the magic radiating in the atmosphere. Magic that he had unleashed.

“It is a true honor to serve you, my Lord,” said Marius Balan, the captain of the king’s elite legion—Adres remembered him because it was a common name in his country. He bowed a couple of inches lower before he requested, “your orders, sir?”

“They are speaking to you, Lord of Arms.” The king gave Adres a tight nod before he added, “I’ll assemble my court, and when you are ready, we will be in the war room with the Alpha Zenith and his officers.”

The elite forces glanced around at each other, and Adres exhaled sharply, his sword sending another wave of satisfaction up his arm.

“Fate has sent us the greatest warrior of our time. Because make no mistake, brothers. This act committed here tonight means war.” The king turned and walked away, leaving his twelve soldiers to follow whatever orders Adres gave. They trusted him to do the right thing because they could not detect the evil that lurked in his core.

None of them could, except…

A low warning growl came from behind the legion of soldiers, and they parted to allow Macauley to walk through. He’d shifted back to his wolf at some point while Adres had been fighting, and as he stalked forward, the air rippled around him with his righteous energy, his ears flattened to his head in warning and his bushy tail aimed towards the dark sky. He was alone in the woods with an army of vampires, after narrowly surviving an attack by a coven of vampire assassins. His threatening posture was more than warranted. Whomever had sent those attackers had done it with a sole purpose: to kill a Volkov alpha. The siblings were all mentally connected. If one fell, they all would.

Adres’s heart was thundering, but he had each of his shields up to keep those nearby from overhearing it. There was no way they could know that for a moment when he’d been at Macauley’s side, he’d faltered. It had to mean more than Adres was willing to admit.

Macauley stopped a few inches from him and sat back on his haunches, his thick chest expanded and covered in pure white fur so dense that it looked as if Adres’s hand could get lost in it. They stared long and hard at each other until Adres thought he could sense what Macauley was thinking.

Is he… proud?

Adres breathed through the tightness in his throat as he stood behind the head of the traitor who’d taken a shot at the alpha. He went down on one knee, and stern murmurs rose from their spectators, but Adres focused on the crystal-blue eyes tracking him as he lowered himself to the ground.

“For you, young wolf.” Adres’s voice was rough and fractured, and he found himself tilting his head before he hurried to correct himself, hoping the wolf hadn’t noticed his slip of submission.

“The greatest tribute by any of our kind.”

“Better than favor of the king.”

“Better than a gift from the gods.”

“The head of a horseman.”

“Silence, men,” Belleron scolded, and the chatter came to an immediate halt.

Good. Adres wanted Macauley to accept his gift of his own reasoning. It wasn’t common for him to bestow such an honor—the victim’s head of their tormentor—without just cause. Death was not their only means of dispensing justice. And Macauley was far from being a victim. But the urge to kill for him had formed in Adres’s mind and tore through his body so fast that he’d already called on his warhorse as he made the promise.

Once the words were spoken, he had to honor it.

Macauley inched forward until he was on him, his head tilted high as he pressed his muzzle against the base of Adres’s neck. It wasn’t the same feeling as before when Macauley had inspected him—this touch felt almost like a caress. Adres didn’t tilt his head back, but he’d be damned if the mere thought of it didn’t send pleasure through his stomach that continued towards his groin. Heat pooled in his lightweight linen pants despite the freezing temperatures. Macauley huffed against his throat, his breath warming Adres’s skin, and he prayed that the ground would swallow him whole if the wolf smelled his arousal.

Keeping his facial features neutral, Adres whispered close to the wolf’s peaked ear for only him to hear. “Your enemy is now my enemy… therefore your enemies, young wolf… are răposat.”

Macauley snarled, and it made Adres’s cock thicken even more.

La naiba! Of all the years to start to show signs of life, his penis had to choose tonight. At first, he thought Macauley could smell his lust he was so close, the beast’s wide nostrils flaring and his blown dark pupils devouring him. Or was the wolf appalled by his gift, just like Macauley had recoiled when Adres brought Belleron’s captor’s head in a bloody sack?

But Macauley surprised him when he dipped his black nose towards the assassin and let out a sharp, angry bark before he dug a hole with less than four swipes of his huge paws. Macauley didn’t hesitate as he shoved the head into the hole and flipped the fresh dirt over it.

The treasonous vampire didn’t deserve any form of a proper burial, but Macauley’s moral wolf could behave no other way. Remarcabil. Adres chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning.

Macauley gazed at him one last time, and again Adres felt as if he could feel the wolf’s appreciation before he bounded into the woods, disappearing quickly. Macauley’s cabin was inside the compound but still nestled far enough away that he was afforded a modicum of privacy from his large pack. The captain approached when he seemed sure the alpha was out of hearing range.

“We await your orders, my Lord. Vampires attacked you on land the king has deemed royal territory. This will mean war.”

Adres was still staring at where the white wolf had been when he spoke with emotion and confusion clouding his mind. “The attack was made in the middle of the night, using poisonous darts. The assassins came for the shifters… not for me or the king.” Adres held up a handful of darts and faced the captain, his smooth skin and shiny black eyes revealing his youth. “Select two of your finest soldiers, Captain.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Captain Balan said sharply, then quickly motioned for two older vampires—a male and female who looked so much alike it would’ve taken a seer to tell them apart—to come towards him. “At your request, I give you Omor and Daciana Dalca. They have been soldiers in the king’s guard since maturity.”

The two blonds stood waiting dutifully, and Adres could feel their strength and also their excitement to be called to his attention. He glanced over their lithe, strong bodies, nodding his head in approval. “I have an important assignment for you both.”

The woman was the first to speak. She wore a black pantsuit similar to her comrades, but her collar held three gold bars while the other men wore two. She was a general. “I am Daciana. It is an honor to serve you, my Lord. Our maker would tell us stories of you and your brothers’ battles when my twin, Omor, and I were still in training.”

Adres remained silent, never one to hold general conversation or talk pleasantries. “The Volkov alpha that was just here…”

“Mac.” Omor cocked his head. “Sure. We know him well. He accompanied Wrath to the tombs in the Yorkshire Dales when Belleron was captured. He has a fearless wolf.”

“Guard him with your lives.” Adres’s vision went hazy. “If he is harmed… it will be your heads in a shallow grave next.”

Omor and Daciana gave a stiff bow before they flashed in the direction Macauley had gone.

“Set up a perimeter around the territory,” Adres ordered the captain. “I will have the AZ’s enforcers relieve our guards before the sun rises.”

“Consider it done, my Lord.”

Once the captain and remaining soldiers were gone, Belleron stood leaning casually against the tree as he watched him silently with a knowing expression crossing his handsome face. A gust of cold wind blew the long strands of his silky waist-length black hair over his shoulder, and Adres caught a glimpse of his mating marks just over his jugular. A bite from his wolf, and a branded kiss from Wrath. It made Adres wonder if Belleron—a leader—was truly happy submitting to another alpha, multiple ones.

“Every order you issue does not need to be followed by a threat, my Lord,” Belleron said snidely.

“Your grace.” Adres ignored the shot and began to walk towards the AZ’s home. “You should not be out here without your protection, Belleron. Where is your beloved?”

“Beloveds,” Belleron corrected. “I have three mates in one man. And do you really think Wrath is not near me?”

A shiver of unease ran down Adres’s spine.

“So, I think it is time you be honest, eldest Cavalerie. Your scent changes when Macauley is not around, and your aggression regarding him is bewildering since he is not your cherished. So, out with it. What else are you hiding… besides your magic?”