Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Adres stared at the vampire who had sullied his name and called him out. He felt an icy hand curl around his anger and squeeze before he gritted out, “So, you have a theory, General…”
The one who had been so strong in his convictions and had almost fallen out of his chair when Adres appeared now sat paralyzed with his heart beating too fast. The smell of panic tore through him and caused an odor vile enough to clear the room.
“Are you finally feeling honored, General Telek?” Macauley asked.
The legion vampires snapped to attention and returned to their tight formation behind the Lord Protector, showing Adres the respect his title earned. All eyes in the room were on the parts of Adres they could see—his nose, his mouth, his chin. No one could overlook the leather armor over his chest and the charmed sword across his back. His hood had been designed with a specially crafted fabric that allowed him to see out, but no one could see through the thick, midnight cloth.
The general’s nostrils flared before he gnashed his fangs. “Yes. It is indeed an honor. I am General Telek Denys of the Northern Forces Defense Alliance.” He stood slowly and extended a shallow bow in Adres’s direction, appearing more than uncomfortable. “You can lower your shield now, my Lord.”
“Disregard that,” Macauley growled. “He does not need to scent you.”
Adres had a difficult time tamping down his body’s reaction to Macauley’s possessiveness… to his commands.
Neither the king nor the AZ interfered, though a single word from either of them would have put an immediate end to the standoff, but Adres was glad they understood a man was responsible for his own actions… and his words.
General Telek tugged at the immaculate Windsor knot of his black silk tie as he stared at the dark tribal markings on Adres’s fingers.
All vampires knew the markings of death.
“You have questions you wanted to ask to my face, General.” Adres released a fraction of his power and shot it at the general as not to affect the others. He was old enough to faze with intimidation, a trait passed through his lineage that served him well.
The general bolted his chair away from the table and clutched his chest as if he’d been stabbed. The betas in the room moved closer towards their alphas, but Justice was quick to wave them off.
Adres rounded the table. “Ask your questions, General … if you dare.”
“I do not wish to quarrel with you, my Lord.”
I would not want to quarrel with me, either.
“But I was called here—on emergency—to discuss the possibility of war,” he gasped, fear piercing each word. “And you are the Lord of Arms.”
Adres stopped twenty feet from the general, just the distance he needed to throw his trench knife through his heart. “And…”
“And why… I mean, how did you…” The vampire’s uneasy gaze darted back and forth between Adres and the king, realization dawning that he was alone. “How did you end up in the exact place that the attack occurred?”
“Enough.” Belleron stood. He glanced at the king, receiving an almost imperceptible nod from his friend before he continued. “General Telek Denys, you are dismissed from this meeting and any future strategy sessions.” The vampire sputtered as Belleron added, “You are hereby demoted to corporal of the Northern Infantry Battalion.”
“This is absurd!” The vampire’s chest began to heave, his gaze lasering in on the king. “I have served in this court for over three hundred years. I was a major in your father’s personal guard. And you have the audacity to allow your second to dismiss me so flippantly.”
“Your opinions were once valued and considered wise,” Wick said calmly.
“Until…?” The general seethed.
“Until you decided to forsake a god in our very presence.” Belleron finished. “Your life is cursed.”
“He”—the general thrust his pointer finger towards Adres’s chest, and he was tempted to sever his hand at the wrist but he refrained— “is no god.”
“Correct. Adres Cavalerie is not a god. But he did pray to one on the battlefield. And a god answered.” Belleron moved around the table until he was standing behind his cherished, Aleksei Volkov, with his hand on his broad shoulder. “You were ignorant to challenge my decision to make Adres my lord, implying he tricked me into doing so. But are you that foolish to forget my beloved?”
Aleksei placed his hand over his mate’s and glanced up at him with crystal-blue eyes and a peaceful smile on his handsome face. But when he turned back to the general, Aleksei was gone, and Belleron’s other mate was in his place. Telek recoiled at the eyes that were on him—pitch-blackness except for the outer ring of smoldering flames that were his irises. The freezing cavern became engulfed in heat, and condensation began to drip down the stone crevices, creating puddles on the floor.