“Then show your cowardly faces,” Ramon said, standing tall before the king’s disciplined guard, who’d fallen into flawless lines and awaited their orders.
Roughly twenty-five vampires all dressed in similar heavy, dark garments, most of them with scarves draped over their heads and mouths like terrorists, emerged, their steps hesitant and cautious. Wrath growled as he scanned their eyes. The weak attempt at concealing their identities did nothing. He was confident about the intel he’d given Alek moments ago, but he still searched for Alessandro to see if he was blended into the crowd, but he wasn’t there. They smelled like the tombs, the funk lingering on their skin and making it impossible for them to go anywhere undetected.
The rebels stood several feet away. The ones who’d already met Wrath’s barricade were a non-issue, the second group looked to be younger, not the half-comatose prisoners. These were Alessandro’s officers coming to speak on his behalf. Wrath had nothing to say to them. This was a waste of his time, and an insult to him.
“Our leader demands a face-to-face with King Chadwick Bentley. Alessandro Giuliani doesn’t want more bloodshed. He contends that the death of the Lord High was unfortunate, but inevitable. And more deaths will follow you across the seas unless the king comes here… with his shifter beloved.” The designated spokesperson of the group stood in front of the massed vampires, his voice carrying across the small distance. He stopped his well-rehearsed speech, waiting for them to respond.
Wrath’s anger reached a new height at the mention of Belleron. The idiot really thought he’d killed him. Wrath moved forward, his chest heating up to fire his weapon. The audacity of these immortals. Facing the traitorous group, Wrath spoke into their minds, making sure he used his most intimidating thunder.
“You are correct about one thing,” Wrath ignited. “MORE DEATHS ARE SURE TO FOLLOW. STARTING WITH YOUR OWN.”
The spokesman frowned, pressing his thumb into his temple at the pain Wrath’s voice caused him. He and his followers took a couple of steps backwards, as if preparing to retreat. “I’ve come to only deliver a message. This is ludicrous. You cannot harm me. We’re not here to fight.”
Wrath fumed at these so-called negotiations. He didn’t understand this concept, but he’d enlighten them on what he did understand. “In my world… a man is responsible for his own tongue and his own actions,” he addressed the commander of the mercenaries and gave him exactly what he’d come there to do. “Kill them all, leave the messenger for me.”
The mercs didn’t have to be told twice, and neither did Farica and Mac. Their sister was the first to take off towards the woods as the rebels turned on their flash speed and fled in the opposite direction, no doubt realizing they’d made a grave mistake by coming there. Ramon directed the guards to assist, and Wrath had to admit as he watched the king’s army fight, that Belleron had done an outstanding job as general. All of their discipline and skill was his doing.
Wrath heard the screams and hissing of dying vampires reaching him. The rage and anger that accompanied war only gave Wrath more fuel and ammo. He didn’t care that it was wrong to feed off the dying’s pain and misfortune, he couldn’t be bothered with sympathy for them. Alek told him to eliminate all that were a direct threat to them, and so he did. Never was he instructed to negotiate peacefully. That last word left a rotten taste in his mouth.
Wrath heard Farica’s snarls and growls as she emerged from the darkness of the woods with the messenger’s arm embedded in her strong jaws as she dragged him easily across the clearing and dropped him with a heavy thud at Wrath’s feet.
“Well done,” Wolf told his baby sister. Wrath was amazed. The woman was what he called a furious flame, a compliment he didn’t give to many.
The mercs flashed out of the forest, looking gratified with blood splattered all over their clothes and faces. “None got away,” the leader assured Wrath.
Wrath nodded once.
Ramon hadn’t said much, he had merely watched the melee unfold as Wrath had done. When his army returned to his side, the designated lieutenant gave a quick report before falling in behind the Lord Protector. “Burn the bodies,” Ramon said, “then report back to base.”
“Don’t kill me.” The young vampire groveled at Wrath’s feet. At some point during his fight with Farica’s wolf, his clothes had been torn to shreds by her claws, his face bore angry red slashes and bruising as his body struggled to heal from the loss of blood. When the vampire rose slowly to look up at Wrath’s face, Farica snapped forward with a vicious bark and clamped down on his shoulder, slamming him back face first to the ground.