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)
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.