Third

XADIEL’s [POV]

Howls reverberate throughout the forest and the mental link that connects me to all wolves. It's loud—their cadence full of joy and loyalty—yet there's no evading the heavy undercurrent of pain laced within. Of the heavy grief, I'm currently gritting my teeth as my father tucks the cotton tighter under my mum's body before lifting her into his arms.

He's crumbling before me; his movements are slow while his anguish strikes me with the strength of a whip. I feel it. Everyone. And yet, I swallow my own emotions back while not an ounce of the man who's fought, killed, and ruled our people for centuries remains.

"I'm sorry." Voice hoarse, his orbs flick between black and their natural green tone while the wound on his chest is almost closed. As is mine. "Please forgive me for not staying."

There's so much pain when he meets my eyes, my irises the same golden color as my mum's, and a shuddering breath escapes him. He holds her body a little bit tighter.

"Go on. I'll follow soon." My timbre is gruff than I intended. Not that he takes offense; Dad simply nods, and I watch with a heavy heart as he heads toward the family mausoleum. It's deep within the property and unavailable to those without familial ties or permission, sitting deep within a cave carved out of stone.

Crystal stalactites hang at the center near a small opening at the top where water drips down and falls into a pool of crystal-clear water. And surrounding that body of water are tombs, from my great grandfather to now my mother who will find rest within those walls.

Almost there.

I don't acknowledge Cain. Instead, I exhale before addressing those kneeling. "Please stand and go home. I will address everyone later."

"My king, may I speak?" Now, a female's voice comes from the left, and my attention snaps toward her. She's someone I've known all my life. Who's worked with my mum to plan important events or set up accommodations for visitors from outside packs or species.

Her neck is bared to me in a show of respect. Face red from crying.

"Yes, Martina?"

"My...our hearts are with you during this difficult time. We will always love Her Majesty, and she is missed already." In response, I nod past the lump in my throat, my own eyes misting with tears that will never fall. Everyone has risen and retaken their human skin, nodding in agreement with her sentiment. Nudity isn't a problem among shifters, but those without take what is handed from a member of the guard. Trousers and simple shirts are kept throughout the property and forest. "Please let us help you with all the preparations. Your formal coronation must be held within forty-eight hours after—"

"There will be no festivities. I am your king and don't need to be celebrated."

"Yes, Alpha Xadiel." She looks contrite and ashamed, but she has no reason to be. None of this falls on their shoulders.

"I appreciate the offer, Martina." A small smile is all I can offer her, and she returns it with a watery one of her own. "Don't worry about me, but instead prepare a proper farewell for your queen. Mum loved to eat and dance and run with her people. Send her home to the Moon Goddess with love and peace."

A fancy ball to place a golden crown upon my head means jack shit to me. I'll accept the formality once the cadaver of Mum's killer and all involved lie at my father's feet.

Dead by his hand. Or mine.

My father and the people need me to lead, protect, and serve justice. Nothing else matters.

"Of course, King Xadiel. It will be an honor to do so." Nodding, I tilt my head to the side as my ears pick up the rustle of leaves nearby, followed by a few familiar scents and an outsider. The last isn't pack or human, yet the rapid heartbeat and stench of fear are heady. Nearly intoxicating.

More so when a few seconds later the person lands a few steps from me—tossed without care—and on their knees. The frail male cries out from the sudden impact on his legs, and my eyes flick to Cain, who glares at him with so much animosity as realization dawns.

Magic surrounds him, dark and ominous, yet it's clear to me.

Those around us peel their lips back, many taking a step toward the warlock whom I've yet to address, but they stop at my sharp growl.

"Don't."

"This is a mistake." Yet he avoids my eyes. Reeks of fright past the sudden false bravado. He went from a whimper to boredom. "Release me at once or I'll—"

"What is your name, warlock? Who sent you?" I ask, cutting him off. The sharp tendrils of his emotions are clear, almost touchable, and I wonder if anyone else can see this.

Black and serpent-like. Also, dirty.

Then there's the lilt in his accent; it's not natural. He's not English. Of that, I am sure.

Wiccan covens, much like my packs, are based across the world. Yet I'll bet money he's not a native.

"I do not answer to you, mutt."

"Wrong answer." In the blink of an eye, he has a single claw embedded in his cheek, deep enough that a low clicking resounds once the tip taps his teeth. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Ready to try again? Nod if you agree, and speak. My patience is nonexistent."

He does and I pull the nail out, smiling as blood seeps from the wound. A few drops splash onto my bare chest, mixing with my sweat. Both roll down my muscles as another light rain descends on us.

Sadness clings to the air; it feels as though the earth mourns our fallen queen.

For a few beats, no one so much as moves, and I count to ten. Each second only serves to further infuriate me.

"Xadiel." At my name, I snap my head past Cain and find my father's beta walking toward me, dragging one of the younger warriors by the hair. My eyes narrow and he swallows hard, loosening his hold just enough that the young man scrambles away but not out of sight. "I'm here to take—"

"Where the fuck have you been, Timothy?" The power in my voice catches him off guard, and so does the anger. He's the second-in-command and should've been here. His job was my mum's protection.

"My apologies, Alpha. I wasn't aware that your father—"

"Where. Were. You? I won't ask again." Beside me, the warlock moves, and a foul smell infiltrates my senses. It pulses, and tries to touch me, but can't for some reason. As if there's a wall blocking him. I reward him by stomping on the hand he moves in a circular pattern atop the now-dead grass.

Bones crunch under the force, and his magic retreats in terror.

He should fear me. They all should at the moment.

"Fuck," the warlock cries out, and I laugh.

"Do that again, and it'll be your skull the next time." I pat his head with my hand, nails digging into his scalp until the tips are dripping red once again. Only then do I address the royal pack's beta. "Now, Timothy. Answer me."

Just like my father, I'll never condone the mistreatment of a pack member. We don't harm our own without justified cause and proof.

"Your father knew I'd be visiting with family today. I've been back fifteen minutes at the most but ran my usual perimeter check-in with those on duty." He pauses for a moment, and I raise a brow for him to continue. "I'm sorry, my king." An emotion I can't quite decipher flashes across his expression, a mixture of anger and betrayal, and the two make me look closer at the man.

He's the son of a former beta and his bloodline dates to the first Evergreen monarchy.

He's been my father's right hand for decades, just as his father was before him.

They've been loyal thus far, but that reaction doesn't sit well with me.

Cain will fill that position in due time.

"What are you apologizing for, Beta?" I emphasized his title on purpose. "Do you have a problem with my father's decision? Do you wish to challenge me?"

Those around us growl at that. Their disapproval is loud and clear.

"Of course not, Alpha. Please don't take my reactions as such." Timothy bares his neck, lowering to his knees. The act appeases my wolf and he calms a bit, accepting the respect. "I'm upset because I failed our queen. Had I not taken the time off today, our Luna would be—"

"Good." I cut him off. Nothing he says changes anything. His posture loses some of its rigidness, though, and that also won't last long. My next words aren't just for him, but for all my people. "Because I'd hate to kill someone my parents care about. Understood?"

A challenge is only over once an opponent is dead.

No tapping out. No mercy.

"Yes, Alpha."

"Now finish answering the question."

Timoth's eyes flick to the guard who grows more pallid under his glare. "It's normal for me to make rounds with those on shift, and all units responded but him. His supervisor even tried, and after no response, we headed to his post. I found him mid-escape, past our southern borders, and with a dead Armand close to his location."

"I see." For the briefest moment, my eyes closed. Another family member, my uncle, is gone. Aunt Theresa lost her sister and mate. Bloody hell. The ache in my chest intensifies, hurt radiating down to my bones, but I rein all emotions in. They need a leader. My family deserves justice.

"NO!" a female voice cries out then, and I know it's my aunt. There's pain and despair, and her wails grow in volume. There's also the sound of thrashing in someone's hold, her warning growls coming out near acerbic, yet her eyes are on me when mine snap open. "He's lying, nephew! Tell me he's lying!"

"Is Armand dead, Timothy?"

"I'm sorry." That's his response, and it's a shot to my gut to watch my aunt dissolve into nothing. Her limbs go weak. Her tears are a torrent as they soak Martina's dress as the latter wraps her arms around her.

"Kill him, nephew. Or let me." A whispered request, and I don't respond.

There will be no judgment until the truth is uncovered.

"Come here, pup." My fangs drop, and I pin him with a cold glare. The guard, while in his twenties, is still a kid compared to my ninety. A werewolf's life expectancy is long; most die of old age or from not surpassing the death of a mate.

Those bonds are our biggest weakness. That and silver.

Slowly, he stands on shaky legs and walks over. His posture is one of defeat while the heady scent of panic becomes prominent.

He stops a few feet from me. "Yes, Alpha?"

"Is he lying, Luke?"

"No." It leaves him on a whimper, and those gathered snarl. His body shakes at that while the wolf within submits.

Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, hands clenching and unclenching. "Did you help them kill your queen? My uncle?"

"Yes." A nervous twitch. There's also the heavy cloak of shame.

"Why?"

"I had no choice, Alpha. He threatened to kill my—" Blood gurgles out of the wound on his neck, the single strike of my hand breaking his neck while my talons sliced him open from one side to the other. He never had the chance to see the movie, much less anticipate how quick I truly am.

"There is always a choice, and it's to never betray your pack." A thud greets my ears a second later as Luke's body meets the ground, and I turn my attention to Timothy. My closed fist bangs on my chest, my appreciation clear. "Thank you, Beta." Take my aunt inside and request the healer come at once. She'll need something to help her rest.

"Always, King Xadiel." Anything you need, I'm here for your family. The beta quickly lifts my catatonic aunt into his arms and carries her toward the main house. All that's left of her are the silent tears of heartbreak.

Once they're out of sight, I turn to the warlock, who's been watching me. Tracking my every move. He's been smart enough to try and conjure anything again, and my smile is in condescending appreciation. I also toss at his face a piece of Luke's throat caught on a nail.

"Let's try that again, shall we? Name?"

"Let me go. You'll never see me again." Now he's meek. No more backbone.

"No." This time, I circle him while the frail man trembles. His robe is long, yet it doesn't hide the puddle of piss currently growing beneath him. Then, there's the acrid stench of his magic mixed with distress which grows, and I inhale deeply, taking it deep into my lungs.

My wolf likes it. Relishes in his panic.

This man has no idea what real pain looks like, but he will.

I'm going to drain him slowly. A cut at a time. A chunk of flesh with each strike.

"Please, Alpha. I've been forced to—fuck!" he yells out, using his still useful hand to cover the hole left behind by my nails on his chest. Blood seeps from between his fingers at a rapid pace. "I-It's Tonio Salicio."

"And who sent you here, Tonio Salicio?"

"I'll never betray my true mistress. She saved me once."

"Suit yourself." In the blink of an eye, I have his throat in my hold—fingers wrapped tightly—and begin to apply pressure. His feet are off the ground, the fingers of his good hand trying to pry mine off, but that stops the second I punch through his ribs.

A scream rips through the air while his skin and bones give way, tearing under the strength of my fist. I come out through the back, stretching my digits out before exiting with a chunk of flesh in my palm.

"Stop!"

"Who is your mistress?"

"I can't...figlio di puttana!" So he's Italian, but from which coven? The Wiccan royals are allies, their queen a friend of my mum, and she'll be furious. They will understand why I've killed him.

"Interesting choice of words." The next strike is to his shoulder and then collarbone, ripping a chunk out each time and then tossing them onto Luke's dead body. Another on his right thigh, and then left. "Ready to talk?"

The man is a mess, his tears mixing with snot and the sanguine rush of his wounds. From head to toe, I mutilate him a piece at a time while pulling a louder cry from his chapped lips. I want everyone to hear his pain. Relish in it the way my animal and I have.

"No more."

"Her. Name." The tip of a black-tipped claw rips his robe and flesh from belly button to sternum. Not deep enough to kill, but I'm sure it burns like a bitch. "Tell me, and I'll put an end to your suffering."

"Leonora Moore."

"Liar," I hiss out from between clenched teeth; a fury so strong rips through me, and my muscles expand. My teeth are at his throat before the arsehole takes in a pain-filled breath. I'm breaking the skin, grazing his jugular before pausing. "Tell me the truth. Who fucking sent you."

"Leonora sent me." Tonio coughs, reddish spittle flying out, and I pierce a little deeper. In his blood I taste the darkness of his heart; the magic in his veins is tainted. "The Moores want to eliminate whom they perceive as threats, and your kind are the biggest targets at the moment."

Betrayal cuts deep. It weighs heavily on my heart.

Yet what I focus on is the grief of losing two loved ones.

Before he can utter another word, I've ripped out his throat and tossed his mangled body atop Luke's. Two traitors. Two worthless bastards.

Blood drips from my mouth as I turn to face my people, teeth red and my wolf present in my eyes. We're one at the moment, completely in sync, and I spit the remnants of Tonio's trachea on the ground.

"No Wiccan descendant will ever be allowed on our sacred lands again. No matter the sex or age, kill them on site." The ground shakes at the decree, feet stomping while the air cracks from the sound of closed fists pounding on their chests. "We're at war with the witches, my pack, and I'll never rest until Leonora Moore's head sits atop a spike at our borders. And if her family intervenes, they'll be gifted the same fate. No mercy."

"No mercy," they recite back in unison.

This pain is indescribable. My father is inconsolable. Yet I'll lead them through this, and only in the aftermath of our revenge will I allow my pain to surface.

That's a lesson I learned today from a man who lost it all.

A king always puts his people before himself.