Chapter 150 Blood Ties
King Mikhail
I stood at the window in my office, gaze locked on the group of hybrids training in the field below. Each blow they traded radiated power. They continued to increase their speed, their strength, their overall lethality. They were my perfect creation.
Except there was one glaring flaw. The more hybrids I added to my horde, the weaker my control over them grew.
I turned, studying the woman who was sitting in the plush chair, quietly drinking her tea. As if she felt the weight of my gaze, her eyes swung up to meet mine. “What’s on your mind, my king?”
“I must be sure that the horde fights for me during the battle, yet each new convert strains the blood tie. We need to make it stronger.”
She placed her teacup on the saucer sitting on the table with a quiet clink, then stood. The past weeks had seen vitality come back to her as she filled out from regular meals and her powers recharged. She was, once again, the stunning vixen that caught my eye so many years ago. With a smirk on her face, she walked over to me, cupping my cheek with her hand.
“We will, my king. I’m already working on the spell. Like all things worthy, it will take time to perfect. But we will have strong, unbreakable bonds over every last one by the time we move against the enemy. You were meant to rise, my love. Nothing will stop you.”
“They are already aware of more than they should be!” I jerked my head away from her and stormed over to my desk, pulling up the feed from the security camera in the dungeon. The spy they’d sent to infiltrate hung there, suspended by silver hooks in his shoulders, rivulets of blood trailing down his naked body. “This filth was here for days before you found him. Who knows how much information he was able to smuggle to them about our operation, our numbers.” The desk creaked as I gripped the edge. “He was blood-tied to the vampire he was meeting with, and we both know the only reason for that was to track him here.”
The rage at the violation, the threat to my plans, gripped me by the throat. “Your cloaking spell is likely the only reason we haven’t already been attacked.” I spun around. “And still, he’s remarkably stubborn. We haven’t been able to break him.”
Meredith sidled up behind me, running her hands up my back. “Then don’t break him,” she whispered. “Assimilate him. Make him one of the elite, then demand what you want of him. And unleash him on those whom he used to call friends.”
I considered it: the risk, the gain. Conversion always risked death, but that didn’t concern me. No, my primary concern at this stage was turning someone who was strong enough to fight my weakened control. Until we found a way for me to maintain control over the entire horde, I had to stick to turning the weak-willed or the willing. “Maybe. It does have a certain irony to it. But not yet. Not until we can ensure he stays under my command.”
“Of course, my king. I’ll need another sample of your blood to test the next stage of the spell. I am very close,” she reassured.
I turned my wrist, scraping a sharpened fingernail across the vein as I held it out to her. She conjured a glass vial and used her magic to direct the blood flow inside, not wasting a drop, until she finally stoppered it. The touch of her power tickled as it closed the wound.
“How many more will you turn today?”
“I need an update from the incompetent fool who lost my princess. His pack was full of like-minded wolves, so there are plenty I can convert while we wait for the strengthening spell.”
Even as I said it, I linked someone to send Brian to me. I was still angry with him for losing the princess—and her power, her royal blood—when she was secured in his own pack, but I needed him. I needed the bodies he was bringing me, needed him to continue to act as my face to our allies for a few more weeks. So, angry or not, I would continue to use him like the tool he was.
I sat at my desk, waving Meredith towards her chair and teacup. While I waited, I kept the live view of the spy on one screen and pulled up reports coming in from our allied groups on another. We had another allied coven of vampires disappear two days ago, and whispers of Darkshade’s involvement were coming too frequently to be discounted. It was a concern for another time, though, as the knock I’d been waiting for came.
“You called for me, sire?” Brian said as he stood at the door.
I motioned for him to enter, not even bothering to raise my head to greet him as I continued to review the information in front of me. The coppery tang of blood carried to me, the scent teasing me, causing saliva to pool in my mouth. The wounds on his back—the result of failing to procure the princess for me—were clearly not healing well. Wolves and their pesky sensitivity to silver. The weakness was bred into them. It was not an issue my hybrids dealt with.
“I want an update on your pack.”
“Many of them have volunteered to undergo the change, Your Majesty. They’re with your doctors now. Those who have not have been placed in holding with the rest of the conscripted. We will all serve, one way or another.”
I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers, lightly tapping my index fingers against each other as I finally looked at him. He stood tall, though he kept his gaze neutral. A slight grimace crossed his face as he shifted, the lash marks beginning to bleed through his shirt. He held an envelope in one hand.
“What do you have for me?”
He stepped forward, placing the royal blue square on the desk before quickly stepping back again and resuming his stance. “My beta arrived this morning, carrying the last of the documents from our offices at Silver Rain. It looks as though this came just as we were evacuating. I thought you might find it helpful.”
I picked up the envelope, the heavy weight of the paper smooth on my fingers. Flipping it over, I raised an eyebrow at the broken wax seal on the back bearing the Royal crest of the werewolf kingdom. I slid the piece of ivory cardstock out.
“We invite all werewolf packs of the Northern Kingdom to join us on the next Wolf Moon for the Tournament of Succession. Second and third sons of all leadership roles, as well as qualified warriors, are encouraged to participate in the tournament. Winners will become the new leadership of the pack formerly known as the Blood Moon Pack.” The invitation went on to include details about how to RSVP, who to contact if you intended to participate in the tournament, and other information most of the recipients would find important.
But I already had everything I needed. I had a place, a time—and a gathering of pack leadership like we hadn’t seen in centuries. I met Brian’s eyes.
“We move at the next Wolf Moon.”