Kingdom of the Feared (Kingdom of the Wicked, #3)(60)

“Rise.” My expression was now as tightly guarded as my emotions.

Wrath leaned back in his throne, a cruel tilt to his lips. Here sat an amused devil, delighting in his equally wicked queen. He regarded the vampire coolly, ignoring the witch as if she weren’t standing there at all. “Why are you here?”

“To discuss a potential alliance between us.”

“Strange timing for your prince. He hasn’t bothered with the northern regions for centuries.”

“Not quite so odd. After a recent visit from the goddess of death and her unique demon-werewolf companion, it made my prince consider the potential for having such unusual allies.” To his credit, Blade held my husband’s intense stare.

My eyes narrowed. Aside from her claim of wanting to spark unease and potentially start a war between supernaturals, Vittoria was up to something. Perhaps the companion Blade mentioned was simply Domenico somehow throwing off his scent, but another theory rose in my mind, and I chanced following it. “Was the demon-werewolf’s name Vesta?”

“No. Marcella.” Blade’s attention never left Wrath’s as he answered. “She hailed from the Shifting Isles.”

“You’re certain she wasn’t from here?” I asked.

“She didn’t say anything else. And we were mostly concerned with the goddess.”

Suspicion coiled around me, but Blade clearly had no other information on my sister’s companion. At least nothing he was willing to share if we refused an alliance.

Given the blood left at the murder scene, it made sense for Vesta to be genetically unique. Which might be why Greed coveted her. And was the first aspect I’d wondered about when both demon and werewolf blood had been found. This information made me now question if Vesta’s interest in the portal on Pride’s land had something to do with a potential inability for her to travel to the Shadow Realm. If my theory was correct and she was genetically unique, perhaps her demon side made that impossible. Much like the new wolf Antonio had mentioned.

While Blade and Wrath silently battled, I studied the vampire more closely.

Strong brows framed those piercing crimson eyes, his lashes thick enough to make anyone envious. His hair was a bit too long to be fully tamed and looked like he’d carelessly combed it before arriving here. Full lips curved in a half smirk as if he’d just recalled a particularly humorous joke he hadn’t bothered to share.

Perhaps the amusement was due to the cunning glint in his eyes—the one that hinted that plenty of victims had fallen for that roguish charm.

His black suit jacket was fitted to his well-proportioned frame, and his white linen shirt and matching cravat were a surprise. Given his appetite for blood, I would have imagined he’d choose to wear all black. Dark trousers hugged muscular legs and were tucked fashionably into freshly buffed riding boots. There was an air about him that said he could dedicate himself to being either your truest protector or your worst enemy based on a whim.

Even standing there, spine straight under the weight of Wrath’s scrutiny, he gave the impression that his jacket was seconds away from being discarded. His collar and cravat seemed to chafe, not because they were uncomfortable or lacking finery, but because the vampire did not appear to want to play pretend. He looked ready to shed all civility and embrace the cruel being he was underneath the refinement. Or perhaps he was simply thirsty and wished for a drink after his travels. If he was the emissary, I wondered what the less diplomatic vampires were like.

Wrath didn’t move, but there was no mistaking the threat he posed while he let the silence stretch uncomfortably. My husband, unlike my impression of Blade, did not act on whims. He was cold calculation and brutal efficiency. Once he decided to make a move, others could either retreat or die. If they grew angry in the process, all the better. Their emotions would feed his sin.

My prince finally allowed his focus to briefly drift over to the witch before he responded to the vampire’s earlier proclamation. “You thought bringing her was the best path to peace?”

“I—”

The demon prince raised a hand. With the way Blade cut his answer off, you’d think Wrath had held up a dagger. “Or was she merely a secondary distraction?”

Blade hesitated for less than a beat, but it was enough to notice that Wrath had caught him off guard. “We thought—”

“You thought to come here, to my House, under the false pretense of peace so you could take what you’d been after all along.” Wrath cocked his head. “Are you truly that dumb? Or desperate? You know who I am. What I’m capable of. So perhaps it’s arrogance and stupidity.” My husband stood, his displeasure forcing the air to frost. Ice coated the stairs on the dais. “And you dared to stand here, lying to my face, and believed you’d get away with it.”

Sursea stepped forward, reaching for something she’d hidden up her sleeve. A weapon, no doubt. She seethed as she yanked a blade free. “Your wife will—”

Wrath barely glanced in her direction as he froze her in place just as he’d done to the werewolves who’d attacked us.

It was one thing to see a wolf frozen solid, and another thing entirely to see a person encased in a thick block of ice. She’d been caught midscream, her expression twisted in pain or fury. We weren’t lucky enough for her to be dead—she was immortal, according to Nonna’s stories—but at least she would be tamed for a while, frozen in misery.