Alliance of Shadows, Book 3: HUNTER

Turning Point

The fingers on one of his hands were closed around Harold's throat while my older brother struggled in vain to claw it away. His breaths came in ragged bursts, each one more desperate than the last, his feet barely skimming the ground as he dangled helplessly.

Saying I suddenly saw red was an understatement. Our father wasn’t just eliminating another soldier—he was executing one of his own children. His second-born son now hung at his mercy, possibly caught off guard by the sudden arrival of the man none of us were prepared to face so soon.

Locking my blades together to form a single weapon, I launched myself forward, aiming for our sire’s back while he remained focused on Harold. Just as I closed the distance, Father turned, his power crashing into me with overwhelming force. The impact sent me hurtling backward, my body slamming into the earth more than ten feet away. I twisted, one hand digging into the hard earth to stop my backward momentum.

Cursing as the dust settled, I let my gaze snap up. I wasn’t expecting much, but my attempted attack had served its purpose. The distraction signaled my brothers, who now converged on our father with weapons drawn, surrounding him like a deadly perimeter.

"Still fighting the good fight, are we boys?" Father sneered, his expression twisted in disdain as he hurled Harold into a tree.

I signaled for one of my people to take him back to camp, but Harold pushed the help aside, staggering as he regained his footing. He nodded at me, his breath still uneven, but he was fine.

"Useless, that’s what this little charade is," Father continued, his voice laced with contempt.

"We have the backing of the Alliance of Shadows, Father," Justin said, his tone cold, the words sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air.

Jerome smirked, his grip tightening on his halberd as he twisted it in his hands. "We found what is left of the Breakwater Coven, and we will protect them from you."

Micah let a slow smile spread across his face, his calm certainty shifting the atmosphere. "It doesn't matter. This war has already been won by us. I've called a friend who won't say no to me, and they just arrived."

"Ha! You have some stupido Alliance to help you, but I have the Royal family's backing!" Our father claimed, his voice carrying over the blood-soaked grounds of the battlefield, his minions echoing the sentiment.

My eldest brother laughed again, dry and without humour. "No, I don’t think you do. It’s over, Father. Your time is nigh."

Suddenly, a flurry of soldiers surged into the area, cutting through Father's forces with lethal precision. I urgently gave the order for retreat, sending my people back to camp to protect them from being mistaken for enemies in the chaos.

Father’s head was cleaved from his shoulders mid-rant, his words dying in the air as one of the two Vampire Kings arrived. He and his twin brother had made history with their decision to rule together. Void of emotion, he pulled a red cloth from his pocket and casually wiped the blood from his sword.

"Is there anyone else who wants to lay a false claim?" he asked, his voice carrying over the battlefield’s sudden silence.

Micah shook his head before laughing. "Thanks for the assist, King Sterling."

Smirking, the man turned, sheathing his blade with effortless precision. His lilting Russian accent washed over the now quiet field. "I received your message and rallied the troops as fast as I could, my friend. Is that the brother they caught?" He gestured toward me.

Micah laughed, nodding. "Yeah, but Hunter has an uncanny ability to turn any situation into his favor using the innocence of a child. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes others see reason beyond a shadow of doubt."

“A strong trait to have,” the King chuckled, the amusement brief before his tone sharpened again. "Regardless, you and your brothers are safe from judgment. My cousin Blaze came with me, and both my brother and his are on board with bringing down the death penalty on your father's followers."

I unlocked my blades and sheathed them. “Micah, I’m going back to check on my Mate. Do you have things here?”

King Sterling chuckled, the sound low and unbothered. “They won’t try anything now that I’m here. I outrank all of you.” His confidence was absolute, carried effortlessly in his tone, as if the battle had already been long decided before his arrival.

More Vampires wearing Royal armor appeared, their movements precise and synchronized, an overwhelming display of authority. Sterling grinned as one approached, his posture relaxed yet commanding. “Want to do the honors, Blaze?”

His cousin cleared his throat, standing with an air of finality that left no room for hesitation. “Soldiers of the Royal Army, arrest the heretics. Kill any who resist.”

"My King will be avenged," Wesley puffed, his breath uneven, fury burning in his eyes.

I turned just in time to see a flash of silver as his dagger slipped between my ribs. The impact sent a sharp, tearing pain through my body, weakening my limbs as the world tilted on its axis. Then, the scent hit—pungent, unmistakable, the bitter sting of my personal allergen, Deadly Nightshade. The venom clung to the blade like a second assault.

But the strike had missed its mark—gratefully so—because of my secret condition, Dextrocardia. A fate-twisting quirk that placed my heart on the right side of my chest instead of the left.

Would I see Maria again? The thought came uninvited, intrusive, clawing through the haze of pain before I shoved it aside. Not now. I had to stay alive—for her.

Blaze reached me first, his hands steady as he yanked the dagger free, discarding it without hesitation. He handed me off to my brother, his grip firm but careful. The Prince sliced his wrist, letting the blood fall into my open wound. Concern creased his brow, tightening his features as he eased me onto the cold ground. "Stay strong, young warrior. Your life is not over yet."

Jerome cradled my head and shoulders in his lap, his presence grounding me against the chaos. "He missed his mark," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Micah stooped beside me, tension radiating off him in waves. Justin, unfazed by the panic, grabbed the pouch I carried everywhere, fingers quick as he pulled out my custom-made blend of anti-venom and anti-poison. A mixture that had never been tested.

"Now you’re the guinea pig, little brother," he whispered, pouring the liquid over the wound first, then down my throat. The sting was immediate, burning as the potion fought against the poison in my blood.

My gaze locked onto the shocked face of the advisor. His skin turned ghostly pale, his posture stiffening as Blaze approached, his grin wicked and unrelenting. The advisor’s lips parted slightly, but no words came—only the heavy weight of realization settling in his eyes. He knew. His fate was sealed, and there was no room left for bargaining.

Sterling growled, his voice carrying the full force of command. "Kill him." The words weren’t shouted, nor were they rushed—they were final, spoken like an indisputable truth of the world.

Blaze narrowed his eyes, studying the advisor with the patience of a predator playing with its prey. "Will the Valencia brothers act as witnesses to this punishment?"

Micah didn’t hesitate. "We will. The life of our father was a small price to pay. The life of my younger brother is far more important." There was no remorse, no lingering grief over our father—just certainty. He spoke with the conviction of a man who had already accepted the past and chosen the future.

Blaze reached down, fingers curling around my weapons with familiarity. He tested their weight briefly, rolling his wrist to adjust his grip, then turned smoothly and severed Wesley’s head in one fluid motion. It was swift, effortless—like nothing more than a simple task that required precision, not thought. Blood sprayed across the ground, pooling in the grooves of the battlefield, yet Blaze paid no mind. He wiped the blade clean with steady, practiced movements, then handed them back to me without the slightest hesitation.

"I need a set of those. What a comfort!" he remarked, his tone far too light for the gravity of what had just transpired. His excitement was genuine, as if execution were no different than tossing out something useless. The casual air he carried about the act left me in disbelief—not surprise, but a brief moment of reckoning. Then again, nobody got as good as he was without that mindset half the time.

My eyelids grew too heavy to keep open as the potion took full effect. Warmth spread through my limbs first, then faded into nothingness. My mind and body went completely numb, surrendering to the darkness as it embraced me fully, pulling me into its depths…