his tray of drinks. The male hurried over and hovered near the vampire, looking as on edge as Thorne felt. Lord Van der Garde’s gaze remained rooted on Thorne’s hand, transfixed, as if he had cast a spell upon him, and then the vampire blinked, shot his left hand out and snatched a cup of blood, lifted it to his lips and drank the contents in one go.
“Never bleed around me unless you are meaning to offer up your jugular to my fangs,” the vampire growled, slammed the mug down on the tray, causing the others to spill, and stalked off.
Thorne plucked the shards from his hand and dropped them onto the tray, and then nodded to the servant. The male moved away, leaving him alone by his throne. He licked the blood from his palm. This was never going to work. He was fooling himself if he thought this army he had assembled could work together and save his kingdom.
He growled.
This never would have happened in his father’s time. His father had been strong and powerful, and had reigned in an era of peace because of that strength. His might had driven all other demons from his realm and kept the borderlands safe. None had dared rise up against him. All had respected him.
Thorne wanted to be like his father, a good king for his people, and he was failing. More now than ever, he feared he would lose to the Fifth King and condemn his people to a brutal end.
This war was life or death to him, but he didn’t care about his own life. He cared only about his people. He couldn’t fail them.
He couldn’t let those who viewed him as a youngling unworthy of his kingdom be proven right.
He had fought them for twenty-seven centuries and he would not give up now.
He would become the stronger male and protect his kingdom.
It was the reason he had gone to the mortal realm to seek the advice of the magic bearer, Rosalind. He had asked to see his future and had instead seen Prince Loren’s, and a chance to gain a powerful ally. With the elves pledged to bring one thousand men to his realm, he had found hope again.
He had convinced the werewolves to assist him by sending two hundred men and had sought the aid of the Preux Chevaliers. They had pledged to send their First Legion, the finest in their corps. Over one hundred strong vampire males in total.
He had gathered every demon of fighting age in his kingdom and posted half of them at the border villages to protect them, and had sent his best commanders to train them. The other half had come to the castle.
He had amassed an army, a force strong enough to drive the demons of the Fifth Realm back for good. When they next attacked, he would be ready for them and he would seek out the Fifth King and claim his head and his heart as his prize.
He would end the threat to his kingdom by ending the Fifth King.
His sensitive hearing picked up some curses off to his left, at the far end of the room near the doors that led to the mortal and elf quarters. His pulse doubled as his gaze scanned the gathered humans and then settled as he realised that Sable was not among them.
The mortal hunters broadcasted fear.
Archangel had sent only fifty but it had given him something more valuable than their strength.
They had brought him Sable.
Just thinking about her lifted some of the weight from his shoulders, relaxing him yet at the same time increasing his tension. It wasn’t only nerves about seeing her again. It was nerves about having her here as part of his army.
She was a warrior though, and as strange as that was to him, he had to respect it. He had witnessed how she reacted when coddled by a male during a fight and knew not to belittle her abilities as a hunter. Loren had often spoken of her during their meetings, slipping information to him, telling him of the powerful creatures that she had fought and defeated in the mortal world. She was a capable and skilled hunter, and a determined female, and he admired her for it.
He moved towards the gathered men and women, desiring to calm