CHAPTER THIRTEEN

B rayden walked into the king’s office and stopped dead in his tracks.

What the hell is Kate wearing?

“Oh hey, Brayden. I’m just leaving.”

He coughed. “Sure. Or I can come back.”

He should come back. He should definitely come back.

“No, I was just dropping off a fresh glass of plasma for the king.” She leaned over and kissed Vincent’s lips, running a finger across his pecs.

I’m out.

“You know what, I’m going to leave you both to...whatever this is,” Brayden said, backing away.

“No. Stay!” Vincent boomed.

What in the ever-loving God was wrong with the guy? His mate, the queen, was dressed in a pair of tight black leather pants—or it could be black lacquer, he wasn’t entirely sure—and a black V-neck top which plunged to her navel. The only thing stopping it from gaping open was a string of diamonds across her breasts.

He took one more look at the flushed queen and turned back to his brother. Who was looking at him with murder in his eyes. He held out both his hands in surrender and sat down in the closest chair. “Hey, I’m mated.”

“Leave, Kate, and for God’s sake, cover up before I fucking kill someone.”

“Then perhaps—”

“Not here. Not fucking here,” the king said. Kate pursed her lips and, with much more class than her outfit, she walked past Brayden and left the room.

His eyebrows rose in question as Vincent leaned across his desk and pointed at him. “This is the work of your mate and the other one.”

The other one?

“You mean Brianna?” Brayden coughed out in laughter before sobering. “Wait, what do you mean it’s the work of Willow and Brianna?”

Vincent circled a finger in the air. “All that seductive stuff. Tell them to stop it or I fucking will.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about? I mean, it is a fresh new look for Kate, but aside from never letting her leave our wing, if Willow ever wore something like that, I wouldn’t be complaining. It’s fucking hot.”

Vincent’s face reddened.

Oh boy.

“Not in the hot kind of way...Jesus, you know what I mean. What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t want her to look hot!”

Brayden frowned again. “Why the hell not?”

And why were Willow and Brianna getting involved with the queen’s wardrobe?

“Forget it!” Vincent huffed. “What did you want to see me about?”

The others would be here soon; he’d circle back to this conversation later.

“The girl. Sofia,” Brayden said.

“You want to know if I am ready to announce the executions?”

Brayden tried to hide his cringe. It was their job as Morettis to uphold the laws, and anyone who threatened the crown lost their head. It was black and white.

Kind of.

The vampire race wasn’t a democracy. Since the beginning of their existence, they had been ruled by a sovereign from the Moretti royal family, which was a bunch of fancy words that meant one simple thing: the king decided.

But during his reign, Vincent had updated their criminal system. Every imprisoned vampire would eventually come before him to state their case. It wasn’t a guilty-until-proven-innocent system anymore; the sovereign now provided every prisoner with a case manager to investigate and act as a representative leading up to their moment before the king.

But, hello, when you were arrested working in a rebel facility which had been found to be the operation behind the bombing of Moretti castles, it was going to be a little hard to talk your way out of losing your head.

Vincent wasn’t a bloodthirsty king, a recurring joke between the royal brothers while sipping on plasma, which was why Brayden was coming to him with his idea.

“Are you?” he asked.

“No,” Vincent answered. “Do you think I should?”

Brayden was, as he had been all their lives, an advisor to the king. He was the prince after all. But he made it a point to never tell the king what to do. He knew the boundaries of his role, and being king was not something he desired.

Hell, earlier in the year, before he had met Willow, when he thought Vincent was dying, he had been shitting his pants. Sitting on the throne was his big brother’s job, and he had no problem watching the guy do it.

Protecting the throne was important, and Brayden had no issue swinging a sword and taking anyone’s head if they threatened his king or family, but now he had the facts about Sofia Ferrero. He believed she deserved a chance.

A controlled and very risky chance, but the choice would be hers.

But first, he had to convince the king.

“No. I believe we may be able to use this situation to our advantage. But first I need to tell you a bit of a story.”

Brayden launched into Sofia’s background, explaining to the king how she had been brought up and taught propaganda about the royal family. How many in the rebellion were closed off from facts about the Morettis, which led them to believe the causes they were supporting were the right ones.

He explained the relationship with her father and how she’d grown up trying to impress him, please him, and never let him down. Then how she had been abused by Stefano, which the king knew, but it always helped to repeat your argument when laying out a plan. Brayden was nothing if not strategic.

“Since that day, she’s been questioning everything she was told throughout her life,” Brayden said. “Sofia had been preparing to leave her job, her life, and her family when we arrested her.”

The king nodded. “A big call to make.”

“One that wouldn’t be made easily if you were loyal and aligned with the cause.”

“No,” the king said. “Although loyalty is a good trait.”

“One broken if you were fucking raped by one representing said cause.”

“Indeed,” the king agreed, frowning.

Brayden leaned back. “Look, I’m not trying to be a cheerleader for the female. She has made some terrible decisions,” he said. “I just think with this plan, we have everything to gain and nothing much to lose.”

Vincent leaned over the large sheet of paper containing the notes he and Craig had made.

“No.” Vincent looked up. “But if I take her head, we lose De Luca.”

Brayden pursed his lips and nodded. “But it’s your call, Vince.”

He watched as his brother reviewed the plan in his own thoughts. Vincent was strategic in his own way, looking at things from a point of view only a king could.

“It’s pretty cruel, Brayden, given what the girl has been through.”

He nodded. “I know. It’s not great, but she is strong, and I believe she may be open to it.”

“We’ll see,” Vincent said. “We’ll know when I ask her to pledge her allegiance to the throne.”

“To you, my king,” Brayden said.

“Yup. To me.”

So, it looked like the king was agreeing to his plan. Brayden nodded and tapped on the foot resting on his ankle.

“The way I see it, we have nothing to lose. She knows nothing about us, nothing confidential or sensitive, so if she betrays us and returns to the rebellion or her family, it won’t be long until Russo gets his hands on her. That will be punishment enough.”

Vincent shook his head in disgust. “Except we’d lose Lance.”

Brayden nodded.

Fuck, yes, they would lose him. There was no way a male like Lance would stick around while watching his mate walk away. What their future would be, he had no idea. He knew the thoughts which had wracked his brain for the short amount of time he’d believed Willow was leaving him, and they had not been fucking pretty.

“We have to make this work,” Brayden said.

Vincent let out a long breath. “He will not let her go through with this plan. You realize this, right?”

Brayden nodded again. “But he will. The bond is not yet complete, and he wants her to live. They have no choice.”

“Fuck me, Bray. This is cruel.”

“It’s the only way, Vince. For them. For us. For the race. Vampires are going fucking missing,” he growled out. “Fuck, we need this information, and we don’t want to lose De Luca. I’m just fucking trying to fix this for everyone.”

Vincent held up a hand.

“I’m sorry, brother. I feel your anguish. I do. It’s another fucking nightmare because of Stefano Russo. If there is one head I want, it’s his.”

“Well, the faster we send Sofia back out there as our spy with undercover protection, the faster we can get him on the block.”

Vincent flopped back into his large chair and ran a hand over his face.

“Lance will volunteer.”

“I know,” Brayden replied.

“And?”

“That decision is Craig’s. I undermined him earlier today, so I need to let him take his power back in front of his males,” he said, knowing Vincent couldn’t be bothered with the details.

“Damn, this royal shit is hard some days.”

They shared a knowing, sad smile. As Moretti brothers, they both carried a burden no one could understand. They both were responsible for protecting the throne which had sat only Morettis for thousands of years, even though it was Vincent’s ass that sat on it.

Then, suddenly, the penny dropped. Brayden shook his head.

Their family, the throne. It was everything to Vincent. He was withholding sex from the queen because he thought it was dangerous for the baby. The couple had been blessed after trying to conceive for nearly one hundred and thirty years, far longer than it usually took for mates to conceive, if they were lucky. Many weren’t.

Vincent would do nothing to risk the life of their unborn child.

“Hey, Vince, you know it’s safe, right? The baby. I know Kate will have told you this, but it’s true.”

Vincent shook his head. “We don’t know for sure. We’re not human. It’s too great a risk.”

“You have six more months, man. Just don’t slam her up against the wall and pound her, for God’s sake.”

“Don’t fucking talk—” As Vincent berated him for speaking like that about the queen, there was a knock at the door.

“We’ll continue this little chat later,” Brayden interrupted, opening the door to find Craig, Lance, Sofia, and the other SLCs staring at him.

“No, we fucking won’t,” Vincent grumbled, then looked up at the newcomers. “Come in.”