Chapter 502

“You do know sending for me is better than dragging me out like this,” Micah said through gritted teeth as he pushed himself off the cold floor, the impact still rattling through his bones. Get full chapters from
He dusted himself off and finally looked up only for his breath to hitch.
Micah recognized Elijah’s palace at first sight. He had grown up here, running through these halls as a boy thinking the world was his until life had taught him differently.
But that wasn’t what rooted him to the spot. It was the sight of Angus sitting on Elijah’s throne. Or more precisely, what used to be his throne.
The throne was carved from a single slab of obsidian, its surface polished so dark it devoured the light around it. The back rose high in jagged peaks, crowned with gold inlays. The armrests curved into snarling wolf heads, fangs bared as if forever guarding the one who sat there, their eyes set with tiny shards of moonstone. Crimson leather cushioned the seat, stitched with crescent patterns marking the Alpha King’s divine right. At the base, the moon goddess’s sigil was etched deep into the floor, worn smooth by centuries of Alpha kings who had ruled before.
And Angus had draped himself across the seat of power like it belonged to him.
Of course, he wasn’t alone.
“Hello, brother.”
“Ziva.” Micah spat the name like it was poison on his tongue.
Ziva stepped out from behind the throne, her fingertips crackling with magic, each spark leaping and dying against her pale skin. She was his father’s third child and the one who had dared to summon him here as if he were some obedient servant to appear at their every whim.
Born of his father’s union with a powerful witch, Ziva was easily the most dangerous of them all. She had slit her own mother’s throat and drained every drop of her magic just to claim that power for herself—an offering to their father and his endless hunger for dominance.
She practically worshipped the ground Angus walked on, hanging on his every command. From what Micah found out, she had even shared his bed in the hope of bearing him an heir.
Yes. Their presence together was as nauseating as it was unholy.
“To what do I owe this… abduction?”
Micah’s words dripped with venom, because this was far from a visit and they had yanked him here against his will.
His eyes didn’t leave Ziva as he spoke, but his tone carried to Angus as well. Micah’s shoulders were squared, the set of his jaw daring either of them to push it further. The air between them was thick, and charged like the moment before lightning struck.
However, Ziva’s smile was all teeth, her magic humming in the air like a predator’s purr, while Angus simply sat back and watched him, measuring and waiting.
Unlike Ziva, Micah was the very image of his father, a living photocopy, save for the eyes he’d inherited from his mother. Beauty ran strong in their bloodline, serving as an inescapable curse and weapon all at once.
And If there was one thing the men of this family excelled at, it was bedding women. Elijah had scattered his seed with nothing to show for it, but Angus’s selective breeding was ruthless, and fruitful. Every child he sired was crafted for his purpose.
What unnerved Micah was how easily Angus had gotten into the most protected place in the palace. Even now, he could hear the steady footsteps of guards patrolling outside the throne room yet no one came in to check. As if they couldn’t hear a thing or worse, as if something was keeping them away. And Micah knew without a doubt that it was Ziva’s doing.
“Why am I here?” he asked again when no one bothered to answer the first time.
When Violet had once asked if he was in communication with his father, she had been asking the wrong question entirely. It was never him reaching out, rather it was Angus who knew exactly how to find him whenever he pleased.
Ziva moved closer to Angus, her fingers trailing over his arm with slow, deliberate strokes that were far too intimate for a father and daughter. Her touch was a claim, and when she finally spoke, her voice was that familiar low, rasping purr that could make even the bravest man flinch.
“You knew our sister all along,” she accused him, “and you didn’t bother to tell Father?”
“Oh,” Micah realized what this was all about. They’d found out the lock on Violet’s power was gone.
Micah answered calmly, his voice edged with deliberate emphasis. “Which of the sisters? If I recollect, there seems to be quite a lot.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. Whether it was the lingering curse of Admodeus that somehow prevented the birth of more males in their bloodline, or simply Angus being very particular about the gender he bred, Micah couldn’t say for certain but deep down, he suspected the latter.
Electra complex, they called it. A father’s unnatural hold over his daughter. In Angus’s case, it wasn’t some accident of psychology, it was intentional. He preferred daughters, girls who could be molded from birth, made pliable and loyal, taught to obey his voice as if it were law. Females who, under his careful grooming, became both weapons and worshippers, bending to his will without ever realizing they were being used.
“Don’t play games with me, brother!” Ziva snapped at him. Then almost too quickly, she calmed, saying. “You always know everything.” A smile curved her lips, sly and knowing. “The same way I do, too.”
“Yeah,” Micah replied flatly. “Spying on people with your little voodoo mirror. What a creep.”
Instead of taking offense, Ziva laughed. “That was a nice one.” She turned toward Angus, her fingertips brushing his side. “Father, go on, tell him why you summoned him.”
Finally, Angus spoke up. “Does Violet know about me?”
Micah’s mouth curved into a humorless smile before the laugh escaped him. “Oh, she knows,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “And she can’t wait to end your life, this time for real.”