Luca growls and falls to his knees beside Ian, stealing my hands from the other alpha so he can hold them. He drops his head to our clasped hands. “Oh, princess.”
“What’s the problem?” I press.
Luca nuzzles his nose against the back of my hand. “The Soldiers have a new leader who wants to move up their plans by six months. He wants to launch their armies by the end of next summer.”
I swallow hard. I don’t need my affinity to know who the new leader of the Soldiers of Saint Aldous is.
“Baphomet’s Prince,” I whisper.
“What do you know about Baphomet’s Prince?” Luca asks, looking up at me through his pale blond lashes.
“I know Rad believes he should be at the Prince’s right hand once he’s crushed me beneath his heel.” I shut my eyes and sag back against Cassian’s hard chest.
“And we know next to fucking nothing about him,” Simon sighs. “Ian, anything?”
“Only old fairy stories.”
“Affinities were once fairy stories,” I point out. “What did those stories say?”
Ian sighs and turns until he’s sitting, his back against my legs. “Baphomet’s Prince was the prophesied savior of the Legion of Baphomet—but there’s nothing left of the Legion.”
“Nothing but the Soldiers who took up their torch,” I say. “Tell me about the prophecy. What is he meant to do?”
Ian bites the inside of his cheek, his jaw ticking. “The prophecy said he would send omegas back to the hell from whence they crawled.”
I shiver in Cassian’s arms, and he presses a kiss to my jaw. His purr rumbles to life in his chest and he holds me closer. The vibrations flood through me and I feel the tension leaving my body.
“It was said that only the prince’s blood could kill him.”
I frown at that. “What the hell does that mean?”
Ian shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
“And the resistance knows nothing about him. No idea of who he might be?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Ian says, looking up at me, pleading with me not to say what I’m about to say.
“I can find out more over Yule,” I say in an undertone. “I can use my affinity on Rad to find out who the prince is.”
“Not happening,” Ian snarls.
“The resistance needs this information, Ian.”
“The resistance needs mages, not martyrs!” he growls, surging to his feet. “I won’t let you do this.”
I shove off of Cassian’s lap and go toe to toe with my imperious alpha, glaring up at him.
“You won’tletme? This ismychoice to make, not yours. Saints, I can finally do something to help! I could get information from the resistance that would finally let us strike back.”
“Not if it means your life,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
“I might be able to find out where the facility is and prevent more innocent omegas from dying. Ian, I have to do this. Someone must, and no one else can. It has to be me.”
He looks away from me in disgust, but that only sharpens my ire.
“If you want to protect me, then teach me to fight back. Teach me combat hexes and help me work on my stunning spells. Teach me wards.”
I stare at him for a long moment, and the fight drains from him.
