Chapter 133 – Kidnapped by My Mate Series II: His Lost Queen

Filed To Story: Kidnapped by My Mate Novel (Belle & Grayson) Online Free by Annie Whipple

He knew that I would guard my borders with the best of my pack members. I had no way of knowing about the horror that would take place when the force field was put back.

I fell for his trick and had the blood of countless of my people on my hands to show for it.

Now, though, he could face me without any members of my pack coming to aid me.

I could mind-link for help, but it would take them too long to get here.

I was at the edge of Zaweth, a half-hour sprint in wolf form from the main part of the kingdom. And Azazel knew that. He was going to make this as quick as possible.

It all made sense. One version of Azazel I could handle. Hell, even fifty of him would be a walk in the park.

But it was when all of those versions of him became virtually indestructible—

simply reappearing completely unharmed, the moment I killed them—that things started to get a little dicey for me.

But luckily for me, I saw the only flaw in his plan.

I knew he wasn’t capable of achieving this level of magic on his own, just like how I knew he wasn’t capable of taking down the borders of Zaweth on his own. He was using warlock magic.

It was why I would bet my life that Gulius Mallor was somewhere nearby at this very moment, aiding Azazel in his attempt to take over the throne.

And wherever Gulius was, the real version of Azazel had to be too—someone had to be telling Gulius what to do, when to put the force field back up, and when to make new clones.

Both Azazel and Gulius had to be somewhere close—close enough to watch what was happening.

And, if I had to guess, Gulius was probably using magic to keep them hidden behind some invisible curtain and to mask their scents.

But if I could find Gulius and kill him, all magic would stop and I would be able to end Azazel’s pathetic life without any more obstacles.

But I would have to make it through Azazel’s indestructible clones in order to do that. That was the part that might prove to be a little difficult.

I had a very small window of time to figure out where Gulius was before Azazel made his clones attack. If I could just keep Azazel talking, I might be able to find him before it was too late.

There was no such thing as real invisibility. It might be hard to spot at times, but every invisible force field had a glimmer, a barely visible iridescent quality.

If I could find that glimmer, then I would find Azazel.

“I’m impressed, Azazel,” I said in a low tone. “Leave it to you to figure out the only way to actually kill me without risking your life or doing any dirty work.”

I scanned the many versions of his face that surrounded me, looking for any sign of glimmering magic while I spoke. “You truly are a coward through and through.”

I hoped the coward comment would get to him. And it did. In sync, each one of the faces around dropped into a tight sneer.

“What you call cowardice, I refer to as good judgment,” Azazel’s voice snapped back. “I will not be known as the fool who died because he thought he could take on Alpha Grayson Stoll.”

My brows rose. “Clones or no clones, that title is nevertheless destined to be yours.

Make no mistake, Azazel. You will die today. At ~my~ hands.”

The clones bared their fangs at me. I was running out of time and still had to find where Gulius was hiding the real Azazel. He was going to attack at any moment.

I was proven correct when several of the clones advanced on me without warning, using their vampire speed to move faster than I was able to comprehend. But I was fast too.

I shifted into my wolf before they could reach me and tore through the first clone with my teeth.

The second and third were taken care of just as quickly, my own vampire speed proving to be very effective on top of my werewolf abilities.

I was able to hold my own for a while.

But they just kept coming, throwing themselves on me until I had thirty or more—it was hard to tell—on top of me, tearing into my flesh with their teeth and claws the same way I was tearing into them with my own.

My priority was keeping them away from my jugular. Azazel hadn’t provided his clones with any weapons, so they only had their fangs and nails to help them.

They would try to go for my neck because it would be the quickest and easiest way to kill me. I couldn’t let that happen.

Before I had the chance to kick them off, two clones bit into my leg at the same time, ripping into my muscle, wrenching a chunk out with their teeth, and spitting it on the ground.

I howled in pain as my leg gave out from beneath me and forced me down.

I tried to get up while still trying to focus on limiting their access to my throat, but two more clones did the same to my other leg, and I fell to the ground once more.

I… I was losing. In less than thirty seconds, Azazel had me pinned to the forest floor. His clones piled onto me, and I was quickly becoming helpless to stop them.

Even if I did somehow manage to keep them from piercing my jugular, his teeth and claws were tearing into me all over my body. I would soon be losing too much blood.

Then a miracle happened. At the same moment a loud yell could be heard in the distance, each and every one of Azazel’s clones froze.

They became unmoving statues on top of me, some with their teeth still lodged into my skin, others dropping to the ground mid-jump.

Although confused, I wasn’t complaining. I continued to fight them off of me, finding it much easier to do now that they weren’t fighting back.

I had barely gotten half of them away from me when, without warning, they all simply… disappeared.

Yes, that’s right—all of the clones vanished from on top of me and around me, almost as if they had never been there at all to begin with.

I wasted no time in standing and taking another fighting stance. I wasn’t a fool. This had to be a trick. Why would Azazel simply give up in the middle of a fight?

Then I heard the sound that made my blood run cold. The terrified voice of my mate, screaming my name. “Grayson! ”

BELLE

My thoughts were cut short by the sounds of growling and hissing coming from somewhere behind me. It sounded like people were fighting—a lot of people.

Vampires and werewolves, if I had to guess.

My stomach took a dramatic dive when I realized I recognized the owner of the growls. I would know that sound anywhere. It was Grayson’s wolf.

I sprinted in the direction of the noises, my heart racing as the sound of my mate’s distress only seemed to grow louder and more intense.

Even in the dark, what I found was worse than I could have ever imagined. There were two men, one with silver-gray hair and the other with pitch-black hair, both looking out into a clearing of trees, their backs to me.

The bigger one was standing, dressed in all black to match his hair, arms crossed over his chest in a casual manner. The other man was crouched down low, his long, brown, hooded trench coat skimming the ground.

His arms were held out in front of him, and his fingers were splayed out. It took me a moment to realize exactly what they were looking at.

There was a mountain of people piled on top of a fighting, snarling wolf. They were biting the wolf, tearing into him with claws while he howled and attempted to fight against them.

Grayson. The wolf was Grayson.

And the longer I looked, the sooner I started to realize that all of the people on top of him were the same person.

They were all carbon copies of one of the men standing in front of me—same clothes, same black hair…and red eyes.

It was Azazel Mortar. Azazel Mortar was trying to kill my mate.

There was a lot about the situation that I didn’t understand.

I didn’t know how it was possible that there were so many versions of Azazel. Or what the older man crouched down on the ground with his arms out was doing.

But none of that mattered. All I knew was that I needed to help.

I acted on pure instinct. I ran forward with the knife from my kitchen still gripped tightly in my hand.

Azazel turned, probably able to hear me coming, and looked at me with a wide, familiar gaze. I knew those eyes. I had seen them back at Grayson’s pack house, staring down at me with an almost gleeful hatred.

I don’t know how I had ever thought Grayson was capable of the evil things that this man in front of me had done to me all of those months ago. And now he was trying to kill the love of my life.

So I was going to kill him.

Azazel didn’t have a chance to act on the shock I caused him when he saw me coming because my knife was plunged into his stomach a second later.

He gasped, his arms falling to his sides, his mouth going slack.

I didn’t want to take any chances, so I pulled the knife out of his stomach and then drove it back in as hard as I could. Then, just for good measure, I did it once more.

Gotta make sure you hit those vital organs, right?

Blood poured from him and onto my hand. He coughed and the blood from his mouth splattered onto my white shirt and jeans.

He grabbed my wrist, claws digging in. The fury was evident in his eyes. “You bitch,” he spat.

His body began to slouch forward, and I was forced to release my hold, unable to hold up his massive form against my much smaller one.

He hit the forest floor on his stomach with a loud thump and took my knife down with him, still lodged deep in his stomach.

I watched as his blood began to form a puddle around his down-turned figure. His back rose and fell unevenly with his final raspy breaths. And then he was still.

My pulse could be felt in my throat. Behind my eyes. Like a racehorse, pounding away rapidly in my chest. It dawned on me exactly what I had just done.

I had killed someone.

Evil vampire or not—a man was dead… because of me.

His blood was all over me. On my hands. Splattered across my face. It was pooling under my shoes.

No one tells you about how much blood there is after stabbing someone to death.

So. Much. Blood.

I was so engrossed by the horrors of what I had just done that I didn’t even take into consideration that there was another man until it was too late.

The much older man, who had obviously been trying to help Azazel take down my mate, was still crouched on the floor—but he was looking back at me now.

He had shoulder-length white hair streaked with gray and the strangest bone structure I had ever seen.

It made me pause—somehow both alarmed and captivated by his odd features all at the same time.

He had an intense square jaw which was accentuated by his short, blunt haircut, and his sharp cheekbones protruded from beneath his flesh, hollowing out his cheeks in a way that could only be described as morbid.

His skin, although most was covered by his clothing, what little I could see was wrinkled to the point of disturbance.

Tattoos covered nearly every inch of his body.

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