The truth of his plans were things that even Ezekiel did not wish to dwell on. He was a greater pretender then he wished to admit. There had been plans afoot since the first day he stood next to his father and took his title. Ezekiel was a man made for politics, but unwilling to carry them. Lying came naturally to him. Pretending was natural to him. Honesty too, was natural—but it was a warped honesty, one blanketed by cloak and dagger and the unspoken that came with such behavior.
He stilled and watched the boy quietly, well aware that Max was not speaking of the wolves alone. Slowly, Ezekiel approached him. One hand rose and came to the broad chest of the young man, pressed flat against the area where his heart lay. The Aquila felt Max stiffen under the touch and was glad for it. Even now, they needed vigilance from themselves. “You are a monster,” he echoed, and saw a flash of fear in the boy’s face.
“They are not,” the Aquila went on. “They are mortals. When the time comes for us to slaughter, I want you to show them what a real monster is.”
And he smiled savagely, withdrawing his hand. He touched the scars across his eye gently. “Even demons can be killed. We’re fighting men much less than that.”
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