Page 46 of The Salvation

“No!” Bartie gasps behind me. “Oh, dear gods, no.”

“Mmm,” Reaver confirms while flicking his eyes to their corners to survey me. “Blood drank. Blood joined. Thus, blood-tied. If my heart stops beating, and if my soul leaves my body, the same will happen to your little angel. I’m certain you will wish to alert Merikh as soon as possible, Your Highness. I can already hear his growling breath upon the staircase.”

No sooner does he speak than a beating of wind rushes at my back. But I launch at Reaver, spinning to pin my body between his and Merikh’s, and scream, “No!”

Merikh freezes in mid-crouch, his breath thundering against my face, his eyes a lethal dark sea of blood. I shake my head wildly as Aislynn’s cries echo through the room, thanks to my outburst.

“No,” I whisper to Merikh and point one trembling finger at their wrists, shaking my head again while tears blister my vision.

The awareness slams into Merikh. I didn’t think it was possible, but his body hardens with ruthlessness, a brutal fury sharpening his eyes. “How did you get past my Crest?” he snarls at Reaver, and despite the blood pulsing through his wings, he remains still as a statue.

“Hmm?” Reaver casually retorts while clutching our daughter. “Aww, hush now, little one. You are well...sweet, lovely child.”

Movement in the entryway has me glancing at Mayce and Drago, who’ve just arrived. One warning growl from Merikh has them stopping in their tracks. They take in the sight of Reaver rocking Aislynn, and while Drago’s eyes turn hot as flames with scales rupturing and muzzle forming as Mayce’s gaze hardens to flinty resolve, and his steel-like vines crawl from his skin, both mercifully listen to Merikh and take no action.

Reaver looks up from Aislynn and smirks at us. “Oh, opening the coffin was all too simple when I bear a Blood Crest of equal, if not superior, power...” Reaver clarifies while sweeping aside his hair to showcase the mark carved into his very scalp. I part my lips, unaware of the sigil. Merikh’s was more ornate. This one is simplistic in comparison. A rendering of an anatomical heart dripping with blood.

“Fuck,” Merikh growls and grips my hips, tugging me to him, his possessive instincts kicking in. “The only way you couldhave conquered the Crest, you rotten bastard, is if you carved Malachor’s blood into your very flesh. I drank every last drop.”

“Yes, you did. A marvelous feat, along with consuming the god’s heart,” Reaver adds, and my knees almost buckle when he shifts Aislynn until she’s pressed to his shoulder. “But there is one, Merikh, only one with blood power that can conquer your very Crest. Superior power at that.”

Merikh’s claws shove from his hands. A yelp tears from my throat when they dig into me as every single muscle in his body turns hard as iron. “Bloody goddamn it all to fucking hell.”

Cold awareness grows ice in my veins with my suspicion as I look back and forth between them. Why does he even care about how Reaver opened the coffin and conquered the Crest? I don’t give a damn about anything except Aislynn. Everything pulls me to her. It’s taking all my strength to not throw myself at Reaver and forcibly take my daughter back. Part of me wants to fall to my knees and beg through tears, and I’d have no shame—nothing but the sole purpose of a mother wanting to hold and protect her child.

“Kronos.”

My heart gives out after Reaver’s proclamation.

Merikh’s hands and claws leave my body. The next thing I know, Aislynn is crying again because her father has snapped and is bloodying his fists, brutalizing himself as he destroys his own coffin, smashing it into obsidian and silver fragments. Bones break. More blood. Too much blood. No matter how dangerous it is to invade his wrath, I hurry to the vampire I love and throw my arms around him from behind. His spine is tighter than I’ve ever witnessed. His veins throb with bones jutting out of his skin.

For the first time, I don’t know what to do or say.

“Temper, temper, old friend,” Reaver chides, and I crane my neck to him, burning my eyes against the vampire’s. “I assureyou, no harm will come to the child. I have no desire to see any harm come to her. She is merely a pawn in this little game, after all.”

“If you’re blood-tied, and we can do nothing anyway, please...” I finally break down, pleading with him while turning aside from Merikh to hold out my arms.

Reaver offers me a genuine smile, one of care, before he nods. “But of course, Your Highness. All you needed to do was ask.”

My whole body softens once she’s in my arms. This time, my knees buckle. Merikh doesn’t move, but Mayce and Drago catch me, and I fall against them while clasping our daughter to my chest and caressing her soft wings and back. My boys support me, bolster me with their strength.

Her cries have faded, and she rubs her face against my neck, her breaths quickening. She’s scenting me. I don’t even care. I don’t give one flying fuck that she sinks her little fangs into my skin and drinks from me. It’s a slow suckle. Less about food and more about comfort. She can have every drop in my body if she wants it.

At the telltale sign of Mayce’s wings fluttering at their edges, I know he’s projecting an illusion over our daughter. When I lock eyes with him, he nods and gives me a glance at the vision. I almost fall apart and mouth a “thank you” at the illusion of all five of us walking in the Fae realm with flowers growing around a forest clearing as Aislynn tries to catch butterflies. Her shivering fades, and her suckling slows until she begins to twitch from her drowsiness.

Merikh advances toward us, brows furrowed, shadows competing with the strands of dark hair that escaped his ponytail when he destroyed his coffin. He deadpans with me, flicks his eyes to Aislynn, then to me again—as if ensuring we’re unharmed. I blink. My forehead creases as my brows knittogether to form their own stress. Because how could he wonder that with the state of his broken hands?

Without turning to Reaver, Merikh balls his hands into a fist, careless of how he fractures more bones. “If our daughter is a pawn in your sick game, then what the fuck do you want, Reaver?” he pushes out every word through gritted teeth.

“Hmm...that is a bit of a long story,” the vampire retorts. “Why don’t we sit down and have a little talk?”

“By now, you must have some suspicions as to my goals, old friend,” Reaver opens the conversation while combing a hand through his messy brown curls. He’s too handsome and casual for his sadistic nature. More sadistic than Merikh could ever be because my vampire would never use a child.

Merikh places his forearm on the table. A large oak one in a separate meeting room because the last thing I was going to do was convening in any of our family spaces.

At least Merikh’s hands have healed.

The stench of blood, sizzled flesh, and smoke was also too much for my mortal stomach, so while I placed Aislynn in her sling and secured it over my shoulder, the rest of them changed into more suitable clothes.

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