Page 47 of The Salvation

Now, I sit on Drago’s lap. Merikh needs some space to settle, and Drago only shifted to his god form once he embraced me. He is still my first god, and his warmth helps both me and Aislynn. Mayce remains close.

“Fucking obvious.” Merikh glowers from the end of the table, and it hasn’t escaped my attention how Reaver placed himself at the head. “You were always a traitorous bastard.”

“Oh, on the contrary...” Reaver folds his hands on the table and presses his lips into a smile. “I believe we both know very well who is the traitor, Merikh. Let us not forget who is responsible for your making. Nothing but a churlish and brash whelp of a failed thief before Malachor took you under his wing.”

I tense as Merikh leans in, his hooded eyes rendered to near slits. When he holds his growl in his chest, when his wings snap to his back, I recognize the signs of how much he’s working to control himself.

“Malachor took me under his wing. Under his fucking thumb. His fangs. His boot. Under his very fucking cock. And every other conceivable position with which he could abuse, use, torture, and mutilate me into the identity he desired. As he did with every goddamned slave and servant he could.”

“Hmm, not wrong,” Reaver points out with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The God of Blood should share no power. It’s not within the nature of the strongest god in all creation.”

Drago snorts, and I shiver as he lowers his fingers to my gown, bunching it above my knees. His cock twitches under my thigh. Not that I blame him. It’s nothing new for us. Touching me, feeling my body helps him, and it centers me with the diversion. I’d probably break down in tears if I didn’t have him anchoring me. Heat pools to my center as he idly traces my thighs with his thick and rigid fingers.

“Malachor did not have Founders. He did not need them,” Reaver points out. “But once I resurrect the true God of Blood, I will earn an esteemed position within his realm. And be free to come and go as I please throughout the Five Kingdoms. The irony! Kronos brought my soul back from the Underworld and gave me a new body so I could arrange the return of Malachor despite how the God of Blood has every intention of overthrowing him. What a delicious turn of events,” he says in far too high of a mocking lilt that erodes my stomach lining.

“What you’re referring to is open war among the realms,” Mayce chimes in with his rationale, opening his palm upon the table. “And the Waste. Millions of lives will be lost.”

Reaver flicks his eyes upon the Fae and tilts his head. “Can you state without equivocation that you had no intention of warand lost lives if all four of the Curses had ended? From what Kronos shared with me, you have designs to take your revenge.”

I shiver and stifle a whimper from Drago dipping his fingers beneath my panties to rub my wet nether lips, tearing at the fabric.

Not one to shy away from a worthy debate, Mayce postures and continues, “With all four of us united in a shared goal and shared powers, I can unequivocally state any loss of lives would be minimal. Kronos is our main target. Unlike Malachor and Kronos, we are not so bloodthirsty and genocidal to orchestrate the murder of millions.

“The Fae are known for turning humans into playthings. And while our nature may be darker than most, as well as the dragon folk, the preservation of all nature remains sacred. And we know vampires need to maintain their blood source, while angels prefer human worship. What you are saying is completely illogical and does not serve the best interest of all races, Reaver.”

I lurch, close to breaking out in applause, but Drago is making it so damn hard to think. He brushes aside my hair with his nose and traces his hot mouth along the side of my neck.

As soon as Mayce notices us, he rolls his eyes and offers to take Aislynn. At first, I pause, but one little slap of Drago to my thigh has me surrendering her to Daddy Mayce’s care.

Reaver strokes his jaw and smirks wickedly at the Fae. “Well spoken, Lord Mayce. But emphasizing any potential hypocrisy was one needless way to debate this. Your presumption that I care whatsoever about the loss of human life is quite quaint.”

“Yes,” Merikh seethes from the end of the table, scraping his claws upon the surface. “The conversation is pointless when we know you’re nothing but a heartless asshole and bloodthirsty bastard.” He throws Reaver a daggered look.

Reaver smirks. “Takes one to know one.”

“You said our daughter was a pawn,” Drago says in his rough, deep voice, one step below his dragon. His hands pause at my thighs.

“Indeed,” Reaver acknowledges while turning his attention to me. “After all, the pawn is merely a way to bait the Queen. Now, I hold the strongest player in the game.”

Merikh unfurls his wings, betraying his instinct to defend his territory.

I swallow, scrunching my brows in confusion. “I’m not...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why don’t you ask the vampire you claim to love?” Reaver gestures to Merikh.

Anger quickens my pulse, and I narrow my eyes upon the interloper. “There’s no claim. I do love him.”

I don’t know if it truly happened the day I showed up in the Court of Ash when he criticized my tits. Or when he saved Jinxy from Kronos before forcing me to suck him off in the crypt, where I owned my strength for the first time. Or when he fucked me on the roof of Kyan’s Court in the middle of a raging storm. It doesn’t matter. There’s no going back. There’s no loving Merikh halfway. It’s all or nothing.

When I finally turn to the vampire and meet his eyes, Merikh pins me beneath his gaze. My breath escapes in a tattered wave, but I straighten, squaring my shoulders—a signal for him to share whatever he needs.

His hooded eyes draw me in, entrapping me. Aside from his iron jaw, Merikh doesn’t move a muscle. “After I killed Malachor, I trapped his soul in a jewel in his own damned crown. I didn’t want to risk him entering the Underworld. I cast the crown into the Hollows.”

“Come now, Merikh,” Reaver interjects. “Do not leave out the pertinent details.”

Merikh’s eyes don’t leave mine despite his growing tension. “Along with two other fatalistic objects that housed Malachor’s blood and essence.”

“What’s the Hollows?” I ask the mostpertinentquestion.

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