Page 19 of The Salvation

Arkenthorne smiles ruthlessly at the God and opens his palms to forge swords of pure ice. My insides twist with horror, but Merikh stands like an unwavering King in his court—fearsome, unrivaled, and terrifyingly beautiful.

“You’ve always underestimated me, Merikh. Valeryc may be a greater warrior, but he’s a sniveling coward who will always lick your boots after he’s done with his little tantrums. When you finished off Reaver, you should have damn-well known to give me his territory.

“I am the one who holds the greatest claim of lands in the Hollows realm,” he states. “I am the one who has reigned over in loyalty to you for ten thousand years. And for what?” He spits before the God of Blood, and Merikh remains as still as a statue. One forged of pure armor. “We’ve fallen into desecration and abandonment, shriveling to mere corpses, all because we pledged our loyalty to you and not Kronos.

“Now...after centuries, you return with only part of your power restored and a human blood trophy, believing you are still worthy of the title of a god, much less the Lord of the Court of Hollows? After tonight, all will remember what a bitten whelp you are, Howle. Born from weak human seed and a mortal womb—a common thief until Malachor found you,” he snivels and twists his icy swords.

Merikh lifts a hand to stroke his jaw, eyeing the vampire with a cunning smirk. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Founder? It is highly unlikely I will grant you quarter.”

“Likewise, Howle. By the end of the night, I’ll have you drawn and quartered. But you’ll watch first as I fuck your little blood prize on the altar, claim its power, and take her as a mortal mistress alongside my true queen, Azurienne.”

A feminine snarl lances the air from the second story, and I flick my eyes to the curly, dark-haired vampire dressed in a regal scarlet gown. Judging by her brows drawn low and her lips peeled back to show her fangs, she wasn’t a party to this Arkenthorne’s plot.

Merikh shakes his head with an easy countenance and a chuffed laugh. “You had a chance, slim to none, but a chance regardless—until you threatened my queen.”

Every vampire in the group stiffens, their eyes locking onto my figure, studying, assessing. Vulnerability cleaves and heaves my breath, understanding the gravity of Merikh’s proclamation. I don’t have to read their minds to know a mere mortal girl, a human, has never served as a queen in any vampire court.

One by one, snarls erupt, echoing through the arena at the audacity of their vampire sovereign.

Arkenthorne spins those icy blades and takes one step toward Merikh. “You just sealed your fate, Merikh. You’re fucking mad if you believe the Court of Hollows would ever accept a human upon the throne, much less a little gray whore.”

Oh. Savage. Bloody. Hell. Of. A. Waste.

Merikh is going to kick his fucking ass.

8

I said I won't play fair, and I mean it...

MERIKH

I don’t believein fighting fair.

None of them do. And I didn’t get where I am today by fighting fucking fair.

I’ve held back all this time. But now, I am a beast unchained, and I will protect my prey at all costs.

Once Arkenthorne lunges, swinging those ice blades, I snap my wings in and bend at my waist—back parallel to the floor—and sweep beneath them, hearing their subtle whistle an inch from my face.

Crouching, I lock eyes with several vampires who advance to the altar. One great outpouring of my power, and I grin as too much blood swells to their brains, rupturing with so much pressure, their heads explode. One of my favorite techniques.

Shrieks and gasps thunder through my Court, mostly from the humans, as vampires are far too accustomed to these displays, considering all my centuries of battles.

At least it gives the others pause as they dart glances at one another.

Quintessa dry heaves from the flesh and blood raining down, but I redirect the spray to land anywhere else but my untarnished little dove. It fucking costs me. Pain splinters my side, and I glance down to find the shards of ice from the broken sword embedded in my side. Cold air rushes toward me.

With a growl, I leap into the air, dodging Arkenthorne’s attack while yanking the sword from my flesh. He follows in close pursuit until we face one another down, hovering and measuring one another.

“Looks like I spilled my first drop of your pound of flesh, Howle,” the Founder boasts with a mad cackle, citing my surname to dig the blade in.

“I’ll take every drop and pound of yours tonight,” I say and seal up the wound with a minor trickle of my ability. But I can tell even this drains me. Hemorrhaging brains is no trivial matter, and I’m nowhere near my maximum strength. A light fog mars my vision.

Fuck! A curse broken but not ended is a real pain in the ass.

I must end this.

Arkenthorne forges another blade of ice and brandishes them, crouching with his wings beating harder. I must preserve the last of my power and use it when I know that it will bring his execution.

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