Page 1 of The Salvation

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Who was Merikh Howle?

QUINTESSA

My body is weak,but my spirit feels weaker as Merikh licks the final wound closed.

He’s sealed every scar wrought by his fangs. But it’s not the last time he’s stabbed me. A weary moan breaks free from my mouth as I feel every cold kiss of his piercings from the magic crosses and the recent ladder addition as he thrusts, pounding me with his fully restored self. All due to the bond I share with him and his Curse-brothers simply because they stole my half-soul from Kronos and did a four-way split a snack.

High on my blood, the vampire pumps into me with his wings beating in time with each thrust. Those wings are not simply havens to shelter me. They are my prison. The strongest wings of time overshadow me, eclipsing my whole form upon this coffin.

A prison, both possessive and protective. His energy is like tendrils of cold woe and affliction feathering the air.

The air of the crypt is icy and hollow, stone walls dank and weathered by must and the rain-dense air of the swamp outside.But Merikh stokes my blood, commanding it to warm and flow with his power. Even if all the elements worked against me, I could never freeze.

I gave him everything. My heart on the silver platter of his coffin—like a sacrificial lamb of an offering. He will do with it what he wants, and I will trust we will find the beauty through the pain and ashes and rise together.

There is so much I still don’t know about the vampire God of Blood. So much I want. So much I need.

In the darkness of the crypt, as Merikh jerks to slam as hard as possible until he finds his release, something changes in his expression. It’s beyond the shuddering of his muscles, how his wings grow harder and tighter than a warrior’s new bowstrings, or how he comes without a breath breaking the surface of his mouth.

A wave of raw vulnerability crashes over me—as if his soul itself brushes past mine, like a ghost ship in the night, tempting me, seducing me. Leave the safety of land and lighthouses. Follow the ghost light wherever it leads...and trust he will save me when the depths swallow my soul to drown me.

That brush of soul energy triggers a stronger orgasm that follows his. I screech through our bonded climaxes. He throws his head back and unleashes himself, pumping ropes of warm seed into me while I tremble, my cracked and bleeding heart on the verge of seizing.

I memorize his scent, burying my face in the cold marble of his chest, where nothing exists but a hollow, un-beating heart. Breathing deeply, I touch my lips to his scars—this pale and weathered roadmap—every mark testifies to a history I do not know.

Who was Merikh Howle?

One silken growl warns me not to touch his scars. Or to ask about them. He won’t be sharing while I’m spread upon hiscoffin. And I’m too weak from blood loss. All my limbs have liquefied, and I can’t possibly stand.

For some reason, his words return to me from the time he took the thorns from my back and healed me with snow. The time he fucked me upon the frozen banks with my hair falling into the icy water.

“I could have instantly clotted the blood, eliminated all inflammation and swelling. Closed the flesh.”

So, why isn’t he healing me now?

When Merikh unsheathes himself from me, I moan from the loss while my pussy gushes our combined fluids, weeping them onto the coffin. But he doesn’t seem concerned about the act of desecration as he shoves into his breeches, into his shirt, and vest. Not the jacket. Every inch of my center throbs from his ministrations. My eyelids are so heavy, so weary, tombstones must weigh upon them.

The moment I try to rise, my vision swirls—lost to the half-remembered dream of our time here. Bittersweet ecstasy still lingers in my veins. Something deep within me understands I hung upon the precipice of death. And Merikh kept me from falling.

Now, he raises me up. The darkness spins like I’m caught in a storm at sea—weaker than a toy boat in a tempest.

At first, I think he’s going to tug the white dress over my head to cover my skin with all his fang marks, still raw and red. But he captures my face in his hands, mirroring the delicate moments of his control when we first entered.

For the first time, no scarlet tides in his black irises gaze back at me. Instead, his eyes are silver. Like the moon herself melted for him and transformed into two lustrous pools.

“Savage mercies, did I do tha?—”

He kisses me. A velvet tongue that takes no prisoners as it twirls tenderly along the inside of my mouth, rendering mespeechless. I press my fragile body against his strong one, clinging to him like an anchor in the whirling waves that want to take me under.

The next thing I know, Merikh is draping his leather jacket over my shoulders, pushing my ragged arms through the sleeves, and lifting me. Not honeymoon style—he hoists me by my backside, positioning my legs on each side of his waist.

I don’t hesitate to wrap my arms around his neck and play with his long dark strands, smiling at how he sucks a sharp breath through his teeth. Other than this slight confession, he is calm. His beauty is no less violent, his eyes no less predatory. But the brutal lines of his face have softened. The tension is gone from his neck and shoulders—faded more than any other time he’s fucked me.

“You’ve done everything, Quintessa,” he says, his voice so dark and breath-stealing. “Now, lay your head upon my shoulder, little dove. And trust me to carry you where you need to be.”

Like a current I can’t overcome. So, I’ll let him sweep me away with his tide. I’ve tasted Merikh’s blood, taken it deep into myself. Now, I will become the blood that writes the story of the soul. And trust him to transfuse the secrets, demons, and monsters of his past into me.

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