Page 20 of The Salvation

When his wings shift back, their muscles swelling, I do the same. But once he attacks, those eyes goring cold lethality into mine, I slash at those damned blades with my claws, managing to plunge them into his shoulder. Arkenthorne growls.

We become a maelstrom of teeth, claws, his ice, and my dark tide. Ice crystals spray my face, piercing deep. But I spill enough of his blood to feed my system—as loathe as I am to ingest vampire blood. He forges a new blade, a dagger, and stabs it through my chest.

Pain explodes in the area. I feel the bite of that bastard’s blade threatening to freeze my un-beating heart and use what little power I’ve gained from feeding on him to heat the blood around my organ.

The very air shivers around us with the clash of our powers.

Silence consumes the arena as they gaze at their sovereign with the blade in his goddamned chest.

Arkenthorne produces a sinister grin. I rip the blade from my chest at the same time that he raises multiple more formidable ones, spinning them in the air with cold, calculating eyes like a storm of spectral white.

I don’t bother to tell him how it’s too late. Any moment now, he will understand.

The Founder primes those ice blades, targeting me. I brandish my claws as he prepares to throw them—and spins at the last second, hurling the fatal weapons right for my true heart.

So, I have no qualms. Not one fucking qualm or moment’s hesitation in plummeting, wings splaying wide to shield my little dove. One by one, the icy daggers strike my wings, my spine, shredding flesh and muscle, and gutting deep into nerve endings until I roar through gritted teeth.

Quintessa’s eyes have become a silver storm of horror. “Merikh, please...” she whispers and lifts her chin, baring her neck in a desperate plea. That pulsing jugular with her glorious essence, her half-soul conduit, commands me to bite and take the barest amount I’ll need.

With the fatal blows and my weakened state, the other vampires begin to close in on all sides, prepared to attack at their leader’s first command.

I said I won’t play fair, and I fucking mean it.

I grind my teeth—and plunge my fangs into her throat, drinking from the dark addiction of her elixir. My unholy grail of blackest opium, my blood moon on a starless night.

I almost chuckle as I suck one mouthful and savor its heat down my throat. Because while Quintessa’s half-soul may be the purest and strongest any god could ever imagine—her heart is sin incarnate and belongs to the demons and monsters of this world.

One drink. It’s all I need.

My power floods back, engulfing me like a crashing surf until my wings push out every last icy blade from their flesh.

“Now!” Arkenthorne commands.

The attacking vampires get within an inch before their blood thickens, countless clots forming until their lungs fill with blood as I suffocate them from the inside out.

I turn at the same time that Arkenthorne swoops in with a growl and gets his hands around my throat. But I grin when his grip weakens, when his breath withers.

“Why, Arkenthorne,” I taunt him as his hands drop to his sides, and those wings falter, causing him to stumble and stagger into a short drop. “You’re looking quite pale. Having a little trouble breathing? Perhaps a sharp pain in your back? Trouble swallowing?”

“What the fuck did you do to me, Howle?” he snarls but clutches his pained chest while struggling for breath.

Coming off the altar, I walk a slow circle around him, savoring the moment. “It may take longer to manifest in a born vampire’s blood system, but the symptoms of the aortic rupture you are experiencing are no less effective. The low blood pressure and pain in your chest are but two of the symptoms of when the main artery of your heart bursts. Because you born vampires may have more heritage, established lines, and greater pride. But your blood? It’s all the fucking same to me.”

I turn my back to the vampire, clenching my fist and sending blood clots to form and break off and surge straight for Arkenthorne’s heart.

As the vampire draws his last breath, I take stock of the bodies scattered throughout the arena. Thousands in their seats fall to their knees, wings snapped tight to their spines.

When the Founders do the same, taking the knee, it becomes a prominent sign and a seal of their loyalty, their alliance. A warning of how they will never challenge my ruling. Their clans will always fall into line.

My battle is over.

Wings humming and my fangs still whetted as well as my throbbing cock, I climb upon the altar, my gaze prowling Quintessa from where I kneel between her legs. Tears stream down her face, but I sense the thrill of adrenaline stoking her blood. I trail my fingers upon her thighs and heat it more until those gorgeous tits grow heavy and the nipples pebble to a needy ache while cream floods her cunt.

Rising, I address my Court in a great proclamation, “Tonight...you will all bear witness to the Lord of the Court of Hollows pleasuring his worthy human prize and marking her with the Blood Crest for her uncontested coronation as Queen.”

Every eye fixates on Quintessa. But not one so much as dares to raise a whisper against her.

“Merikh?” Her breath haunts my very being, echoing like a siren call in my ears.

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