Page 25 of The Salvation

Every vampire turnsto the brazen figure entering.

At once, Merikh pulls out of me, and my breath heaves, chest lurching from the loss despite the inflammation and pain swelling my pussy. The sound of boot steps echoes throughout the court like slow, distant rumbles of thunder.

Less than a second later, Merikh has thrown back on his robe, frees my wrists of the cuffs, and sweeps me into his arms. No less possessive or protective. If anything, he’s more.

My body is so worn, I’m close to passing out. The only reason I haven’t, I imagine, is the mild adrenaline rush. The veins in Merikh’s neck throb, his restored power manifesting in his postured spine and high neck, in those muscles primed but not tense.

He will never lose his ability to stare daggers into anyone. What was it Drago has said? Merikh could stare down the Devil himself.

The five remaining Founders swoop down from the second level, their wings beating air from a hundred feet away. Isuddenly get a sense of self-consciousness and shiver, covering my breasts with my arms. But my sudden need for modesty is more to do with the new vampire striding into the Court of Hollows, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

A long blue velvet scarf loops once around his neck, hanging loose over his chest with the ends swinging at his sides, their ends nearly trailing on the floor. His hair is a rich brown and curls above his ears, messily swept off to one side. Handsome features with pale skin and well-defined cheekbones—but nothing compared to Merikh’s violent beauty and blade-sharp cheekbones chiseled from the gods themselves. The approaching vampire’s white collared shirt is open and unbuttoned to the midway point of his chest—skin-tight to show his muscles. So skin-tight, it’s obvious he holds no weapons. A simple pair of brown trousers matches his hair.

He may be a vampire, but he carries himself with a casual bearing, his wings lowered along with his chin. Merikh has sovereignty and power. This man has submission with the intelligence to recognize the God of Blood’s ruling. Formidable as all vampires are, but nothing in his countenance screams apex predator like the man holding me.

The Founders form ranks behind us, their lips open to showcase their threatening fangs. Something is lost on me. Something about this entrance is significant. All I know is that after Merikh’s monumental triumph and execution of a Founder, the rest have fallen into line with greater fealty than ever.

As the vampire approaches, his palms at his sides and open to us, head lowered, Merikh tightens his grip on me and snarls, “That’s close enough, interloper. State your clan and what magic you possess for how you came to cross the ancestral gate.” Oh...so that is the significant thing lost on me. Merikh’s mainCourt of Hollows entrance we passed through must be blood-spelled.

“Lord Merikh, rightful Ruler of the Court of Hollows..." He lays it on thick and touches two fingers to his brow, then his chest. “Bloodshade is my clan.”

Merikh seethes through clenched teeth while the other Founders growl. “Bloodshade was disbanded. Its lands and title were redistributed to the second clan Founder, Arkenthorne, whom you see has paid the price for his disloyalty.” Merikh’s sinister grin when he gestures to the nearby corpse is enough to chill my bones. His dark, daggered stare down to the stranger could congeal blood. “Now, I advise you to choose your next words carefully before you pay the same price and share his fate.”

“Your confirmation of the truth I speak, Lord Merikh, is the answer to your second command. For, I may have a rebirthed form, but the ancestral gate recognizes my soul mark.” The vampire presses his lips into a knowing smile, his eyes sweeping across the other Founders. Out of the corner of my eye, a few falter, their postures lowering, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Merikh inhales sharply, narrowing his eyes and thrusting his chin high. His jaw hardens, and I can tell he’s grinding his teeth behind his firm mouth.

“Come now, Lord Merikh, don’t you recognize me? My King?” He flutters his hand in a mocking bow, bordering on flamboyant.

Two Founders, one male—tall and lean but not built vs. the warrior one, built like a boulder—and one female with champagne-colored blonde hair in a high braid, step forward, falling into line alongside their God. The foreign vampire lifts a brow at each of them and nods.

“Seraphys, good to see you again, old friend. Valeraine...” he trails off, his eyes sweeping across her figure in her sleek, high-collared gown. His gaze lingers on her abundant chest more than anything. “You are as lovely as ever, Vali...”

Her spine snaps to attention, her oceanic blue eyes widening, her jaw dropping, and her mouth falling open. I glance up at Merikh, his jaw hardening more, if it’s possible, while he balls his hand into a fist from around my waist.

“It can’t be true!” she gasps.

The vampire’s smile grows, his gaze shifting to Merikh’s. “After ten thousand years, it is truly good to be home.”

With every muscle in his body tightening, his control slipping, and veins in his arm thrumming beneath my palms, Merikh cocks his head to the side and says through clenched teeth, “Reaver.”

“Reaver, Founder of the Bloodshade Clan, once traitor to your ruling but no longer, Lord Merikh. I have returned, and I kneel...” he says while sinking to one knee, hand at his palm, “and pledge my troth and loyalty to you as I should have centuries ago. I seek forgiveness for my crimes against the rightful God of Blood, but I could never hope for it. Do with me what you will.”

“I’ll give you a swift death of your choosing,” growls Merikh, raising his palm.

“My Lord, please...” Valeraine steps closer with tears glistening in her eyes. She doesn’t dare touch him, but she clasps her hands together in a plea. “I beg of you to stay your hand and show mercy. We have lost one Founder already tonight. And Reaver has returned to us, begging forgiveness for his treason after centuries of punishment in the halls of the dead. I implore you, My Lord, too much blood has been shed tonight.”

When the other Founders voice their agreement, Merikh’s stony indifference cracks. I wince, still remembering,feelingthose lash marks on my ass and thighs from the skin strips he used on me. Did they...I swallow hard with bile churning inmy belly...belong to this Reaver? One profession is true. There’s been enough bloodshed tonight.

He might have the emotional span of his coffin, but I slide my palm to Merikh’s chest, anchoring him with my touchstone. He eyes my palm and then snaps his eyes to mine. “Merikh, please, not tonight. I’m exhausted. I just want...I want to seeher—and them,” I add, knowing he understands the reference. “You don’t need to make him a Founder again. You don’t have to forgive him. But whatever you do, please do it on another night.”

“I profess my gratitude to you, my Lady,” Reaver expresses, his eyes lifting to mine.

Merikh’s savage snarl does not surprise me—or his claws extending. “You don’t speak to her. Youneverspeak to her. She has more worth in one drop of blood than all the miserable souls in the Court of Hollows combined. Human and vampire.” He gnashes his teeth.

“Take me away, Merikh,” I say softer, curving my fingers onto his chest. “Take me to them.”

Wings extending, he thrusts his chin to the other Founders and commands, “I am not finished. But my Queen is. And she deserves her peace and rest. Take him to the Inner Hall. I will join you soon.”

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