Page 33 of The Salvation

In more ways than one.

As he stands before me with his immense wings casting a shadow over my figure while he parades his knowing smirk nearly sends me charging from my throne and attacking him before burying myself in his steely silk ass. Especially with him flexing those wings, practically preening in an obvious show of flirtation.

It’s all I can do to prop my elbow on my armrest and press my mouth to my closed fist because I have plans to cement.

With Shadow, I can let go of the crown and control and surrender to the pain. But Kyan is my vessel that I pour into. And for whatever twisted and disturbed reason, which I’m certain is a partial result of Stockholm Syndrome, the bastard angel loves me. Being backherewith him is dredging up a host of memories—many...unpleasant.

“Merikh...” Kyan’s silky tenor caresses the air around me. Uncrossing his arms, he plants his hands on each side of my throne and crouches until he’s a breath from my face. My cock twitches in response. And the fool of a featherhead has the gall to drop his eyes to my breeches.

I lift one brow but don’t move a muscle as the angel lowers his hands to my belt—apart from my lower muscle, which bulges at his attention.

Blood pulses along the length, swelling my dick all the more as he sweeps the belt off in one sleek move before parting mybreeches and taking me out. Hunger prompts a growl in my chest. I’ll always welcome the feeling of Kyan’s fist around my cock, his aggressive attention to my crosses. Crosseshegave me.

My wing muscles flex as he strokes my shaft with growing momentum. Fuck, we may be gods, but Kyan was never afraid to get his hands dirty. And the bastard has balls, which was one of the reasons why I fell for him in the first place. Balls and a high threshold for pain. The painIinflicted...night after night...for months.

I close my eyes, dragging in a few accelerated breaths, only for Kyan to act, to grip my wrist with his other hand and crush his mouth to mine. Cocky angel. If ever the terms sweet and asshole went together, they would apply to him. Our tongues slide inside one another’s mouths and meet. Always equals. Gods.

Digging his fingers along one side of my face, Kyan tilts his jaw to deepen the kiss, demanding as much as receiving. He doesn’t let go of my cock, but he does stop stroking. My balls tighten from the torture.

Kyan can touch my degradation and darkness. I can unleash it upon him because he holds a level of it in his own twisted soul with Shadow. Shadow who was...birthedfrom me. And while they exist in a symbiotic relationship, it’s clear Kyan is the switch to Shadow’s sadist. Almost as sadistic as me. I won’t ruin the angel. He can take my pain and depravity and give it back until we are vessels pouring into one another—anchors tethered to one another to keep from floating away.

And Quintessa...fuck, my little dove, our queen, is the one who cuts the tethers and carries us all away with her to fly. But once she finally understands how damned I am, how I can’t touch her without ruining her, she’ll drop that goddamned rope and let me drown while escaping with my brothers.

I lash his tongue, my mind giving over to my primal predator. It takes me little time to rid my angel of his clothes. My dick throbs all the more at the sight of his. When my eyes take a leisurely stroll upon his thick erection, the beautiful bastard goads me by channeling his air to vibrate that gorgeous dick.

“See something you want, My Lord?” It’s a taunting echo of the past, and I know what he’s fucking doing. But I’m not about to throw down in the Founders Hall. Not tonight. Not when I need him at his best tomorrow, preferably with no broken bones, bruises, or weakness from loss of blood.

So, I square my shoulders, snap my wings to their breaking point, and stab a finger between my legs. “Your throat. My cock. Now,” I growl.

His jaw hardens, his pupils dilating with the throes of heat. Less than a second later, he’s on his knees with his mouth swallowing my cock.

As much as I want to ram myself down his throat, I hold back because Kyan’s technique is fucking flawless. Centuries to perfect. But it means more here...in the Court of Hollows. The first place he ever sucked me off. The first place I trained him. The first place we ever fucked.

When it’s my little dove, I go hard and fast down her throat. Because she’s small, and her throat is tight as a sweet glove. She likes to go slow, to suck, to explore my piercings. She’s good.

Kyan is better. He licks from the balls to shaft to tip. He swirls his tongue from the very puckered ring of my ass that Shadow took before the meeting. Heated pleasure ripples through my groin until I’m gripping the armrest with one hand and pounding the opposite side with my other.

“Fuck, Ky, fuck!” I curse and snarl, locking eyes with him. He’s trained too well to look away. Nor does he lose that knowing smirk—grateful for that.

I don’t need to grip his dark locks, but I do. They’re wavier than mine, thicker but not as soft since he spends more time in the air until the locks are in a chronic windswept state.

Kyan takes his time. Assertive but not aggressive. With soft, deepening sucks, tantalizing licks, he trains that tongue along the underside, hitting every damned hypersensitive nerve—teasing the hard flesh between my Jacob’s ladder piercings roaming down my cock. When he flicks that tongue along my magic cross at the crown, a feral, deep groan breaks free from my mouth. I siphon just a hint of pulsing blood from my dick to prevent myself from ending this too soon.

Kyan pauses, opening his mouth, his tongue tracing the cross piercings. “Remember when I gave you these...?”

I nod firmly, closing my eyes from the memory of the angel melting down the silver stake—the same one I drove through the heart of Malachor—and molding it into the piercings.

Gods, his eyes in the firelight that night. My cock never stopped throbbing. That night was the culmination for us...shortly before the damned Curse took us.

Kyan and Shadow helped me burn one ship. And they kept me from sinking. As he drove the piercing into the instrument Malachor used for torture, the cross became a living testament of what this angel saw when he looked at me, what he still sees.

“Beauty through pain,” Kyan echoes his words from the past and kisses the piercings right before rising to swirl his tongue along my scars. My thighs shake from his attentiveness, his intimate energy, the momentum building.

“Come here,” I command through gritted teeth and sweep my eyes down his body, centering on that vibrating iron-hard cock.

A muscle bounces in his jaw as he leans over my throne again in a sleek, angelic prowl right before arching his back and thrusting his dick, lining it against mine. He takes them both inhis hand, rubbing them together, slow and steadfast. I take in the sight of my angel. Won through blood, sweat, scars, brands, and torture. Won the moment I plunged that stake through Malachor’s heart, wrenched it still bloody and beating from his goddamned chest, and devoured every scrap of flesh until I became what I hated most.

For Kyan.

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