Page 56 of The Salvation

So, I learned to steal at an early age. I learned my mother would never ask questions, and watching her eyes light up because my thefts resulted in one or more nights of peace for her...I learned my craft well. The Thief Guild tried to contract me, but I’ve always been more of a lone wolf. This time, it landed me here. If I was in the Guild, they would attempt to trade for my life. Likely in vain, but it would be far more of a chance than where I am.

At least I smuggled one valuable out before Malachor hunted me down himself. It was my life or the blood diamond cross that would ensure my mother’s care and comfort for the rest of her life. I chose the cross.

“By now, you must know how much I enjoy collecting toys, pets, prizes...I am a lover of all pretty things, be they vampire or human,” he drones on, clicking his claws against one another now.

Goddamn god is like a shadow. Thanks to the chains, I can’t move my neck when he circles beyond my side vision. Nothing can prevent my flinch when he traces a single claw along the curvature of my spine. A sting ripples down until he arrives at my breeches. I clench my eyes and grit my teeth at the knowledge he’s shed more of my blood, though I can’t fathom how deep he’s lashed me.

“You impressed me tonight in the Court. However, one fight against a bitten vampire, however much I appreciate him, does not elevate you to a prize yet, Merikh.” He chuckles darkly, andall the muscles in my neck strain when he sifts delicate fingers in my dark hair. “But you are a pretty thing, Howle. And thanks to you being such a shadow fox of a trickster, along with your won battle, I’ve decided to elevate you. What a delicious delight for me that you fall in between both categories of a toyanda pet!” His voice takes on a thrilled soprano chirp—like a spine-tingling menacing trill.

Shadow fox isn’t the appropriate term since foxes don’t swim. Not that his guards, enforcers, or lackeys ever predicted I was using the Sea of Bones as my escape route. Water-binding may be the most common and boorish of binding skills for humans, but it serves a worthy purpose, along with the underwater tunnels leading far away from the Court.

A sudden jerk. The tearing of fabric. And every last drop of blood in my body freezes as Malachor claws my bloodied breeches, ridding my body of them. Cold air rushes at my backside. My pulse quickens, galloping in my veins. I reinforce the resolve in my chest, firming my lips. It’s no secret what Malachor does with his victims. Toys are tortured. Pets are raped. And prizes are used.

It doesn’t stop me from clenching the muscles of my globes when he draws a claw along my ass before palming it. Or my pulse from kicking up more, leading me to wonder if it’s his doing. “Pretty pet indeed. There is something so delicious about breaking a specimen such as yourself, Howle. Humans, in general...so simple to break. Rarely do they survive to pet status. You see, I have a dreadful habit of breaking my toys and pets. Vampires may be more of a challenge, but humans are so rewarding.”

I’m getting tired of his monologues. If he gets bored with me, he’ll discard me. Better to let him have his fun and be done with it. No need to drag it out. I’ll either end up in the coffin buried inthe ground tonight, or he’ll throw me in the dungeons when he’s finished. The dungeons will buy me more time to escape.

“Hmm...” I drawl, careless if I’m mocking the god, “...it must be rewarding to have a diagnosable disorder of divine boredom.”

“Ahh, there’s that Howle humor I love so much. Your calling cards made for some amusement. Thieving and origami are quite the talented repertoire.”

I shrug, considering the paper hearts I left him. “Figured you could use one or two.”

“I’ll have yours instead, Merry.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?” I spit out with a chuckle. “Seriously, Malachor...” I add another nail in my coffin by citing his name and not any title. “If you need a list of alternate hobbies, I could give you a few.”

“Oh, I demand them, Howle,” he practically cackles behind me. “But you shall give me one for each strike.”

Thestrikecomes a second later. I’ve been whipped before. A byproduct of living on the streets and stealing from pricks of all varieties. Got a couple of scars to prove it. But Malachor’s whipping is hard enough to stop my heart. Nor is this a couple of menial cracks on a boy’s backside. No mercy from Malachor. Not when he can alter my bloodstream. With every blow, he commands my body down to my blood cell matter, my very alchemy. One clot, one burst blood vessel, one surge to my brain, and I’m gone.

It doesn’t matter if I resist him or try to please him. Either one will have the same result. Malachor loves everything soft and submissive but also hard and defiant.

So, I take the middle ground of survival as best I can.

He never pauses. He never tires. Each hit shrivels my lungs, stealing my breath and spiraling my heart rate. Everything burns. My skin, flesh, muscle, bone. He whips me down to myinternal organs. I get the sense this is a trial by fire. If he doesn’t break me tonight, he’ll take it slower and savor me longer. This is a test.

One that seems to please him since he still has me offer my hobby list. Haunting cemeteries, drawing a hot bath, tea parties, moping in castles, knitting all serve as options.

Just as the endorphins and adrenaline surge in a promise to carry me beyond the pain, the first blow to my ball sac comes. Fuck, it’s easily the worst pain I’ve ever felt. or conceived. With my legs spread wide and chained to each side of the coffin, my dick hangs down, dangling unprotected, bare for his abuse. He brings the whip down again and again, striking my shaft and balls with ungodly accuracy, and torturous precision.

The pause comes when I’m certain I won’t last another strike.

“My, my, Howle, this is a pleasant surprise,” he purrs, closer to my back.

Beyond the searing pain all over my skin, a deep-seated and equally damned sense of recognition comes over me. Of my traitorous dick tipped at the coffin—hard as fucking steel.

“What a sweet development,” Malachor growls deeply.

When he cups my inflamed balls, I hiss sharply, throwing my head back and pushing out quick gasps through my nostrils.

“No need for humiliation, my boy,” he chirps again. “It may be rare, but not unheard of for my toys to feel pleasure during their torment.”

“You’re forcing it, you bleeding prick,” I snarl, heaving shredded gasps and struggling against the blood pooling to my cock, the arousal pulsing through my veins.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

Moments later, the sadistic vampire’s chest presses to my back, scorching the open wounds all the more. Heat on heat, hisnaked chest of slabbed muscles blankets my back. Utter power bearing down upon me. The most powerful of all the Five Realms. And his cock throbs at the seam of my ass. One hewn of marble but the size of a goddamned log. I suck in deep breaths, knowing the pain of the whip will pale to the next torture. In more ways than one. But if I don’t relax these muscles, it will be worse—if such a thing is possible.

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