Page 58 of The Salvation

“If you didn’t want to contend with a monster, you shouldn’t have given her claws,” I hiss asmyvampire advances to me.

Merikh’s body against mine is harder than iron from his fury. His wings are tighter than a bowstring as he holds me, possessively coiling his hand around my waist. I almost expect Reaver to throw down and make another threat, but all he does is touch his fingers to his cheek...and cackles.

“Adorable monster indeed!” He throws his head back and chuckles, blowing out a gust of air before deadpanning with us. “Malachor will have so much fun with you. Especially when he takes his new form.”

“Shut the fuck up, Reaver,” growls Merikh while sifting his hand through my hair. “You want her to go to the Hollows, fine. You want her to play some hellish queen next to my throne you will sit upon, fine. But if you touch her again?—”

“My, my!” Reaver postures, his voice taking on that mocking lilt while his gaze darts between us. “Was that a threat now? Tsk, tsk, tsk...you should know by now how unwise that is, old friend.” He narrows his eyes, and I resist every urge to look away even as my breath and resolve wither.

Horror curdles my blood at the thought of what he could do to me. He already proved it with the whip in court. Reaver has no qualms about using our daughter against us, against me. And he can use any means of torture that does not result in death. He could clip her wings. He could take her blood. So many ways he can hurt her without ending her life.

I could bluff. I could threaten not to enter the Void of Hollows unless he leaves her alone. But he would call my bluff. He would begin the torture immediately.

I won’t take that risk.

If Reaver desires, he could rape me right upon Merikh’s throne before the entire Court during the Blood Games. He could spread me on the altar, take a blade to my skin, and deal a thousand nicks while forcing Merikh to keep my blood running. He could brand me. Order a vampire gang rape. Or force my monstrous boys to battle one another.

The possibilities are endless.

And we would succumb to all...for her sake.

Merikh’s tension is greater than mine while he wraps one stiff and rigid wing around my body, though we know it wouldn’t be enough to stop Reaver.

Finally, the asshole drops his hand and smiles at us. “You never cease to amuse me, old friend. Please calm yourself before you burst a blood vessel. She may be but little yet fierce and sweet as sin, but I won’t be fucking your monstrous queen tonight. Or any night. At least not until Malachor ascends. He has many, many plans for her.”

My heart drops to my stomach. Merikh draws me closer, brandishing a fist against my hip. But confusion riles me enough for me to tread on a question that will likely bring even more defeat.

“H-how does he know about...me?” I weakly murmur.

“Let’s just say three little underworld birdies also looked into the mirror and shared the stories of their deaths that inadvertently came by the hand of a mere mortal girl with scars and tattoos and a half-soul.” He grins like a sinister tiger and licks his lips. My stomach roils at the awareness of the torturous entities: the Hag, Nuriel, and Wyntris. Hugging his arms, Reaverstares us down and winks. “Malachor is most eager to meet her, especially when he takes his new flesh.”

“Enough,” Merikh growls through gritted teeth.

Reaver waves a dismissive hand while chuckling in a too-high timbre. “Of course, he gave me a license to enjoy a few samples.”

Bitter poison fills my mouth. I imagine Merikh’s wrath is stewing, enough to fill a thousand seas. Hope is a mere slit, but I want to believe in it. No matter how dark this night is, no matter how cold this place is, like we are treading in the middle of an ocean of ice, I want to believe we will find light and warmth, deliverance. Escape for me. Freedom for us all. And salvation for Merikh.

When the time comes for him to unleash that wrath, I don’t want to imagine the blood that will rain down.

It’sno surprise that Reaver sits upon his throne with none reserved for me. No lower thrones. And the other gods’ thrones, the ones on each side of Merikh’s on this upper level, have been removed.

The Court is astir, swarming with vampires and their familiars. I grip the iron balcony far too tight and gaze down at the levels where many are helping themselves to a late evening bite. Iron-scented blood fills the air, clotting my nostrils, and I wince at the sight of some, not only drinking blood but stripping their humans in open court and fucking them.

Reaver allows all of this. It makes me wonder how Merikh ruled and what laws he instituted. Were the early days of his reign also soaked in human blood and lust from war?

Before I may ponder more, Reaver gestures to his lap. “Come, Your Highness. I want you to have a good seat. You will play a prominent role.”

The obsidian throne gives a bird’s eye view of the arena. The best seat in the Court. And he is dressed for the event in his full finery, an ensemble that reminds me of what Merikh wore the night he forced me into the coffin. Dark vampire fashion with armored accents. But Reaver doesn’t wear it with the power and honor he earned. Unlike Merikh, he wears his with ego, someone who flaunts.

Bile roils in my stomach at the thought of sitting with him, imagining how he will take his samples, but at one brow lifted—as if to chide me for my hesitation—and one mocking tilt of his head, I heave a sigh, cross the few steps, and reluctantly lower myself onto his lap. I shouldn’t be surprised by how he tugs me back, practically shoving that hard bulge in his breeches against my thinly-clothed ass.

Doing my best not to pay attention to his fingers settling on my thigh, dipping beneath the sheer fabric, I scan the crowd, searching for Merikh.

“Hmm...” he hums against my ear. “Looking for your fallen god, Your Highness? I permitted the other two to stay with the child, but I have plans for Merikh.”

“His turn now to suffer?” I stay as motionless as a statue as he touches his lips to my cheek.

“Naturally. And you will be my not-so-secret weapon in the art.” He chuckles darkly against my skin, and it’s the first time I betray my loathing with a wince.

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