Page 8 of The Salvation

Merikh offers me nothing, reveals nothing, and confesses nothing. That’s fine. I ask him for nothing. Because I’m not his goddamn priest. He doesn’t owe me anything. God knows I’ve kept my own monsters and wounds close to myself. Merikh has enough for countless lifetimes.

He carries me back into the water. He kisses me, bathes me, heals me in his cold, dark sea. And keeps my head above water...and my blood flowing the whole time.

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The stakes are highest. I have everything to lose.

MERIKH

She is my dark angel,adorned in scars and tattoos, a tapestry of survival upon her skin.

Her half-soul is worth a thousand souls of ancient warriors. Wherever mine exists, I am far too damned and cursed for her to restore it.

Every word I spoke to her was true, but she was right about one thing. I won’t change. I won’t fucking protect her. I won’t just break her. I’ll shatter her. I know it as I know the blood cell work of every being who crosses my path.

But I still have no intention of letting her go.

For centuries, nothing gave me more pleasure than breaking the offerings of Malachor once he was finished with them.

When I carry Quintessa out of the water, I must confess to my cursed self. No amount of denial or deception will matter. I will break her—but she is the first I want to see pieced back together. I want to see what she does with the broken shards and how she will remake herself. I want to see what she will look likewhen she unravels and must pick up the threads to stitch herself back together.

For the first time in my existence, I’m fucking terrified of breaking her. Whether she understands or not, she carries the essence of oblivion with her ability to command or doom my very soul.

The stakes are highest. I have everything to lose.

And I’ll still drag her into my darkest depths until I’ve consumed her and wrecked her, watching the light fade from her eyes until I bring her back to life.

Bo waits at the border of the ruins with a set of fresh garments for both of us. For all her exhibitionist experiences with my brothers, she still blushes and hugs herself, covering her plump tits. Not that Bo pays her any mind. My steward has a long history of tending to my offerings, who spent most of their time servicing me with their flesh and blood—always naked at my choosing.

Once I set her upon the crushed bones and crumbled foundation of the ruins, Quintessa wastes no time in scrambling into the garment. But her knees give out when she’s barely tugged it over her head. I catch her waist and steady her, so she may finish, nodding my approval to my steward for his selection. Royal purple for her status but sheer enough to show the scroll work upon her form. And the fang marks on her throat. The one permanent mark I have given her—one which will not fade. All will know she is mine to possess and protect.

All offerings in the past wore white.

Quintessa may be my little dove, but as long as she resides in my Court of Hollows...she will never wear white.

“Quintessa...” I summon her as she fiddles with the loose transparent sleeves. “You may sit on the ground while you dress if you wish. Or Bo will be more than obliged to hold you until I am finished.”

I shake my head with a subtle smile as her eyes stray all over Bo’s form, lingering upon his skeletal regions. As if she’s wondering how he can possibly bear her in his state.

Sifting my fingers through her hair, I gesture to him with my other. “I assure you he is stronger than he seems.”

“At your service, my Lady. I don’t bite, unlike Lord Merikh,” he teases while holding his bony arms toward her.

His words put her at ease, and I surrender her to his arms. While I prefer my leather coat and vest and tunic for everyday usage, my Lordship duties demand something more...formal. For my imminent purposes before Court, I will come as a King to restore his people. And receive a royal welcome while allowing the suspense to build and bide my time for prospective opponents to arrive.

But once I bring Quintessa to Court, finery and formality will be the last matters on my mind. And my body.

For now, I appreciate the black ensemble with the dark form-fitting tunic with the blood-ruby crest at its center. Red armored accents and silver threadwork trim the long velvet robes while its high collar suits my features. The back slits allow for easy release of my wings should I require them, though it is unlikely before Court. Lastly, I don black gloves and polished boots.

Another reason why Kyan and I could bond. Angels and vampires are notorious for our fashion sense. I sneer, considering the alpha among us is content to go about half-clothed in naught but his scales. His partner may wear his traditional Fae robes, but he may snap them away if he chooses.

Vampiric fashion is simply more modern and darker than Kyan’s race. Less ornamental than all his jewels and finery, too.

Bo makes another agonizing joke in Quintessa’s ear, and she presses her fingers to her mouth and giggles. But the second she lifts her eyes back to me, her lips part, and her jaw drops.

“Don’t look at me that way, little dove,” I warn her, stepping closer, thrilled by how she shivers and her breath stalls. “Or I’ll fucking bend you over one of these very stones, lift up that flimsy gown, and fuck you right in front of Bo.”

She closes her mouth, but her pulse flutters, quickening her blood. Fuck. I stare her down, slowing her blood to a steadier pace, more manageable for me. Rest is necessary for her. She will curse me for the rest I will soon force upon her, but she must understand the ways of my Court of Hollows. Nothing will be the same. In my realm, she cannot act as she has at any of my brothers’ courts. The risks are higher. The danger is greater.

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