Page 78 of The Salvation

Balling my hands into fists, I flex my muscles and whip my wings against the air to test the wind currents. The punch comes when I least expect it. A sharp, hammering blow, powered by Kyan’s wind—strong enough to send me stumbling backward, nearly falling into the sea. Gripping my ailing jaw because my partner always packs a wicked punch, I stare him down, seething. His mouth may be firm, and his jaw like armor, but his bearing is cocky with how he holds his elbows, wings splayed in a taunt.

“What the fuck was that for?” I demand, advancing toward him while the waves churn from my temper, raking across the spit of shore.

He tilts his chin and retorts, “For taking Mayce with you. And leaving her alone. If he’d stayed behind, you and Drago would have returned with some broken bones but nothing else.”

“And...?” I test him, my cunning smirk fueling the tension between us, daring him. Because my angelic brother would not have stopped with merely one blow to my jaw if there wasn’t more to his vision, Shadow’s vision.

Shoulders lowering, Kyan drops his arms to his sides and huffs, “A similar fate would have ensued. Reaver would have bided his time, but more blood and death and multiple visionsshowed the same outcome of one of us, aside from you, falling to death.”

Spine bristling, I flare my agitated wings, tensing every muscle. “So, I ask again, what the fuck was that for?”

Kyan shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Because you’re a prick.”

I lunge for him, but the feathered asshole charges into the air, stirring up a vortex of wind in his wake, knowing I cannot possibly catch him.

The momentwe land upon the shore at the edge of the Hollows, Quintessa emerges from the gates—with all three damned objects in her arms.

Possession rears, sharp and cold as a double-edged blade. Her eyes snap to Kyan’s, locking on, searching...seeking Shadow beyond the serene indigo wind of the angel’s eyes. She barely gets a chance to lurch before Reaver seizes her arm.

I growl, advancing toward them, noticing more of his cursed, bitten vampires have gathered around him in a sick audience. Cold fury ices my blood as he twists her around until her back is against his chest with his grip firm around her throat while he leers at me in a warning.

“Well done, Your Highness,” he coos low in her ear, and despite her flinch, I recognize the exhaustion in her body, how her limbs are ready to buckle. “I had such faith in you, and you delivered.”

Aware of his vampires flaring their nostrils from her blood scent, I bare my fangs in a commanding snarl, “Let her go, Reaver. You got what you wanted. Release her and our child.”

Reaver clicks his tongue and wags one finger in the air. “You know this is not what I wanted, Merikh. Not until he rises. Once he does?—”

“You’ll go back on your bargain, you traitorous bastard,” I growl, sensing my brothers approaching to join my side.

Despite what Shadow told me, I’d still be a fool not to try and warn or persuade Reaver. If nothing else, it will keep up pretenses. I know exactly what he intends tonight.

Reaver shrugs. “Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t. But we know you can’t truly afford to object...nor attack me. Why do you think I remained here, willing to wait all night if I needed? I ensured you couldn’t play any of your little tricks on me. Not with her life in the balance...” he hints while tapping Quintessa’s jugular.

Murderous wrath bloodies my vision, but I force a leash around my throat. Because he’s right. I can’t afford to object or attack him.

Yes, she is our queen. But by tonight’s end, she will no longer be mine.

28

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

QUINTESSA

I can’t beginto know what’s going on.

He told me to run. Even if I could, even if I wanted to, the prospect of Reaver ending the blood tie for Aislynn after the ritual is complete keeps me submissive. If nothing else, once Reaver fulfills his word, Drago, Mayce, and Kyan will take her. They will run and take her far away. Merikh and I will stay. Our will to protect her is unstoppable.

All I want to do is crash into Kyan’s arms, into Shadow’s all-seeing eyes, and beg him to tell me if we will make it through this darkness. How much more must be sacrificed?

Regardless, I do everything I’m told. March when Reaver tells me to march. Turn when he tells me to turn, even though I know he’s headed directly to the Court. My eyelids are heavy, my vision blurred from fatigue. Blood has long since dried on my slip and skin from Necrosyne’s claws, so thankfully, I don’t need the Sea of Bones for healing.

After the Hollows, I only want to fall into bed, but Reaver is not about to wait. Not when I hold Malachor’s resurrection items in my arms.

He’s also chosen this set time, not allowing Merikh and me to so much as touch because Merikh’s power has withered without his conduit, without me.

When we arrive in the Court, where hundreds of vampires have gathered for the ritual, I can barely stand—only held up by Reaver. A violent shudder erupts through Merikh’s wings as we approach the Blood Crest altar. His mark along the side of my breast pulses from the proximity. I wear that pain with honor as warm desire hums through me at the memories of that night with Merikh.

Now, a bone-cold chill shivers up my spine. Reaver commands me to place the items on the ledge before the altar. Any moment now, I imagine Reaver will tell me to climb upon that pivotal bloodstone monument. Blood is necessary for the ritual, painfully obvious.

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