Page 80 of The Salvation

I squeeze Merikh’s hand as he growls low, the sound resonating from deep in his chest. “Run, Quintessa.”

More heated blood charges through me. More adrenaline triggered. Hungry eyes all over the Court. My blood in the chalice—it means I’ll be bound to him more than ever, fresh and raw in his system. The mere thought sends violent shudders along my spine, but my blood is too hot, bursting with flames.

Reaver slams the crown down upon Merikh’s head. Hard enough to draw blood. An indecipherable moan of struggle escapes my throat, echoing through the silent Court. Desperate and helpless. As if triggered by that moan, Aislynn cries behind me. Her cries become another form of anguish and torture...for us both.

I find the war in Merikh’s eyes. And in his hands as claws grow longer, nearly slashing the skin of my one hand still holding his. My eyes well with tears as I snap my gaze to Reaver, who leers down at the vampire and proclaims, “Break it, Merikh. As soon as you break it, I’ll remove my blood tie with the little darling pawn. We both know who will have the queen this night.”

My body is an icy statue on the outside, a firestorm on the inside.

“Fuck, Quintessa, run!” Merikh snarls at me, baring his fangs while he lifts his right hand to the crown, poised at the jewel.

I shake my head frantically. “No, I won’t leave you. I love you.”

“Fuck your love. And run! Go! Get out of here!”

He closes his hand around the jewel, locking it into a fist. His muscles flex. The impending moment of doom teetering like a tidal wave, ready to crash against a mountain and destroy it. Dread attacks my heart. It ricochets in my chest. Pain carves through me, slashing my breath to ribbons.

The awakening of Malachor hangs by a thread.

Claws rake against stone through the Court. Breaths erupt. Fangs drip with bloodthirst.

Merikh fumes wrath through his nostrils, and despite my pulse roaring through my veins and my blood deafening my eardrums like a mighty wave crushing me, I still don’t move.

“Fuck you,” I spit at Merikh as he narrows his eyes to slits. “I’m with you. I’m in this. To the bitter end. Because...I am you, Merikh.” When I should whimper, my voice grows stronger. By what force I cannot imagine, the alchemy that we share, written in our very scars and ink, pours strength into my voice as I stare down the beautiful predator who was once a tortured thief who stole the God of Blood’s heart, devoured it, and destroyed him. While history would testify it can never happen again, I still have hope.

“And you are me...” I solidify, reminding him of our past. “I have hope, Merikh. And hope makes you do reckless things.” All my internal organs catch fire with the memory of my sister’s words. I guess this is the first of my reckless things. “So, I’m here claiming you. Because blood becomes. I choose to believe we will become...together.”

Forever.

I hold my breath.

All my hopes freeze in the firestorm tearing through my blood as Merikh breaks the jewel. He seizes. Sheer terror shivers through every nerve in my body as Merikh’s eyes widen from some force surging through them, taking up space in those windows—the entrance to his soulless being.

I don’t get a moment to observe when Reaver flicks his eyes to mine and grins. All my breath is siphoned from my veins as he raises his hand to Aislynn. Black veins erupt from his arm, betraying a surge of power.

My knees aren’t allowed to turn weak. Not from the adrenaline pulsing through them, a sign of Merikh’s last attempt to get me to run. But I’m still holding his hand and watching in horror as Reaver’s black magic pulses and curls in visible tendrils before shooting across the Court—a targeted arrow right for Aislynn.

I swing my head to the side. She sneezes. She coughs. And all it takes is one nod. A simple nod from Mayce to confirm. Reaver’s blood tie is gone.

I almost drop to the floor.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Your Highness. So gullible.” He leers at me before sweeping his hand to the Court vampires. “Now, nothing remains between your daughter and my bitten clan. After all, child-blood is so sweet. And when it is magical, the little pawn has become the ultimate prey.”

It’s the first time I drop Merikh’s hand. I snap. All the adrenaline lighting up my system has me launching a near-inhuman move to attack the damn vampire. I thrash with him, struggling for one second before Reaver has me pinned against the altar.

At the same time, hundreds of vampires all over the Court charge for my daughter. But when I crane my neck, I breatherelief through my nostrils. She’s not there. The obsidian doors of the Court slam behind my monstrous boys while walls of impenetrable steel thorns form around every other major entrance, thanks to Mayce.

I can almost imagine Kyan taunting, ‘Let them come’. No others could be more capable of protecting her.

When a familiar but sinister hand coils around my throat from behind, when a malevolent dark chuckle playing on his vocal cords in an unfamiliar way, and a spine-chilling energy paralyzes me with a deep sense of recognition and dread, I understand.

In every blood cell in my useless, half-souled body, I know.

Nothing will protect me.

“So, this is my scarred little savior...” he purrs low in my ear, and my pulse skyrockets. Merikh’s vocal cords. Malachor’s voice. “You should have listened to him, little queen. You should have run.”

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