Page 55 of Angel of Ruin

A dark smile spreads across his face, a promise of things to come. "With pleasure, little nexari."

He shifts his angle, hitting a spot deep inside me that makes my toes curl. I cry out, my body convulsing around him as he drives me higher and higher. His voice is a constant stream of filthy promises and possessive declarations, pushing me closer to the edge.

"You're close, Lyra," he taunts, his voice rough with exertion. "I can feel it. You're going to come for me, aren't you? You're going to scream my name and tell the whole fucking world who you belong to."

I can't hold back any longer. I'm so close, right on the edge. My body is trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. And then he says it, the words that push me over the edge.

"Scream it, Lyra. Scream that you're mine."

And I do. I scream his name, my voice echoing through the room as my body convulses around him. Waves of pleasure crash over me, drowning me in sensation. And as I come, I scream the words he wants to hear, the words that seal my fate.

"I'm yours, Sariel. I'm yours."

28

SARIEL

Istand beside Lyra at the entrance to the grand xaphan temple, my wings twitching with nervous energy. Never in my centuries of existence did I imagine I'd be here, supporting a human about to receive her wings. Yet here we are, about to make history.

Lyra fidgets beside me, her hands smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her ceremonial robes. I want to reach out and steady her, but I know this moment is hers alone.

"You ready?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

She nods, a determined glint in her eyes. "As I'll ever be."

The massive doors swing open, revealing the cavernous interior of the temple. Hundreds of xaphan line the aisles, their faces a mix of curiosity, skepticism, and barely concealed disdain. At the far end, the High Praexa stands on a raised dais, wings gleaming gold in the light streaming through stained glass windows.

I feel Lyra tense beside me as we begin our walk down the center aisle. The weight of so many eyes upon us is palpable. I hear whispers, see pointed fingers. But Lyra keeps her head high, her stride steady.

As we near the dais, I catch sight of a group of humans near the front, their faces alight with hope and wonder. This is why Lyra insisted on a public ceremony - to show others like her that it's possible, that they too can achieve what was once thought impossible.

As I guide Lyra into the temple, my hand hovers near the small of her back. The cavernous space takes my breath away, even after centuries of visits.

Soaring ceilings arch overhead, their vaulted heights lost in shadow. Intricate mosaics line the walls, depicting scenes from xaphan history - our creation, great battles, moments of divine revelation. Shafts of light pierce through stained glass windows, casting rainbow patterns across the polished stone floor.

At the center of it all stands the altar, bathed in an ethereal glow that seems to emanate from within the stone itself. The Praexa waits there, his golden wings spread wide, a living embodiment of xaphan power and grace.

Xaphan dignitaries and officials crowd the front of the temple, their faces a mix of curiosity and barely concealed disdain. I can feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on us both.

The Praexa raises his hands, and a hush falls over the assembly. Her voice, rich and resonant, fills the space.

"We gather today to witness a transformation," she intones. "To honor one who has proven to be worthy of our magic and status. To become a xaphan." She looks at Lyra. "To earn her wings."

I feel the energy rolling off of Lyra beside me. Her breathing quickens, and I fight the urge to take her hand.

"Step forward, human," the Praexa commands. "Approach the altar and face your destiny."

Lyra moves with measured steps. I hang back, watching her small form grow smaller as she nears the towering figure of thePraexa. Even from here, I can hear the thundering of her heart, a rapid staccato that seems to echo off the temple walls.

I watch, my heart pounding against my ribcage, as Lyra steps into the circle of runes etched into the ancient temple floor. My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to reach out and pull her back.

But I can't. I won't. This is her moment, her destiny.

Ancient symbols flare to life beneath her feet, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow across her delicate features. Her blue eyes widen, a mix of fear and determination etched into every line of her face.

The Praexa begins to chant, his deep, rumbling voice resonating through the chamber. The words, older than time itself, seem to vibrate in my very bones.

Tendrils of xaphan magic, shimmering and ethereal, swirl around Lyra's body. They caress her skin, weaving through her blonde hair, probing, testing. I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to intervene. This magic is unpredictable, dangerous.

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