Page 74 of Sacrifice

“Deprecamur Domino infernali

Ut afferat ad ligandum voluptatem”

A guttural moan escaped Lucien’s lips, and he thrust forward with a surge of his hips. Great black wings unfurled from his back, beating in time to plunge him deeper.

Eve took him in, every inch of him throbbing inside her with delicious intensity. Pinned to the ground and impaled on his cock, Eve writhed beneath him, stretched to her limit. The sting in her chest increased by degrees as blood poured from the wound to slick between their bodies as he ground down.

His hips circled against her, his rigid cock filling her completely. He withdrew and thrust into her again, and a zing of energy burst between them that lifted her from the floor. Again and again, the length of him slid out and thrust back, the thrill of power at the place where they met so wonderful that she never wanted it to end. She rode the sensation higher and higher, desperate for more but knowing that the limit had to be near. She tipped from its height into uncontrollable waves that tore through her body. Pulsing and clenching, lost in sensation.

She cried out as the length of him slid out and thrust back. Unbearable pleasure and delicious pain in equal measure mingled and confused. Her power rode the waves of carnality that flowed out of her body and into him.

“It’s working,” Lucien gasped with a laugh and picked up his pace, fucking her deeper and faster, breath-taking and deadly.

He was taking her to another place. An inhuman place. The wound in Eve’s chest opened with the wild beating of her heart. Energy flowed from the star scored into her chest along with her blood; the star in Lucien's opening to take it in. Blood, energy, and light streamed between them, brilliant and hot.

Overwhelmed, all concept of a physical body gave way to sensation. White light filled every aspect of her being and her life force ran like a gushing stream that was sucked inexorably into Lucien.

Then, suddenly, it was gone.

Thirty-Eight

Michaels’ethereal sword slashed through fae flesh and demon spirit alike. The rules of engagement no longer applied; they were broken beyond all hope of redemption now. The chapel that had been his home lay desecrated, the consecrated ground made vile and sticky with the blood of the Dark Fae. Righteous rage pumped through Michaels’ veins and his blade swung again and again, cutting down the possessed and their fae rescuers alike.

Some fae had sacrificed themselves, foolishly believing that offering themselves as vessels for the dybbuk would improve their chances of success and give their comrades time to escape.

It had made Michaels even more determined not to let them get away.

He lurched for the open door just in time to see the violet portal wink out of existence. The last living fae had gone. And so had his collection of dybbuk.

Michaels yelled out in frustration. Centuries of reaping negated. Hundreds of human lives sacrificed in vain. He turned to survey the wreckage of the church that had been his fortress and his refuge and tried to take it in.

He needed Jesper.

He clutched at his head and strained to clear his mind to search for him in the quintessence. He could not see him at the museum. Every favorite haunt, every common spot, was empty. Jesper wasn’t anywhere. What had happened to him? Was he dead or taken? Michaels couldn’t see into theNetherwylde, the Fae domain, from here. Could he have been taken?

There was a sudden shift in the quintessence, and Michaels put a hand out to the wall to steady himself. Gut-wrenching lurches in the cosmic energy rolled his stomach. It was not over. The structure was collapsing. Bindings were tearing. The power of the sun had not finished its work when it had destroyed the wards around Michaels’s chapel. Suddenly he realized - Lucien was breaking free.

Had he got the girl? Michaels lurched through the door, spread his wings and leapt into the sky to soar over the city.

Below him, the city was oddly quiet and still. Cars disabled by the blast stood stationary in what should have been rush-hour traffic. People milled around, confused. Tensions were rising. How long would it take to descend into chaos?

Michaels set down in the alleyway close by the police station and charged in, barging his way past the front desk and down to the cells. His fellow officers were following emergency protocol, hauling out riot gear and suiting up.

The girl.

As soon as he saw her cell open and empty, he knew Lucien had taken advantage of Michaels’ diversion. He let out a bellow of frustration and stormed to the custody desk.

“Evangeline Areli, where is she?” he demanded.

The custody sergeant, Williams, checked his log. “Went a couple of hours ago,” he tabbed through the notes on the screen. “Solicitor came for her with a court order to discharge.”

“Show me,” Michaels snarled. Solicitor? Since when did Eve have a solicitor? Nobody knew she was there.

The sergeant tapped a few keys on his computer and pulled up the CCTV.

Lucien stood at the front desk, tapping his fingernails on its metal surface, impatient to be served.

Williams look confused as they watched the recording. “That’s funny, I don’t remember that.”

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