Page 1 of My Blood Is Yours

PROLOGUE

SARIEL

Vassileo | One Year Ago

Theriel grins wide, fangs gleaming—a rare sight, considering his stoic nature. The blade of my sword grazes the flesh of his abdomen. Black blood weeps, and in my fleeting victory, he takes me by surprise. In the next moment, his body slams into mine. He pins me down with a forearm to my throat, forcing me to drop my sword in favor of preventing a crushed larynx.

“Asshole. I had you.”

His smile stretches wider. “Yes, but then you let your guard down the second you saw my blood.”

My claws dig into the flesh of his forearm as I grind my teeth against his tremendous weight. I am a large male—even by daemon standards—and yet my older brother is even larger, eight feet to my seven and a half.

A bead of sweat drips from his forehead and directly into my mouth. Gagging, my brother gives a gravelly baritone laugh as he fights to keep his mounted position over me.

Twisting my head, I spit out a mouthful of blood, saliva, andhissweat onto the sparring mats.“Gods, you’re disgusting.”

This only makes Theriel’s laughter rumble all the harder until his muscles give in to it, and he rolls over. His words are spoken on a wheeze.“You should see your face.”

His laughter is contagious. I sit up, propping an arm on one knee, as I cough-laugh, rubbing my bruised throat and spitting another mouthful for good measure, trying to rid myself of the phantom taste of his sweat.

“Hilarious, I’m sure. Maybe I’ll get Xera to add a little something special to your dinner tonight. You know she favors me.”

Xera is the head cook in my family’s palace. A young, buxom daemoness, and as sweet as she is, she’s a heavy smoker and seems entirely unconcerned with oral hygiene.

Theriel’s laughter ceases, jaw dropping. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I’ve always been the more playful of us, quicker to laugh and make light of things. Mischief twinkles in my eyes as I momentarily don a mask of confusion. “Dare to what? You’ve been working so hard in your archdaemon training. Surely you deserve some modicum of reward. Like a little extra… sauce.”

Theriel’s mouth curves downward in horror. “You’re diabolical.”

My laughter rumbles through my feigned indignation. “Brother, I am the very picture of innocence. I am but a lamb—a babe in this barbaric world.”

Theriel chuckles, rubbing at his chest in a way that catches my eye. “Ah, right. An innocent babe who put chilli pepper seeds in my hair conditioner when he was only ten.”

My head tips back with laughter. “I’d nearly forgotten.”

Theriel winces. “I haven’t. Nearly burned my dick off.”

My laughter halts in confusion. “Wait, what?”

My brother shakes his head at me as his laughter wheezes out of him. “Haven’t been able to jerk off with conditioner since.”

My laughter roars out of me. “You never told me that!”

Tears leak from his eyes. “You were ten! How could I?!”

The floor beneath us shudders, waning our laughter. The rumbling beneath us grows in intensity until the walls, weapons racks, and decor tremble.

“Fuck, you think that could be from another riot?”

The riots in Vassileo are a constant threat, and as of late, they’ve grown increasingly worse—ever since the arrival of a female I can only assume is Azrael’s consort, though no one knows for sure.

Theriel’s brows pinch, shaking his head. “A riot can’t cause the whole realm to quake.”

Screams sound in the distance of the palace, setting our feet in motion as we sprint out of the sparring rooms. Tinkling fills the air as the chandeliers and fragile decor dance until they shatter. Paintings crash to the ground as cracks splinter up the walls. We’re both racing towards my father and mother’s study, two floors down, where they spend much of their time.

When we reach the staircase, we see it’s already been cracked in half, and servants are pouring out of the palace for safety. At the base of the broken landing, my father, Charon, and mother, Monette, collide, both whirling to frantically scan the vicinity for us. A whoosh of relief leaves me as Theriel and I spread our wings to dive towards the front doors the moment our parents do.

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