Page 14 of The Sacrifice

When I grapple with his arm, desperate for more touch, I wish I could do more than wheeze my appreciation of the rippling sinew of his arm. A perfect amount of muscle for a vampire.

“Fuck, Merikh, let her go before the poor girl passes out!” the Fae orders, and my eyes widen when he goes so far as to close the distance to the vampire and grip the back of his long, dark waves.

Merikh thrusts me to the floor, and I cough on my knees, clutching my pained throat. Out of the corner of my eye, Qora drifts toward me. It’s a night for firsts because lids and lashes have formed for her amber eyes. Pupils, too. I love how she rolls them at the sight of me rubbing my fingertips along the inflamed strangulation marks and mouthing the words, ‘What a rush!’ They don’t see her, and I don’t know if that’s a comfort or not.

Tender hands cup my shoulders from behind, and I flinch, almost falling to the floor. It’s the first time I’ve ever flinched when someone’s touched me. The first time I ever felt it. I swing my head, where the fallen angel kneels before me, mask thrust onto his head to bare those serene blue eyes. So sincere with the skin around them creased in concern. Tears form in my eyes, and I guess they will become normal from now on. The closest I’ve come to that level of care is Sarai.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice quiet and soft while the other two kings debate in tones too low for me to hear.

I can’t help but smile and respond, “I’ll live.”

He lowers his head with an airy chuckle. “That’s good. It’s quite boring with only corpses for company.”

“And them?” I nod to the other kings.

The fallen angel rolls his eyes with a side smirk. “I don’t have a choice but to put up with them.”

“Oh, so you’re the nice one!” I bite my lip and feel my cheeks heat, too preoccupied with the king’s hands on my shoulders to notice it’s the first time I know I’m blushing.

He shrugs and removes one hand to touch his chest in an introduction. I try not to seem too disappointed by its absence as he says, “Kyan, King of the East Wind of the Waste. Please call me Ky.” His lips aren’t full, but they are a perfectly shaped cupid’s bow. Long and sweet to show his gracious smile.

“Ky...” I repeat and use the excuse to touch his hand, stunned by how soft a man’s skin can be. Somehow, I know Ky would never be the choking sort. “I’m Quintessa.”

“A beautiful name.”

My brows lift. It’s the first time anyone has ever used the word to describe any part of me. My name included. At first, I don’t believe it, but his eyes are too genuine, too trustworthy not to. Heat rolls through me again, and I don’t know what to do with it. Unlike the vampire, he wears clothing I’ve only heard of from the god-eater’s realm. Fashion considered uncouth in the more traditional and stuffy Borderlands, but I love the dark jeans and wonder if he shredded certain parts to white threads.

“Little dove, little dove...”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle at the sound of Merikh’s voice. Masculine and dangerous. Now, my thighs quiver. I swear his voice curls into the barest reaches of my soul. Oh, marvelous monsters! Something trickles down my spine, and I realize...it’s a cold sweat.

“Don’t you know better than to play with monsters?”

The Fae king remains close, but he removes his mask and flings it to the floor, chucking it at Merikh’s boots. I gaze up at feline beauty accentuated even more by the black velvet robe embellished by constellations of crystals and open to his bare chest of silken skin and subtle, rippling muscles. His dark lashes are long enough to caress his sickle-sharp cheekbones. Thin with small shadow wells below those cheekbones. So becoming of a Fae but no less otherworldly, spectral, and beautiful.

He extends a hand to me, and I lunge at the chance to take it, careless if it makes me look like a desperate doe. My skin burns beneath his insistent touch, and my blush grows. A rich, erotic chuckle graces his closed mouth, and the king’s next action is to cup my chin. Oh, wondrous Waste, another adrenaline rush stokes my blood. I might die from another touch. Or die for one.

“You must be the gray slip of a girl Drago mentioned.”

My stomach lurches. My vym rears in my blood, aching at the memory of the dragon’s blood. The Fae lowers his hand to touch a splotch of blood on the side of the dress I hadn’t noticed before. He sniffs, but the vampire confirms before, “It’s Drago’s.”

The Fae clicks his teeth, his face drowning mine in its shadow. “Well now, what shall we do with you? Our high king has vowed vengeance against the one who stabbed him.”

“Please...” I lean toward him, lean toward the hand still cupping my chin, arching my neck. “I am a blood binder. I can heal him.”

Behind me, the vampire snarls, curling every hair on my body when he says, “Strip.”

All the blood drains from my face. The Fae king’s eyes darken upon the vampire behind me. “Merikh—”

“We will know if this little dove speaks the truth. And if she has brought any weapons.”

“She’s just a girl, Merikh,” the fallen angel softly interjects.

“Shut your mouth, Kyan. Unless you’d care for me to shove my cock inside it.”

Despite how the Fae king kneads his eyes, his posture already indicates he’s not about to thwart the vampire. I shiver when he presses his thumb upon the indent in my chin, looks down at me with those glimmering twilight brown eyes to say, “I am Mayce, Lord of the Southern Waste, Fae King and second only to Drago. What is your name, child?”

Lost in those eyes but keenly aware of Merikh’s hot breath disturbing my gray hair, I lick my lips and raise my chin to respond, “Quintessa. Everyone calls me Quinn.”

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