Page 20 of The Sacrifice

I pause and glance to the side. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She burns those dark fire eyes across mine and snickers. “He has no intention of killing you, little Quinn. Just as I never have. Are you really going to try and escape your one opportunity to get good and rightly fucked? Or in his case, monstrously fucked?”

I toss my gray hair over my shoulder and narrow my eyes at the door where the voices have lowered. More wondrous heat nurses my insides, tightening my womb. But a thousand other moments, other voices war against that heat. All my scars join the battle. I dig my nails into the window base, struggling to get it open while gritting my teeth, then biting my tongue till it bleeds.

“Are you finished?” mocks Qora with a yawn. “If you’re smart, you’ll remove that jacket and lay down on the bed with your legs spread wide and your pussy open. Even if he’s got a different sort of revenge in mind, it’s the best way to change a man’s mind by appealing to his fucking cock.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re mad. There is no way in the Waste that devastatingly handsome and dangerous dragon god would ever want to fuck a gray girl with a thousand scars and tiny tits.”

“Your tits are fine.”

“You know I want heated and unholy like in all the books I’ve read. Savage and forbidden. No man will ever want to fuck me so deep and hard, I’ll feel it down to my core. Besides, in the high probability you’re wrong, I’d rather take my chances out there with the corpse horde than become masticated morsels in those monsters’ bellies.”

“Too late, little one.” The velvet darkness of his voice pounds into me from behind. I freeze, careless of the splinter pushing under my nail and the tiny blood drop oozing down my fingertip. The fear should spread an icy chill into my bones, but all that thickens is that predatory heat. “You’re already in the belly of the beast.”

13

Praying for a Suicide by Sex

QUINTESSA

Qora cackles next to me, reminding me of a ripple of smoke. Maybe I should tell her to shut up. Launch into a full conversation and look as crazy as possible to the Dragon King. But I twirl, squeeze my shoulders, and thread my fingers while choking on my own gasp. All the monster god wears is a black robe, but the ridges of all his hot muscle practically barge through that layer of fabric, demanding my attention.

“My brothers tell me you healed me...” Drago crosses his arms over his chest, staring me down, and I gulp since he’s two heads taller than me. At least.

“Brothers?”

“Oh, now, you’re at a loss for words?” Qora taunts from the corner.

The King waves a hand in dismissal. “Brothers bound by dark magic. Not by blood. Answer the question and address me properly, girl.”

I bow my head, remembering I’m in the presence of ancient royalty, however damned he is. “Yes, Your Majesty. I am a blood-binder.”

“Obviously,” he snorts, his eyes roaming over the tapestry of scars mottling my flesh. I stiffen, but a tremor echoes through me. When he steps toward me, his brows lowering over his deeply hooded eyes, I back against the window. One corner of his mouth twists into a leering grin. “Give me your name, girl.”

“It’s Quintessa. But everyone calls me Quinn.”

“I knew a Quinn once. Traitorous knight who betrayed my family and earned his beheading. I feasted on his flesh and picked it from my teeth with his bones.” I still from the revelation and shiver when he adds, “I’ll feast well tonight, too.” His eyes gleam as carnal red as his hair.

Quora throws her shadowy head back and laughs. Ironic how she’s always tried to kill me, but it’s the first night I’ve wanted to kill her. All right, no, not truly kill, but strangle at the least.

“I like Tessie,” he comments while stroking his jaw. “So, Tessie, tell me why did you dare to cross the Veil and enter the realm of the Waste? You’d have to be mad to cross over.”

Pursing my lips, I swallow hard, wishing my throat wasn’t so dry. “I—I followed the blood. Your blood.”

He closes the distance between us in a way that is not humanly possible. My breath hitches when he grips my throat and shoves me against the wall, grinding against me and growling, “I do not appreciate repeating myself.”

I panic, wheeze, and struggle with his hand. It’s large enough to bind my entire throat, claws curving around the back of my neck. My lips part, and nothing but rasps come out.

“I did not ask how. We will get to that later. Tell me why.” All the muscles in his neck tense while a muscle bounces in his stony jaw. “Hmm...perhaps you desire to finish the job, so you may carry my head back to your village? Or perhaps you plan to stab my brothers as well and return to claim glory beyond the Veil of Souls?”

I shake my head wildly, scattering tresses of hair over my cheeks. The moment he loosens his grip, I scream, “This!” I squeeze his hand, which he loosens while his deep emerald eyes narrow, scrutinizing me. At first, I’d considered telling him I wanted to heal him, needed to save him. But it was secondary to—, “I came for this.” I tap the back of his hand, overwhelmed by the rough skin, the raised scars in the flesh.

He pauses but does not release my throat even if his hand barely feathers my skin. Despite his set jaw and the danger in his narrowing eyes, how they study me as if waiting for one wrong move, I boldly glide my fingers down his arm. Undone by the sensation in my fingertips, I stroke the sleeve of his robe, which reminds me of blood—soft and warm, but this cushions the pads of my fingers. Drago glances down at my hand as I caress my way to his shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarls low, so low, his breath almost conceals it. The breath that quickens, but I imagine it’s far more from outrage, given how his muscles flex beneath my hand.

Not daring to lift my eyes to his, I murmur, “When you’re cursed never to feel more than an echo of touch, when you can’t sense the wind in your air or the tears on your cheeks or the ground beneath your feet, it may just drive you mad.”

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