Page 47 of The Sacrifice

Narrowing my eyes, I look inside again and hear a soft, lilting sound. First, my fingers tingle, signaling my instinctive vym sealing the pinprick wounds. Next, I whisper a hushing noise to the soul inside the glass and slowly, tenderly creep the gray vym, softening it, imagining a braided, wool throw to blanket her. This time, something tickles my fingertips, like the delicate tails of kite strings. The threads wrap around my fingers, almost prickling but warm like stardust. When I retrieve my fingers, I gush in awe. Even Qora’s breath becomes more labored as she tilts her head, curious at the sight.

She reminds me of a silver fairy, I ponder the effervescent being who is no bigger than the length of my index finger. No wings, but she possesses strings. As fine and thin as strands of lace. A soft smile finds the corners of my mouth. I feel them lifting as I stare at her, going so far as to curve my fingers, urging her with no words into the palm of my hand. Those tiny ribbons tickle my skin like antennae. They even trace across the swirling lines of ink upon my fingers. Once she’s nestled in the palm of my hand, I lean toward Qora with tears glistening in my eyes.

“I’m...” , I don’t say the words, fearing the magic of the moment will be gone if I do.

Qora nods and lifts tentative, shadowy fingers toward the little soul. The black of night contrasting with a silver morning. And I am the scarred twilight between them.

No sooner does the fairy-like soul arch her neck toward Qora than the magic is broken. A hand catches my other wrist. Qora retreats, leaving me alone with the god-eater. My breath seizes.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he croons, beckoning my eyes to his.

I can feel Emperor Kronos.

35

"I warned you what would happen if you defied me."

QUINTESSA

I still can’t breathe.

Up close, Kronos is even more alluring and deadly. Thickly-lashed eyes like frost and nightmares—icy white irises ringed in a stygian black. Hoods as deep as trenches lend to his disarming prowess. Two heads higher than me with a neck as strong as a sculpted pillar. Moonlight embellishes his skin, glints in his eyes. Eyes that see all and can command realms to bow before him. I nearly double over as if an iron fist has charged into my stomach.

“Aren’t you a sweet, little will-o-the-wisp?” he observes, corners of his lips curving into a smile of approval.

Any words lodge in invisible webs clogging my throat. Without releasing my wrist, the god-eater drags his eyes down my figure, settling upon my heaving chest, but I know it has nothing to do with my pert breasts but the bodice of scales. Drago’s scales. I flinch when he twists my other arm, baring Kyan’s mark concealed on the opposite side. It’s the first time I’ve flinched in revulsion. The first time since I entered the Waste where I want no touch.

“Seems my boys have been quite busy. And naughty,” he mentions and tilts his head to the side, studying my tattooed scars. “What a tapestry you bear. But aside from the raw battlefield of your flesh, why in the Waste would they bother with a shade?”

“I’m no shade,” I object, burning my eyes against his.

Gripping my chin, he pulls me closer and presses his index finger to my lower lip, forcing my mouth open. “So, she does have a tongue. Use it to give me your name, little wisp.”

I use my teeth to bite him instead.

Hardly a grimace forms on his mouth as he shakes his fingers. “Well, I see the boys’ lack of manners has rubbed off on you. Along with other substances.” He casts a heated gaze to my thighs, and I tense, remembering Drago’s dried cum caking my legs. “Now, little wisp, release the soul.”

I glance at my palm, jaw dropping because I’d nearly forgotten about the fairy in my hand. Tears clot the back of my throat, but I refuse to whimper. And shake my head.

“Return her to the bottle or you may use those well-marked hands to feed her to me.”

“No.” I grit my teeth and clasp the soul closer. She’s curling into my palm, her form shuddering, clinging to my skin for warmth.

Heaving a deep sigh, the god-eater drops his shoulders and states, “Have it your way. A pity those ruffian monsters have corrupted you. But perhaps you could be saved.” He prints his thumb on my lower lip, and it quivers. My eyes water, filling up with tears. His scent overpowers the air, a dark and sinful musk. “After all, I could use a blood binder in my Capital. Or perhaps in my personal chamber tending to any wounds I may accumulate. While the Kings would treat you as their wanton whore, you will be one of my prized and personal binders. Protected under my laws and ruling. And live in an extended wing of my palace.”

Nausea overwhelms my stomach at the thought of refusing him. He tips his head, offering me a genuine smile as he trails his fingertips across my cheek. My limbs border on buckling from that caress of seduction and power. I imagine what it would be like to live in the god-eater’s palace, to personally attend to him and anyone around him. And Emperor Kronos could help Qora.

Startled when my palm bearing the little soul grows cold, I uncurl my fingers and stare at the fairy close to my chest. Sheer dread sickens me, twisting all my nerves.

“Wha-what is happening?” My teeth chatter as the soul dims, fading from that silvery light like moonstones to a nebulous shadow. Cold in my hand. Her breath grows shallow. She closes her eyes.

Emperor Kronos tucks a few stray strands behind my ear and explains, “Souls do not last long once they are outside of my protective vials.”

“No...” I whimper, lament straining my voice.

“Even if you had returned her when I stated, she would have grown sickly. I would have granted her a swift and meaningful death, painless. She is suffocating.”

“Please...can you—?”

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