Page 64 of The Surrender

Yes, a cold and cruel light, broken and bleeding in the darkness, I tell him.

The truth is sobering and heavy as a mountain weighing upon me. Even the moon will shine when it’s broken and bleeding. It will always rise again. It has no choice.

Neither do I.

“It is not her blood you want most,” I breathe, my words barely above a whisper in the desolation of the cavern. Her eyes widen. They strip me apart down to my soul with the unworthiness she believes she holds.

Nuriel unleashes a deep growl and drags the blade's edge along the curvature of her throat. “Blood always demands its like. A lover’s blood for a lover’s.”

“Then take more than my blood.”

“No...” she whispers, only for Nuriel to tug harder on her hair until she gulps, shedding more tears.

He lifts a brow and cocks his head, testing me. Without another word, I lengthen my claws and slit open my palms, offering my blood here and now as my oath of wages. Pulse hammering, I step toward the demon with an offer I know he won’t refuse.

“I surrender. Whatever penance or torture or price you deign, I surrender to it.” I close the distance between us, lowering my wings and folding them against my spine in a gesture of submission.

It’s the first moment the demon lowers the blade upon her throat. Veins thrum in his wings. His posture tightens. More shadows brew around him, his own storm, but I recognize the hunger in his eye, the glint of craving.

“Your soul, Kyanatu.”

Quintessa’s breath hitches. She tenses, but one lowering of the blade, one thrust against her belly, and she freezes. Even the tears on her face halt in their tracks. I cage the growl in my throat because it won’t do any good.

She is our salvation in the darkness of our sin. If our surrender is the only way she will understand that, then so be it.

More blood drips from my palms as I circle, keeping a wide berth from Quintessa as I advance toward Nuriel from behind. He tenses, but he knows I would never risk an attack when his blade is poised upon the pregnant belly of the mother of my child.

“I will break your pride,” he vows without turning to greet me.

I don’t need to see his eyes. The weight of worlds falls upon me from his profession, and the words I know are coming. I know exactly what he plans, what he will do. Such torture will be heaven compared to the hell of losing my salvation, my truest heaven.

“I will crush your heart, Kyanatu. And then, I will kill your soul.”

Beyond a blood oath, this is a soul oath.

When I take my claw, cut a thin line within his wings, and press my bloodied palm to his wing, it is a sign and a seal. One that thunders in my very core. My demon bound to the demon of my own making.

One split second later, Nuriel retrieves his blade and shoves Quintessa so she falls hard. But I’m there, catching her. The deepest ache grows inside me when I wrap my arms around her small form while the demon grapples with me.

“Kyanatu...” he barks. His command is like a vice clamping down on my wings, on my body, demanding I let go of her now and come with him.

“You shouldn’t have...” she cries, curling in on herself while clawing at my chest. Her breath heaves and cleaves. “Why? How could you—no, take me...” She burns her eyes against Nuriel’s. “Take my soul. It’s not worth—”

“Give me five minutes with her for god's sake!” I growl at the demon from the side, wincing from the cruel pain lancing through me. He has the power to do whatever he wishes. A blood, mind, and soul command when I have no power over my own soul. “Alone. Five minutes alone. Then, I’m yours.”

Nuriel nods because he understands the reasoning behind it all. Quintessa is struggling to breathe. A sob ripples from her throat. She is my heaven wrapped in a sinful body of scars and ink.

The second the demon leaves the cavern, I waste no time. Before she can open her mouth with a protest, I cup the sides of her face, crush my mouth to hers, and stem all her speech. I push my tongue into hers and feel her breath raging all around me. All her muscles stiffen, but it doesn’t take me long to overpower her.

“Do you know why I love the mountains so much?” I ask, distracting all her speech when I rip the offending garment that once belonged to Erya off her shoulders.

She flinches, but she listens and sucks in a breath. I will have nothing that reminds me of her on Quintessa’s skin. The cold air of the cavern pebbles her nipples. Once I’ve torn the gown off her, leaving her naked, my pale, shivering light in the darkness, I cup her small breasts and rub the buds, reveling in her rushed breath.

“They have a magnetism that reaches deep into your psyche. The greatest of energy. The pull of gravitational forces. Mountains cannot be tamed. They cannot be civilized. Mayce prefers their roots and foundation to ground us. I prefer their crests.”

I lay her down upon the bones and dust of the cavern as she heaves, crying but arching her back all the same. My pulse rages to the roaring of my blood as I kiss her again. Then I worship her as I should have done in that throne room. I take a minute to cherish her breasts, licking and sucking and nipping at the tempting little nipples until she’s flushed.

Moving to her stomach, I plant my lips upon the subtle swell. “Those high peaks are the dark refuge for the demons of my soul. In the mountains, those demons fucking quake. And quiet. More power exists in the greatest and highest places of the world than anywhere else. More heart and soul. Except for one.”

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