Page 31 of The Surrender

I lift my chin to peer over my shoulder, offer the vampire a flutter of my fingers. “Do you need some attention, Merikh?”

He curls his upper lip, showing off the wealth of white teeth that even the shadows can not hide. Nor can they eclipse his strong frame. I smile. Because he strides from the corner of the room. Because in contrast to his usual black attire, Merikh has chosen white. Crisp collared shirt, ghostly white long coat, and even white breeches.

Drago pecks my cheek and sets me down so I may pick up my feathered silk skirts and scamper toward Merikh.

“What do you think?” I twirl again and sway from side to side.

Merikh blinks. If a vampire could blush, I’d swear it’s happening to him. Or perhaps all the blood drained from his face. Do vampires have blood? My thoughts run away so much, I don’t register Merikh crossing the scraps of distance between us to grip my hips and slam me against the nearest wall. Between the wings and fabric, the gown cushions any blow. But Merikh mutilating my mouth with his and driving my wrists against the wall above my head is well worth the loss of any wall-battering.

My heart thrums wildly in my chest as he kisses me. All teeth and claws and predatory need.

Scraping his sharp teeth along my throat, the vampire god purrs against the skin, “Such insolence at addressing me by name and indecorum from lack of bowing. One pretty gown does not turn a sow’s purse of a peasant into a princess. And if my partner had not adorned you so much in his feathered finery, I’d have ripped this right off your person and fucked you from behind against this very wall for your shameless impudence,” he ends with a growl.

“Mmm...” I hum against his cheek, then rub my lips across it, thrilling in the muscle bouncing in his cheek and the tightening corded muscles of his neck. “You always say the sweetest things to me, Merikh,” I drive it home.

His pupils dilate. All his muscles bolster. Spine snaps straight with his desire, though I can’t fathom if he’s envisioning fucking me or...stripping my skin to lovely, inked tatters he may wear upon his scars.

Kyan grips his partner by fisting his hair and hauling him away from me. “Enough! I am still Lord of the Court of Storms. You may disagree, but I have chosen to adorn my little Quinny with the honor of the angels. And if any of you have a damned issue...” The fallen angel preys his deep-set eyes upon his partner first, followed by the other kings. They are so foreboding, the tranquil blue has deepened to a midnight hue as he finishes, “...I’ll be more than gratified to snatch you up, fly you to the highest peak within the Waste, and drop you.”

Lips parting in awe, I shrink back against the wall, holding myself together, winded by Kyan’s sharp threat. He wouldn’t truly, would he?

Drago is the first to break the tension with his dark, rumbling chuckle. “She surely would not be so heavily clad in my realm. But for you holy hoverers with your gold palaces and heads in the clouds, I’d say she is the very definition of heavenly.”

I smile at him, doing my best not to gush.

I’m still reeling when Mayce strides toward me, takes my hand, and rubs his lips across my knuckles to pronounce, “The saintly seals become you, Quintessa. You have already carried a great sacrifice upon your shoulders. But let us hope you will not fall to the seal of martyrdom, honor or otherwise.”

Chest tight, I muster a smile. And relax my shoulders when all four kings come around me to escort me beyond the Court of Storms.

23

“It’s…it’s a baby. Babies!”

QUINTESSA

“Where the sky dresses the trees...” I say with a soft smile as Kyan touches down upon the border of the sprawling village.

And how vast it is!

The eerie fog sighs upon the forests, but it can't conceal the houses constructed into the very trees. Ivy lurks upon the houses while long tangles of lichen sway in the breeze from others. The closer we advance, the more I may make out the frost patterning each house and how it’s transformed the forest into a crystalline, dark entity. I gush from the otherworldly beauty of it. We never had such places in the Borderlands.

No procession greets us. No pomp and circumstance. A shiver skitters up my spine until Kyan drapes his wing around my back, warming me with his feathers.

“I decided upon a surprise visit this time. What better way to gift my people with the honor of their queen?” He lowers his chin, and I part my lips to accept his tender kiss.

Right before he nips my lower lip, his pupils dilating as he adds in that defining lilt, “Think this little spirit moth is a queen? She could never rule your demons so unseen.”

Narrowing my eyes, I thrust out my chest and chin to taunt that demon, “White is my skin, but black are my thoughts. Tell me, Shadow, can you love my scars and my knots?” I finish with a smirk crooking one corner of my mouth.

He blinks. I can’t discern whether it’s Kyan or Shadow, but all I know is he falters. Setting a hand on my hip, I drive it home, stand on my tiptoes, and kiss his chiseled cheek. Surprise flickers in his eyes, but I can tell his breath has quickened by the movement of his chest and his nostrils pushing it out more.

I’m even more grateful that the other kings have chosen not to intrude upon the reverent conversation but remain behind us, surveying the unfolding moments.

Without another word, Kyan coils my arm into his and leads me toward the village.

No city gates mark the border. No walls to fortify it. But the great trees and their labyrinth of formidable limbs prove enough of a border as we enter the shaded canopy of the forest. Ragged suspension bridges form a crude road system to bind many houses, but Kyan keeps us on the ground level.

My thoughts run wild at the sight of the people. Everyone is similar to the raven-woman with various bird parts from beaks of differing sizes and shapes to a kaleidoscope of feathers. Some even have talons in place of feet.

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