Page 41 of The Surrender

But my brother falters. Staggers in midflight. Blood gushes from several pinpointed wounds.

“That was your plan?” he huffs in a weak voice before the dragon shimmers at its edges, scales disintegrating.

I know what’s coming. One wing-thrust, and I’m below my brother. Catching him in his man form while his eyes roll to the backs of his head. The wounds remain the same, just smaller in this form.

Hauling my brother over my shoulder, I pump my worn wings in a downward spiral, aiming for the village.

We won’t reach the Court of Storms in time.

29

“Adorn my pet.”

QORA/NEREYA

“Goodmine, little Nereya,” Kronos commends me, reasserting his hold upon me. Beyond a claim, it’s ownership that transcends the blood and flesh. He doesn’t say good girl. I'd settle for good whore.

I try not to tremble upon his approach, but I do anyway. I’ve surrendered into the proper position as he prefers me whenever he comes to his suite at the end of his day. Always tense and strained from ruling the Five Realms. And despite my knowledge he has a host of women in his harem, ever since he brought me to life and gave me a body, he hasn’t touched them once.

He always uses me.

With my knees on the floor, my hands palms up, and my chin down, I’ve completed the subservient position required by him upon his entry. Nude. Ever ready for him. Gooseflesh pebbles my skin. What I hate most is how my nipples respond to his presence. And how my pussy grows hot and dampens my folds, oozing down to my thighs.

I try to excuse it as my body’s association with him. A mere fleshly obedience to his command. But it’s beyond this. While he uses and abuses and degrades me like his favorite toy, I am still his favorite. He wants his toy to last. He takes great pride in his creation. And how he may command my body in any way, including my pleasure. He takes his time in my aftercare, cleaning the cum, blood, spit, and urine from me each time.

I shiver at the thought of it all. How it’s become an expectation. And an expectation for which my body is prepared. He knows how much I hate his attentiveness. It’s the one thing I hold onto. Hatred. It doesn’t burn unlike all of Quintessa’s emotions which are hot with passion, cold with fear, warm with contentment, and cool with tranquility.

Hatred is all I feel. Regardless of how my body responds, the ice of sheer hatred lines my veins and crystalizes my very soul.

“Rise, Nereya,” Kronos commands while removing his heavy outer robe. Lined with fur because it is now winter in his floating isle capital.

Not that I’ve ever seen snow. I’m imprisoned within a glass globe. But all the snow falls on the outside. And the glass is dark and opaque. Why didn’t I pay more attention to the snowfall in the Borderlands? On Hollow Night, the pure phenomenon would honor the ground and crystalize all the tree branches. Quinn loved it. She could always find joy in the darkest places.

Perhaps that’s why I didn’t. Because I hated her back then. Hated her but hated myself more, especially for hating her. The closest I could come to love.

Now, my hate has found a new source.

Once I rise, he stiffens, neck muscles tightening. I remember to raise my hands and place them behind my neck for his viewing pleasure. The role I assume whenever I stand before him.

The way his eyes roam across my figure, lingering in my most private of spaces chills my spine while kindling heat in my center. Fluids trickle more from my slit. So damn uncomfortable.

“Come.” He smiles and wags a finger while moving to the next hall where the supper table - as great as any royal hall table - rests.

He doesn’t require a leash for me. His bond upon mine mandates an invisible chain bound to that collar. The first thing I notice in the adjoining hall is the presence of multiple chairs. All my body tenses.

The Emperor seats himself in his chair, which is far more of a throne, then beckons me to his lap. While I may sit on the barest edges of his knees, he simply chuckles, grips my hips, and forces me back until I feel his iron erection beyond his breeches.

“Your attempts to resist me are adorable, Nereya. Pitiful but adorable.”

He cups my chin and directs my eyes to his before tapping my nose as if I’m an impudent child. I want to shrink into myself more than ever, but instead, I find myself arching the second he cups my breast. I lean toward him, desperate for attention, for affection.

“Rest assured, after tonight, that rebellious chip on your shoulder will fade. Little mine, now you will understand how lenient and attentive I have been with you compared to what will happen.”

I cannot speak unless he commands. I know better than to since the last time, I spoke without his permission, he locked me in the opposite of a womb room. It was a tomb. Complete with the bones and rotting flesh of whatever poor servant soul had pissed him off. But fear prickles all the hairs on my body.

With his gloved hand stroking my belly, and my small, pale body overshadowed by his massive one, all the more intimidating by his black robes, I am little more than a luna moth. He is a black reaper.

“But…” he leans in, collects my hair, and sweeps it to one side of my neck and shoulder, breathing against my jaw before nipping my earlobe. He purrs against my ear and continues, “It will not do for my prize to be so bare. After all, if you are my treasure, you should reflect as such.”

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