The Salvation: A Dark Vampire Fantasy Romance, page 11
With his cock still twitching inside me, he lowers his lips to kiss my eyes. Tender and intimate, he prints his lips to my cheeks, brushes them along my lips, then skims them along my throat. I sigh and whimper when he touches them to my nipples and slowly suckles before his cock leaves my sex. His cold, fatalistic mouth roves across my belly, lights on my hips, and finally rubs my nether lips.
I comb my fingers through his dark strands like cold silk. Moaning, I lift my hips and lean into his kiss, into his mouth sealing to my center, lapping at our fluids and drinking from me like I am a celestial vessel. He licks my petals, my swollen folds, then captures my clit between his lips and suckles and tongues the fleshy nub with all its glorious nerves.
It’s not long before I’m crying out in climax once more.
Just as I’m coming down from my release, Shade picks me up and folds me into his dark mantle. He returns us to his room and takes care to wash my body. Silent the whole time. He tucks me naked into the bed, kisses my brow, and departs, leaving me aching for him. Bewitched. Bewildered. And dumbfounded.
He never stays. But he always leans toward me, studying me before he leaves every time. Like he wants to.
Hours later, he will return and slip into bed with me. But that’s it.
I don’t understand.
Yes, it’s beautiful—dark and beautiful. But what else does he do while I’m here? And does he intend to keep me in his room for an eternity and only let me out when we fuck?
I don’t know how long it’s been, but long enough. I shake my head with an airy laugh because Quintessa wouldn’t have stood for it. She would have escaped long ago. Or she would have chattered on until she drove the God of Soul mad with her incessant need to know everything.
I should stay here. It’s the rational choice. Why ruin a good thing? He took me from Kronos and saved me from a doomed fate. How could I be so ungrateful as to leave this room?
For hours, I agonize over the choice, tossing and turning, unable to rest, much less sleep. Finally, I snap. After possibly weeks of this routine with no answers, the need to follow him cloys me until I can barely breathe.
Chest constricting, horror twisting my nerves, and lungs withering, I cover myself with one of his robes hanging upon a hook nearby. Black enough to cover my glowing skin, my inner soul light from any wandering ghosts.
Sucking in a deep breath, I try the door handle, already expecting it to be locked, forcing me to find another way out.
It opens.
My breath catches in my chest. It was unlocked? This whole time?
Suspicion preys on my nerves, but I lower my brows and slowly push open the door. And follow his gray amber and sweet wormwood scent down the passage to my left.
13
"The spy's head does bear the sigil..."
MERIKH
I don’t interfere with the sounds coming from the outer hall adjoining the Founder’s Meeting Hall.
Reaver was Valeraine’s lover centuries ago. They are simply getting...reacquainted.
Mine sits at my side. Kyan is no Founder, but he and Shadow are my partner, my two-in-one lover.
Before we came, I goaded Shadow into coming out of his damned hole in Kyan’s mind. While I am the top for the angel, the demon is mine. The pain of him pounding my dark hole, driving me against the wall, and taking his teeth to my throat was what I required. Or I fear there would have been more shattered skulls and spilled blood.
I may hold ultimate power over my realm, but I would be a fool to ignite a blood feud among my clans. Not with Quintessa’s presence in my Court of Hollows. Not with how I just usurped my claim upon her and gave her the Blood Crest.
Blood crystals emanate a flushed glow upon the Founder’s Hall, where I take my place upon the obsidian throne that towers above the Founders’ smaller thrones arranged in a semi-circle to face mine. Four sit upon their thrones, and I idly tap my armrest while waiting for Valeraine and Reaver to finish their...business.
Now and then, I glance at Kyan, who paces nearby, his wings relaxed and lowered. A King in his own right and the God of Air, which is the only reason the Founders acknowledge and tolerate his presence, but he is not given a throne. Not in this meeting hall. In my public Court, he and our Curse-brothers retain their thrones alongside mine on the uppermost level.
A few moments later, Valeraine enters with Reaver following close behind her. Despite how Arkenthorne’s throne is open and empty, Reaver is wise to not usurp it. No, while Valeraine sweeps into her throne, the former traitor moves to the circle’s center and kneels, much like he did in the court.
It’s the crude sack gripped in his left fist that has my focus most...and intrigue, considering I can smell the rotted blood stench from here. None of the other Founders say a word. Lecherous leeches.
Rolling my eyes because Reaver says and offers nothing, though he always had a flair for the dramatic, I wave my hand to the vampire. “Care to share how you’ve come into a rebirthed form to grace us with your presence, Reaver?” I snidely remark.
He lifts his head and offers me a too-confident smirk. “I thought you would never ask, My Lord. The reason for that is directly tied to the object I’ve brought as proof of my loyalty.”
The Founders posture, spines tight and wings at attention as they wait.
I cage a growl in my throat, almost preferring the original Reaver, who was the most brazen and outspoken of my Founders. Now, he seems to wait for permission for the most menial of bootlicking. Kyan strays closer to my throne, alerted to my growing tension.
“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation simply to test my ever-dwindling patience?” I address him and drum my fingers along my armrest.
Bowing his head, the vampire opens his sack, tips it, and the severed head tumbles to the floor with a rolling thud. Eyes open and vacant to betray dilated pupils, lips pulled back in a snarl with fang tips stained in blood, and veins robbed of their silver essence. What is most prominent is the blood sigil carved into the center of the dead vampire’s forehead. A crown adorned with blood droplets.
Two Founders stiffen, Valeryc and Azurienne, taking a keener interest in the fallen head.
When the former Founder offers nothing but keeps his head bowed, I unleash my growl of frustration. “Reaver, by my gods-damned Blood Crest, I will pry your sycophantic jaws open to the breaking point until I may open your fucking skull for the answers if you don’t start flapping your tongue as you were always so apt at doing in your past.”
“Before I arrived in your Court, I took the liberty of dispatching this spy in your midst, Lord Merikh. I found him on the border of the Sea of Bones, taking a keen interest in the Lady of the Blood Crest.”
I growl low under my breath. More on account of the image he painted in my mind and not from him executing a spy in my realm. If he hadn’t used such a formal respect for my Queen, he’d already be a blood stain on my floor. Even Kyan remains cautious, studying the kneeling vampire.
“My deepest apologies for not bringing him to you alive, but I had little choice when he attacked me,” Reaver clarifies.
“Lord Merikh...” Azurienne interjects with her dark curls casting shadows upon her rich bronze skin. “My clan has had some unfortunate skirmishes with those who bear this sigil. It is a blood cult. Instead of familiars, they engage in human sacrifice. They have also reinstituted the Hunts."
I snarl, my chest darkening with a cold rage from the knowledge of how much I worked to banish all forms of mortal sacrifice and bloodshed.
“The spy's head does bear the sigil,” agrees Valeryc, flexing his gloved hand before forming a fist and directing his gaze to me. “Reports of their invasions into Lady Azurienne’s territory to attack and pillage reached my clan first. I sent a unit and an envoy to aid with the problem.”
“And why have I not heard of this problem until now?” I search their eyes.
“They have only risen over the past six months, Lord Merikh,” Azurienne responds, leveling with me.
When Kyan turns, I lock eyes with him. We hardly need to read between the lines when the answer is plain. Quintessa. We would be fools to deny the repercussions of her ending three god curses in so brief of a time.
“The attacks have been small and infrequent,” Valeryc goes on, inclining his head to Azurienne. “We had no cause for alarm or doubts about handling this cult. They’ve only proven more difficult as we’ve learned they are not located within the Court of Hollows or any of our clans but dwell above ground.”
My throat and spine tighten while Azurienne nods, continuing, “Yes, from what we’ve ascertained, they have formed an assemblage of a majority of day strider vampires and their human familiars. They call themselves the Covenant.”
I roll my eyes but cage a groan. “How original,” I say with dripping sarcasm.
“And how did you come to possess information regarding this cult when you’ve supposedly only just returned?” I address Reaver, brandishing my darkened gaze upon him.
The other founders, Kaelyndra and Seraphys, show little interest in the matter, aside from Reaver’s return. Not that I blame them when their regions are further from Court and have not been impacted by the attacks.
“May I stand, Lord Merikh?” Reaver requests.
I smirk. “No.”
Kyan flexes his wings, rolling his eyes.
“Fair enough.” Reaver shrugs, taking it far more casually than he would have in his past life. It almost irks me, but then again...I’m still the one on the throne.
“I came to possess this information because this cult was responsible for resurrecting me...” He bows his chin in subservience.
My power pulses through my veins until they throb along my skin’s surface, straining to be unleashed. Brows flattening, I lower my voice and demand, “Then, give me one good reason why I should allow your blood to remain inside your veins, Reaver.”
“The Lady of the Blood Crest, My Lord.”
“Choose your next words carefully,” I advise through gritted teeth, noting Kyan’s watchful shadow eclipsing me as he passes behind my throne.
“The unfortunate spy at your feet was tasked to gather information regarding your new Queen and the ritual that unfolded this past night. Naturally, I prevented this, but rumors will spread after tonight's events. But I am still in good standing with the cult.”
He clears his throat, lifts his chin to meet my eyes with no lie I can detect in his steady pupils. “My Lord Merikh, I did not come here on this night to seek reinstatement of my position. To prove my loyalty, I simply offer my services as your clandestine agent. You may test me as you wish. As I am a rebirthed day strider, I may travel back and forth at convenience. I would also be more than obliged to show you the location of their headquarters. For if there is any threat or potential interest in your Queen, I trust you would wish to eradicate any such threat immediately.”
I tap my armrest again, practically feeling Kyan’s eyes burning holy fire upon my back. While Reaver may have offered proof of his loyalty, it does not mean I need to believe it. However, I would be a fool not to consider a trial, as well as prevent a blood feud. Nor can I deny the shrewdness of his words or the potential to test him further.
If he does indeed lead me to this headquarters, it won’t be much for me to deal with a simple cult hub of day striders. I don’t have to trust him. I don’t have to believe him. But for her sake, I will put him on a trial run.
“And what would you want if you were to pass this test?” I put forward while rubbing my jaw.
“Oh, reinstatement, of course.” He waves a hand with a sly grin. “My territory returned to me with the full rites and titles of Clan Bloodshade.”
My smirk grows. There is the blackguard I know and once approved of. If he had made an empty claim of desiring nothing, I would have justifiably suspected more.
“If your information proves true and valuable, and you pass this trial run, you will retain Arkenthorne’s seat as Founder. And you may call his territory whatever your heart desires. For now, I and the other Founders will see to its ruling.” I gesture to them, approving of their nods of agreement before turning back to Reaver to stipulate, “And as I am also a day strider, tomorrow, you will take me to this headquarters so I may ascertain the threat for myself.”
“As you wish, Lord Merikh. Does this mean I am permitted to remain in the Court of Hollows for the duration of the trial?”
He doesn’t drop that crafty smile. Nor do I lose my wicked smirk. Yes, flies with honey was always Reaver’s specialty. Good to see him drop his charm act.
“You may take up a residence within the Court Commons. You will be restricted to the Commons and lower Court halls, for the present. After tomorrow’s visit to headquarters...I will revisit the matter. Now, get out, all of you. I will consort with my partner for the remainder of the night.”
In more ways than one.
As he stands before me with his immense wings casting a shadow over my figure while he parades his knowing smirk nearly sends me charging from my throne and attacking him before burying myself in his steely silk ass. Especially with him flexing those wings, practically preening in an obvious show of flirtation.
It’s all I can do to prop my elbow on my armrest and press my mouth to my closed fist because I have plans to cement.
With Shadow, I can let go of the crown and control and surrender to the pain. But Kyan is my vessel that I pour into. And for whatever twisted and disturbed reason, which I’m certain is a partial result of Stockholm Syndrome, the bastard angel loves me. Being back here with him is dredging up a host of memories—many...unpleasant.
“Merikh...” Kyan’s silky tenor caresses the air around me. Uncrossing his arms, he plants his hands on each side of my throne and crouches until he’s a breath from my face. My cock twitches in response. And the fool of a featherhead has the gall to drop his eyes to my breeches.
I lift one brow but don’t move a muscle as the angel lowers his hands to my belt—apart from my lower muscle, which bulges at his attention.
Blood pulses along the length, swelling my dick all the more as he sweeps the belt off in one sleek move before parting my breeches and taking me out. Hunger prompts a growl in my chest. I’ll always welcome the feeling of Kyan’s fist around my cock, his aggressive attention to my crosses. Crosses he gave me.
My wing muscles flex as he strokes my shaft with growing momentum. Fuck, we may be gods, but Kyan was never afraid to get his hands dirty. And the bastard has balls, which was one of the reasons why I fell for him in the first place. Balls and a high threshold for pain. The pain I inflicted...night after night...for months.
I close my eyes, dragging in a few accelerated breaths, only for Kyan to act, to grip my wrist with his other hand and crush his mouth to mine. Cocky angel. If ever the terms sweet and asshole went together, they would apply to him. Our tongues slide inside one another’s mouths and meet. Always equals. Gods.
Digging his fingers along one side of my face, Kyan tilts his jaw to deepen the kiss, demanding as much as receiving. He doesn’t let go of my cock, but he does stop stroking. My balls tighten from the torture.
Kyan can touch my degradation and darkness. I can unleash it upon him because he holds a level of it in his own twisted soul with Shadow. Shadow who was...birthed from me. And while they exist in a symbiotic relationship, it’s clear Kyan is the switch to Shadow’s sadist. Almost as sadistic as me. I won’t ruin the angel. He can take my pain and depravity and give it back until we are vessels pouring into one another—anchors tethered to one another to keep from floating away.
And Quintessa...fuck, my little dove, our queen, is the one who cuts the tethers and carries us all away with her to fly. But once she finally understands how damned I am, how I can’t touch her without ruining her, she’ll drop that goddamned rope and let me drown while escaping with my brothers.
I lash his tongue, my mind giving over to my primal predator. It takes me little time to rid my angel of his clothes. My dick throbs all the more at the sight of his. When my eyes take a leisurely stroll upon his thick erection, the beautiful bastard goads me by channeling his air to vibrate that gorgeous dick.
“See something you want, My Lord?” It’s a taunting echo of the past, and I know what he’s fucking doing. But I’m not about to throw down in the Founders Hall. Not tonight. Not when I need him at his best tomorrow, preferably with no broken bones, bruises, or weakness from loss of blood.
So, I square my shoulders, snap my wings to their breaking point, and stab a finger between my legs. “Your throat. My cock. Now,” I growl.
His jaw hardens, his pupils dilating with the throes of heat. Less than a second later, he’s on his knees with his mouth swallowing my cock.
As much as I want to ram myself down his throat, I hold back because Kyan’s technique is fucking flawless. Centuries to perfect. But it means more here...in the Court of Hollows. The first place he ever sucked me off. The first place I trained him. The first place we ever fucked.
When it’s my little dove, I go hard and fast down her throat. Because she’s small, and her throat is tight as a sweet glove. She likes to go slow, to suck, to explore my piercings. She’s good.
Kyan is better. He licks from the balls to shaft to tip. He swirls his tongue from the very puckered ring of my ass that Shadow took before the meeting. Heated pleasure ripples through my groin until I’m gripping the armrest with one hand and pounding the opposite side with my other.
“Fuck, Ky, fuck!” I curse and snarl, locking eyes with him. He’s trained too well to look away. Nor does he lose that knowing smirk—grateful for that.
I don’t need to grip his dark locks, but I do. They’re wavier than mine, thicker but not as soft since he spends more time in the air until the locks are in a chronic windswept state.
Kyan takes his time. Assertive but not aggressive. With soft, deepening sucks, tantalizing licks, he trains that tongue along the underside, hitting every damned hypersensitive nerve—teasing the hard flesh between my Jacob’s ladder piercings roaming down my cock. When he flicks that tongue along my magic cross at the crown, a feral, deep groan breaks free from my mouth. I siphon just a hint of pulsing blood from my dick to prevent myself from ending this too soon.
