The Salvation: A Dark Vampire Fantasy Romance, page 27
With tears streaming down my eyes, I trail my bloodied fingertips across his scars and plead, “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice cracks.
Out of the corner of my eye, Reaver cuts his own hand, adding his blood to the chalice with a flourish before he takes the dagger to Merikh’s palm on the opposite side. I feel the weight of the ominous eyes of the Court, the vampires leaning in as Reaver sheds my vampire’s blood into the chalice.
But all I see is Merikh. And the gravity of the painful truth he has kept from me held in the abyss of his eyes. “Because you always perform best when kept in the dark, little dove.” I almost buckle. “Perhaps we are similar that way.”
A hint of something tugs on one corner of his lips like a wicked smirk. How could he possibly smirk at a time like this? My blood overheats, sizzling in my veins. Whether it’s his doing or my own feminine fury toward him, I can’t tell.
“Quintessa...” He steadies his gaze upon mine while Reaver mixes all three blood sources in the chalice and approaches Merikh’s face. “If you’d known, you may not have come out of the Hollows. We both know I couldn’t take that risk. I’ve played this out as long as possible, hoping for another way. But sometimes, there is no other way.”
A grueling ache throbs in my chest. That can’t be true. After all this time, three curses broken and ended, our daughter, everything we’ve shared since the moment I stabbed Drago in those woods...it can’t all have led to this. It can’t all be in vain.
As Reaver places the rim of the chalice against Merikh’s mouth, commanding him to drink, I briefly scan the Court, expecting some guttural incantations or Reaver to chant some ancient ceremonial words.
On the opposite side of the Court, closer to the obsidian arched entrance, my other three monstrous boys stand, observing with jaws harder than diamonds. Kyan is holding Aislynn, and my lips part with the recognition. Because if we need to run, he will get her away from the Court of Hollows faster than any other while Mayce and Drago protect their retreat.
If I die tonight, at least she will live. All my hopes rest on Reaver living up to his end of the bargain after Malachor rises.
Merikh devours the blood in the chalice, swallowing it in one gulp.
An inferno tears through my blood, urging me to run. I should. But Merikh’s hand in mine has become a cruel and heavy anchor. No matter how much my heart pounds in my chest, battering against the rib cage to escape, I can’t move.
A sadistic gleam manifests in Reaver’s eyes as he places the now empty chalice and the bloody dagger on each side of Merikh’s body. All his muscles have turned to steel, his wings flaring upon that altar. Every vein in his body throbs.
My breath hitches as Reaver takes up the crown. The final piece. While the Court hangs on the edge of their seats, on a macabre precipice as sharp as that brutal dagger’s edge, all I see is the jewel. A raw energy that was not awake before now pulsates inside it with a terrible shimmer.
Blood needs no chants or incantations An extension of the soul, blood becomes.
“Quintessa...” Merikh summons me. “Run. Run now, little dove.”
Reaver doesn’t object. Nothing but that twisted, malicious grin as he advances to Merikh holding the humming crown. The jewel gleams brighter the closer it gets to the God of Blood’s head.
I squeeze Merikh’s hand as he growls low, the sound resonating from deep in his chest. “Run, Quintessa.”
More heated blood charges through me. More adrenaline triggered. Hungry eyes all over the Court. My blood in the chalice—it means I’ll be bound to him more than ever, fresh and raw in his system. The mere thought sends violent shudders along my spine, but my blood is too hot, bursting with flames.
Reaver slams the crown down upon Merikh’s head. Hard enough to draw blood. An indecipherable moan of struggle escapes my throat, echoing through the silent Court. Desperate and helpless. As if triggered by that moan, Aislynn cries behind me. Her cries become another form of anguish and torture...for us both.
I find the war in Merikh’s eyes. And in his hands as claws grow longer, nearly slashing the skin of my one hand still holding his. My eyes well with tears as I snap my gaze to Reaver, who leers down at the vampire and proclaims, “Break it, Merikh. As soon as you break it, I’ll remove my blood tie with the little darling pawn. We both know who will have the queen this night.”
My body is an icy statue on the outside, a firestorm on the inside.
“Fuck, Quintessa, run!” Merikh snarls at me, baring his fangs while he lifts his right hand to the crown, poised at the jewel.
I shake my head frantically. “No, I won’t leave you. I love you.”
“Fuck your love. And run! Go! Get out of here!”
He closes his hand around the jewel, locking it into a fist. His muscles flex. The impending moment of doom teetering like a tidal wave, ready to crash against a mountain and destroy it. Dread attacks my heart. It ricochets in my chest. Pain carves through me, slashing my breath to ribbons.
The awakening of Malachor hangs by a thread.
Claws rake against stone through the Court. Breaths erupt. Fangs drip with bloodthirst.
Merikh fumes wrath through his nostrils, and despite my pulse roaring through my veins and my blood deafening my eardrums like a mighty wave crushing me, I still don’t move.
“Fuck you,” I spit at Merikh as he narrows his eyes to slits. “I’m with you. I’m in this. To the bitter end. Because...I am you, Merikh.” When I should whimper, my voice grows stronger. By what force I cannot imagine, the alchemy that we share, written in our very scars and ink, pours strength into my voice as I stare down the beautiful predator who was once a tortured thief who stole the God of Blood’s heart, devoured it, and destroyed him. While history would testify it can never happen again, I still have hope.
“And you are me...” I solidify, reminding him of our past. “I have hope, Merikh. And hope makes you do reckless things.” All my internal organs catch fire with the memory of my sister’s words. I guess this is the first of my reckless things. “So, I’m here claiming you. Because blood becomes. I choose to believe we will become...together.”
Forever.
I hold my breath.
All my hopes freeze in the firestorm tearing through my blood as Merikh breaks the jewel. He seizes. Sheer terror shivers through every nerve in my body as Merikh’s eyes widen from some force surging through them, taking up space in those windows—the entrance to his soulless being.
I don’t get a moment to observe when Reaver flicks his eyes to mine and grins. All my breath is siphoned from my veins as he raises his hand to Aislynn. Black veins erupt from his arm, betraying a surge of power.
My knees aren’t allowed to turn weak. Not from the adrenaline pulsing through them, a sign of Merikh’s last attempt to get me to run. But I’m still holding his hand and watching in horror as Reaver’s black magic pulses and curls in visible tendrils before shooting across the Court—a targeted arrow right for Aislynn.
I swing my head to the side. She sneezes. She coughs. And all it takes is one nod. A simple nod from Mayce to confirm. Reaver’s blood tie is gone.
I almost drop to the floor.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Your Highness. So gullible.” He leers at me before sweeping his hand to the Court vampires. “Now, nothing remains between your daughter and my bitten clan. After all, child-blood is so sweet. And when it is magical, the little pawn has become the ultimate prey.”
It’s the first time I drop Merikh’s hand. I snap. All the adrenaline lighting up my system has me launching a near-inhuman move to attack the damn vampire. I thrash with him, struggling for one second before Reaver has me pinned against the altar.
At the same time, hundreds of vampires all over the Court charge for my daughter. But when I crane my neck, I breathe relief through my nostrils. She’s not there. The obsidian doors of the Court slam behind my monstrous boys while walls of impenetrable steel thorns form around every other major entrance, thanks to Mayce.
I can almost imagine Kyan taunting, ‘Let them come’. No others could be more capable of protecting her.
When a familiar but sinister hand coils around my throat from behind, when a malevolent dark chuckle playing on his vocal cords in an unfamiliar way, and a spine-chilling energy paralyzes me with a deep sense of recognition and dread, I understand.
In every blood cell in my useless, half-souled body, I know.
Nothing will protect me.
“So, this is my scarred little savior...” he purrs low in my ear, and my pulse skyrockets. Merikh’s vocal cords. Malachor’s voice. “You should have listened to him, little queen. You should have run.”
29
"I'm quite fond of screams."
MERIKH/MALACHOR
A fragmented wall of blood is all that separates me from escaping the dark corner of my mind.
It’s all I can do to hold onto a mere shred of existence—bound only by her half-soul...for however long Malachor keeps her breathing, her heart beating.
It’s like watching my life from the fucking nosebleed section of the Court. His life now. His body. His blood. His soul.
The damnable demon’s consciousness stalks me beyond that wall of blood, pacing like a predator. I can see his dark outline, hear his sick, sadistic breath as he longs to battle me, torture me even in the depths of my own fucking mind.
As much as I fantasized about fucking you to death, Merikh, I must say...this is more satisfying.
I stare down my old foe from beyond that ever-moving curtain of blood. I assure you, Malachor, it was more satisfying to replay the moment I cut out your heart with my claws and ate it while it still beat upon my tongue.
He hisses.
Oh, my, I taunt him, knowing I will undoubtedly do more harm than good, knowing how every word could be another nail in the coffin of my little dove. But if it grants her more diversion, I’ll do it. Did I open an old wound, my Lord?
Rest assured, I will open more wounds tonight, Merikh. I wrote my name and my blood into every one of your scars. And tonight, I will do the same to her.
All I can do is growl. There’s no point in trying to bluff. His soul is in me—infesting every fiber and thread of my being, from my heart to my mind. He has all my memories, my innermost secrets.
And then, I’ll track down the feathery fucking fool that started all of this and make him my pretty squealing pet.
I throw my head back and laugh. Good luck catching him!
I’ll enjoy catching her more. I suppose it will be much more fun to watch her run. And it seems I’m feeling like my old generous self. I’ll give you a prime seat, Merikh. How sweet is revenge indeed...especially when she shall take your place as my prized pet.
Everything in me wants to roar, but I hold myself back. Bide my time. Save my strength. I’ll need it because I’ll be damned if I don’t give her anything I have left.
The sick bastard does give me a prime seat. He opens up a goddamned window. And forces me to feed upon his essence as he targets the woman I love...
MALACHOR
She trembles so beautifully.
And I am eager for some time alone with her. So, I dismiss Reaver, miserable worm that he is, along with all others in the Court who have not joined the hunt for the child. A futile chase since the only one who can stand against those sycophantic, fawning fools is me.
Reaver doesn’t have long to live in my world. But she will. Oh, yes, a long and miserable life. Perhaps, an eternal one.
“Your fear is quite delicious, little girl with your pretty scars,” I coo and skate my nose along the side of her neck, scenting her and listening to the blood thrumming in her, throbbing her lovely jugular. She swallows hard beneath my hand. “Are you aware of what a tremendous honor it will be for you once I remake those scars and scrawl my name and crest into your pretty flesh?”
She seethes, her spirit flaring. “Are you aware of what a tremendous, gargantuan dick you are?”
I snicker and open my lips to test her spirit with a delicate scrape of my fangs along her throat. And a prick. She winces, but the scarred little queen doesn’t flinch. “Yes, I have heard that. Most often when my pets or toys were screaming, in both pain and pleasure. I’m quite fond of screams.”
“Hope you go deaf from mine,” she spits out.
I tip my head back with a chuckle. “My, my, Merikh, I’d say however did you find this one, but we know very well she found you. Didn’t you, little one?”
A sweet gasp leaves her throat. Oh, that blood!
Well, now, Merikh, I leer at him from behind the window. Fuck her fear and anger. Her blood, on love and hope, is the most divine drug. Like the blackest opium, if I recall. Yes, your unholy grail of blackest opium and your blood moon on a starless night.
I savor his growl along with the emotion in her spirit—emotion quite simple to access, given how Merikh consumed her blood from the chalice.
“I must say, they didn’t do you justice, Quintessa,” I tell her while combing my fingers through her ghostly silver hair, fingering the ends. She wisely does not move while I poise my hand upon her throat as I pet her. My fresh little prize. My toy. My pet.
“Who?”
“Hmm...” I take a gust of her blood scent laced with curiosity. Eager for all her intricate layers. “Three damned souls lost to the darkness, ones who whispered to me beyond the Hollows of how they fell from a little nothing girl of scars and tattoos who fell for the monsters.”
“Technically, they fell for me first. I took some doing,” she corrects me with a shrug, and I savor her boldness. Boldness she will not possess after I’m done with her. No, not even halfway done. Nowhere close. I will keep her long after I break her. A shattered little pet.
“It will take some doing again, but I know you will fall for the ultimate monster, my scarred little canvas.” I take a finger along her collarbone and follow the swirling path of ink. “I’ll sew my story onto your skin. And display it for all to read every day while I reread it every night when I break you.”
She hisses.
“Oooh, I’ve touched a nerve. Of course, I have,” I laugh darkly, taking stock of all those delicious memories. Especially that singular one from the crypt, where she truly fell for Merikh for the first time.
“The only one who can break, me is—”
“Me...”
Another voice hitches, and her heartbeat staggers.
The familiar voice, the sudden force rocks me like a challenging wave. Enough to drag me under his countering current for a few seconds. Enough for him to free her from my grip...
...and command her to run.
30
“It seems I’ve caught a little bird trying to fly away...”
QUINTESSA
“Run, Quintessa! Run now!”
This time, I don’t wait. I don’t know how Merikh has managed to break free. One surge of adrenaline, one gap of air between me and the God of Blood, and I snatch up the dagger for my only weapon and take off like a bat out of hell.
I make a beeline for those obsidian doors, knowing they will open for me, for my blood signature bound to Merikh, to Malachor. All I know is the God of Blood has no desire to kill me. Not when he can spend an eternity torturing me and torturing Merikh more by keeping him here.
Somehow, I’ve got to get to the others. To Drago, Mayce, and Kyan. I’m not so foolish to believe I can stand against the God of Blood, but I’ll make him chase me, hunt me, and put as much distance between us as possible.
And pray it will be enough to reach my monstrous boys. Enough time for us to run.
Tears blur my vision as I remember his chilled breath on my neck, his fangs tenderly scraping my skin. I must substitute fear for rage, focus on the adrenaline Merikh has gushed into my system.
I don’t know where to go. I haven’t had enough time to memorize the Court of Hollows.
The Hollows!
I throw myself down the next corridor because if nothing else, I know how to get to the Sea of Bones, to those ruins, to the black gates, and into Necrosyne’s realm. If nothing else, I can go where Malachor can’t follow, stay there, and spin her stories for as long as I need.
When I navigate through multiple passages since I at least know exactly how to get to the Sea, I don’t sense Malachor hunting me. Not yet. Merikh must be delaying him somehow, buying me time.
My limbs shudder as I run on my bare feet, but with my blood galloping through my veins like a crazed herd, I hardly feel the tremors. Or the ground beneath my feet.
Pulse quickening, I rush down the next tunnel as it widens, opening to that outer landscape with the familiar scent of salt and decay tickling my nose. Only to freeze in my tracks at the dozens of vampires standing on the shore, snarling and gnashing their teeth.
Relief and joy engulf my shoulders because Kyan with our baby is a mere blot on the horizon while Mayce and Drago pick off the remaining offenders. Drago roars fire, rendering many to ash while Mayce breaks limbs and shatters skulls with his rocks or drags others into the very ground to swallow them whole.
Most of the stragglers retreat, heading right for me. No time to call for help. No time to squeeze past the vampires to make it to the Hollows. Malachor won’t have any issue with a few other fang marks on my skin when he catches me.
So, I hurry back down the passage, knowing there may be one other possible escape. With any luck, I can make it to the surface, and with all the stagnant water and marsh, it may provide my blood scent with enough coverage. If anything, I can hide in an obliging coffin with a corpse.
As much as the idea repels me, I must admit Merikh’s little punishment with the coffin, all his punishments, and even taking me down to the darkest depths of the Sea of Bones have prepared me. Sharing a coffin with a random bag of bones pales compared to what I’ve experienced in the Court of Hollows.
Breath cleaving and heaving, I make my way to the end of the corridor, hoping the retreating vampires don’t scent me. I have an infinitesimal chance of escape. I recognize that. Even hiding in a coffin seems foolhardy because the blood crest on my body must still bind us. Does it mean Malachor can find me any time?
