“Bo...” I scrub a hand down my face and glare at him. “Must I check your ears for ash again?” I don’t disguise my agitation, but my knowing smirk is one he understands.

  Others hands upon my Quintessa’s naked body will be the last thing to happen in my Court. Not even other human women. I won’t risk her scent transferring to any others. While we have many fine pure blooded vessels, Quintessa’s, as a half-soul, is unique. Her bond with us gods also makes her more of a temptation.

  “I will see to it the necessary instruments are brought to your chamber, my Lord,” Bo finishes.

  “After I take her to my chamber, I will return to awaken the Founders and blood-mend them. Once I’ve finished, I will blood-mend you.”

  Bo wags one bony finger and wrinkles his nose. “You most certainly will not. I am an ugly, crotchety, old geezer, Merikh. Go start with the children. Or I’ll stuff your coffin full of kittens!” He huffs, and I harden my jaw at his theatrics.

  “Aww, you’re not ugly at all,” Quintessa chimes in, lifting her head and commanding Bo’s attention...and mine. “I think you look very dapper in your uniform.” She leans over, surprising my steward when she kisses Bo’s gaunt cheek despite his fragmented skin. She has no concern when the bottom of her lip brushes the ruined flesh exposing his teeth.

  Bo freezes at her kiss, widens his eyes upon me, then darts his gaze to her. “Sweetheart...” he says as she leans back against my chest. “One word. Run.”

  Smiling sweetly, my little dove shakes her head and weaves her arms around my neck, triggering my nostrils to flare and my veins to throb. “Never!” she giggles.

  Bo turns to me again. “Have you had her head examined?”

  I snort, roll my eyes, and coast a hand up her back to fist her hair. “Trust me. The last thing Quintessa leads with is her pretty head.”

  I yank her back by her hair, smirking at how she arches her neck in want and sighs, “You say the sweetest things, Master Merikh.”

  My eyes lower to her jugular, dumbfounded by my desire when feeding so recently used to sate me. I loosen my grip, only for her to swing her head back to my steward while she squeezes my neck tighter.

  “Sometime, I’ll tell you all about how he loves to stalk me, Bartie.” Her voice lifts to that soprano lilt to show her excitement. “Yes, I’ll call you Bartie. Can I call him Bartie?” she asks me.

  “Merikh, I must insist this time,” Bartholomew bemoans and kneads his brow, transferring bone dust to the loose skin. “Return this adorable creature to where you found her.”

  I chuckle deep in my throat. “Before or after she crossed the Veil of Souls and waltzed right into Drago’s Court of Ash and became our slut-turned-queen.”

  “Hey!” she protests through a yawn and nuzzles my shoulder again. “I’m still your slut.”

  Fuck, this girl. Ice fills my veins when I consider all the horrors I will bring her in my Court. And how her first experiences here have not marred her view. Leave it to my little dove to find beauty in the darkest and most decrepit of places. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s already managed to charm my steward when he’s never warmed up to anyone beyond his fire friends.

  “Bo, your jaw...” I alert my steward whose jaw has dropped so low, one side of it hangs loose.

  Quintessa gives an airy laugh as Bo nudges his jaw back into place, but she yawns again and leans her head against my neck. I nod at my steward and depart, shifting into vampire speed so I may get her to my chambers quicker.

  I pause in the outer chamber at the base of my tower, eyeing the familiar runes which will only allow me to access. As I have not entered my domain within a century, the runes glow to life with incandescence on account of the aqueous stones that know the presence of their maker.

  Thick layers of cobwebs and dust clothe the lanterns and candelabras riddled along the walls and ceilings as I bear Quintessa deeper into my inner chamber. She takes in the small library full of grimoires detailing the histories of my people—much regarding Malachor. With any luck, she won’t discover the secret passage through one of those ancient tomes.

  The more I carry her, the more my dark power awakens from the energy of this place. Something impossible before Quintessa. And I am the damn devil for what I must subject her to. But she won’t be content to remain here—not even if Bo keeps her company. I can’t risk her leaving my quarters before Court later tonight.

  Once we emerge into my innermost chamber, Quintessa lifts her head, locking eyes with the coffin. Blood ember stones bathe the closed casket in an ethereal light, soft and crimson. Silver filigree trims the coffin with the design of my blood crest at its center. Quintessa fixates on the blood crest, on the familiar alchemical symbol adorning the swell of her dove breast.

  I advance to the coffin, feeling how she stiffens inch by inch. Despite how she overcame much during her time with Mayce, deep-seated fears are not conquered overnight. For Quintessa, it’s dark, confined spaces.

  She clings to me more as I open the coffin. “Merikh,” she whispers but winces, pursing her lips. “Master Merikh, please, don’t do this.”

  I deadpan, narrowing my eyes upon hers. “You will have but moments before you fall asleep, little dove.”

  Eyes glistening, she rakes her nails into my robes, her tearful gaze flinging between me and the coffin. “Why can’t you take me with you?”

  “Because...” I growl low in a warning, appreciating the quickening of her pulse. “You are mine. And I won’t allow anyone to get their fangs within an inch of your throat. It belongs to me. The ones I go to restore are not merely human, Quintessa.” I rub my thumb to wipe away the silent tears on her cheeks. “I must be at my fullest concentration for returning them to their natural state. With you in my arms, it would be impossible,” I conclude while lowering her into the coffin with its velvet-lined interior.

  “Please don’t, Merikh. I’ll stay here in the bed. I promise I won’t leave. I’ll wait for you. Only you,” she pleads, even as I hold her down and grip her throat.

  “Bo will remain outside to watch over you. But you won’t require it.” Frustration tightens my muscles. She cared less about how I nearly drowned her. No, one little nap in a coffin is what prompts her terror. Before that terror engulfs my senses with hunger, I hold my breath, forbidding the intoxicating scent of it lacing her blood.

  Her terror turns to pure panic as I set my other hand on the coffin lid. While she is still thrashing and shrieking and sobbing, I channel my power, surging the blood to her head to render her unconscious. The silvery gray eyes glaze over and roll to their ceilings. She falls onto the dust-clad pillow, out cold for the next few hours.

  I have measured the precise amount necessary to overwhelm her consciousness for the set time I need to do my work. She will curse me for it, loathe me for it, but she will be safe. My blood crest acts as a seal of protection upon her.

  After tonight’s Court, she will wear my seal...permanently.

  The tension inside me magnifies as I pass into the labyrinthine walkways of the fossilized gardens.

  I, and I alone, know the way through the petrified skeletons, intertwined so closely, it would seem impassable. Apart from the fleeting amount required to send Quintessa into slumber, my blood force has never been stronger. It won’t last, and once I’ve finished my tasks tonight, I will need my conduit more than ever.

  But only after I’ve proven my sovereignty in my Court of Hollows and ensured none will contest my possession of her.

  The fossilized gardens thin until the bones become part of the dark cavern walls where I enter. On each side of me, the crimson crystalline walls gleam to life, the blood stones radiating at the mere presence of their maker...and master. Damp earth, aged water, and the iron scent of blood engulf my nostrils. Stalactites glisten like massive fangs from a monstrous beast, their appetite whetted. Now and then, a drop of blood falls from the ceiling to kiss my face. I don’t wipe them away. Ancient essence from the origin God of Blood.

  I grit my teeth, jaw turning to hard stone when I consider Malachor and how I stole everything from him and condemned his spirit to a purgatory. Unwelcome in the halls of the ancestral dead. Doomed to roam the eternal realms of a land of Limbo that make the Waste look like a square plot of land.

  If his spirit were to ever escape from Limbo...my nerve endings explode at the horror that would enfold. My pulse massacres my veins with the danger such a dark fate would bring to Quintessa. She would be his primary target, his only target, knowing what it would do to me. He would write his revenge in every speck of her skin, flesh, and drop of blood. And if it meant keeping me alive, keeping my cursed self alive, she would endure it all. The notion ices my very heart.

  It will never happen. Impossible. Fucking impossible.

  Entering the innermost Chamber of the Founders, I banish all thoughts of Malachor and face the blood pool—the viscous liquid stirring from my arrival. Dark power breathes here. The blood pool’s sinister vitality curls into my veins in a long-lost greeting, heightening my senses. No other can awaken the sarcophagi resting beneath the protective ichor.

  More blood crystals glimmer as I advance through the arched opening with its protective glyphs and sigils—ones only the God of Blood may pass. The very rocks pulse with the essence of the undead Founders as if they are praying to me, desperate for awakening.

  I descend the stone stairway, which disappears into the very pool, stopping when my boots touch the surface lapping at the base step. Like a dark mirror, the surface offers no reflection.

  Surveying the pool and breathing in the raw scent of decay and death, I extend my hand, rippling my strength in a wave of targeted tendrils that act as tethers to hook into the six Founders.

  Slowly, the sarcophagi emerge, rising at my blood command, their otherworldly forms materializing within the pool. Encased in translucent, blood-red caskets, they defy gravity, hovering above the pool’s surface. Unlike all other cursed beings of my realm, the Founders have not been subjected to as much decay on account of the blood seals.

  All born vampires, chosen by Malachor in ages past. I was simply his favorite bitten toy-turned-executioner.

  Whatever garments they wore have long since faded to threads. The blood seals prioritize flesh and blood and bone. Not robes.

  Arkenthorne is the first to open his unholy eyes. His long gray hair like a shroud of ash falls around him. His veins surge to the surface of his pale skin, branching out in hungering black. No more than a moment before he thrashes and writhes from centuries of sleep without sustenance.

  I open his casket, remaining behind, prepared for his violent response. Leave it to Arkenthorne to breathe in the blood scent and dive headfirst into the pool, disappearing beneath the surface.

  Shaking my head, I move to the next Founder, Kaelyndra. Her mouth is open in a silent scream, her spectral eyes piercing even in their hunger. When I open her casket, it takes less than a second for her to crouch upon its surface, her feminine snarls echoing through the cavern. She locks her eyes upon mine. I sharpen my focus on her, daring her to attack me.

  After scenting the air and marking me, the vampire follows Arkenthorne into the depths to drink her fill.

  Seraphys is next. Not the strongest, by any means, but as a former word-binder with the gifts of a seer, he serves me well as a charismatic diplomat wielding his influence over the most populated region in my realm.

  Once I unleash him, Seraphys barely regards me before plunging into the pool to join his fellow Founders.

  I awaken the remaining three, sneering at the casket of Valeryc, loathe to awaken the Founder, who has more often than not been a thorn in my side. A thorn I may bend and manipulate, but a thorn, nonetheless.

  It shouldn’t surprise me that he is the first to crouch and launch himself at me. I seize his throat in a powerful grip as he gnashes his teeth, baring his fangs in his bloodthirstiness. His pale, unseeing eyes glare at me right before I plunge him into the pool, holding his head beneath the surface and forcing him to drink.

  Hands at my sides, I make my way out of the pool, casting the blood from my robe and boots and returning it to its source. I remain at the apex of the stairway, observing the Founders as they acclimate, not offended, nor impatient at their more...carnal needs rising.

  Naked, apart from the blood coating their forms, Valeryc and Arkenthorne crouch before one another in a battle. One I already know Valeryc will win with his supreme lightning-binder ability vs. Arkenthorne’s ice.

  Kaelyndra and Valeraine engage in a different sort of battle with Seraphys. The seductive women circle the vampire, their eyes gleaming with predatory lust. He dances around them, baiting them with his fancy words, beguiling them with his charisma until he is buried hilt-deep in Valeraine from behind while Kaelyndra weaves her arms around the female and kisses her ruthlessly.

  “Merikh...” the third feminine voice coos as she emerges from the surface a few feet away.

  “Azurienne,” I greet the one Founder most loyal to me who has never given me any trouble. Her light-binder power renders her the leader of the lowest founding clan, but she was still one of the first to drink from Malachor’s veins and helped establish the Court of Hollows.

  Despite the blood coating her skin, it’s obvious her full breasts are heavy, the nipples erect and in need. Her dark curly hair falls along the sides of her tempting hourglass figure, stopping at her hips. The scent of her lust consumes me. And I recall many a night buried in her, knowing I could make her burn unlike any other.

  The thought of sinking my cock into her wet and warm depths now only makes my dick go limp.

  I shake my head upon her approach. Flicking my eyes to the other Founder, I direct her to him, saying firmly, “Arkenthorne.”

  Too much unresolved tension in his body now that Valeryc has defeated him. At first, she parts her lips, and I believe she will protest. But the moment Azurienne glances at Arkenthorne, the warrior feels her eyes upon him…and growls. Azurienne doesn’t hesitate. Nor will she hold my rejection as a personal grudge. Vampires are too old for such petty fucking battles. We reserve grudges for ancient blood feuds and deep scars and inner demons.

  In no time, Arkenthorne has her up against the wall, fucking her bare bones with his hair restored to natural silver locks.

  I consider the one deep scar lingering in the depths of the pool. The vacant casket without a Founder. But when Reaver pledged his allegiance to fucking Kronos, I tore into the damn devil myself and watched the life fade from his eyes as I drained him dry.

  After the Curse, I took his corpse with me into the Waste. And spent those early days playing with the remains, using scraps of his skin for our demon masks, giving his bones to my skeletal hounds to gnaw upon, and scattering what was left to the Sea.

  Dividing his territory among the remaining Founders was no difficulty.

  I remain where I am, waiting patiently until all six stand upon the center of the wide stairway before me. Sated. Restored. Their age may extend far beyond mine, but they still kneel before me, pledging their allegiance. Valeryc doing so with gritted teeth does not escape my attention. Damn vampire has always believed he is supreme due to his born vampire blood vs. my bitten and made status.

  I prove him wrong every time. I prove him wrong with the reminder of how I became the God of Blood.

  “The Feast of Souls commences at midnight,” I inform them and bid them to rise. “The proclamation has been made, but you will return to your regions and summon your clans.”

  “How many, Lord Merikh?” Kaelyndra wonders, smiling with her eager fangs gleaming. Slicking back her shorter red curls, she unashamedly sets her hands on her hips, though her high breasts face Valeraine who lingers next to her.

  “All,” I state, observing their surprise while my jaw stiffens. “Tonight, the Court of Hollows will have its first Blood Crest.”

  Pupils dilate. Veins throb. Their pulse quickens with both intrigue and lust.

  “A worthy quarry has been selected?” Valeryc asks with notes of skepticism in his tone. With his close-cropped dark hair, he seems more menacing, but I’ve always managed to control the vampire with either favors like granting him the largest portion of Reaver’s land or a simple show of dominance.

  “No quarry.” I shake my head and strike my eyes upon them all. “The Queen.”

  Gasps and growls reverberate through the cavern, and even the blood stones smolder to greater radiance at the mention of the word from my lips. The hunger of my Founders is palpable, potent with their muscles primed, their bloodstream surging with raw, restored life force.

  I snicker cruelly. “Any of you are more than welcome to enter the battle. I promise I will only maim and drain you to the point of requiring one regenerative cycle. But death will come to many tonight.”

  With an unbalanced ratio of vampires to humans in my Court of Hollows, which was present at the pronouncement of the Curse, I will have no qualms or regrets about thinning the population. Once I place Quintessa upon the altar, they will come for her. It’s only a matter of how many.

  How many bones will I break? How many skulls will I crush? How many will I send to the Unseen?

  All the Founders prepare to depart and follow my command, except for Valeryc.

  The vampire sneers, crossing his arms over his chest, careless over his inferior dick hanging between his legs. “How do we know this Queen is worthy of the Blood Crest?”

  I chuckle darkly and deeply in my throat. Dominance and supremacy are required tonight. I’m still chuckling when I slam the Founder to the floor of the Chamber, sink my claws into his chest, and stab my fangs into his throat. He squeals like a fucking stuck pig, thrashing and trying to rouse his lightning, but I slow his bloodstream, slow the very beats of his undead-born vampire heart.

  Not one Founder interferes with my action.

  Once Valeryc’s vitality is drained to its dredges, and he stops thrashing, stops twitching, stops breathing, I surge my power. The adrenaline in his veins and jumpstart to his heart always trigger his power in a lightning strike—one that targets his inner flesh, sears his organs, and causes his flesh to smolder.

 

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