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I shake my head. “No. She is already as dressed as she needs to be.”
He peers down at her with a cursory glance. Everyone will view my queen tonight, clad in nothing but her blood-traced tattoos. In contrast, I’ve selected my simple breeches and open ceremonial dark robe patterned with my blood crest. One I will remove when the time comes.
I carry Quintessa through the bowels of my realm, the passages like veins all leading to the grand heart of the Central Court. The essence of the damned stalks us the whole time, ghostlight watching us from the skulls in the shadows.
Blood crystals pulse from the ceiling and walls, awakening from their master’s presence. Their eerie light casts a scarlet glow upon the bones and skulls around us. More burst to life the closer I advance to the central area.
A cacophony of voices echoes from the Court a few passages away. Already, I dissect speculations and gossip regarding how their Lord has come to return and awaken the Founders and others. Rumors have spread to the furthest regions for the Feast of Souls. Too many throughout the centuries have theorized how the Curse would break, but I’m certain they never suspected it would come at the hands of our mortal girl.
I pause outside the Court, studying her, knowing how I could simply bite her or fuck her and replenish myself so I will be at my fullest strength. But vanquishing any assailants trying to claim her at my weakest will send a stronger message to stay the fuck away. The only hope she will have to survive in my Court. Because the little dove in my arms is the very epitome of the my name for her. Her heart and soul may be more powerful than all of us gods combined, but she is weak, fragile, delicate—worthy of ancient sacrifice to the gods.
Steeling my spine and hardening my jaw, I approach the towering gateway of obsidian, blood stones forming my Court crest, one I had redesigned after I destroyed Malachor.
The massive iron doors sealing the main entrance of the Court open only for me, heralding the arrival of their vampire sovereign. All speech falls into silence. Their collective breath held in deference. Even the darkness pulls to me, but the silver-haired girl I hold seems to glow like a tattooed pearl.
The malevolent energy couldn’t be more pronounced. But they all sink to their knees in reverence and fear once I cross the entryway.
Much like a dark coliseum, the arena bears tiered platforms, rising with amphitheater seats, not one vacant.
I root my eyes upon the vampires of my realm, the six different regions represented in varying colors and insignia. Pools of dilated darkness for some pupils, bloodthirsty crimson glints in others. Regardless, the appetency fucking drowns the Court. And all human familiars are dressed in symbolic white. White with scarlet embroidery with matching insignias to signify which region they belong to. Loathing ices my veins at the thought of Quintessa clothed in white.
She is no fucking familiar.
The Founders are the only ones who do not kneel. They bow their heads, hands to their chest in fealty from where they stand on the second level of the multi-story Court.
I advance to the altar in the center of the Court foundation, my every step resounding like a distant heartbeat. Bone dust crunches under my boots.
All eyes fixate on my figure, but their flaring nostrils are solely for my little dove. All vampire breath grows heavy and labored.
Quintessa curls closer into my arms, her eyes more alert, thanks to the rush of adrenaline in her veins. I could easily stem it, even dissolve it, but it would only make her more tantalizing of a prospect.
The bloodstone altar glimmers with an otherworldly sheen. Carved from stone, infused with the blood of the origin God of Blood and its present sovereign’s blood, it stands as the most ancient monument, grotesque and unholy. No offering could ever be placed upon it but the purest to serve as its worthy antithesis.
Dark tension thickens in the air as I arrive before the altar, spines so tight, they are ready to snap.
For the first time in ten thousand years, and for the third time in the history of the Court of Hollows, I place an offering upon the ancient bloodstone.
And Quintessa is the firsthumanoffering to lay upon it—since myself.
As the Court erupts into shouts of protest, howls of outrage, and growls of bloodlust, I bind my little dove to the altar, kiss her bewildered brow, and whisper above her ear, “Steady, Quintessa.”
At last, I turn and face the court. Shedding my robe and casting it to the floor, I raise my hands and proclaim, “You want her? Come and claim her.”
7
I have no choice but to place my faith, my trust, and all my hopes in the vampire I love.
QUINTESSA
Oh,gods, Merikh, what have you done?
He thrusts out his vampire wings. Cold air scourges my naked skin and casts my hair all around my face, forcing me to shake out my strands. Between the whipping, my blood loss, and the countless orgasms, my vision is still weak, but Merikh has transformed into a dark silhouette before the glow of the bloodstone altar—the altar that seems to hum with a supernatural power beneath my spine.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of vampires, fill the arena.
I could not be more vulnerable.
I search the area for my other monstrous boys, but I can’t find them. But they would never bring Aislynn to this place. Not even with their triune powers, mightier than ever, thanks to my ending their Curses. All I want to do is hold my baby—to curl up in Drago’s warmth and rock her until we both fall asleep.
