AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After Mayce embraces her, reassuring her we will return later tonight, Quintessa approaches me, her steps slow and cautious. “Merikh, I...” she trails off once she’s close, the tension between us thickening.
The same moment she lowers her eyes, I sweep my hand around the back of her neck, tugging her close to me and digging my fingers into her ass with no convention or remorse. She whimpers, trembling, but I steady her and take her mouth in a searing kiss, one that bows her spine and curls her very toes. I pinch one of the raised welts, feeding on her moan, reminding her to forget what she shared earlier. I ignore the length swelling in my pants.
After I’d punished her, I’d slammed into her over and over against my desk. Turned her over, so I could fuck her while her naked and inflamed backside chafed against the hard surface.
By the time I finish this kiss, her lips are appropriately swollen. I pleasure in the sight of her small but ripe tits heaving beyond her bodice—the same gown she wore earlier.
“Come back to me,” she pleads softly. “Come home, Merikh.”
Yes, home. While we gods may each have our respective partners, Quintessa is the home that binds us. She is our nexus, our touchstone, our anchor. And once she learns who I truly am, she will weigh anchor and sail away with my brothers, leaving me to drown like the damned wreck I am.
For now, I steel my resolve and gesture firmly to my brothers. It’s time. Quintessa returns to Bo’s side to take Aislynn, only for him to protest. Seems they’ve formed a bond and made a game out of her catching his embers and holding them in her chubby palms like tiny fireflies.
Mayce and Drago say their farewells to Aislynn with a simple kiss on her cheeks. She’s too swept up in her little game, barely noticing them. But they’ve also spent the most time with her.
“Merikh...” Quintessa motions me forward, urging me to say goodbye to the child.
Kyan has also interacted with her more than I have. Keeping my distance is always my default, but Quintessa won’t allow me to. I do not deny my Queen, nor will I rebuff my own daughter.
Unmistakable. Inescapable. She stills as I approach, her deep gaze crossing to lock with mine. She doesn’t blink once our eyes meet.Myeyes. The eyes of an immortal, dark and deep as the God of Blood’s.
She bears Mayce’s illusionist powers, but aside from that, she has shown no signs of others beyond holding our mere physical traits. Ice grows in my veins at the thought of Aislynn inheriting my power. She is far too much like her mother. While Aislynn’s eyes reflect mine, so much of her falls into Quintessa’s likeness, from her face shape to her pert little nose, her pale skin, those rosy cheeks.
After a moment or two of our eyes imprisoning one another’s, Aislynn lifts her little hand to me. Bo gasps. My brothers chuckle. Quintessa smiles and softly touches my arm. In the few weeks since her birth, I haven’t taken the opportunity to hold the child.
Cold shadows collect in my chest, but I still lift my hand, palm to the babe, and let her touch me. Her wings curve toward mine, those feathers shivering, much like Kyan’s do when he longs to connect with me. Gods, she reminds me of him in many ways. My very scars ache, my wings harden with the need to take the child in my arms and keep her safe.
“I’ll not hold you now, Aislynn,” I inform her, clasping those fingers but shaking my head as she blinks. “Once I finish thisbusiness, I’ll return to you and your mother. This, I vow. I’ll return for this.” I’ll return...for you.
Out of the corner of my eye, Quintessa nods in approval. Mayce rolls his eyes, and Drago snorts, but even Aislynn seems to sense why I cannot embrace her. I refuse to acknowledge this as a farewell. As Quintessa said, with the three of us collective gods, there is no chance in hell we will not return.
In fact, I’d be surprised if this battle, or perhaps skirmish, lasted more than an hour.
A vowof retribution flows within my veins as I lead my brothers through the hidden marsh paths, navigating according to Reaver’s word.
The scent of rot and decay thickens the air, not only the murky waters but also the burial havens for vampires and familiars alike. More bones, more corpses clot the watery grave of a swamp. Some have fused with the trees, growing into the twisted branches, the very bark and lichen.
“Swamps,” grumbles Drago as his heavy gait causes him to sink to his shins. “I hate swamps. Goddamned moldy sandwich of misery with mosquitoes big as dragons. Like wading through ankle-deep despair...with skeletal mermaids floating all around. What’s next? The trees grow hands and drag me down to their depths until I can’t breathe?”
“No, that’s my job,” Mayce quips with a knowing chuckle.
“Sure know how to treat a god, Merikh,” Drago mutters, his words beginning to needle into my spine and grate on my nerves. “Such a relaxing night—complete with leeches, quicksand, and carnivorous plants.”
Wings stiffening, I don’t bother to turn around but say through gritted teeth, “Trust me when I say, Drago,Iam the most carnivorous specimen you’ll find here.”
Reaver flanks us on our right, strangely silent. I’m well aware this could be a trap, another betrayal. Part of me considered bringing more reinforcements, including a couple of the Founders, but Mayce and Drago are worth a small army. Following Quintessa’s word also mandated securing her protection by ensuring the Founders’ presence in the Court of Hollows.
An eerie silence permeates the landscape, unnatural like an ominous predictive grip of doom. But doom will fear us tonight. We move like phantoms beneath the glowing slit of a crescent moon. Drago’s emerald flame and Mayce’s amber eyes blaze with purpose. Mine always resemble lethal black ice, echoing the malice of death. Death will come to all those who would do her harm.
As we advance to the center of the marshlands, where Reaver has guided us, the wind kicks up, stirring our wings and clapping against the willow tree branches, causing them to writhe. As the trees, brush, and tall grass thickens, I know we are getting close.
The damper environs fade, but when Drago stumbles on a tangled tree root reaching out like a large skeletal finger, he curses. Flames rear up along the edges of his body, revealing his mounting frustration. I would have suggested he fly, but I didn’t want to risk it with the potentiality of sentinels and arrows.
A surgical approach to our entrance to maintain the element of surprise, followed by a quick and dirty attack of fire-melted flesh, blood-drowned lungs, and earth-crushed bones, is the most effective strategy. After the battle, Drago will thank me for the night of sport.
We pick our way through the thorny hanging vines riddling the area, the sound of our boots masked by the dank moss. Themoon's light is unnecessary, thanks to the lantern-like pockets of bio-luminescent fungi and plants. Not that we require it when we are gods, especially a creature of the night as I am.
A few minutes later, the ruins of the cathedral emerge like sinister scars. Once a guardian of the nearby cemeteries, the massive cathedral was constructed as a means of sanctuary from Malachor and his born vampire forces. Ancient battles destroyed several wings while natural calamities of floods and storms damaged more. Considered both sacred and cursed, it is the ideal forbidden sanctum, one the Founder clans would not suspect.
