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And she is our lover, our very half-soul.
She is our salvation.
When Reaver announced he would lash her before my very Court before sitting upon my throne, I nearly attacked him again. Until she shared her words with me, grounding me with thoughts of Aislynn.
“If there is but one breath in my body, I will protect our daughter, Merikh.” Her words thunder in my mind. They drown me. “I have a million scars. I have gone to death and back. I have sacrificed, surrendered, and submitted. And I’ll do it all again and more if it means saving her. She does not deserve to have the same trauma that gave me my scars. Or yours. I’ll rise through this darkness until I find a way to save you.”
I didn’t tell her I’m beyond saving.
She’s too sweet and innocent, too blinded by her love and idolization of us. But nor will I deny her this strength. I won’t steal this moment when it’s hers to own.
The worst torture was when she commanded me not to let her pass out. Fuel the adrenaline in her veins. Keep the blood pumping to her heart so she doesn’t disappear.
“I want to feel everything. Don’t take that away from me, Merikh.”
Reaver insisted I have the most honored seat, up close and personal. And I have no qualms or hesitation about fucking debasing myself in the center of my Court, where I kneel before the very bloodstone altar.
Aislynn is with Bo, entrusted to his care. She will not be present for this.
I commanded Mayce to bind me with his unbreakable roots and vines. I cannot trust myself not to act. He finishes the deed, wrapping them in three-corded, steel-like cables around my wrists thrust behind me.
Hosts of vampires crowd the levels. Every Founder is present. Gasps and gossip abound louder than a fucking typhoon ripping into me.
And Quintessa stands before the altar. It doesn’t matter how much she trembles. Even in her shuddering state, she is the strongest little dove. Once this is done, I will take her to the Sea of Bones, heal her, and then I will fill her upon the shores. I will give her so many goddamned orgasms, the pleasure will drown out whatever pain she feels here.
Reaver stands behind her, head tilted like a predator, but his eyes are on me. Fucking bastard knows how to play the game. He’ll punish my queen, but it’s all to get to the goddamned king. Bloodthirst and vengeance. Nothing more.
He steps toward her. My lips draw into a flat line. All of me shakes like a vortex of blood. We both need pain to feel alive. I’ll need more of it after tonight.
My scars aren’t worth her sacrifice. Fuck, she knows it, too, doesn’t she? Doesn’t matter. This little girl is more monstrous than any of us. Our little miracle of a monster. She’s broken our curses, staked her claim on our souls, and birthed us a legacy. She’s a force of nature, of all our elements. She is the ultimate curse to end all curses.
She will get her monsters. She will get every drop of blood from our veins. She has three souls. She already has mine—whether or not I’ll admit.
Chin raised, whip in hand, Reaver stares down my little dove. She balls her hands into little fists and matches his darkened eyes with her silver flame ones.
“Strip.”
All my nature goes to war. But my brother’s vines are like chains. I can’t break free.
At the same time that I struggle, Quintessa turns her eyes to me, marking me, a silent reminder of why she is doing this. It’s the worst fucking torment. Her pain is my ultimate scar.
And she wears every last one of hers proudly. The gown pools to her feet, and she stands naked and unashamed in the middle of the court amid a sea of gasps. Much like she did when she wore her own blood that I’d painted onto her tattoos. Nothing about her now feeds my cock. Despite her equal love of exhibitionism, no part of her is aroused.
The Blood Crest upon her breast practically spits in the faces of all those who dare to look upon her prized flesh. Reaver, most of all.
“Turn and place your body upon the altar, Your Highness,” he directs her.
Quintessa turns and drapes her upper half onto the altar, presenting her back, her ass, every part of her for his punishment.
After Reaver places a strip of leather between her teeth, he ties her to the altar. Goddamn him. He needs her to be frozen and surrendered fully to him. Because he knows he gets one chance tonight to hurt her, to hurt me. To scar me. To break me.
He uncoils the whip. Cracks it. She doesn’t flinch. Countless Court members do, but not her.
She presses her cheek to the altar. Her eyes target mine. She’s a one-woman siege, a whole army in that petite little body determined to protect what is hers.
He strikes. Lashing the whip against her back. Breaking skin. She howls through the gag. The first strike is stronger than any we would apply. Even Mayce. We welt. We don’t open her flesh. I get off on rushing the blood to the surface to inflame her, to drive her to such a state of hunger and need, she becomes my carnivorous little slut.
I’ll cut her with my claws when I need it, when we both need it. I’ll cut beauty into her and share my scars in a silent language. I’ll bleed her and bleed myself, so we become together.
