Page 49

He shakes his head, horns scraping the statue behind him. “We can’t let our guard down?—”

A distant voice rumbles through my memory:You have to keep going or they’ll find you.I brush it aside. “I’ll keep watch for a bit. At least shut your eyes for a moment. You’re almost delirious.”

He tries to protest, but weariness claims him. His eyes slide closed, each breath slow and labored. I watch, uncertain if I should feel relieved or more vulnerable.An unconscious demon is still a demon. But I can’t do this alone either.

Silence drapes the temple. My heart thumps, scanning the crumbling walls for any sign of intrusion. Time crawls. Shadows shift as sunlight drags across the broken ceiling. Each drip of water echoes, marking the slow passage of minutes. I think of the monarchy, of the prophecy that calls me an Abyssborn. My blood can break Malphas’s contract—but what does that cost me?

When his breathing evens out, I exhale shakily and pull the battered wooden case from my satchel. The archivist thrust it at me before we fled. I open it with trembling fingers, revealing a single cracked tablet etched with faint runes. The script is archaic, half-lost to time, but some words are recognizable from demon-lore references Malphas used.

I run my fingertips over the ancient lines, interpreting piece by piece. My breath catches as the translation takes form in my mind.I didn’t tell Malphas everything I gleaned from the archivist’s notes. Perhaps I was afraid to face the truth.

The prophecy is clearer here:A child of the Abyssborn shall unbind a demon’s chain through blood’s final tether. Life for life.

The meaning slams into me like a hammer. Freeing Malphas might require my life—my lifeblood fueling the final break in his contract.Sacrifice.A wave of nausea grips me.I’d have to die to sever the monarchy’s hold on him.

Tears burn my eyes as I snap the case shut, heart hammering.So it’s not just some complicated ritual. It’s my entire existence on the line.Every moment we’ve shared, every plan for survival—hinged on a cost I never fathomed. If I want him free, if I want the monarchy to lose their greatest weapon, I must give up my own life.

Hands shaking, I swallow convulsively, feeling my world tilt.Is that why we risked everything? So I can hand him my death on a silver platter? Does he know?A choking sob fights to escape, but I clamp it down. I don’t want to wake him, not yet.I can’t let him see me unravel.

Trembling, I press my forehead against my bent knees, shoulders shaking.I can’t do this. I don’t want to die.But the monarchy hunts me, hunts us, and Malphas suffers every time he resists. My heart tears in two, battling survival instincts against a fierce bond I never chose.Damn it.

Some time passes—maybe minutes, maybe hours. Malphas stirs with a ragged exhale, eyes flicking open. He catches sight of my crouched form, tear-streaked cheeks, and worry carves lines in his features. “Valentina,” he murmurs, voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I lift my head, hating how raw my voice sounds. “Nothing,” I lie.

He sees through it, a frown tightening his mouth. Blood smears still mar his jaw, his black hair matted to his temples. He extends a clawed hand, cupping my cheek. I flinch, then let him brush away a tear. “Tell me,” he says, gentler than I expect.

The heartbreak in my chest frays my composure. I can’t speak the words. Instead, something breaks inside me—fear, sorrow, longing. I lunge forward, pressing my mouth to his in a frantic kiss. He stiffens, surprised, but only for a heartbeat. Then he snarls low in his throat, tangling his claws in my hair. The temple’s hush crackles with sudden energy.

The kiss is desperate, all teeth and ragged breath. My tears mix with the copper tang of his blood. Every ounce of terror, guilt, and desire pours into the clash of our mouths. He groans, pulling me closer until I straddle his lap, wings rustling behind him. The statue at his back creaks in protest as we collide with raw need.

I gasp against his lips, half-mad with heartbreak. He senses it, horns tipping forward as he deepens the kiss, as if to devour my anguish. My hands scrabble over his battered armor, searching for the clasps. He doesn’t stop me. Perhaps he’s just as lost—our entire world in shambles, our future uncertain.

“Valentina,” he rasps, voice trembling in a way that’s more vulnerability than I’ve ever heard from him. The syllables of my name vibrate against my lips. His tail coils around my calf, urging me closer.

I break the kiss, panting, pressing my forehead to his. Our breath mingles. “I can’t lose you,” I whisper, tears returning unbidden. “I know it’s stupid. But—” My voice cracks, recalling the prophecy’s fatal cost.

He silences me with another fierce kiss, claws raking down my sides, tearing open the remnants of my coat. The chill of the temple’s air bites my skin, but his body radiates a feverish warmth. My heart batters my ribs, my entire being consumed by the knowledge that each second might be our last.Let me forget, just for a moment.

We shed clothing in frantic motions—belts clattering, armor plates scraping. The tang of old stone fills my nose as I push him flat against the statue’s broken base. His molten lines flicker, partially concealed by fresh bruises. My hands roam his chest, feeling the quake of each ragged breath. He’s so strong, yet so close to snapping.

He hauls me down onto him, mouth sliding across my jaw, my throat, searing a path of unspoken desperation. I arch, nailsbiting into his skin, pulling a guttural groan from his lips. The tension that’s been building for days ignites, fueled by sorrow and raw need.

I sink onto him with a breathless gasp, the stretch sharp and punishing. My thighs quiver, arms locked around his shoulders as his cock slides deep, filling me in a way that steals all sense. The world contracts to the heat between us—his body buried inside mine, his hands gripping my hips like he’s anchoring himself to this moment.

He exhales hard, jaw clenched. His claws tremble where they rest against my skin, restraint bleeding into helpless reverence. His molten eyes watch every twitch of my face, every arch of my back, as if memorizing me before the storm swallows us whole.

I move.

Slowly, grinding against him, chasing the sweet friction. My body clenches around his cock, drawing him deeper, tighter. His head falls back, the cords of his throat straining as he grips the stone beneath us. The temple is cold, unforgiving, but his skin burns. His lines pulse beneath my palms, lit with the fractured rhythm of power unraveling.

I ride him like I’m trying to outrun fate, and he meets me with bruising thrusts—each one a silent promise:I won’t let them take you.

“Malphas…” I moan in desperation as if calling his name over and over again will erase the threat after us. Will make this moment last.

Sweat slicks my spine. His tail coils around my thigh, dragging me closer. I lean forward, pressing my chest to his, and the sudden closeness breaks something in both of us. His arms wrap around me, no longer controlling—justholding. My body rocks against his with frantic need, our breaths tangled, our pulses frantic.

The scar on his horn brushes my cheek. I kiss it.