Page 16

For a moment, everyone stood still.

54.

53.

52.

Panic spread through the Maboni harvest thralls like a contagion. Almost as one, they turned on their heels and bolted for the door. The Azarasians surrounded them on three sides. There was nowhere else to run but the exit.

45.

44.

43.

The vampires shifted, subtly but deliberately, blocking the way to the doors Morrena and the other witches had used. The only path left was the gaping mouth of a tunnel, yawning open in the rock.

37.

36.

35.

Blindly, the Maboni ran for it.

“You’re herding them,” I said.

Jules absently traced circles on my hips. “My favorite part of the hunt.”

A shudder rolled through me. At his words? His touch? Both? I shook off the thought. This was horror. I shouldn’t desire its masterminds.

At the base of the dais, chaos churned. Some thralls understood there was no escape. Most of the Isaurans had stayed still, their eyes downcast. A handful of Maboni had made the same choice, but as hundreds of hungry, blackening gold and silver eyes fixed on them, their fragile resistance shattered into fear.

22.

21.

20.

One man made a break for the edge of the cavern floor. I couldn’t turn away. Was he going to jump? Some would rather die than become a vampire’s blood whore.

Instead, he scrambled onto one of the narrow walkways. One step. Two steps. A wobble. I slammed my hand over my mouth to hide my gasp—

Before he fell, Roxiana grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. The vampire was a head shorter than him, half his width, yet she lifted him back to solid ground like he weighed nothing.

13.

12.

11.

Roxiana let go. The man whirled, slamming his arm toward her—

A scream tore from his throat. His body convulsed. The thrall runespell at his neck flared with dark energy, binding him in place.

Luc scoffed lightly. “Fool.”

Roxiana crouched, patting his head like a chastised pup. “There, there. I guess I should have added that attacks on us aren’t tolerated, no matter how futile. It was in your best interest to run and submit.” Roxiana bounced to her feet. “Your life is forfeit now. What a waste.”

The man’s head snapped up at that last bit, his eyes widening.

3.

2.

1.

The vampires struck.

Roxiana fisted a hand in the man’s hair, jerked him upright, and sank her black-tipped fangs into his throat. Most of the others vanished in a blur, streaking into the tunnels after those who fled.

But on the cavern floor, nearly a hundred Azarasians pressed in. Hissing, growling, staking their claims. The strong pushed forward. The weak were shoved back, snapping at the edges. The already-collared thralls remained where their masters had left them, kneeling in obedient silence.

But the unclaimed were still outnumbered two to one.

Just the way vampires liked it.

Isabeau circled Roxiana and her thrall, their bodies gyrating on the ground. Whether she was waiting her turn or figuring out how to join her soulbound, I wasn’t sure. Almost every other vampire pair in sight repeated the dance. Yelps and screams echoed through the cavern, from the floor, from the tunnel. Fear, momentary pain from the bite… and then pleasure.

Bodies crashed together. Clothes tore.

I tore my gaze away, staring into the drop beyond Luc’s shoulder. I did not need to see this. I’d experience it soon enough. Maire had already warned me.

I scanned the crowd, tracking her down among the frenzy. I found her where I feared she’d be—sprawled across the lap of Sabas’ soulbound, Cédric. His fangs were deep in her throat, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her as she rode him with reckless abandon.

Maire had spoken like she hated her vampire. But if the raw moans spilling from her lips were any indication, venom had made a liar of her.

My heart pounded. Fear swelled in my chest, heavy and cloying. I was minutes away from becoming a living sacrifice and thrall.

But beneath the terror, something else stirred.

What would it be like? To be claimed by the Conqueror and the Butcher? Would I moan like Maire did, reduced to nothing but a vessel of need?

My nausea spiked. But what if their venom wasn’t enough to stop my broken body from clawing at me from the inside?

My lips parted. A whisper of air escaped. “What would happen if I wasn’t willing to be your volunteer?”

Jules stilled beneath me, his fingertips halting on my hip. Though I didn’t turn my attention from the cavern’s darkness, the kings’ attention pressed against my skin like a physical touch.

A warm hand traced across my chin and tilted my face away from the feast. I followed the strong arm across the throne to an ocean of black, the faintest sliver of silver gleaming between pupil and shadow rim.

“You’d still be our thrall,” Luc said, his voice a low, dark caress, “albeit an alluring one with lust in her eyes.”

“I’m not… that’s not…” Words tangled in my throat. I should fight this. My mind fought it. But my body... my body didn’t.

Luc studied me. Reading too much. Understanding too much. “Are you unwilling to be our volunteer, Miss Halloran?”

Something about the way he said the words sent another shiver through me, my skin prickling with a confusing mix of fear and desire. It wasn’t really a choice. They would bite me either way. But there were benefits to being their Mortal Bride, the best of my limited options.

If they needed my lifeforce to recuperate to fuel their spell, then I couldn’t be miserable, could I? In other lives, I was dashing through tunnels or warming Patriarch Meallán’s bed, caring single-handedly for a brood of children.

I swallowed hard. Stars, I’d done a lot of that in the past few hours. It was a miracle I hadn’t dropped dead from nerves yet.

“I’m willing.”

Jules relaxed beneath me, that easy grin sliding back into place. Luc nodded once, rising to his feet with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator. “Then it’s time to make you our bride.”

Our bride. I breathed in through my nose. Out through my mouth.

When Luc extended his hand, I took it. His touch was warm, sending sparks along my skin. As the King of Dusk tugged me up, Jules lifted me from his lap. He stood beside us in a quick movement and wrapped my other hand in his. “You had me worried there for a second. All my hopes and dreams, dashed by a single sentence.”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” I tried to match his light tone but sounded breathless.

“Not at all.”

The kings led me around the throne, approaching the stone wall behind it. Only when we stood before it did I see the diagonal slash in the rock. It wasn’t wide enough for all three of us shoulder to shoulder, so Jules moved in front of me, Luc at my back. Their hands held mine captive. My spine tingled—the monster luring me forward, the predator prowling behind.

Runes flashed in the air as we passed through. Barrier. Warmth tickled across my skin, but nothing stopped me from moving forward.

We entered a large alcove, the smooth rock polished to a gleaming finish. A gilded daemium runegate loomed against the far wall, large enough for a single person to step through. But my attention caught on the bed-sized crimson chaise piled high with silk pillows.

My fear spiked. Like a virgin on her wedding night, only this was so much worse. The burning desire in my core drowned beneath cold terror.

Breathe, Nessa . In. Out. In. Out. You must stay calm. My pulse steadied.

I would survive this.

But even if I didn’t, Aislin and her baby would. That had to be enough.

Jules stopped at the edge of the chaise and spun to face me, his eyes alight with mischief. I stumbled back into Luc’s chest. Both kings closed in, surrounding me with their inhuman warmth. Jules traced the line of my jaw, while Luc’s fingers trailed up my spine. I gasped, my body singing with the touch.

I cleared my throat. “How does this work? The magic, I mean.”

Jules’s lips twitched. “What else would you mean?”

I shot him a glare. Luc answered, his voice steady, “We’re part of the spell. As the ones who cast it, we control it. Our lives aren’t intertwined with it like yours will be, but we use our connection to bind you.”

I nodded. His words made sense, but that didn’t explain how they’d cast the spell.

“All it requires on your part is a runespell,” Jules said, reading the question on my face.

“Like the thrall one?”

“A little like the thrall one, but it will go here,” he said, dropping his hand to the space above my breasts. My pulse jumped. “And it won’t hurt.”

Luc had reached the top of my spine. He drew a warm, twisting shape along my skin—

I lost all sensation below my neck.

My body crumbled. I slumped forward into the kings’ waiting arms.

Panic crashed through me. Godstars, what the fuck? I tried to move, to fight, but I had no control. My mind thrashed, willing my arms to lift, my legs to work.

Nothing worked.

No sound left my lips.

Jules’s voice cut through the rising terror. “Don’t panic, lovely,” he murmured, brushing my hair from my face. His touch was gentle, almost soothing. A mockery of comfort. “It’s only temporary.”

Only temporary? My pulse roared in my ears. They had paralyzed me. I couldn’t feel anything below my neck and my starsdamned mouth didn’t work—

Luc plucked me into his arms and laid me carefully on the chaise. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. But he didn’t follow, didn’t pin me beneath him. I lay sideways on the cushion, my body limp, positioned perpendicular to Luc as he kneeled at the edge. Jules stood above him, arms crossed, looking down at me.

No, not at me.

At my sternum. At the place where they planned to carve a fucking runespell into my skin.

I couldn’t do this.

I didn’t want to do this.

I needed to do this.

“Close your eyes and count to one hundred,” Luc said.

His voice carried a quiet command. My body almost obeyed, lulled by his confident authority, but I forced my eyes to widen at him. I would not obey blindly.

Luc met my stare.

No, the Conqueror met my stare.

I refused to cower under it. I was already helpless in his hands. What more could he take from me?

“You won’t feel a thing,” he said softly after a long moment. “And when you open your eyes, your body will be your own again.”

Would it?

Still, I glared up at him. At both of them. But the kings only stared back, their expressions serene and cold.

The Imperium, waiting for me to submit.

Did I have any other choice? They wouldn’t begin until I calmed. And I needed to be calm. I needed to be their willing sacrifice. They hadn’t told me what would happen if I resisted or changed my mind mid-way, but it couldn’t be good.

More than anything, I wanted to live. So I closed my eyes.

1.

I can do this .

2.

I will survive .

3.

I can do this .

4.

I will survive .

The count to one hundred stretched into eternity and snapped past in an instant.

98.

I can do this .

99.

I will survive.

100.

Fingertips ghosted against my pulse.

I gasped at the sensation, the soft touch like a strike of lightning after the nothingness that floated through me. My chest was still numb, but everything else came rushing back. Two arms. Two hands. Ten fingers. Two legs. Ten toes.

My eyes fluttered open.

I bit my lips to stop my scream.

Blood drenched my chest, trickling across my collarbone and soaking into the neckline of my white gown. Soothe. Soothe. Soothe. The runes flared, but I barely noticed them with a giant runespell carved into my chest, pulsing black shadows. Bind. Sustain. Conduit. Transfer. Dusk. Dawn. Endure. Glamour . The runes repeated over and over, an intricate web of magic woven into my flesh.

I sat up, bending my legs and pressing the soles of my feet to the cushion. Trying to stand didn’t seem the wisest idea. Blood slipped in thin rivulets over my ribs, pooling between my breasts before disappearing beneath the fabric.

“See? Was that so bad?” Jules asked.

Yes. Yes, it fucking was. But if I opened my mouth, I would scream, so I glared. Again.

Jules grinned like he found my defiance charming, like I was some adorable creature baring its teeth.

Luc didn’t smile. He only studied his work. Cool, meticulous. Detached. His freaking shadow claws had carved a spell into my chest, and he looked at the marks like a scientist evaluating his latest experiment.

Then, ever so slowly, Luc extended his clawed hand to his soulbound. “Since she’s yours first, Julien.”

Jules’s grin sharpened, like a child unwrapping a long-awaited gift. He leaned forward and took Luc’s bloody finger into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the dark talon before he sucked. I breathed out shakily.

Luc held his gaze, unblinking.

When Jules finally pulled back, Luc’s claws had faded to nothing, the last of the darkness dispersing into the air.

“Good boy.” Luc caressed his cheek. “How does she taste?”

I shuddered. Jules did, too, but he still nipped at his soulbound’s knuckles as he pulled away. “Delicious.”

“Hmm.” Luc refocused on me, the smolder not leaving his eyes. “There’s one more thing we must do to activate the spell. Stay on the chaise until I tell you otherwise.”

A part of me bristled at the command, but I didn’t move. Instead, I curled in on myself, arms wrapping around my middle as if that could hold me together. I can do this. I will survive. Being a sacrifice was better than being a corpse.

Luc touched his inner wrist. A rune flared to life against his skin. Relay . It glowed briefly before disappearing back into his flesh. “Send him in, Estrella.”

The runegate across the alcove shuddered. Its surface shuddered and then burst. Gate. Distance. Path. Arrival. Cross . A wavering figure stepped through—dark-haired, silver-eyed, draped in hardened leather and impire’s insignia.

Estrella.

A human thrall followed her. He was an inch or two shorter than me, his graying hair cropped neatly, his face deeply lined with age. His black tunic and trousers were finely made, modest and opaque, unlike the thin silks draped over other thralls. Around his throat, a collar of gold and silver twisted into intricate patterns. It was far more elaborate a piece than Maire wore.

My breath caught. Oh. No, it couldn’t be. They hadn’t said… but I hadn’t asked.

Where was the current Mortal Bride?

Dead, perhaps? I hadn’t considered it. I should have. They had said the runespell needed a home, that it must always have one. Which meant… there had to be a living Mortal Bride now.

I stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. He didn’t look at me at all. Didn’t even glance my way. Surely if he knew he was about to die, he would panic? Try to run? Unless… unless he didn’t know.

Unless he couldn’t see me at all.

A cold weight settled in my chest.

Estrella simply bowed, then turned back to the runegate. On the other side, Tristan waited. She stepped through… and the shadows swallowed her, crashing together like waves on the shore. The gate solidified once more into a smooth, unbroken sheet of daemium.

The man—the Mortal Bride—managed a slow, practiced bow. He kept his gaze lowered and respectful. “How may I serve you, Imperium?”

“Bare your throat,” Luc said coldly, circling around the man.

A shudder ran through the Mortal Bride, so slight I might’ve imagined it. But he obeyed, closing his eyes and tilting his chin up, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his neck.

Jules approached him slowly and traced a line up his throat. “Such an obedient bride you are, Odran.” His black gaze flickered over to me. “Oddly, I don’t think I’ll miss that.”

Odran frowned slightly. “Your Majesty?”

Jules didn’t answer.

Luc didn’t either.

Instead, Luc fisted a hand in Odran’s hair and yanked his head back farther. Jules smiled, a cruel expression. Then, together, their canines extended—long, black-tipped daggers.

They struck as one.

Luc and Jules plunged their fangs into either side of Odran’s neck.

His body jerked. Once. Then slackened. Bliss washed over his face. His lips parted, a quiet moan escaping. With every swallow, his body trembled, swaying where he stood.

But the kings didn’t move, didn’t succumb to the lust that should have overtaken them. They only drank. And then, in a sharp, practiced motion—

They tore away.

Hot droplets splattered against my face.

Everything in me went quiet. Blood spurted from Mortal Bride’s neck.

From the two gaping holes .

The Conqueror and the Butcher had bitten his throat out.

The Mortal Bride twitched, eyes rolling back as he crumpled to the floor. Dying. Right in front of me. Luc and Jules stood over his twitching form, blood painting their lips, their chins, the silk of their shirts.

A searing heat pulsed through my chest.

I screamed.