Page 18

CHAPTER 17

“ T hat is what you want?” I ask of the shadows as the body jerks above me, the chains dancing in the air.

“Yes. A tempest without a master is uncontrollable. I was locked away when my old master died. Without one, I am doomed to this,” it hisses. “If you want my help, huntress, then replace the chains. Give me my freedom and take my ownership.”

Horror washes through me when I realise what he wants me to do, what Shamus sent me here to do. Did he know what it would cost?

Owning a tempest means being bound in life and death and transferring part of my soul to his. He would be mine, and there would never be peace or escape. Where I go, he goes. Yes, I have his power and support, but I will also never be alone again.

“If I do not choose this, what happens to you?” I ask.

“The hunters following you will slay me. I will not be able to protect my body forever. I will be lost,” he says casually, as if he isn’t speaking about his death. “It is your choice.”

“You are not angry that you cannot survive without an owner? That you have been trapped, waiting for centuries just for being what you are?” I snap.

“No. It is who I am,” he murmurs. “I whispered to your commander over and over, sensing a power within the structure, one that called to me. It has taken years for him to listen to me. I called to you, mistress. Do you not understand that?”

If I don’t do this, he will die, and something about an ancient creature like a tempest being slaughtered while chained fills me with sadness and regret. I know this world would suffer for it. He’s a creature of power, purpose, and fate. The world would weep at his loss.

Maybe it wasn’t just Shamus who led me here. The thought frightens me, but I realise Shamus is right. I need this power. To survive what is to come, I need to be invincible. The people I am going after are monster hunters, and they have faced evil every day. There will be no stopping them alone.

How far am I willing to go for revenge?

For cleansing our people?

I vowed I would give up everything if I survived that place and them.

I would give it all for revenge and to rid this world of evil. I would make a deal with the devil. I would corrupt my soul. I would shatter my life and body. I would become what I need to become.

“If I do this, you will be mine?” I ask the shadow.

He writhes with excitement and hope. “Yes, yours. I will face your enemies with you. Yours to control. To use.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask, stepping closer until I can press my hand to the barrier. The shadow writhes across the other side, forming a hand to press to mine. “Do you want to belong to me?”

“Nobody has ever asked me that before,” he hisses, then there’s a pause. “Yes, yes, I want to belong to you. Your soul is delicious, and you are deserving. Yes, mistress, I want to be yours.”

I blow out a breath and drop my hand. “Then so be it.” Turning back to his body, I stop under the chained man. “How do I do this?”

“Blood. Always blood, mistress. It is how we feed. It must be freely given.”

I glance down as a maze of intricate patterns forms in the sand with a circle in the middle. I drop to my knees below his body and pull the blade free, knowing and accepting the cost.

I sink the dagger into my heart, and agony tears through me as the blade plunges deep. My blood runs from the wound and down, staining the sand even as the wound seems to heal around the dagger.

Agony races through my body, tearing me apart as the dagger pulls free on its own and drops to the sand. The man above me groans, as do the shadows, as I bow over my open chest, feeling like I’m dying.

“Shattering the soul hurts,” he hisses behind me. “You must be strong enough to endure it.”

Panting, I glance back at the shadow with narrowed eyes. “I have endured worse. I do not fear pain.”

“Nor death,” it remarks. “You will do well.”

The sand cracks, and I glance back as a hand punches through it. It’s coated in blood.

My blood, I realise.

The claw-tipped hand turns towards me, and my body hardens in anticipation of the pain, but I cannot contain my scream.

My back arches as that bloodied hand reaches inside me, ripping through skin and muscle and reaching my soul.

“Endure it!” he roars. “You are strong enough. Find that strength, find what hides beneath you. Find what has kept you alive when others would have died.”

My eyes roll back in my head as the hand drags me into the air. My legs and arms dangle below me as I hover, my blood dripping steadily to the sand. My soul tears as the claws shred it.

Find it, find it.

Strong enough.

I am. I can endure this. I have to.

I repeat it over and over, even as it feels like I die a thousand deaths. I hold on, gripping onto my life with every fibre of my strength. Even as death comes for me, I roar in its face, refusing to go.

I can taste my blood, and I can feel it filling my eyes and ears. I feel like I am drowning in it as the hand twists inside me, pulling a shard of my soul free. It starts to pull from my chest, causing pure agony as it releases me.

I hit the sand with a thump, my strings cut. My eyes are open, but my body is unable to move as the hand moves up and sinks into the tempest above me. His back arches and his mouth opens on a harrowing scream as the glowing shard of my soul is pushed deep inside him.

The chains seem to hiss as my blood slides across the links, and I watch the tempest turn slowly in the chains until he faces me.

The hand pulls back, leaving a gaping wound in his bare chest, matching mine.

Both of us are dying. His blood steadily drips down, splattering my chest, and magic fuses into my skin. When I look down, I see my skin stitching back together over the wound. My muscles heal, and my bones snap back together. I look up just in time to see his eyes open and lock on me.

“Mistress,” he hisses, showing rows upon rows of sharp teeth, like a shark’s. There’s a roar, and I roll my head back into the sand as the barrier falls and the shadow rushes into the chamber. It brushes over me before plunging into the tempest’s open mouth. He swallows the darkness, then his mouth snaps shut as the chains release him from the columns.

He falls through the air, plummeting to the sand.

He lands on his knees, blood-coated chains slithering across his skin like snakes as he kneels before me, his arms and legs trapped.

Climbing to my knees, I sway as the magic continues to heal me.

His skin is pale, like he has never seen sunlight, and he has more muscles than I have ever seen. He looks like the gods carved him, and my cheeks flame when I realise he’s naked. His cock stiffens and stands at attention, throbbing and leaking what looks like blood.

As I watch in fascination and horror, a chain slithers across his throat, wrapping around it multiple times to form a collar, and then it fuses together, solidifying and turning into metal. In the middle of it is the hunters’ symbol—a sign of ownership.

The man moans, his hips rolling as if he enjoys it, and I see blood seeping from the collar where it digs into his skin. Somehow, I know if I die, it will fall away, but it cannot be removed any other way.

No other can become his master now. I am until death.

“Mistress,” he hisses once more as he lifts his head. Big pools of obsidian stare up at me in hunger and want.

“Did it work?” I ask, even though I know the answer. I can feel it. A throb in my chest echoes in his. I can feel him all over and in me, although I still feel weak from what happened.

“Yes, mistress,” he hisses, his head tilting like an animal. “We must finish sealing the bond though.”

“How?” I ask, still swaying.

“You must drink, mistress.”

I frown, not understanding, and he crawls towards me, naked and chained. The sight should disturb me, but instead desire courses through me.

I fall back, but he simply crawls over me, sliding up my body. Shit. I try to scoot backwards as his hips stop above my face. A droplet of blood drips from the tip of his cock, hitting my cheek as I turn away.

“You must drink, mistress. I took you into my body, so now you must take me,” he hisses, pressing towards me.

“Fuck that,” I mutter.

Flipping, I grip the sand and try to drag myself away, but the chains wrap around me, yanking me under him.

“Let me serve my mistress.”

I am turned over, and his cock is presented to me again.

“If you do not, our bond will break and you will die,” he pleads, his eyes widening like open pools. “Please, mistress.”

“Is this the only way?” I mutter.

Why does it have to be his cock, for fuck’s sake?

Why are monster rituals such sexual things?

“Yes, mistress, quickly,” he hisses, flashing his fangs. Another drop of blood drips down, and this time I let it hit my lip. It seems to absorb into my skin, and I shudder as power shoots through me. Another drip and I open my mouth, letting it hit my tongue.

He groans as he watches me. “Please, mistress.” His hips roll desperately.

With no choice, I wrap my lips around his cock, drinking the blood from him. My hand strokes him as I suck his tip. Each drop is a burst of power, chasing away the weakness.

Pumping him harder, I drink his pleasure. When he bellows and jerks in my mouth, thrusting his cum down my throat, I swallow it down.

As I lick up every drop, he whines, his hips stuttering and pushing deeper. I release him from my mouth, all my weakness gone.

I feel stronger than I ever have, though I’m slow to admit that.

I feel . . . powerful.

Sitting up, I slide out from under him as he shudders, and the chains finally fall away, dropping into the sand and seeming to absorb into it. He sways on his knees, his chest heaving.

The sight he presents is incredible, but when his eyes open, I look away, not wanting the tempest to realise how truly tempting he is.

His voice is softer when he speaks. “It is done, mistress. We cannot be parted now.”

Nodding, I lean back into the sand, swallowing thickly and giving myself a moment to breathe, but he seems to take that as an invitation.

He lies across my lap and purrs like a cat, arching up into me until I stroke his hair and back without meaning to. My hand seems to find his body as if it’s an extension of mine, and his eyes close in bliss.

I should push him away, but something about him being close brings me comfort. It’s probably my soul inside him connecting with me, or at least that’s what I tell myself as the seven-foot, muscle-bound tempest curls around me.

“Well, you certainly have a way with monsters,” the fae deadpans, and I look up to see him leaning casually against a column. My eyes widen, and I wonder how long he’s been there. “I enjoyed the show, but unless you would like to release me long enough to kill those hunters, I suggest we leave. I believe you would be against a massacre.”

Ronan floats at his side, and just then, I hear echoes from above.

“Hunters,” I murmur. “They are here.”