Page 80 of Samhain Savior

Archer

What had I done?

Fingers still damp from her pulsing core, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think of anything besides the new, magical connection I’d impulsively created with Delilah.

It was almost too much. The bond swirled inside me, the sensation so blissful and so overwhelming that I could hardly breathe.

Mine.

She was mine. I’d fought against it, talked myself in circles since the moment I’d laid eyes on her, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. I’d acted on instinct and without rational thought.

In my mind, I recalled the words Phips had left Delilah in his letter.

He’ll have nochoice in the matter.

How could he possibly have known?

Before I could even begin to consider the implications, Astaroth’s rage-fueled shout filled the silent hall, echoed by the wyvern on the roof. I reacted instantly, sliding Delilah off my lap and moving her behind me, putting myself between her and whatever danger existed.

“They’re gone! My subjects! My beautiful subjects. What did you do to them?” he howled, chest heaving as he stormed toward me, angry eyes fixed on Delilah where she was peeking out from behind the shelter of my wings. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Try it and I’ll gut you where you stand,” I promised, dropping into a defensive stance. I left the knife in my belt, knowing I’d be more efficient with tooth and claw than I would with any sort of mortal weapon. “There’s a price on your soul, Astaroth. We leave unharmed, remember? Take one more step and I’ll gladly add your withered offering to my collection.”

I could see the moment he realized that he was caught, his teeth clenching in rage at his own impotence.

“She fucking stole them from me,” he snarled, the sound distressed and panicked, and that was when I finally looked around, realizing the cause of his anger.

All of his servants were gone, the silent, kneeling souls he had trapped in his horrific corner of hell had all mysteriously disappeared, leaving no trace.

And Astaroth thought Delilah had something to do with it?

Madness. Clearly, it was time to get the fuck out of the Void.

“Archer?” Delilah’s soft voice asked from behind me, but I couldn’t respond, refusing to take my attention off the threat that was before me.

“Let us leave.” I still wasn’t entirely sure it was possible; but in order to even attempt to leave the Void, Astaroth had to grant us passage. Once that was done, we could sort out exactlyhowwe were going to manage it.

“She owes me souls,” Astaroth insisted, his pretty façade beginning to crumble as he lost control and succumbed to his anger. Black eyes fixed on mine as he reached out with his senses, obviously finding nothing. For a moment, he looked completely broken, lost and hopeless, before he shook his head, gaze filled with vitriol. “There isn’t a single one left in all of the Void. Eons of collection. All my hard work, ruined! She’s freed them all. I don’t know how she did it, and I don’t really care. But she fuckingowesme, Archer!”

“She owes you nothing,” I retorted. “We had a deal. You know the consequences of breaking it. Let usleave.”

“Archer!” Delilah called again, more urgent this time, and I could feel her moving out from behind me, clocking the moment Astaroth noticed it, too.

“You! You took them from me.”

“You were torturing them,” she stated boldly, her chin held high. “I only wanted them to have peace. I didn’t know what would happen.”

“Purgatoryistorture! They were here for a reason. You will pay for this, witch,” he promised, raising his hands, and before I could move—before I could even blink—he had shot a bolt of black energy toward Delilah.

I whirled, spinning to place my back to Astaroth, prepared to take the blow, every instinct inside me ready to sacrifice myself to protect my mate.

Mate. The word curled through my brain like wildfire, the rightness of it settling something inside me.

I had never considered it, that my strange draw to Delilah could be anything more than annoyance and attraction, but now that I had claimed her, it was all too clear.

She was made for me. My perfect match in every way, and I, in turn, washers.

We were fated.