Page 58

Chapter fifty-six

A strid drew a deep breath as she squinted against the daylight. Her chest ached and the rancid taste of dried blood lingered in her mouth. She turned her head and spit, willing her eyes to focus.

Her magic was slow to unravel, sweeping over her in clumsy passes. She knit together the hairline fractures across her ribs. Straightened the misaligned vertebrae. Whoever healed her was a butcher, not a soul weaver.

Astrid’s vision cleared and the distorted shapes sharpened into Dobromil standing beside the oversized window.

“Oh, you’re dead, priest,” she rasped, sitting up.

Her words were like shards of glass in her throat and Astrid realized her hands were bound behind her back. Coarse rope abraded her skin and limited her movement. She shifted her shoulders, twisting her wrist until her nails found the knot.

“Did you enjoy dressing me?” Astrid asked, glancing down at her pristine night gown when Dobromil met her stare.

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. His wings squeezed to his back as he crept across the room and leaned into the doorway. He turned back toward her, clutching the silver medallion hanging from his neck. “King Ambrose wasn’t here when we mended you.”

It was much colder in this room than Dimitri’s. Her nipples were plainly visible through the black silk. They must have retrieved her garment from Dimitri’s closet. She sincerely hoped they shifted his clothes, and he killed them all for it.

“Untie me,” Astrid snapped as she worked a finger through the knot. “And I’ll kill you instead of keeping you.”

He dropped the sigil of his god and the talisman bounced against his chest as he hurried to the bed. “Lay back down, Princess Noctis, before he comes in here,” he begged, gingerly touching her and pushing her back.

Astrid let him guide her, slipping her leg between his. “I’m going to rip out your entrails and make you into a living chandelier.”

Color drained from his face, and he whispered, “Lay down, please. Close your eyes.”

Astrid tangled her legs with his and rammed her shoulder into his gut. They tumbled to the ground and Astrid twisted her back, splaying her hands over his torso.

“Dimitri is on his way! He’s coming! He’s coming,” Dobromil cried in a hiss as he hyperventilated.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t call for Ambrose.

Astrid rose to her feet, suspicious of the priest.

“Why would I believe—”

“Because if we helped take something from Dimitri, he would kill us all,” the priest said, dusting off his robes as he got to his feet.

He straightened and snapped his wings shut before glaring at her with a hate that rivaled her own.

“And if you weren’t such a self-absorbed cunt, you would know I don’t want to see my brothers die. ”

Astrid didn’t doubt his words. Dimitri would kill them, but would he kill his brother? He’d spared him—Even given him a throne.

But if she killed Ambrose, Dimitri would have little choice in the matter.

Astrid dropped to her knees and gripped her wrist. “I need you to dislocate my shoulder.”

“If-if you’d just lay down, I can tell him you’re still mending and aren’t conscious yet.”

Ambrose preferred his females awake.

What a gentleman.

Astrid dropped her shoulder and blew out a breath. “See where I’m holding my wrist? Stomp on it, priest.”

“What?”

Mothers save me. “I need my hands to rip out his soul and I can’t reach anything while bound. So, untie me or dislocate my shoulder.”

Dobromil timidly approached her. His boot was hesitant as it touched her hand.

“Aim for the wrist. This one,” she coached, shaking the arm she meant to sacrifice. “Think of it as a plank of wood and—”

Pain snapped through her shoulder, but not enough pain. The priest stomped down but only a few inches and immediately pulled his foot away.

“Stomp to the ground, you fucking coward,” Astrid hissed over her shoulder.

A heavy door clicked shut from beyond the room and Astrid’s head snapped to the entryway.

“He’s coming. I’m begging you, Princess, go lay down.”

Astrid glared at the priest who served Vinceret but upheld none of his tenants. “Stomp. To the ground. I’ll handle him.”

Astrid bowed her head, steeling herself.

Mothers, let this coward strike true.

White hot agony lit her shoulder, and her magic flared, dulling the pain. She panted and leaned forward, casting her hair over her injured shoulder before pivoting to Dobromil.

“Let me go!” Astrid cried loudly. Her curated tears wet her lashes as her voice cracked. “Lord Dimitri will be angry if he finds me missing.”

The dull thud of heavy boots approached her. Astrid turned, blinking tears for Ambrose’s benefit.

He crouched beside her and smoothed her moisture-streaked cheek. “Oh, sweetling. Didn’t you ask to spend three days in my bed?” His hand slipped to her hair, and Astrid was dragged to her feet with him as he stood.

“Leave us, priest,” Ambrose bit out, tossing her onto the bed.

Astrid screamed, cowering as she tucked her legs and curled onto her side.

Dobromil stared at her, bewildered and muttered, “My king,” with a parting bow.

Ambrose’s knee sank into the mattress as he leaned over to catch her ankle. He dragged her to the edge and forced her legs apart. The softness of his hands made her skin crawl and Astrid cried, “Please, my king.” She struggled beneath his hold, positioning her injured arm.

He smiled, parting her thighs further. “What other piercings has Dimitri given you?”

Ambrose fisted the front of her nightgown and ripped it down the middle exposing her breasts. His lips thinned as he squeezed them before sighing, “How disappointing.”

Astrid cried and squirmed as he pinched her nipples. She needed him closer, and she played her part as prey. Ambrose twisted her tight peaks until they burned, and she whimpered, “My king, you’re hurting me.”

“Isn’t this how he gets you wet?” he asked, slapping her. Her cheek stung. “I hear you screaming under him.”

She turned away, staring through the icy windowpanes as tears fell over the bridge of her nose.

“You’ll have to tell me which one of us has the bigger cock,” Ambrose said, unfastening his pants.

Astrid dropped her facade and wrapped her legs around him, pinning his arms between them. She yanked him forward, taking his crushing weight. His soul stars gleamed past his flesh as she flattened her hand over his thigh.

His soul flickered to her will, retreating from his legs, then his arms.

She sank into the mattress under his increasingly dead weight and Ambrose screamed, “Guards!”

Glass shattered and a winged shadow stretched over her.

Ambrose twisted toward it, gasping, “Help me, brother.”

His weight was ripped off Astrid and she righted herself, pulling her hands from the loosened knots.

Dimitri’s eyes were wild. He held Ambrose by a fistful of hair and his sword across his throat.

“You can’t kill me,” Ambrose yelled as his fear slid into rage. “I’m your king!”

“I would kill a god to possess her!” her sword answered, dragging his blade across his brother’s throat.

“No! Stop!” Astrid yelled, clasping her hands over the wound. She stitched his soul and healed what would have been a fatal injury. Hatred shaped Dimitri’s features and she smiled at the male who she now knew truly placed her above all others.

“I want his eyes, husband. Let him watch you fuck me for the rest of eternity.”

“Guards!” Ambrose wailed. “Guards!”

Astrid’s magic engulfed him. She separated his soul from his voice as she traced his quivering mouth.

“Do you really think your guards will storm in here to face a Death Spirit and his soul weaver?” she purred.

The large male began to tremble. His eyes pleaded for mercy as he stared up at his brother. Astrid patted his cheek twice and smiled when the sunlit honey of his eyes dulled.

“I can answer your question for you,” she said, lowering her lashes to the shriveled skin of his cock.

“Dimitri is much bigger.”