Page 199 of The Chains You Defy

Still, this wasn’t enough.

Nothing would ever be enough.

More.

I needed more.

More blood, more agony.

More music.

My attention snapped to the Graigh on the dais, still trapped by my darkness. They battled, but no matter how much they opposed me, their struggles were in vain. One corner of my mouth lifted as I appraised my opponents.

But no.

First—

Without detaching my gaze from the ancients, I transformed my writhing tendrils and wove them together until only four massive interlocked entities remained, strengthened by their former tributes’ life force and eager for more violence.

Masterfully, I directed them to Cantarlann, and each grabbed one of the fae male’s limbs, raising him high into the air. Since nothing could be as beautiful as my earlier composition, and I wasn’t in the mood for the turncoat’s voice, I gagged him with a fresh piece of shadow rope.

When he was in place, at around ten feet in the air, I tore my awareness away from the dais and regarded the instigator of Nayana’s torment. His face was signed with wet trails, and I resisted the temptation to dip my finger into the liquid and taste his salty anguish.

Barely.

Instead, I canted my head, tapping my index finger against my chin.

How could I reach my goal without his ligaments giving out first?

Fuck. If Ireas were here, he would be able to answer my anatomy questions.

After a minute of pondering, I directed the four tendrils to wrap around each arm and leg completely and latch their grip onto his shoulders and hips.

And then I ordered them into movement. Slow at first, each one toward a different cardinal direction, stretching Cantarlann from slight discomfort to growing pain.

Studying the process with fascination—after all, I’d never done this before—the agony that gradually appeared on the male’s face was gratifying.

Would he rip right through the middle if I went on?

Only one way to find out—

But first—

“Bleed for me.”

My voice sounded strange. Warped, alien even, but I didn’t dwell on this mystery.

Instead, a few individual fibers unfurled from Cantarlann’s writhing ropes, razor-sharp and without hesitation, cutting into the flesh of his exposed back. Soon, fat crimson droplets rained down, a hypnotic sight that had me enraptured.

Yes.

This was perfect.

And so, I stepped forward, under the steady shower of blood, soaking in the warm essence of the male who’d dared to defy me—who went against my preciousgoddess, the worst crime in existence. Throwing my head back, laughter bubbled out of my mouth. A taste of bittersweet iron coated my tongue as his sanguine fluid drizzled behind my lips, and I cherished the flavor as one of conquest.

Never had I done something like this. My vengeful side had never been that extreme, but I couldn’t deny how right bathing in the physical essence of my enemy felt. One day, when I’d defeated Galrach, Nayana and I would fuck in his remains as the ultimate act of triumph.

Cantarlann’s heartbeat became fainter, and with reluctance, I distanced myself to give room to the experiment I’d decided to operate.