musical note that didn’t want to end.
The raksasa bent his knee, but he was not alone. From the surrounding stands, a great clap sounded as every master and slave obeyed her command.
Then a slow clapping began.
Risk blinked, confusion diluting her pull on the magic as the rage drained away. She turned in a circle, searching for the source. Not a single being moved though. Not a single soul had even breathed in the time she commanded them.
She frowned and then glanced at the dark throne.
Mazzulah appeared in a burst of black feathers, with Alpis on his shoulder. His eyes shined with pride and the power of the gods as he said, “I was beginning to think I chose wrong.”
A trickle of anger leaked through as she said in disbelief, “This was all a test?”
Mazzulah laughed, and it was horrible. “Of course. I told you from the very beginning, I would break you to remake you.”
She took a step forward, narrowing her eyes, and the dark god snapped his fingers.
The black desert and its stands disappeared in an instant.
Risk swallowed hard.
In front of her, the great staircase loomed.
“What is this?” she asked.
No one answered. Risk turned and looked at the door behind her. The place it led to was better and worse than this. She wanted to take it. To leave . . .
And yet something stopped her.
She’d told them to kneel, and they did.
She hated herself and Mazzulah for what happened, but for one single blissful moment Risk knew what it was like to have power. To have control.
And she would do anything to taste it again.
Even climb the forsaken staircase.
Chapter 12
Living Death
“It is when we’re at our worst that our demons seem like friends and our friends seem like demons.”
— Lazarus Fierté, soul eater, the mad King of Norcasta
The scent of damp petals and midnight weeds called to him.
Lazarus rolled, tossing and turning in his sleep.
For so long, he never dreamed. The beasts had always consumed him in nightmares. It was the price of his magic, a price he willingly paid. But since he’d surrendered to those same creatures, he found a peace in sleep that he’d never had before.
Because it was only in the darkness that he could still see her.
Smell her.
In his dreams, they fought and fucked and conquered like the beasts they were. Her wicked smile made his heart race, and her cold eyes made his length stiffen. In this particular dream, she sat on his throne while he feasted between her thighs.
His entire court was in attendance and something within him wanted to roar with pride. She was his, and they knew it, he knew it, and most importantly, she knew it.
Quinn’s head fell back as he sucked her sensitive flesh between his teeth. Lazarus’ own desire riding him as the scent of her magic perfumed the air.
“Say it,” he growled, not lifting his head.
Her head fell forward. A flush crept through her pale cheeks and dampness lined her forehead as she grinned and replied, “Say what, Your Grace?”
Lazarus clenched his fists.
He both loved and hated when she toyed with him.
“Say that you’re mine. That you’ll always be mine. That you’ll never leave.”
Quinn slowly blinked. “I’m yours as much as I can be, Your Grace.”
Lazarus shook his head. “That’s not enough anymore.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he roughly pushed two fingers inside her and all that came out was a moan. He circled his thumb over the tiny bundle of nerves. Quinn writhed against his hand. Her fingers curled around the iron and wood armrests as she arched her back and spread her legs wider.
“Say it,” Lazarus ground out again.
“I’m yours,” she said, chasing the release he would give her.
“And?” he prompted, his voice as hard as his shaft.
Breathy moans and little pants left her as her entire body convulsed. Her channel clenched and wetness covered his hand. “I’ll never leave,” she vowed.
Lazarus growled in satisfaction, but that pleasure was overwhelmed by an impending sense of dread.
This was Quinn. The woman who fought for her freedom. The woman who defied him at every turn. The woman, who no matter how much he gave, would never say those words.
She’d never promise to be his.
She’d never swear not to leave.
Quinn was many things, cold and cruel and callous above all—but she didn’t lie to him when it came to matters between them. And that promise, it had been a lie.
Because Quinn belonged to no one but herself.
The scene shattered before him like glass. His