"My angel. I’m so grateful you’re safe. I’ve not done well by you in upholding my vow of protection. You have every right to be angry with me."
On the heels of her release, she whispered, "I love you. You always keep me safe—I trust you."
Sated, Luella relaxed against him fully, lids threatening to drift shut. Her nose brushed the side of his neck. She inhaled his scent, feeling it chase away the lingering unrest in her gut.
Az took her hand and lifted it from below the water, droplets trickling from her fingertips, as he placed her palm on his chest—right over the small red circle of his vow to her.
Her fingers grazed his flesh, and her wings shivered behind her, pleasantly warm from the water and the glow of her release.
His brown curls tickled her nose as she lifted slightly and kissed his jaw. As she did so, she spotted a tiny fleck of red at his hairline. Splattered droplets of blood, as if the spray had misted his skin and he had not been able to scrub it all off entirely.
In the mellow warmth of the bath, her blood ran cold.
46
NOTHINGNESS
GRAVES
"I’ll never fucking tell you anything!" the Fallen hissed, voice cracked in pain.
Graves canted his head like a predator as he watched the male who had taken Luella from them.
The dungeons were cold; saltwater leaked from above, and the faint sound of waves echoed.
"Then, I shall break your mind?" Bastian commented, studying his hands as if the whole thing was beneath him. Water dripped on his shoulders; he flicked it away.
"You will not grant him the mercy of turning his mind into a mass of misery and hollowed-out thoughts. Not until he has suffered as she has," Vale hissed. The dragon King stood rigid, shoulders jumping as if the beast caged within pushed against his flesh to be let free and enact vengeance.
Bastian had already had his revenge. He and the demon both. Of different kinds, however. Bastian had made the Fallen see things that were not there, forcing him to walk through his worst fears, while Azgorath used physical means—fists.
The Fallen’s strung-up body bore the markers of a demon’s strength. His jaw was dark purple, an eye swelling shut, lipscracked and bloody. As he snarled at them all, Graves noted he was missing a tooth.
They’d killed the other; the dead Fallen’s body was pinned to the wall, nails in his palms and wings. His jaw was unhinged, as if the force of his screams had ripped through him and rendered his mouth useless to cage the sounds. The work of Bastian’s nightmares…
The leather of Graves’s gloves creaked as he tapped a finger over the Fallen’s jaw, drawing his attention to the male pinned to the wall.
"That will be your end," Graves said without inflection. A buzz of violence roared through his veins.
They had felt Luella’s fear at the emotions of Azgorath and Bastian. She’d wrapped her arms around herself, eyes wide as their rage had pummeled her from the inside out, no doubt. She didn’t need that right now. Or ever.
This time, she would be distracted.
But that meant they, too, would be distracted—by the distant thrum of her pleasure rocking through them. It brought his rage to a head. He felt himself grow hard.
His need for rage was a part of himself that he kept hidden far away. Luella was too pure to be at the mercy of his hands. The same hands that had held her in his arms and carried her to safety now gripped the Fallen’s jaw so hard it cracked from his strength. The Fallen whimpered, swollen eyes squeezing shut.
Graves lowered his voice. "You will die here, and there is no stopping it. The manner in which you die is entirely up to you. We can do anything to you. Flay open your insides and wrap your throat in a noose of your intestines… Pin your wings to the wall like a butterfly." The Fallen’s eyes drifted to his dead companion, who’d met the same end Graves detailed. "Or it can be easy. You can close your eyes and succumb to eternal nothingness."
It was all a lie, but the Fallen did not know that.
Graves had learned when one’s body reached a certain point of pain and fear, death was a welcome destination.
The acrid scent of piss filled the room. Tharen laughed darkly, silver flashing as he spun a dagger in his hands.
He’d already had his pound of flesh.
They all had, save Graves, who’d brought Luella back.
