The Relic (Cradle of Darkness 2)

Heart already breaking for her, I pressed a kiss to her hair. She really did smell of sunshine, of goodness. She smelled of all the things that had been torn away from me the day fate dared try to take my soul from me.

Humming in her hair, I confessed an open truth. “I love you.”

No change came to her bearing, no stiffness. No fear in her scent.

Progress!

Tenderly swaying as if the pair of us moved to music that was ours and ours alone, I enjoyed this corner of my mind while the rest of me worked.

As I said, I exerted my will on all who stood in attendance.

I whispered in the minds of every last immortal. A cohesive symphony of soft, indomitable rule. A smattering could hear it, the thousand voices moving like mist over thought, or like daggers through resistance. Some could only feel it, taking comfort or distress.

This is mine.

Do not touch.

Look at her and envy.

Look at her and know she can unknowingly decide your fate with little more than a frown.

Look at her and love her.

Look at how I touch her, how I hold her. I would never touch you in such a way.

Look at how she trusts me, how she fits against my body because we are one.

Do you see her mouth? There was no need for paint. Her lips are red from my attention.

Do you smell her cunt? My seed even now drips down her thigh.

I will make her fat with life as she drinks down yours.

Never question me.

Offend her and it won’t only be you I unravel thread by thread. I will eat your home, your children, your children’s children. You will be erased from the world.

Weep if you wish, but I will never love you.

Prostrate at her feet. Offer your wrists.

Those who bleed the most shall gain my favor. Those who seek to deny my soul her due shall learn the true meaning of regret.

Yes, I had a flair for drama.

True, few in that myriad collection knew just what I might be to them.

Rumors of the winged-demon had begun to spread in private whispers between those I wished to suspect.

Those who did not deserve to know me? I plucked the thought straight from their puny brains.

Yet, it should be noted that when working with immortal minds, it takes something more than a soft spoken order to gain the attention of something that has already seen everything and found it wanting.

Those with the skill and the years whispered back to me, carrying on their current conversations as if we were not discussing the very fabric of their existence.

“No insult is intended toward your bride. What excellent taste you have. I’ve longed for a Daywalker of my own.”

Then fuck a human and make your own.

“It’s been ages, Vladislov. How do you fair?

Oh, I am well. I am well enough that the world might actually bloom for a space. Well, maybe after one more plague.

“Gifts will be sent.”

Indeed they would be. The most honored of the flocks would be bled for my soul’s breakfast. And it would be delivered, steaming hot, in jeweled cups. There would be gowns, art, trinkets, land, palaces, secrets….

And those who delivered most would have no true understanding of why they did as they did. Something deep within would niggle at them to produce, that their survival was on the line.

All of this would be kept from Pearl. Well, not the blood. She deserved to sample the fare. But all the chalices, all the wealth, would be tucked away. She would drink from the same crystal to which she had grown accustomed. Live in what she considered quite lavish circumstances, though they were far from what true depravity might offer.

The simple things made her soul sing all the louder.

Caskets of jewels? Those could wait and be playthings for our children. An entire museum of cups crafted just for her lips would be erected in some far off country. To amuse her, I’d take her there some day.

She would laugh to see it.

Gold, diamonds, silver… cups carved from meteors. I could already say for certain that she would still prefer the simple cut crystal.

But few would know such secrets.

Of course, there would be grand soirees in which she might hold a finer cup. But the guest list would be excruciatingly hand-selected. Maya could be trusted with such a task, should I be able to tempt her away from her immediate hunt of those who dared plunder her homelands for what humans considered ancient—such a laughable term—artworks of one of the most interesting and valuable cultures. Nok, they called it these days.

She’d been a wonder, born to a family of wonders.

Such a soft spot I had for wonders. Most of whom were wise enough to take the invitation in my less structured flock.

Ach, but Maya was also in love with a human man, which I pointedly ignored and equally found intriguing. She lived with him as a human.