Blood Drenched Conquest (Ryze Book 3)

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  It’s a right of passage. The only way any of their kind should die—in battle against a worthier foe. Conquered by a force stronger than them.

  As it should be. The thought doesn’t even surprise me. As soon as I made up my mind upstairs to face this like a big girl, Conquest returned in a tsunami of demands.

  As if the crown is already on my head.

  “Just remember,” Dimithinia whispers, stopping on my left side. “You shall face this because it is yours to have. The Fates have decided only you are worthy of that crown.”

  Her comment, so similar to Nylicia’s, makes my head whip in her direction. Due to the three-inch height difference, she’s staring up at me, her chin raised in that arrogant, queenly way of hers.

  Shit, how could I forget? At some point, almost fourteen-thousand-years ago, this female faced her own moment of coronation back on ancient Earth.

  Nodding at her, I face forward once more, and inhale a slow, fortifying breath.

  Then I take that first step.

  As one, they snap their spines at attention, fists slamming three times against their chests.

  The sound reverberates through the hall and the floor shakes with their show of respect.

  Our crown. I can almost hear the smile in Conquest’s voice.

  It might just be a “power”, but there’s no denying there’s some sentience in there. Yes. Our crown. But don’t forget you’re my bitch, I mentally warn it, knowing damn well that I’m going to have a long battle ahead of me.

  It’s going to try to gain complete control of me, and it’s going to get worse the moment I’m crowned queen. I sense that with a certainty I can’t even try to deny.

  Good thing I’m a stubborn bitch, then.

  Gritting my teeth, I take the second step, and then a third. There isn’t a single sound the entire way, not even when I make it to the stairs leading up to the platform.

  Dimithinia and Ismini materialize onto it along with the guys.

  Tremors snake through my muscles, weakening my legs. Breathing through it, I begin my ascent, each step echoing in my blood.

  By the time I reach the top, I’m convinced I can’t go through with this. Doubts eat at me, whispers from my human history. What if I am pregnant with Ian’s child? What if I never mate to him? What if he dies and my child and I have to face ruling this kingdom without him?

  What if I do mate to him?

  But even if I did, would these beings ever except a werewolf as king?

  I approach the throne, hating that my thoughts are centered on him, even as I face the absolute craziest moment of my life.

  Of my now immortal life.

  How I manage to slowly turn and lower myself onto that throne with any dignity is beyond me, but suddenly I’m on it, arms braced on the armrests.

  Eyes staring straight ahead, over the heads of hundred of demons.

  The highest echelon of war Erencei society. A society that has decided to name me monarch.

  Halamar steps around me, his voice ringing loud and clear along the cavernous space. “Neau Zyraq Ehus.”

  I know what those words mean. It was one of the first phrases he taught me.

  Our ruler rises.

  Blinking rapidly, I fight to control another adrenaline rush. The tips of my fingers dig into the marble armrests. Seriously, what the fuck was I thinking? Am I really going through with this?

  “Neau Zyrag Ehus.” Every single demon in the hall shouts, making the walls vibrate again.

  Raising the glowing orb over my head, Halamar repeats the phrase one last time.

  Almost instantly, it morphs, tendrils I feel latching onto the front and sides of my head. There’s a light tickle on my skin as a tendril settles across my forehead, the end forming a pear-shaped crystal over my third eye.

  I saw pictures of what the crown looks like upon a female’s head, the sheer size of it, and as the energy finishes settling into place, the weight is almost more than I can handle.

  Even with my immortal strength.

  The phrase rings out a final time, and I hear the guys joining in.

  One of them is the God of Everything. It all exists because of him. His brother? The God of Fate, if he so wanted to be.

  Their other two brothers are kings in their own rights.

  And one of them is eating me alive with his eyes, the center of my focus even as my mind spirals with my new reality.

  “What is the saying on Earth again?” Halamar asks, his red-and-black eyes shining kindly. “Ah yes. All hail the queen!”

  “All hail the queen!”

  Holy shit, they just gave my once-human side the ultimate acknowledgement.

  And the guys once again join in, Ianthen’s voice the loudest of all.

  I’m going to fucking cry. God help me, I’m going to break down in front of all them.

  A loud bang shoots into the hall, as a wave of red-armored rebels pour in, sending everything into chaos.

  Chapter 49

  IANTHEN

  I watched her climb those stairs, one controlled step at a time, perfectly composed in front of all her subjects.

  At least, that’s what it looks like to them.

  But her blood is in my veins now, the one-sided connection stronger than ever.

  Only I can pick up on the slight tremors rocking her from the inside.

  Only I can feel her fear reverberating in my chest.

  Now, I watch her sitting on that throne, a fucking temptress in that evil, indecent dress, her back straight, stare steady.

  The way the very tips of her fingers are digging into the armrests isn’t lost on me, either.

  Halamar steps behind her, holding up the true seat of power of the war Erencei throne—pure energy ripped from the very core of this planet and forged into a semi-sentient, living thing.

  The queen’s crown.

  Somewhere in the deepest levels of their vault lies the second, just as powerful crown. The one meant for their king.

  Something I’ll never be. I came to terms with that after awakening and finding her gone. It’s clearer than ever as I stare at her unmarked neck.

  That female isn’t mated to me. After yesterday, I’m convinced she might never be.

  My children might be inside her but depending on how long I last, she’s going to end up having to raise them without me.

  “Neau Zyraq Ehus!” Halamar cries out, a saying this kingdom has not heard during a coronation in fifteen millennia.

  As one, everyone in the hall joins in. “Neau Zyraq Ehus!”

  The ball of power in his hands throbs, as if sensing its new owner and eager to be a part of her.

  “Neau Zyrag Ehus.” Zeniel’s uncle lifts it over Sol’s head.

  The change is immediate, a burst of light that snakes forwards and backwards on her head, transforming into the intricate, gold-and-red demonic crown. A thin strand forms across her forehead, with a tear-shaped, golden jewel right in the middle.

  The area humans call the “Third Eye”.

  My heart seems to stop in my chest, like it did weeks ago back in Brownsville when I felt her own heart stop.

  Halamar, a hardened male I’ve seen reluctantly warm up to her, stares at her with all the pride of a father figure. “What is the saying on Earth again? Ah yes. All hail the queen!”

  “All hail the queen!” I call out along with everyone else in the hall.

  I could hug the motherfucker for giving her that.

  A loud bang startles us out of nowhere.

  I know where its coming from immediately, even as the demons whirl around and drop into battle stances. A wave of red armor storms into the space. At least one-hundred rebels.

  Shit, perhaps even more.

  Cries ring out. Battle weapons are summoned on the war Erencei side.

  None of them have a chance to use them.

  Without saying a word, the rebels drop down to one knee in a united move so perfect, it seems synchronized.

  The hush that fal
ls over the hall is more than understandable.

  These rebels opposed Sophron’s three-thousand-year reign because of his brutality. Yes, the male was such a monster he frightened even these blood-thirsty beings.

  They opposed Cilpera’s reign a thousand times harder, for twelve millenia longer.

  Are they really here to finally surrender to my female?

  “What is the meaning of this?” Halamar demands as the royal guards appear one-by-one on the platform.

  “We are not here to fight!” The male in the middle of the first row of rebels replies, head bent in deference. “We are ready to bow to the queen, to pledge our lives to her causes. We only have two conditions we must have met.”

  A second shockwave goes through us.

  They are here to surrender.

  “It could have waited until after the coronation. How dare you interrupt—”

  Soleria stands, her back straight. No one but I would know that she’s struggling to adjust to the new weight of that twelve-inch crown. “Let him speak. I want to hear this.” Her voice recoils like a whip over the congregation, the echo of Conquest emerging.

  The male leader of the rebels raises his head, ginger-hair brushing over his brow. They might be a different sanction, but their eye-color and the color of their markings remain the same as all other war demons. “My name is Aziro and I am the new leader of the Tackien. Our last leader, Melver, died yesterday in the battle.”

  My female is being eaten alive by the guilt of that. Has been since it all started yesterday. There’s no way the reminder doesn’t hurt her now.

  “You mentioned conditions. Voice them.” The order leaves my mouth on instinct, my only thought sparing Soleria any more pain, but even I know I just crossed a line when I say it.

  I’m not king here.

  Never will be.

  It’s not my place to interfere.

  Fuck that, the wolf snarls inside me.

  Aziro’s head pivots in my direction, almost as if he was waiting for me to speak. “Ironic you should ask, God of the Hunt. For we learned a very valuable lesson yesterday and we would like to capitalize. We believe this entire realm could benefit.”

  Soleria steps away from the throne, stopping at the edge where the stairs begin. “What would you like to capitalize on?”

  “We might be war demons, and we pride ourselves on eons of evolution in the skill of fighting . . . however, yesterday we were bested by one stronger and more vicious than any fighter we’ve had on the war demon’s side since the days of Sophron and his son Vengeance. Unlike those two, we believe our new leader will have the cool-headed logic needed to temper his vicious instincts. As long as no other males approach his female, that is.”

  There’s a sharp intake of breath behind me from one of the males.

  My eyes widen and I think even Soleria tenses as a crazy suspicion begins ringing through our minds.

  “Hunt won yesterday, not simply because he had help, but because he truly was, at that moment, the strongest of us all. And we believe that has to do with that fact he’s mated to you, Queen Soleria.”

  Sol’s delicate, small hands fist at her sides. “What are you saying?”

  Aziro stares at her once more. “We will accept you as our queen, even though you are female and a hybrid. It has become clear to us that it is time for change, especially to survive what is on the horizon. But there is only one male we will accept as king, and if we are willing to accept a hybrid queen, there is no reason we cannot accept a king that is other, as well.”

  It doesn’t register in my mind for at least a minute. Maybe more. Shit, I don’t think I fully admit to myself what they’re saying until Soleria turns to me, baby-blue-and-black eyes shimmering.

  “Are you demanding that we give half the throne to the God of the Hunt?” Halamar questions, coming up next to Soleria.

  “Yes. We are. We need him to survive what’s coming our way. It is said that he can track anyone in any corner of the universe. Combine his powers with those of Conquest, and we will be able to stand a chance. We will be able to hunt and conquer any foes that threaten our realm.”

  They want me to be king.

  Fucking hell, they want me. To. Be. King.

  No, they’re demanding it, as Halamar said.

  The rebels want me to take what was originally meant to be Zeniel’s place as the reigning male monarch of this species.

  Cy whistles under his breath. “Sonofabitch.”

  Halamar dematerializes, appearing feet from Aziro, but his voice carries regardless. “You keep referring to what is to come. What do you mean by that?”

  “Before we continue, we must know our terms are accepted. Hunt must agree to be our king.”

  “You cannot—”

  “Halamar,” Soleria says, her voice shaking. “Shut up. Just shut up.”

  Gasps ring out.

  She’s staring at me, brow furrowed, little hands clenching so hard her veins pop out. Suddenly, she blinks in surprise and stumbles backwards, fighting a wave of dizziness—

  I’m before her in a flash, wrapping my arm around her lower back to steady her. “Sol?”

  Another frantic blink, her hands flying up to wrap around the armor covering my biceps. Then, as I’m on the verge of panicking, the thought that something’s wrong with her shredding my nervous system . . . a burst of color comes to life along the left side of her neck, a tattoo appearing as if carved by an invisible hand.

  “Oh . . . oh holy fuck.” Sol squeezes my arms hard enough to dent the armor, shaking. “This is what she meant by me deciding. Holy shit.”

  I’m too stunned to speak. To react. I can do nothing but hold her to me and watch as the design stretches just past her collarbone, expertly intertwining with her demon markings.

  But it’s an entirely different color. A color combination that runs through my father’s bloodline.

  White and navy blue.

  “Baby?” I whisper, shaking along with her, too fucking afraid to hope.

  Soleria exhales a puff of air, her back arching.

  I catch her nape in the palm of my gloved hand, helping her keep her head upright and feeling the added weight of her crown.

  It’s barely acknowledged. My eyes are glued on her neck. On that mark that can only mean one thing. “S-Sol. Baby, what the fuck is happening?”

  She leans into my chest, panting, and a blast of hellish heat explodes in my system. “She said all I had to do was decide I wanted you, and then I could have you.”

  In the back of my mind, I know there can only be one she that Soleria’s referring to, but the mated male in me cares only about one thing. “Holy shit, baby. You’re . . . you’re mated to me?”

  She presses her forehead against my chest and nods, nearly clocking me in the face with that monster-crown. “Mmhm.”

  “Well, gods damn,” Zex murmurs.

  Out of my peripheral, I see Cyake fall to his haunches, his head in his gloved hands. “Oh thank Illion, holy motherfucking shit. Dad, I love you. I fucking love you so much right now. Thank you.”

  “Stop worshipping our father, fidiot, before he hears you and awakens,” Hades grumbles.

  And at any other time, I’d be right there with Cy, a male that’s more a brother to me than anyone has ever been, but all that matters right now is my female.

  My female. “You’re fucking mated to me,” I growl, the ramifications of this hitting me full force. Relief and brutal lust coil in my gut, the need to take her from here and fully claim her wreaking havoc on my nervous system.

  I tense to do just that.

  “That settles it,” Aziro says. “They’re irrevocably bound. To accept one means accepting the other. If she is our queen, then he is our king. And we need them both to fight off the new Arunasura.”

  Under any other circumstances, nothing in the known universe would be able to stop me from taking my female from here. From spilling my seed inside her while I drink her blood and she drinks mine, completin
g our mating ritual.

  But that one word, a term that’s been dead for ten-thousand-years, does it.

  “The what?” That came from Zexistr as he materalizes to the base of the steps, his back ramrod straight with indignation. “Arunasur has been dead since the Hindu pantheon was shut off from the rest of the universe.”

  They’re speaking of the infamous fire demon, spawned from the primal fire itself, that once terrorized the dimensions. The same demon Brahma, the Hindu god of Creation, gifted with near supreme immortality.

  Killing the motherfucker took nearly all our powers combined, including the Aviraji’s.

  Prometheus, the bringer of the Dixieme Eductu, one of the leader’s of the Aviraji, nearly died in the attempt.

  “They have given him form once more. Or, more precisely, his powers have been gifted to another.”

  Dyletri makes his way down to where Zex is. “You’re speaking about the fucking Aviraji, aren’t you?”

  I turn just in time to see Aziro nod. “They sent the new holder of Arunasura to us shortly before we attacked to warn us that if the new queen was crowned, we’d all become a target. He also said he had a message for his queen.”

  Halamar exchanges a look with me. “His queen?”

  “He is not a war demon, and the message is not for Queen Soleria. The message he left is for the ancient queen of Ritrio. He wants her to know he’s returned for her.”

  Ah, fuck.

  “What? Me?” Dimithinia asks, clearly stunned.

  Crius blocks her with his body, much to no one’s surprise, and he’s apparently too angry to dematerialize; his boots slam against the marble as walks around her. “Who is he? What’s his name?”

  “He said his name is Malek—Maleksoraniel.”

  “Oh my fucking God,” Ismni gasps, but the sound of her voice isn’t loud enough to cover up a secondary, feminine gasp.

  A heartbroken hitch of breath.

  “What?” Dimithinia stumbles away from Crius—away from us all—her eyes wide. Stricken.

  Full of horror.

  “What the fuck did you just say?” Crius asks, each word spoken in a slow drawl. A male on the verge of losing his shit.

  No one answers. Most likely because Dimithinia’s begun panting, her racing breaths loud and frightening.