Chapter 84 Blood Wedding
The celestial sun dipped behind the jagged obsidian peaks of the Cosmic Land, surrendering the sky to the violet and gold of the Dragon King’s domain. Inside the Great Sanctum, the air hummed with the resonance of a thousand ancient bells. It was the night of the Blood Moon, the night the Phoenix Bride would finally be bound to the throne.
Zarakhi stood before the towering mirrors of the bridal suite, his scaled fingers tracing the line of Klishei’s jaw. She stood like a statue, her eyes glazed with a shimmering, hypnotic fog.
In her mind, she wasn't in a cold, alien palace. She was in a field of sunflowers, the scent of Efarlise’s summer air filling her lungs, and Yeseus was there, holding her hand, promising her forever.
“You look breathtaking, my Queen,” Zarakhi whispered, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that shook the crystal floor.
Klishei blinked slowly, a small, distant smile touching her lips. “The sunflowers–they’re so bright today, Yeseus.”
Zarakhi’s expression darkened for a flicker of a second before the mask of the doting groom returned. He leaned in, his breath smelling of ozone and ancient spices.
“Yes. And soon, the whole universe will burn with that same light. Our light.”
He signaled to the maidservants. They moved with silent, ethereal grace, draping her in a veil woven from the silk of stardust. It clung to her skin, cold and heavy. To Klishei, it felt like a warm embrace.
“Is it time?” she asked, her voice airy, detached from the reality of the obsidian walls.
“It is time for the union,” Zarakhi said, extending a powerful, clawed hand. “The Council is gathered. The stars are aligned. Come, Klishei. Claim your throne.”
The walk to the Great Altar was a blur of shimmering lights and bowing entities. Thousands of eyes—some silver, some multiple, some mere points of light—watched as the Dragon King led his prize toward the center of the cosmos. The Phoenix within Klishei stirred, a low, pulsing heat that Zarakhi felt through her palm. It was the trigger he needed. The bridge to infinite creation.
They reached the altar, a platform of pure white dwarf star material that radiated a blinding, holy light. A female priestess stood at the head, her silver eyes reflecting the impending eclipse of the Blood Moon.
“We are gathered at the precipice of a new era,” her voice rang out, echoing through the infinite reaches of the palace. “The Dragon and the Phoenix. Order and Creation. Do you, Zarakhi, King of the Cosmos, take this vessel as your eternal anchor?”
“I do,” Zarakhi boomed, his voice a command to the stars themselves.
“And do you, Klishei Aizal, Phoenix Bride, surrender your heart and essence to the King?”
Klishei looked up. She was still dreaming. And it was a dream she did not want to wake up to.
In the reflection of the white star altar, she didn’t see Zarakhi. She saw the rugged face of the Last Alpha, his dark hair messy, his eyes burning with that fierce, protective love she had come to crave.
“I do,” she whispered.
Zarakhi’s grip tightened on her hand, his talons digging slightly into her skin. He didn’t care for her delusions, only her consent. The cosmic laws were finicky; the vessel had to agree, even if the mind was fractured by magic.
“Then by the ancient laws, the union begins,” she declared. “To the chambers. Let the cosmos witness the consummation.”
The transition to the royal bedchamber was instantaneous, a fold in space that left Klishei dizzy. The room was a cavern of velvet and shadow, lit only by the crimson glow of the moon bleeding through the massive, transparent dome above. The bed was a mountain of silk, cold and inviting.
Zarakhi began to shed his ceremonial armor, the plates of star-metal clattering onto the floor. His bare chest was a landscape of dark, iridescent scales and corded muscle. He moved toward her, his eyes glowing with a predatory hunger.
“Finally,” he growled, reaching for the ties of her gown. “No more masks. No more human sentiment.”
Klishei’s breath hitched. The fog in her mind flickered. The sunflowers were wilting. The sky in her dream was turning a bruised, violent red.
“Yeseus? Why are your hands so cold?”
Zarakhi ignored her, his fingers ripping the stardust silk. The fabric hissed as it tore, exposing the pale, glowing skin of her shoulders. He shoved her back onto the bed, his massive weight pinning her down. His tongue, long and slightly forked, flicked against the pulse point of her neck.
“Taste of the sun,” he hissed, his hand sliding down to the curve of her hip. “Give me the fire, Klishei. Ignite the stars.”
He began to kiss her, his mouth hard and demanding. It wasn't a kiss of love; it was a reclamation of property. He sucked at her bottom lip until it bled, the metallic tang of her blood acting as a catalyst for his lust. His hand moved between her thighs, his fingers blunt and forceful as they pushed against her center.
“You’re dry,” he muttered, his voice thick with arousal. “The human in you is still afraid. Let the goddess out.”
He began to rub her, his thumb circling her clitoris with a rhythmic, punishing pressure. Klishei’s back arched, a gasp escaping her lips—not of pleasure, but of a jarring, physical shock. The dream was shattering. The sunflowers were gone. She saw the obsidian ceiling. She saw the scales.
“No,” she whimpered, her hands coming up to push at his chest. “You’re not—you’re not him!”
Zarakhi snarled, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. “I am your King! I am your destiny!”
He didn’t wait for her to soften. He unfastened his loincloth, his cock springing free, a thick, dark pillar of flesh that throbbed with a violet light. He positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his head blunt and hot against her opening.
“Wait! Please!” Klishei cried, the hypnosis breaking under the weight of his reality.
“Too late for pleas, little bird,” Zarakhi said, his hips surging forward.
The palace shook.
The massive, reinforced gates of the bedchamber didn’t just open—they disintegrated into a rain of molten metal and stone. A shockwave of raw, kinetic energy tossed the heavy furniture across the room.
Zarakhi snarled, leaping off Klishei and spinning toward the wreckage–his clothes made of scales automatically clothing him.
Through the settling dust and smoke, a figure stumbled forward.
Made of a nightmare of blood and bone, his clothes were tattered, his skin mapped with deep, cauterized gashes from the dimensional rifts he had forced his way through.
His eyes weren't just the eyes of a wolf; they were the eyes of a demon who had crawled out of hell to claim what was his.
“Get away from her,” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of iron.
Klishei scrambled to the headboard, clutching the torn remnants of her gown to her chest.
“Yeseus!”