Chapter 79 A Sacrificial Altar
(Apollo)
His chest constricted with something primal, molten, and corrosive. Jealousy detonated in his bloodstream. It roared through him colder than steel, hotter than magma; an emotion he despised precisely because it didn’t belong to kings, only to men.
“Who,” he growled, voice deep enough to rattle the ceiling, “was in this room?”
Adelaide shook her head violently, shrinking tighter into the corner. “I—I don’t—”
He didn’t hear her. His vision went red at the edges. His wings flared so wide the torches snapped out. The last scraps of light in the chamber were his: the molten seams in his skin, the faint glow of runes waking in the floor, the scalding shine in his eyes.
He inhaled sharply— And found nothing. No scent of an intruder. No trace of a demon. No ash, no iron, no shadow-magic.
Whoever had been here had erased themselves perfectly. That made it worse. Much worse. Only old bloodlines and very old enemies knew how to ghost past his wards so cleanly.
A black, blinding fury roared through him, tearing apart what little restraint he had regained.
He tore across the room in a violent blur.
The bed went first — ripped in half and flung into the wall with enough force to create a crater. Feathers burst into the air in a choking storm, catching fire mid-flight and spinning down as smouldering flakes that died on impact with the stone.
Adelaide screamed again, covering her head, shaking so violently her teeth chattered.
He spun, chest heaving, wings scraping the ceiling. “WHO WAS HERE?” he bellowed.
Silence.
Her heartbeat thundered against the bond, frantic and terrified.
He grabbed the nearest table, shattered it in his hands, and hurled the splintered remains across the floor. Carved legs snapped like twigs; metal plates screamed as they warped, skidding across the molten-slick stone.
“NO ONE!” Adelaide sobbed. “Apollo, I swear—no one was—was—please—”
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Hope. Hope. Someone had given her hope. And that someone wasn’t him.
His tail lashed violently through the air, smashing a wardrobe into dust. Feathers — black and iridescent — scattered across the floor from where his wings had torn through the drapery.
Adelaide cowered deeper into the corner, tears streaking down her cheeks, her voice a high, shaking whisper: “I—I don’t know anything… please… I don’t know…”
He didn’t hear her.
Couldn’t.
Her hope still glimmered, faint but real, pulsing through the bond like a heartbeat he didn’t own.
His jealousy twisted into something feral. His breath came ragged. His horns scraped sparks from the ceiling. His claws gouged long, violent trenches in the stone floor. Each groove filled instantly with molten gold, the palace bleeding light in answer to his rage.
He spun toward her.
She flinched, shrinking as far into the corner as the wall allowed, sobs trembling from her chest.
Her fear throbbed through the bond, feeding the storm inside him instead of calming it.
“Tell me,” he snarled, taking a step toward her, “who touched you?”
“No one,” she whispered through tears. “No one, I swear—I don't—”
Her voice was too small. Too soft. Too frightened.
The wrong emotion. She should fear him—yes. But she should not feel hope for another.
He reached her in three huge steps.
His clawed hand slammed into the wall beside her head, cracking stone and sending chips scattering across her hair. The impact shook dust from the ceiling; a spiderweb of glowing fractures raced out under his palm, framing her face in fissures of light.
She yelped, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Tell me,” he growled, leaning down, horns casting monstrous shadows across her body. “Tell me who was in this room.”
She shook her head so fast he thought she’d break her own neck.
“I don’t know—I don’t—there was no one—”
“LOOK at me.”
She shook her head, frantic. He grabbed her chin—not gently—and forced her gaze upward.
Her pupils were blown wide with panic. Her pulse jumped wildly at her throat.
The sight should have satisfied him. Instead, it stoked his fury. Those eyes had burned gold for him, had met him with fire and defiance. Seeing them now drowned in fear felt like a theft he hadn’t authorised.
“You are lying.”
“No—I’m not—I—”
“You wore NOTHING for days.” His voice vibrated the floor. “You wrapped yourself in my fur. You hid beneath it. You shivered in it. It is what I allowed you. And now—” his gaze raked the dress, “you’re clothed.”
“I—found it,” she choked.
He snarled, the sound low and venomous. Liar. He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t breathe.
Smoke curled from his fingertips — thick, black, and ember-hot — coiling around her wrists and ankles like serpents.
Adelaide screamed, twisting away, but the smoke locked onto her with supernatural precision. The tendrils tightened with the inexorable patience of chains sliding into place, searing cold and heat into the delicate skin of her limbs at once.
“No—no—Apollo, please—stop—don’t—”
He flicked his hand. The room shook.
The floor beneath her feet ignited in a circle of crimson runes—old magic, forbidden magic—and a wooden structure rose from the flames, rising from nothing as though it had been sleeping under the stone all along. Dark. Smooth. Crossed in an X like a sacrificial altar. The runes crawled up its surface as it formed, carving themselves into the wood in a language older than Hell, sparking briefly gold when they tasted her panic.
Adelaide was yanked from the corner, suspended helplessly above the ground as the smoke dragged her toward the cross.
She fought. She sobbed. She begged. None of it mattered.
The ropes yanked her upward, securing her wrists to the top beams. Her ankles to the lower ones. Spread brutally wide, suspended in the air. Her chest rose in frantic breaths.
He stepped back, chest heaving.
The sight made something inside him snap. Not with pity. Not with guilt. With need. Not completely sexual—not yet—but possessive, territorial, furious need.
She was his.
His.
And someone else had dared give her something.