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홈 / Fantasy / The Devil's Broken Doll / Chapter Fifty-Five - Bound by the Cross

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Chapter Fifty-Five - Bound by the Cross

작가: Kristy Pearson
last update 게시일: 2025-12-18 07:50:42

(Apollo)

“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 frac
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    (Apollo) Chains made not from any Hellish material he knew wound around her body like the roots of some monstrous tree, black links biting into bruised flesh at her wrists, her waist and across her throat before disappearing into the surrounding walls. Every slight movement she made caused the enchanted metal to tighten fractionally, forcing another involuntary tremor through her exhausted body. Apollo felt each one. His own wrists burned. His shoulders ached with the memory of being forced backwards. His ribs throbbed beneath invisible pressure. The last two days... The bloodletting. The madness he had felt within him. The pain that had refused to leave him. None of it had been the poison. It had been Adelaide. Every scream. Every injury. Every impossible wave of agony that had dragged him half-mad across the past two days had never belonged to his own body at all. She had been enduring it alone... while all he had done was survive the echo. "Adelaide..." The name escaped him bef

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    (Apollo) Apollo struck the nearest pillar. The impact split the skin across his knuckles and sent a fracture racing through the obsidian from floor to ceiling. Pain burst through his hand. It meant nothing. He struck it again. Someone seized his shoulder. Apollo turned with a snarl that shook dust from the vaulted ceiling, one hand already closing around a throat before recognition forced its way through the red haze consuming him. Malachar. The general did not flinch, though Apollo could feel the rapid hammering of his pulse beneath his palm. "My King," Malachar said, each word measured with the extraordinary calm of someone standing inside the jaws of an animal and pretending not to notice the teeth. "Release me." Apollo's fingers tightened as another wave of Adelaide's pain moved through him. Malachar's face darkened as the pressure around his throat increased, yet he did not raise a weapon. He merely held Apollo's gaze. "She is alive," Apollo growled. "I know." The answ

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