Rapture by L.V. Lane
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jacob
AFTER WEEKS OF debauchery that exceeds even my expectations, I am called to the king.
I thought Winter might go into heat, rough fucking being known to trigger it. But alas, she is high blood, and I have never heard of one bearing a child.
It is a worry for a later time, for now, I am seated in the king’s dayroom in a plump carver chair that my warrior side recoils at. A broad window offers views across the forests of Beldair. My new quarters are luxury beyond my prior understanding, but the king’s dayroom is on another scale. Rich crimson, blue, and silver tapestries hang from walls depicting battle scenes, ceremonies, and strange precessions. Candelabras and gas lanterns are presently unlit, as the room is bathed in the morning sunlight. I miss the daylight, I realize, although little of Sanctum has access to the outside world.
“Few are as old as her,” he says. His gaze is steady. The man has a presence. He is not yet Chosen, but he crossed the boundary between Blood and warrior and is the oldest of the high Blood. “Once upon a time, the Alphas held all the power and the Omegas were cherished mates.”
I frown. Cherished. The word feels discordant at first, but sparks curiosity. The more I ponder it, the more the idea becomes undeniably right. “Even high Blood bore children, like a Breeder?”
He nods.
It is hard to think of high Blood becoming Breeders, of them nesting and going into heat. I have taunted Winter with being my Breeder. The first time I said it, we were prisoners of orcs. I couldn’t help but notice how her pussy clamped and her moans turned wild. It has happened on every subsequent occasion.
Much enamored with her reaction, I have used the term often.
I frown. “What changed?”
He sighs as he picks up his wine. “Circumstances happened. Great wrongs happened. At times, we seek to address an imbalance, but through our fallibility, we create a new and equal imbalance. It was not my decision. The Chosen are still our masters, never forget that. One day, I shall ascend to their ranks, and I hope when I do, I can remember mortal lusts and love.” Taking a deep drink of the blood red wine, he rests the glass back against the table.
Inside, I am unsettled. The rage that first consumed me has tempered. I do not hate Winter. I’m not sure I ever did. I have been cruel to her because I thought I needed to redress a wrong, but that is over now.
“Do you know why the bindings were put in place?” he asks.
I shake my head, but there is a prickling awareness that tells me this is important.
“She was the reason it happened,” he says. “You should ask her about it someday.”
Then he changes the subject, and we talk more about the eternal war.
