Rapture by L.V. Lane

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Winter

“MAMA!”

That joyous squeal makes my heart soar. A tiny little imp barrels over to me and throws herself into my arms.

Her chaperone chuckles softly as she closes the door, a broad smile upon the pretty Breeder’s face.

“Please come and join us for tea,” I say, indicating the chair opposite. Upon the low table, food and drinks have been laid out in preparation for their visit.

I see the Breeder hesitate before she sits carefully like she is afraid she might break the ornate chair. I could point out that the seating is built to take an Alpha—an Alpha who, as often as not, sits there with me nestled upon his lap. But I determine that it might be better to simply talk with her as an equal rather than draw attention to her discomfort.

Her name is Shiloh, and despite her young age, she has other children, two of which are adopted. She has no mate. Breeders are encouraged not to form attachments, although I have heard they often do. She was selected, I was told, because of a chance encounter when we first arrived. Melody, in her way, determined that Shiloh was her mama too.

As I witness the loving way Shiloh looks upon her latest addition to her family, I think the child could not have picked anyone better.

Not so long ago, I would have looked down upon the sweet fairy, with her long silvery locks that look like spun silk and luminous violet eyes, and who has been Goddess blessed in every way, excepting potent blood. I have heard rumors that Alphas still take their blood, although it neither heals nor bestows enhancements, but that it is erotic in all other ways when combined with sexual pleasure.

A shudder ripples through me, and I find myself blushing.

“I want to pour the tea!” Melody announces, distracting me from memories of recent attention from my mate.

The sweet Breeder grimaces. “We should practice when at home, my love,” she says.

“What is a little spill?” I say, trying to put Shiloh at ease. “But the pot is hot and heavy. Perhaps we could compromise, Melody, and I could hold it with you? That way, we can pour it together.”

“Okay,” she agrees in her sweet, high voice.

Shiloh chuckles again, a melodious sound that brings warmth to my chest. I have spent little time with Breeders, but I have heard over the years that their laughter has near mystical soothing abilities.

The tea is poured with only a little spill. Melody chats gayly as we eat cake and drink our tea. She sits on my lap. She hops down to dance and twirl. She hops back onto my lap to chatter about her new siblings.

Her joy is infectious. She is gregarious, even for a fairy child.

“Are your other children fairies?” I venture to ask Shiloh in the brief respite from Melody’s antics. The child has now gathered all the cushions and is making herself a cave upon the floor. As if it were not already obvious, it is a sign that she will reveal her Omega status one day.

“None of them,” Shiloh says with a smile. “They are all Alphas, revealing soon after birth. They dote upon Melody, I am pleased to report. For such young lads, they suffer the indignity of ribbons in their hair with surprising grace!”

I chuckle, heartened by this image of Melody’s new home life.

“It is not all easy,” Shiloh says quietly for my ears only. “There are nightmares of dark fae and tears for her lost bard. She settles again when I hold her and sing, but the sweet lass has suffered much in her short life. Her resilience is a thing of wonder. That can only be a good thing, given how special she is.”

Tucked inside the cave-nest, the fairy child is taking a nap.

I chat with Shiloh, infected with her loving nature and playfulness for life.

I feel the same nature growing within me—a desire to embrace happiness again, to make friends, and to live.

By the time Melody rouses from her nap and announces she wishes to check her brothers have not been naughty, I have rediscovered the previous, lighthearted version of me.

As they leave, I return to the bed, where Jacob’s scent lingers.

Lying down, I bury my face in the nearest pillow, drawing the faint scent of my mate into my lungs.

I am not the same fairy I was all those years ago, I realize, and I cannot become her again. Not all hurt can be mended. Some of it must be carried through to make a new version of ourselves, one that bears scars. Yet I can learn to be loving again, even with my scars.

I roll, staring up at the great swags and canopy of the bed. I like this bed very much, for it is small, not unlike a nest. Rising, I release several tiebacks, enjoying the sensation of being enclosed.

Nest. When I was younger, I liked to nest, just as Melody did. As I matured, I imagined sharing the space with a mate, of him putting me on my hands and knees and rutting me there.

My breath quickens, and my heart thuds as a sensation of deep confusion grips me. Between my thighs, my pussy ejects a gush of slick.

“Oh!” As my hands press against my tummy, I experience a violent cramp. “Goddess!”

I feel like I’m being torn apart from the inside out. Shivers rack my body. I curl up into a ball, terrified by what is happening to me. Incapacitated by pain, I lie there panting, too weak even to rise and call for help.

It comes in waves, each more dreadful than the last. Deep inside, I ache and cramp, convinced I am about to die.

Rolling, I try to crawl to the bottom of the bed when another cramp grips me.

Arm braced around my stomach, I squeal in shock.

Heat tears through my body, just as another great gush of slick escapes my pussy.

“Goddess help me,” I mutter weakly. Somehow, I stagger to the door, throw it open, and bark instructions at the nearest passing servant. One look at my stricken face, and he takes off at a run.