A Lair So Primal by Zoey Ellis

3

Elora woke to silence.

For a moment confusion flooded her. She lay on a bed, surrounded by piles of pillows and blankets, looking up at a smooth ceiling. How had she fallen asleep outside of her little nook? Memories rushed back to her and she sat up and lifted her arm. It was thickly bandaged from the shoulder all the way down to her wrist, but when she tensed it, making a fist with her hand, she could feel nothing—no pain at all. Lowering her arm, she looked around her.

From the look of the furniture, the room appeared to be private quarters. Apart from the bed she lay on, a few chests were stacked on one side and a small table with a matching chair sat against the opposite wall. Next to the table was a small, empty shelf. Elora swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, nausea roiling in her stomach. She padded over to the table where her carrysack had been placed and checked to see if all of her belongings were there, not that she had much. Nothing appeared to have been touched, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the steward had gone through it.

She dropped onto the chair and began examining her bandages, trying to remember how she’d gotten here.

The beast told her he would get her healed and then…. Heat rushed up her neck at the memory of his final words to her, uttered with a heavily lascivious tone that made it seem like both a threat and a promise. It was clear he intended to use her sexually. And that should have relieved her—after all, it was the same thing she’d entered her old lair intending to do for his brother. She’d never had to sell her virginity like other omegas, who didn’t have the protection of a faction like she had, but giving herself up sexually for the protection of the dragorai, even as a virgin, didn’t seem like a big sacrifice. And yet… the idea of it in this lair with this dragorai-alpha, made her uncomfortable. The beast took pleasure in hurting people in the most horrid and painful ways he could. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him—her whole plan had been to avoid him completely and live a quiet life among the servants, but that was impossible now that he had scented her and enjoyed it. He wouldn’t leave her alone until he’d had his fill. It was also likely he was infuriated by some of the things she said, so he may very well wish to hurt her again simply for the fact she insulted him.

“Don’t pick at that.”

Elora’s fingers froze on her bandages, her head snapping toward the doorway.

The same female steward stood at the door, a tray in her hands and a disapproving look on her face. “You will interfere with the healing,” she said gesturing to Elora’s arm as she bustled into the room. “Does it hurt?”

Elora rose off her chair and backed away to the wall, keeping her eyes on the woman. It was easier to see her features now; rich brown eyes, cinnamon hair that fell to her shoulders, and skin the color of dark sand that held no blemish or wrinkle. Her looks had a quality that was similar to Dayatha and the other stewards. It was difficult to tell their ages—they looked youthful but clearly were not young.

The steward’s brows raised in surprise, and she placed down the tray on the table, which held a steaming bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. She snorted. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. There’s plenty else for you to be afraid of.”

“You’re the one who tricked me into going into that cell,” Elora shot at her.

“I didn’t trick you. That is our normal procedure. But it won’t happen again.” She gestured around them. “You have your own private quarters now.”

“My own quarters?” Elora looked around. “I’m on my own in this room?”

The steward nodded. “Yes.”

“But…” Elora glanced around again. “Where will everyone else be?”

“In their own rooms,” the steward replied, puzzled.

“So you all sleep in your own rooms?”

The steward stared at her for a moment in confusion, then lifted her head in understanding. “Ah. It’s likely you shared sleeping quarters in Lord Nyro’s lair because there were so many of you,” she said. “But it is preferable here for servants and stewards to have our own rooms—there’s enough space for it.”

Elora almost blurted out that she didn’t want to have her own room, but she held her tongue.

“Come and let me check on your arm,” the steward said as she headed back to the door to pick up a small basket filled with bottles and jars.

Elora hesitated, but the steward gestured to the bed and they both sat down.

The steward pressed her fingers around Elora’s wrist, watching her closely for a reaction, before she started undoing the bandages.

Elora was quiet for a moment, wary as she watched her. She couldn’t trust this steward, but she also couldn’t tell if the steward had something against her or was just following orders. “Are you the one who healed me?” she asked eventually.

“Yes.”

“Did you also go through my belongings?” Elora asked, gesturing with her head to her carrysack.

The woman glanced up at her. “I wanted to make sure that you weren’t carrying anything dangerous. As is my right,” she added pointedly, clearly as a reminder to Elora that she was a steward not simply another servant.

“Are you the head steward?” Elora asked.

The woman frowned at her. “Head steward? We don’t have that here. Is that something you had in your last lair?”

Elora nodded. “There wasn’t much of a hierarchy among the stewards, but because each of them had different responsibilities there was only one who spoke to Master rather than all of them taking up his time.”

The female shook her head slowly, pondering the idea. “That makes sense. We don’t have that here, probably because we’re not big enough. One of us will speak to our lord, it usually doesn’t matter which of us. All the stewards are equal and we make decisions together.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Elora said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “The other steward implied you would be finding quarters for me. And you put me in a cell instead.”

The female steward fingers slowed as she unwrapped Elora’s bandages. “He was making a suggestion, that’s all.” She held Elora’s gaze. “You may feel that I mistreated you by putting you in there, but our lord made it clear that he felt you were a criminal, and I cannot disobey him by treating you as anything but, regardless of any assumption Walrick made.”

“And now?” Elora asked.

“Now, our lord has asked that you are healed and fed and anything else you might need to settle in.”

“Then what of the meal?” Elora gestured to the table. “Isn’t that a meal for prisoners?”

The steward blinked in surprise. “No. That is the meal we are all having today.” She peered at Elora. “Did you have elaborate meals in the other lair?”

Elora thought back to all the delicious meals that were offered and sighed. “It’s not that different,” she lied. “But we ate together.”

The steward pursed her lips as she nodded. “We used to as well, in the beginning,” she said. “But there is always so much to do that it became impractical to carve time out just for that.”

Elora said nothing. Having meals together was something she’d always experienced, even with her faction. She couldn’t understand how the community in this lair could choose to eat alone. Even when she was with her faction, it was common for them to eat together. “So there’s no common mealtime?”

“No. You need to fit your mealtimes around your duties and when the kitchen staff is serving food.”

“What are my duties?”

“I don’t know,” she said somewhat stiffly. “Our lord has not been specific about what your role will be.”

The bandages came off her arm and Elora peered down where the wounds had been, but apart from some significant raw redness, her skin had no scar at all. The steward picked up a jar from the basket.

“How did you heal me?” Elora asked, touching the rawness of her tender skin. “Potions?”

“Yes. And incantations. It took a few hours. The wounds were extremely deep. I had to put you to sleep for the rest of the day and night to help with the healing.”

Elora nodded. So it was the next day.

The woman gently smoothed a creamy substance into her arm where the wounds had been, rubbing it up and down the length of her arm until her skin had absorbed it. She asked her to clench her fist, touch each finger into the palm of her hand, and rotate her arm. “It is healing well,” she said finally. “You will need this treatment twice a day for the next few days, but there shouldn’t be any long-lasting pain or problems. There is a washroom farther down the corridor, try not to get it wet.” The steward put the jar back in her basket and stood up. “If it starts to hurt, let me know.”

“How do I find you? I don’t even know your name.”

“I am Marahl. I’ll visit regularly.” She gestured to the meal on the table. “Eat up while it’s hot.”

“So what should I do after that?” Elora asked, offering a small smile. “Do you need help with anything?”

The steward shook her head. “Currently you’re not part of the staff,” she said. “Everyone has a role that they are responsible for. Our lord will eventually decide what role you will have. If he decides that you will stay at all,” she added.

Elora exhaled heavily. “So I am supposed to wait around until he decides what he’s going to do with me?”

Marahl’s gaze turned hard. “You are lucky he didn’t kill you instantly upon your arrival. That is what most dragorai would have done.”

“Have many people crossed his territory before?”

Marahl picked up her basket and headed to the door. “Of course. People are always thinking that the warnings about the Forbidden Mountains can be ignored or risked for their own purposes, especially because of the war. Many try to cross to escape to the other side of the Twin Realms, and even though it would take weeks to cross, our lord’s territory has the most accessible route. So it is always being trespassed upon. He will not allow it.”

“So what does he do to them?”

Marahl shot her a look. “He and his dan askha hunt them. None of them survive.”

Elora’s brows shot up. “None?”

“None.” She shrugged at Elora. “You were lucky that you were not detected until it was too late.”

Elora fiddled with the edge of the blanket on the bed. Was she the only one he didn’t catch? “Is that why he is so angry?” she asked aloud.

Marahl’s eyes widened and then she laughed abruptly. “Have you not heard anything about Lord Zendyor while out in the Twin Realms?”

Elora nodded. “I have, but the steward at my old lair told me I shouldn’t believe all the rumors I hear.”

The steward inclined her head. “That is wise advice when it comes to living among the dragorai. But some rumors are worth listening to.”

“Which ones?”

Marahl shook her head. “I will never gossip about the dragorai. But as part of your induction to the lair, I will say… Lord Zendyor’s anger is easily aroused. You would be wise to ensure not to increase or heighten that while you are here, at least if you wish to live a pain-free and somewhat comfortable life here.”

Elora groaned inwardly. It wasn’t bad enough she’d have to deal with him, but to not anger him too? That seemed impossible. Her state of existence was enough to infuriate him. “Do I have to stay in here?” She couldn’t imagine being forced to stay in this room all day.

“No,” Marahl said. “But it’s best you don’t put too much stress on yourself while your arm is healing. Besides, I don’t want you interrupting anyone else from their duties.”

“Do you have a library?” Elora asked. “Or somewhere I can go and be out of the way?”

Marahl lifted brow and gestured to the room around them. “Yes. Right here.” With that, she left the room.

Exhaling a long breath, Elora closed her eyes and assessed her situation, trying to think of the positives. Mama had always said “Nothing in this land, no matter how devastating, can ruin you unless you choose it to.” And Elora believed that. It was a belief that kept their faction successful for years, and what helped to keep her family joyful, even though terrible things happened—things she wanted to block out and forget about forever. But her parents always proved that a smile or a laugh was crucial for them all in times of tragedy. And as Papa said to her once, “When it seems you have no choice, you can still choose your mood.”

So Elora cataloged the things that weren’t so bad about her situation. Firstly, her arm was healed and she wasn’t going to die from blood loss or infection. She also had her own room which, while that wasn’t something she was used to or even wanted, it was a sign that she had a secure place in this lair now. Lastly, she was still alive. And regardless of how much she hated and feared the beast, she still had a chance to fit in. She simply wanted a safe place to have something similar to her own faction—a community of people she could care for. And at the thought of that, she smiled.

She sat down to eat and was surprised how delicious the simple meal was. It may not have been as elaborate as the meals in the last lair, but the flavors of the stew were spectacular, nothing like she’d ever tasted, and the bread was soft and warm, with a flaky crust.

After she ate, she opened the chests and found one empty, but the other had some plain tunics, robes, undergarments, slippers, bathing cloths, and extra blankets. Elora smiled, glad for the extra clothes, in the other lair clothes had not been a priority. She placed her own belongings into the empty chest and gathered a few bathing items before heading to the washroom Marahl mentioned. After she made use of it and changed into a new tunic, she stepped back out into the corridor, peering both ways.

Marahl never told her she couldn’t leave the room, just told her not to get in the way. So she began to explore.

Although the lair looked similar to Nyro’s, the layout was completely different. Farther down from the washroom were a number of empty quarters and a storage room. Down a few more corridors were large rooms that seemed suitable for lounges or group activities, but they appeared unused. One of the rooms she came across had various items on display, almost like a gallery. But the items were not ancient artifacts she expected to see in a dragorai lair, but rather common items like forks and goblets that had been made recently—items that no longer were in use anymore but had once been. She was surprised to see a dagger with the northern king’s insignia on it and a set of cutlery that had the southern queen’s emblem. Very strange. Why would anyone want to keep this here?

She continued to walk down the corridors, alarmed at how quiet it was until she realized she had no idea how to get back to her quarters. Cursing, she continued on, hoping she would see someone who would be able to help her find her way back.

Finally she turned into a corridor to see a young woman who looked a little younger than she, dressed in a brown tunic, cleaning one of the lamp stands in the corridor. She didn’t notice Elora until she was almost right next to her.

“Good day,” Elora said, somewhat shyly. “I’m new here, I just wanted to say hello—”

As she spoke, the girl’s eyes widened and she began to scrub quicker.

Elora frowned, her voice faltering. “There’s no need to be afraid of me,” she said hesitantly. “I just—”

The girl grabbed her cleaning equipment and hurried along the corridor in the opposite direction.

Elora watched her go, puzzled by what just happened. Was she threatening in some way? She glanced down at herself. She wore a similar tunic but in grey, the same slippers, and she was a little shorter than the woman. Sighing, she shrugged it off and continued down the corridor, looking for someone else, but soon discovered it wasn’t just the young woman who’d behaved strangely. All of the servants Elora came across avoided her, either hurrying away when they saw her coming or ignoring her altogether. Elora’s hope struggled to remain strong in the face of their attitudes. Clearly they had all heard something about her, but what would cause them to run away? She tried to find an area where servants were relaxing, where they would be more easygoing and maybe explain things to her, but there was no such place. Everywhere she turned, servants were working; cleaning, polishing, folding fabrics, sweeping, washing… All the things she’d seen before in the other lair, but with a different energy. No one smiled; they all focused heavily on their work and barely spoke. No laughter or chatter filled the corridors. This was not at all like Nyro’s lair; there was no sense of community here at all.

Elora wandered around the hall and corridors trying to find her way back to her quarters, which was proving more difficult than she anticipated. If no one would speak to her, how would she find her way back?

As she was making her way down another corridor she thought she recognized, the whole lair trembled. Elora gasped, grabbing for the wall as she stumbled. But there was nothing to hold onto—the walls were smooth. She pressed herself up against it, her heart pounding as another three trembles shook the corridor, each getting progressively worse.

A young male servant in a green tunic skidded into the corridor and ran down it, trying not to fall as everything shook.

“What’s happening?” Elora called to him as he passed.

His eyes were wide as they locked onto her. “He’s back.”

She didn’t need to ask who. “I can’t find my way back to my quarters,” she said as the man stumbled passed her. “Can you help me?”

The man paused, peering at her. “Stay here. I’ll get someone to come and help you.”

“Thank you,” she called after him.

She slid down the wall and huddled on the floor and hugged her knees, watching him stagger to the end of the corridor and then turn the corner. There was something uncontrollable about this that made her uncomfortable. It was similar to when bombs dropped in the North Cities, filling the air with unbreathable smoke and shaking the ground. It wasn’t something anyone could prepare for or something that could be controlled. And she hated it.

But after a few moments, the trembling stopped. Elora held herself still, keeping her breathing steady. Whatever just happened was not normal. Mountains weren’t supposed to shake, especially not ones that held lairs for the dragorai.

As she got to her feet, Marahl strode round the corner. “There you are,” she said, a harsh annoyance in her tone. “I told you that you would be better entertained by staying in your room and not disturbing any of the other servants.”

Elora stared at her incredulously. “Didn’t you feel the mountain trembling? What was that?”

Marahl exhaled a heavy breath. “Follow me,” she said, turning and heading back the way she came.

Elora followed her. “Is that normal? That trembling of the mountain? Are we safe here?”

“We are safe,” Marahl said firmly. “It’s just something that happens sometimes. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“The mountain doesn’t become unstable?”

“You don’t have to worry about anything like that. All of the mountains that house dragorai lairs are structurally sound and reinforced with magic.”

Elora relaxed a little. “How long has that been happening?”

Marahl shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never paid much attention to it. The lair is well-maintained and well-kept, these small tremors are part of living here.”

Elora frowned at her, confused by how she could be so calm about it. Even if the mountain was safe, why would any of the dragorai build a lair inside a mountain that randomly trembled like that. Also, Nyro’s lair wasn’t that far from this one, considering the size of their territories, and his lair never suffered anything like this. Something was strange.

“The servant I saw,” she said hesitantly, “when I asked what was happening, he said ‘He’s back.’”

Marahl glanced at her. “Yes, he is. He wishes to see you.”

Elora tensed, her breath rushing out in a gust. “You’re taking me to him? Right now?”

“Yes.”

The urge to run in the opposite direction sparked through her muscles but she let it pass. What he planned for her was the role she had always intended to fulfill; she couldn’t avoid it and it wasn’t worth angering him.

Marahl led her up a few sloping corridors where a dry, warm breeze drifted through the air, and she stopped outside of a set of wide double doors, then gestured for Elora to enter. “Wait in here for him.”

Elora took a breath, then opened the door. Inside was the beast’s chambers. It was very different from Nyro’s. Zendyor had much less furniture and his furnishings were plainer, but bolder; a huge bed with four thick column posts, solid gold chests, and a beautiful, square table with a couple of chairs. One wall was missing, just like in Nyro’s chamber, providing a beautiful view of his mountain range, but Zendyor’s room had a simple design.

She edged to the middle of the room, studying everything she could from where she stood. The only decorative things in the room were a painting on the wall and a rug on the floor, both minimal; plain muted colors with a splash of bold color. She was glad to see that he, at least, had artwork.

It was quiet, and after a long moment Elora relaxed. Here the silence was peaceful, not like the uncomfortable quiet in the lower corridors of the lair where people were busy working but didn’t speak. Maybe it was the furnishings, but the beast’s chamber felt like the only normal place so far. She wandered to the window and gazed out over his mountain range. It was just as beautiful as all the views she’d seen from the windows in Nyro’s lair, white and grey mountains spreading out into the distance, meeting the horizon with a vibrant blue sky. She’d lost track of the time, but it looked like it could be late afternoon.

Lost in her thoughts, she jumped at the sound of a slamming door and when she spun around, she screamed.

Dressed in just pants, the beast’s thick, muscled upper body was on display, but his entire body was covered in blood. It drenched his hair, coated every inch of his face, hands, every patch of skin, saturated his pants, and even trickled down his neck as though it was secreting from his pores. But it wasn’t just that. This time he truly did look like a beast. Mouth twisted in a snarl, wild eyes filled with fury, and fists clenched, he was clearly still in whatever killing frenzy he had returned from. And he was charging toward her.

Elora backed away, terror in her throat, but his strides were long and it was mere moments before he reached her.

Grabbing her by the neck and pulling her toward him, he buried his face in her neck again, but this time she fought, attempting to pry his hand from her neck as she hit his chest repeatedly. But her hands bounced off his hard muscle. He groaned and continued to breath her in, ignoring her ineffective attack. Her body was in sudden movement when he strode toward his bed, dragging her backward as she struggled and fought, yet his distinctive scent surrounded her quickly. This time it was layered with a compelling bitter edge that warned her of his mood—aggressive, aroused, determined. It seeped heavily from him, so powerful that it soon nestled in her nostrils, hit the back of her throat, and clung to her skin, as though she was being smothered by it. And of course her body reacted.

By the time he threw her down on the bed, an ache coiled deep in her stomach, her slick gathered in abundance and her nipples painfully rubbed against her tunic.

The beast’s mouth found her neck, and she shuddered, whimpering as he licked and sucked the sensitive skin. Then he was tearing at her tunic, ripping it off her in strips to get to her body.

Elora tried to keep fighting, but her mind was choppy with confused thoughts and sensations. Her hand stilled on his slippery arm as the overly large muscles contracted, and some part of her—not completely unknown to her conscious mind—marveled at the strength of him, and despite his dominant behavior she was eager to have her tongue on him.

Within moments her tunic was shredded and his mouth found her nipple. She cried out as he sucked her hard, biting and flicking his tongue as his hand trailed down her body. Elora exhaled, her mouth open, her back arched, flutterings of pleasurable sparks vibrating around her body.

Zendyor pressed himself against her, smearing her with the blood he was drenched in, but she couldn’t focus on that when the sensations he caused were overwhelming her. He moved between her breasts until she writhed and moaned, her nipples inflamed with a delicious scorching tingle from his teeth and tongue. Covering her skin with his saliva, he licked and sucked everywhere he could reach.

It was the coppery odor of blood tainting his scent that kept her from surrendering completely—a small worm of resistance wriggling through the overwhelming feelings, but when he lowered between her legs, pressing his face to her slit and breathing her in, the rumble of his sigh sent a beam of glorious rapture through her that cut through everything else. His tongue lapped at her, dragging through her folds to harass the sensitive bundle between them. He sucked the tip just right, making her jerk and twist and whine for more.

He feasted well, and soon she was gasping, unable to take the intensity of what was building. Twirling her fingers through his drenched hair, she grabbed a fistful and attempted to pull his head away, blood trickling through her fingers as she squeezed, but the beast could not be moved. He ignored her, building a rhythm that swept and swirled her up and into a molten peak of delicious madness. Every muscle convulsed as she soared, her back arched, breath caught in her lungs for a long weightless moment, then the tension drained out of her.

The beast finally released her. He rose over her, his eyes heavy with a hungry need so powerful, it made her skin prickle. She panted as she watched him position himself over her, barely noticing that her legs were bent, her knees eagerly spread wide to accommodate him. The smell of her permeated the space between them, mingling with the odor of blood and the beast’s own deeply enticing scent. And together, they smelled sinfully sublime.

The beast pinned her down, his big hands securing her onto the bed and he speared her with one thrust. Elora screamed, both pleasure and pain rocking through her, savage and consuming, alerting every part of her that her body was no longer her own. The beast stilled, fully sheathed within her as she gasped and wriggled underneath him. He spoke, his voice deep as he rumbled words from his strange language, but it was strangely soothing and although she had no idea what he was saying, Elora relaxed and quietened, looking up to meet his hot gaze.

Then he moved, slamming into her in hard, long strokes. Elora remained tense for a long moment, afraid of the intensity of the pain and pleasure, but the feel of him inside her evolved quickly into something raw and primal, tumbling into every inch of her being.

Her toes curled tight, she absorbed everything—the feel of his skin, the rasp of his breath, the heightened scent—and it drew on something carnal and volatile within her that was out of her control.

As his mouth latched onto her stiff nipple, she opened her legs wider, rolling her hips and urging him to take her, to dominate her the way she needed it. Her pleasure built until it was a raging force. She pushed her nipple into his mouth, widened her legs to hump him, needing more.

But the beast was not swayed by her greedy little actions, he did what they both needed. The slams between her legs turned brutal, punishing, and his hips sped up slowly enhancing the carnal energy between them. Soon they were both grunting, panting, gripping each other, desperate for more.

Elora did not recognize herself or her own thoughts. She had slipped into a behavior that was predetermined, a behavior she had no control over. This experience was beautiful and consuming and addictive, and she didn’t want it to end. The brutal, sloppy pounding of her channel thrilled her beyond belief, and she embraced the heightened sensations that spiraled around her body, careening her into a new state of existence and understanding. She was an omega, and this alpha was giving her exactly what she had always craved without her ever knowing it. She submitted to the experience, and the pleasure that bloomed from her acceptance took her euphoria to a higher level.

Their coupling was frenzied and frantic and messy. Elora didn’t know when their position changed but she found herself face down with her ass in the air, the alpha behind her, squeezing her ass cheeks as he pummeled her. She growled into the bed, gripping the sheets into her fists as she battled the violent oncoming storm within her, and suddenly the fiery outburst of pleasure took over her whole body so intensely, she didn’t know who she was.

Elora had no sense of time for how long he took her; all she knew was that he was everything. He surrounded her with his body, intoxicated her with his scent, teased her with his mouth, and devastated her with his cock. It felt like an eternity of savage pleasure and raw primal energy, broken only by the multiple peaks of her climaxes. When he finally orgasmed, he roared, slamming into her erratically, once, twice, and on the third time locking them together, his knot at the base of his cock stretching her so far she thought she would be torn in two as he spilled his seed inside her.

And only then did the beast relax on top of her, covering her with his body and tucking her head into his chest. Elora submitted underneath him, relishing the burn of his knot as exhaustion and sleep claimed her.