A Lair So Primal by Zoey Ellis

5

Zendyor lay Elora down gently on her bed, careful not to wake her.

She let out a tiny moan at the sudden lack of heat from his body, but he knew she wouldn’t wake. It had been a week now. She always slept well after their intense couplings, and hadn’t woken any of the times he returned her to her bed.

He lifted her left arm to examine it now that he had removed the bandages. It had healed well. He had inspected and checked Marahl’s potion and changed Elora’s bandages every morning to make sure. It had been foolish of him to damage her so badly. Granted she had refused to answer his question, but successful torture did not begin with the most severe punishment. Another result of his quick temper and one of the few he regretted.

He covered her with blankets, ensuring to pile them up around her. Like most omegas, Elora preferred being completely surrounded and covered as she slept. He had known that about omegas but never thought much about it until she was in his bed, relishing his heat on top and around her. It was satisfying to be able to give it to her.

He watched her for a moment, her face snuggling into the pillow. It should be against all natural laws that she was so beautiful. A criminal like her should not be blessed with such a face or stunning body, and certainly not a kon so delectable and snug that he had almost become obsessed with it. It infuriated him, and yet nothing could stop him from eagerly indulging in her. Perhaps this was her plan in the first place.

He couldn’t make sense of the woman. If she used magic or if she spoke Thrakondarian, she hid it well. If she had some kind of special skill or ability, it was unnoticed by all the measures he’d put in place to protect his lair. He had no idea why he didn’t just torture it out of her instead questioning her. He would do it tomorrow. Yet… he’d said that yesterday and the two days before that.

This omega had already made a fool of him by evading not only him but his dragon, Yorgynel, which Zendyor was also infuriated about. He couldn’t understand why his dragon—his dan askha—had tracked her but didn’t capture her or alert Zendyor that it was time to hunt. Of course, after experiencing Elora, he was glad he hadn’t, but it was a concern if his dragon was allowing people through his territory. Unfortunately, there was no clear way of finding out.

Dragorai-dragons were wilder and more dangerous than any other dragon that had ever existed in the Twin Realms. And many thought that just because they were bonded to alphas they were able to have in-depth conversations with them. That wasn’t the case. Communication between alpha and dragon was very much in the form of bursts and hints of feelings that only appeared when either one was feeling strongly about something. The only other way to communicate and control his dragon was by using incantations in his native tongue, Thrakondarian—the language of magic. But that wasn’t something most dragorai-alpha preferred doing. Why be bonded to be such a fierce, beautifully wild creature and then try to tame him? It was idiotic. His dan askha allowed him to hone his instincts, which elevated him to one of the most notable dragorai in all the centuries that he had been alive. And his hunting skills were one of the reasons his clan, the Vattoro clan, was the last remaining dragorai.

He looked around Elora’s room. Nothing looked different from when he was here yesterday, but his eyes rested on the book that her friend had given her. It was admirable that she wanted to learn to read, and even more thrilling that she was learning about him. His pride and suspicion battled about whether it was genuine interest or some kind of plot against him, but when he read through all of the stories, there was nothing of concern in them. In fact, he enjoyed the reminder of some of the things he’d done in his lifetime, even if not all of the stories were completely accurate. His past was a rich history—as it was for brothers and his kind. They had achieved and represented so much for the Twin Realms that their almost extinction was the highest of all insults which could ever have been inflicted on them.

Tyomar always argued that for new beings to exist the old ones had to die out. Zendyor didn’t give a fuck about that. They were dragorai—created by the Goddesses themselves. They were superior beings. No one, much less small and magic-less beings like the lesser-mortals, should be able to cause as much devastation as they did. And yet it had happened.

With the war still raging between the northern king and the southern queen, they would have the chance to regain their status, especially with all the changes happening within their clan.

They would not fail.

Taking one last look at Elora, Zendyor exited the room quietly and made his way back through the corridors toward his chambers.

When he arrived Marahl was waiting.

“Her wounds are fully healed,” he told his steward.

Marahl nodded. “She feels well.”

“Anything to report?” he asked as he entered his chambers.

“She went to one of the servants’ tasks rooms and tried to talk to her.”

“Did that work?”

“No,” Marahl said. “Everyone is too busy to stop and talk to her.” She hesitated. “But I wonder if you would be willing to allow someone relief to spend some time with her.”

“No.”

Marahl lifted her shoulders, grimacing. “I think she’s lonely. She had friends in Lord Nyro’s lair. She had activities and responsibilities. I fear that she will become very low in mood should she continue to be isolated.”

“That is the point,” Zendyor said, sharpness in his tone. “I want to know what she did when she crossed my land.”

“She still hasn’t mentioned anything to me,” Marahl said. “I have brought it up in many different ways. The crossing of your land is not something that is notable to her. She doesn’t even seem to remember much of it.”

“She is lying,” Zendyor said, dropping down into a chair. “She has to be. It is impossible for anyone to cross that distance in the time that she did without detection. I want to know how she did it, and then I will decide what to do with her.”

Marahl nodded slowly. “Of course, my lord.”

“She asked me yesterday whether you have any kon’ayas.” She looked at him expectantly. “What do you wish me to say?”

“Tell her,” Zendyor said, gesturing a flick with his hand. “Let her experience the lair, let her attempt to meet people, let her see that she is missing out and question her. All she has to do is tell me what I want to know.”

“All right,” Marahl said, sighing. “If you’re sure there is no other way you can get the information when she is with you?”

Zendyor snapped a look at her, and she took a step back realizing she’d spoken out of turn. Zendyor raised a hand and dismissed her.

He poured a drink, annoyed at Marahl’s question and displeased with himself. Fucking Elora had become an addiction; he was not going to deny it. Her beauty was one thing, but from the moment he scented her, he knew she was something he needed. The pleasure he got from seeing her on his cock, from tasting her and scenting her, was almost as sublime as the physical act—she was the most delicious female he’d ever had in his bed. Their mating was so base and carnal, it had awakened something within him he couldn’t pinpoint—something raw and powerful that tapped into his dragorai nature. It was unusual. He had never experienced anything like it before, and yet it was a criminal—someone who’d fooled him—who’d awakened that side of him. He slammed his glass down, annoyed. As soon as she told him what he needed to know, he would get rid of her, but he would certainly miss his nights with her, there was no way to deny it.

A screech from the window alerted him that someone was approaching, and a shard of territorial irritation sliced through him from Yorgynel. Zendyor didn’t respond back, letting him know that he was open to seeing whichever brother had decided to visit him. He was in the mood for a distraction tonight.

The heavy beating of wings approached the window, and a man sailed through from the back of another dragon—Nel’s brother. His brother Sethorn landed softly in Zendyor’s chambers.

“You’re out late, brother.”

Sethorn said nothing, and Zendyor frowned. When he wasn’t in clan mode, Sethorn was usually full of cutting remarks and sarcastic comments.

He stepped into the room, looking around Zendyor’s chamber, lifting his nose before glancing at him, a smirk on his face. “Fucking after hunting.” He grinned. “I haven’t done that in ages.”

Zendyor snorted. “It is the best way to fuck.”

Sethorn nodded in agreement. “Except the blood gets everywhere, and it’s hard to find someone who will indulge in it fully without all the squeamishness.” He shook his head. “Omegas are not what they used to be.”

Zendyor said nothing. Elora had certainly looked horrified when he had first taken her after hunting, but she’d never once verbalized any disgust or reluctance in seeing him dripping with blood, conversely she’d been highly aroused by it—based on her scent and abundance of slick. But he couldn’t allow the blood to linger on her for too long. The first night he’d been too concerned with fucking her for as long as possible to be bothered to wash it off before the end of the night, but after that first time he’d begun bathing her earlier and earlier during their encounters. There was something about seeing blood on her that began to displease him. It suggested she might be wounded, and that enraged him—both the idea that she could be wounded and the fact that he even cared in the first place.

“I thought you weren’t really making use of your kon’ayas?” Sethorn said.

“I lacked interest in them for a while,” Zendyor said casually. “But something piqued my interest.”

Sethorn chuckled. “Naturally. Although I am finding the lack of women to engage me highly frustrating.”

At that Zendyor did laugh. “You have a lair full of kon’ayas, Sethorn. Almost as many as Nyro. You cannot possibly be bored of them.”

Sethorn shrugged. “They adore me,” he said irritably. “There’s no thrill of the chase with a woman who can be easily bent.”

“But you are the one who makes them like that,” Zendyor pointed out. “That’s what you like isn’t it?”

“I used to. Now I like the challenge of turning them into mindless cock-lovers ready and willing to do my bidding when I please,” Sethorn said. “There is nothing thrilling about a woman who actually is one anymore.”

Zendyor shook his head, still laughing. “Then you should find a new hobby or a way of bending them that doesn’t have that result.”

“It is up to them to resist—no matter how hard I try.” Sethorn was annoyed.

Zendyor nodded. Sethorn had the charm to make all kinds of women flock at his feet, but he didn’t respect the ones who did. It was almost impossible for him to find any woman strong enough to resist his manipulating charm. It seemed he was destined to remain alone. But that had been said about all of them for centuries.

With his brother Nyro newly mated, everyone had new hope, and not just their staff. Zendyor had noticed his brothers were more positive about the future, about contending with the king and queen, and much more willing to embrace their true nature. That was how it should be, but it was not a surprise for them to feel more secure now that there was a chance they could find mates and even potentially have children.

Growing up, Zendyor had never considered that having children would become an impossibility for him, so the extinction of the female dragorai incensed him constantly. It had been the source of all of his rage against the lesser-mortals. They deserved to die in the most painful and horrific way for robbing him and his dan askha of the chance to have young, and of robbing everyone of the beauty of female dragons. He wouldn’t actively go out and kill them—he had some respect for a small number of them—but anyone who dared to insult him in any way was torn to shreds immediately and without mercy. That was the way it should be and that was the way it was.

Until Elora.

“So what are you doing here, brother,” he said to Sethorn. “I didn’t think you enjoyed early morning hunts.”

“We need to talk about Khyros.”

Zendyor stilled. He turned to Sethorn. “What about him?”

“We need to do something,” Sethorn said, raising his brows.

Zendyor pursed lips as he poured more of the potent liquor, zmul, into his glass and prepared a glass for Sethorn. “What exactly are you suggesting,” he said cautiously, handing over the glass. “And speak carefully, brother.”

It was considered highly treasonous to speak against the head of the clan, unless there was significant cause.

“We need to share the responsibility for his lack of mobility,” Sethorn said.

Zendyor exhaled quietly. He thought the conversation was going in a different direction. “That’s not a problem,” he said. “You do not have to be the one to always take him anywhere he needs to go.”

“I’m talking about what happened with the king,” Sethorn said.

Zendyor frowned. Recently, they’d all flown to the North Cities and took the chance to deal a blow to the king, who had managed to escape, but not without damaging and injuring all of the brothers’ dragons in the process. They had underestimated how powerful he was. During the whole incident, Khyros had traveled with Sethorn on his dragon, Ornendor.

“When we are in battle, there cannot be two alphas for my dan askha,” Sethorn said, his expression deathly serious. “If Khyros and I travel together too often, it will confuse Ornendor and I do not want him to begin to think he has two masters, or become confused that Khyros is somehow part of our bond.”

Zendyor nodded. “I understand. Of course not. We will share it equally.”

“I am nearer his range, so I go to check on him more often, especially since he cannot communicate through our dragons,” Sethorn said. “But you must visit him more. Both you and Tyomar should.”

“And what about Nyro?” Zendyor snapped. “Does he not have this responsibility too?”

Sethorn held up a hand and chuckled. “I know you have difficulty with Nyro—”

“Difficulty?” Zendyor thundered. “I do not have difficulties with him. He didn’t abide by clan rules for decades. And while I am grateful that his mate has had an impact on him, what about all the responsibilities he refused to shoulder for the last few centuries!”

Sethorn lowered his hand. “Calm down,” he said. “I know that you feel Nyro always succeeds in getting out of things, but he does have a mate now. That cannot be denied. We have to protect that and keep that in mind whenever we are arranging things among us. Their relationship holds the future of our kind.”

“I don’t debate that,” Zendyor said. “But he can go and visit Khyros just as often as we do. It makes no difference. He can go with his mate.”

Sethorn nodded. “True. I will make sure I talk to him as well.”

“So that’s why you’ve come to see me in the middle of the morning?” Zendyor said. “You are still behaving as if Khyros has a dragon that could alert him of your movements.”

Sethorn chuckled and took a mouthful of his drink. “I cannot imagine what he’s feeling,” he murmured. “To not have one’s dan askha is to not live.”

Zendyor nodded in agreement. It was a terrible fate for one’s dragon to go missing. Khyros’ lack of mobility to travel his own range and to meet his brothers was only a small part of it. He could no longer communicate with the rest of them as easily, and Zendyor had no idea how he was dealing with his hunting urges. It had to be torturous for him, even though Khyros kept that anguish to himself.

Usually if one’s dan askha died, the alpha would not be far behind, but since Khyros had not died, the brothers believed that there was a good chance his dragon was alive and that he would be found. And if anyone had interfered with that, they would be killed in retribution for his brother’s suffering.

“I will see you in the morning?” Sethorn asked.

Zendyor nodded. “Yes, we have much to discuss.”

* * *

The next morning, Zendyor paced while he waited for Marahl. She usually bought Elora her first meal of the day, and he liked knowing what happened, if anything. Of course, Marahl was baffled as to why he wanted to know what she said and did, and what her plans were for the day, but he didn’t particularly care about Marahl’s confusion. He just wanted to know. Eventually Elora would have to confess, either to Marahl or to him. But he got the feeling that if she was going to say anything it wouldn’t be to him. When they were together, they had other, more pressing concerns. Marahl was the only one whom she talked to regularly. There must have been hints and clues in the things she said, the things that were important to her.

A knock pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Come in,” he barked.

“I apologize, my lord,” Marahl said as she hurried in. “Elora wanted to be taken to where we make the fabrics.”

Zendyor slowed. “Why?”

“I’m not sure,” Marahl said. “She said that our tunics are dull. I’m not sure what she means.”

Zendyor scowled, annoyed that she’d criticized anything about his lair. Normally he wouldn’t care what any servant thought, but her preference of Nyro’s lair burned him to the core.

It also enraged him that she had been so close to potentially fucking his brother. The only reason he believed she hadn’t was because she’d been a virgin when he first took her. It was lucky for her and for Nyro that had been the case. Although he couldn’t deny that Nyro had recruited her, it was Zendyor she’d always belonged to. And it was only pure luck that Nyro had found his own mate and had not touched Elora. The idea of them together inflamed his veins, setting alight the burning behind his eyes and the spark of heat in his chest.

“My lord.” Marahl was looking at him nervously.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“She plans to spend the day reading and exploring the lair again,” Marahl said. “She is still getting used to it.”

“Good,” Zendyor said. “I expect a briefing when I get back.”

Marahl’s smile faltered. “On what, my lord?”

“Elora.” Zendyor almost bellowed at her. “What else do you think?”

“I very much doubt there will be anything to report,” Marahl said tentatively. “There’s not much for her to do.”

“Except, she might say or do something that might give us a clue about how she was able to infiltrate my territory,” Zendyor said, forcing himself not to roar at her stupidity. “Would you like me to miss that opportunity?”

“No, my lord,” Marahl breathed. “Of course not. I am aware that there are things you will pick up on that I won’t, so I think it is for the best.”

“Dismissed.”

As she left, Zendyor strode to the room-length window and bellowed out of it in Thrakondarian.

Within moments, the thunderous beating of wings approached and Zendyor ran and jumped out of the window, casting an incantation to draw magic around him and carry him over to his dragon. As soon as he landed and crouched down, Nel took off, soaring through the sky, the breeze billowing Zendyor’s cloak, and rushing against his face. The thrill spread over his body. There was nothing better than being on the back of his dan askha… except maybe being inside Elora.

He tried to put her to the back of his mind. Clan meetings were important, and he needed to focus. Besides which, Nyro was going to be at this meeting, and he had to be careful about losing his temper with Nyro for no logical reason. He didn’t particularly care about being unreasonable—why should he? He was practically a god, as were his brothers. There was nothing they could ever do that was unreasonable to lesser-mortals, but to each other? Yes, there was. And Zendyor’s centuries-long frustrations with Nyro and his casual attitude to rules sometimes exploded at the wrong times. He had to control it.

Nel headed into Khyros’ mountain range. The Vattoro temple was situated on the edge of Khyros’ mountain with its own entrance near the top. Nel circled the entrance, and Zendyor jumped off his back, muttering another incantation to take him over to the entrance ledge. Straightening, he headed inside to see Tyomar and Sethorn.

“Greetings, brother,” Tyomar said. He was the calmest of them all and the most supportive brother of Zendyor’s frequent rage. “I was just speaking to Sethorn about visiting Khyros more.”

“I think it’s a good proposal. The responsibility should not fall just to him,” Zendyor said as he sat down.

“Agreed.”

“Brothers!” Nyro greeted, walking into the temple with his mate I’mya.

Zendyor was somewhat relieved that I’mya was there. She helped to focus Nyro and ensure that he put things into perspective. Besides which, she had lived in the North Cities and had information that could help them defeat the king.

After greetings were made and Nyro and I’mya sat down, Khyros appeared almost immediately.

As the oldest, Khyros was the head of the clan. Zendyor considered him a strong leader with only one weakness, and that was his missing dragon. In every other way, he superseded the rest of them—he was fair, just, and made the right decisions for the longevity of the clan. But it hadn’t escaped Zendyor’s notice that Sethorn had similar qualities. He was organized, and had planning, reading, and strategizing skills, and he, at least, had his dragon.

Last night he had thought that Sethorn was going to mention usurping Khyros, which Zendyor wouldn’t have agreed with, but he would have understood it. With the five of them left, and only four of them with dragons, true discord between the brothers was not something that would benefit anyone, regardless of how much they may brawl over their territories. When it came to the important things, nothing would break their brotherhood, but who led the clan could certainly be a dividing issue.

“The king escaped,” Sethorn said when the meeting began. “Any ideas?”

“We need a better idea of the layout of the North Cities,” Tyomar said. “The maps we have are too old, and we need to know which cities are still standing, which could not possibly house him and his army, and where his most durable strongholds are.”

Sethorn nodded. “We have to do it immediately before he is able to change anything.”

“And how do you propose we map the area out?” Nyro said. “Especially with him being able to see us in the sky.”

“We have to go at night,” Zendyor pointed out.

“And I can help too,” I’mya said. “I didn’t travel across the entire North Cities, but I heard about them. And I can tell you about the city that I knew the most.”

Sethorn shook his head. “It is unlikely that he will return there after we attacked him, but any information you can give about any of the other cities would be helpful.”

“What about the queen?” Zendyor asked. “She’s just as bad as the king. We should try to attack both of them.”

“We do not have the manpower for that,” Nyro said.

Zendyor’s anger surged at his dismissive attitude. “We can still plan two attacks that happen close together.”

Nyro nodded thoughtfully. “Split our focus.”

“And use magic to aid us,” Tyomar said.

“But we must begin by mapping the North Cities so we know the current terrain, and then the Southern Provinces.” Sethorn asked. “Is that agreed?”

All the brothers nodded.

“Good,” Sethorn said. “Zendyor you will take the first shift.”

Zendyor started, straightening as he frowned. “Why me?”

Sethorn frowned and the rest of the table looked at him.

“What do you mean why?” Tyomar asked, puzzled. “Why not?”

Zendyor didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was reluctant, he was just enjoying his routine right now—and that happened to include a sexy little omega. “I would prefer to take the second shift.”

“No, we need you to go first,” Sethorn said. “You have the best eye for seeing detail among landscapes. You are the best one to start us off.”

Zendyor exhaled heavily but couldn’t disagree. His hunting skills were relevant to their success. “I’ll go. When do we start?”

“Immediately.” Sethorn leaned forward. “I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you to be careful, Zen. This is a stealth mission only; you do not attack anyone, you do not speak to anyone, you do not allow anyone to see you. The skies should be grey and obscure enough that no one will even think to look up to see you, but you never know. It will take awhile the map the whole of the North Cities and then we need to do the same for the South. Be careful.”

Zendyor nodded. “Understood.”

At the end of the meeting, Zendyor readied to leave, eager to return to his lair, and he saw I’mya watching him. He held her gaze for a moment, curious about what she wanted, before realizing that she was probably wondering about her friend. Nyro had obviously told her not to ask him because Elora was no longer any of her concern.

None of the brothers were permitted to interfere with the running or each other’s lair. It was unacceptable.

Zendyor wondered if he should ask her anything about Elora, but the longer they stood observing each other, he decided against it. Elora and I’mya only met at Nyro’s lair, according to either of their accounts. If Elora was in some way dishonest or disingenuous, especially before she arrived, I’mya wouldn’t know. And considering I’mya was part of his clan now, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

He nodded in greeting at her and then headed toward the exit.

* * *

“Anything to report?” Zendyor said to Marahl, as he unbuttoned the top of his tunic.

“She spent the day in different parts of the lair,” Marahl said, “watching the servants get on with their duties.”

“She didn’t try to speak to the servants?”

“Yes, she still attempts to talk to them... but something did concern me.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure if it’s important,” Marahl said. “But something strange happened when one of the servants stopped for a break and went to pray. Elora followed them to the temple, but didn’t go in.”

“Maybe she chose not to pray at that time,” Zendyor said.

“But she hasn’t chosen to pray at all yet,” Marahl said. “She never asked about a temple when she arrived, and I don’t recall her ever mentioning praying in her room.”

Zendyor frowned at her. “What is your concern?”

“I’m not sure,” Marahl said, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I asked her whether she would like to pray, and she said no. I asked her when she would like to go, and she said that she didn’t need to. Then I asked her if she used to pray when she was growing up in the North Cities. She told me that she and her faction used to pray—they used to have dedicated times throughout the day if there wasn’t anything else more pressing happening, but there was something odd about the way she said it.”

Zendyor turned to the window in thought, unease twisting in his chest. “Are you saying you think she is against the Seven?” He wasn’t aware of anyone who actively disliked the Seven Goddesses, even though many criticized them for their lack of intervention to save the dragorai. But it was extremely unlikely for anyone who truly disliked the Goddesses to be willing to serve the dragorai, who upheld the worship of them.

“I’m not sure, it just struck me as odd,” Marahl said.

Zendyor nodded. It was odd. “Send her to me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else, my lord,” Marahl said. “Boe likes her and is enjoying keeping her well fed as you instructed. She also enjoys visiting him.”

“Good.” He turned from the window. “Starting tonight I will be traveling regularly into the North on clan business. My schedule will be erratic.”

Marahl dipped her head in a nod. “The stewards and I will make sure everything is prepared to meet your needs, my lord.”

Zendyor nodded. “Dismissed.”

He turned back toward the window in contemplation. There could be many reasons why someone didn’t wish to pray but some of those reasons could be dangerous for him, his dragon, and his clan, considering they were the last of their kind. He did not particularly want anyone who disliked his creators to be in his lair, especially when she had already displayed questionable and disobedient behavior, and wouldn’t give him the answers he needed. And yet, if this was the case, it made her even more interesting indeed. Why would someone seek a home in a dragorai lair if they disliked the Seven Goddesses? And what reason would she have to dislike them? It would make more sense if she was against the dragorai, and yet Nyro had said she acclimated well into his lair.

The growing mysteries surrounding Elora intrigued him, and although she couldn’t actively harm him or his clan, he couldn’t ignore any signs—if that was her intent.

The sound of the door opening made him turn. Elora came through it, her head down as she smoothed her tunic and raked her fingers through her hair, heading directly toward the window where he stood. When she glanced up and saw him, she froze, surprise on her face. “You’re here.”

Zendyor said nothing, taking a moment to absorb the sight of her. She truly was a stunning-looking woman. Her thick, golden-colored hair fell past her shoulders, and cool, flint-grey eyes flicked over him, assessing his stance and demeanor. Usually in this room, he viewed her through the chaotic haze that embraced him during and immediately after a hunt. During those times his observation of her was instinctual and animalistic, his body simply reacting to the simulation of everything she was, but now he could take a moment to appreciate more than her pleasing looks and beckoning scent.

Of course, as an omega, she had a compact little body, but beyond that there was something about the way she moved—a little meek, with nervous little actions—that made him want to pin her under him and keep her there.

“Come to me,” he ordered.

She stepped toward him cautiously, keeping her eyes on him until she stopped a couple of feet away. Fear and caution dominated her gaze, as it usually did. But after hunting, that expression sparked an impulse in him to take her—to secure her underneath him where she was safe, to claim her so she didn’t have to suffer the worry or fear that she belonged to no one. Looking at her now, he wondered if she innately understood his behavior in that state or if she was simply afraid of him because he had hurt her.

Regardless, the sight of her fear left a bad taste in his mouth, and suddenly he didn’t feel like discussing her potential aversion to the Goddesses, especially not before he traveled. It could wait.

“To your knees,” he said as he unbuckled himself.

Of course he was already rock hard the moment she walked into the room—that was inevitable. As she lowered to the ground, he pushed his pants down, his cock sprung free, thick and rigid as it bounced up, the tip already dripping.

Elora’s pretty eyes widened as she watched it, glancing up at him in wonder. He looked back at her, dropping his hands to his side, wondering if she would follow her instincts or wait to be told.

Elora’s eyes dropped back to his cock. For a long moment, she examined it, curiosity seeping into her eyes, before she reached out and grasped his length with her soft hand. She gently tugged it toward her and then back, and again, her eyes on the tip. Zendyor watched her, exhaling heavily as his pleasure began to build, and it wasn’t just her manipulations that were arousing, it was the way she looked at his cock, as if she was enraptured by it and starving for it.

She inched forward on her knees until her face was a few inches from him, her hand building a rhythm along its length. And then she leaned over and licked the tip, her tongue brushing again him and sending a burst of pleasure up Zendyor’s spine. He groaned, and at the same time she hummed with delight. Her hand worked him as her mouth enclosed around him, sucking, licking, swirling her tongue around.

She became bolder and more confident as she worked him faster, licking the length of him and even pressing her nose on the underside of his cock. The growing delight and pleasure on her face kept him on the brink of orgasm—there was no more beautiful sight than such a woman like her taking pleasure in the taste and smell and feel of him.

When he was about to climax, Zendyor gripped her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him as he covered her hand with his, guiding her speed as the turbulent rush of carnal bliss hurtled into him, and he spilled over her face and her neck.

Elora blinked, bewilderment on her face. She darted her tongue out to capture a drop of his seed as it trickled down the corner of her mouth. Then, using a finger, she wiped his seed from her face and looked at it, sniffing and touching it with the tip of her tongue. It was a deeply satisfying sight.

The urge to spill his seed over a woman didn’t come over him often, but now that he wasn’t able to see her on a regular basis, it seemed necessary. He pulled her up by her arm until she stood, and then lifted her tunic to her waist.

Her rich, addictive, sweet scent drifted from between her legs, indicating her significant arousal—just as he suspected. Elora turned her head away, averting her eyes, but her bashfulness only served to highlight her need. A guttural groan tumbled from his throat as his fingers slid into her panties, easing into her soft, drenched folds.

If he had time, he would spend the next few hours between her legs, saturating his face and neck with her slick and ensuring that her scent remained strong on him when he left for the North, but there wasn’t time for everything. Right now he wanted to fuck her until she was drowsy and sated, and full to the brim with his seed. He couldn’t explain the instinct, it was just what was necessary. Elora’s breath huffed out in halting spurts as he built a rhythm stroking her clit, swaying as she tried to stay upright.

Zendyor withdrew his soaked fingers and sucked on them, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.