"I’m never going to make this easy for you! All you warlocks need to be wiped off the face of the earth!" I screamed.
He dragged me down the hallway, through a swing door, and down a stone spiral staircase. The lanterns on the wall flared to life as War passed them. My back ached and cracked from being tugged down the stairs. Glowing ancient drawings appeared on the wall that matched his markings, spinning. He carried me into what looked like a dungeon that smelled like blood with cages big enough for a lion or two. On the shelves of his dungeon were bloody weapons. War was on a damn warpathand I underestimated him. He placed me onto a table and straps appeared around my body, spreading my legs apart.
"I’ll stop!" I pleaded.
"The only thing that seems to instill fear in your heart is being taken advantage of. Perhaps I make your nightmare come true. I tried to be a decent nigga by respecting your space and letting you sit at my dinner table," he said, as he cupped my breast.
"Get your nasty ass away from me!" I shouted.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear. "You belong to me, Eboenia, and I’m going to make you feel it instead of keep reminding you. Maybe then you’ll obey me like my lil’ pussy fairy," he gritted, malice dripping from his tone.
He walked away and sat at a table, his back turned to me. A paring knife materialized in his hand, and he sliced into his wrist, letting his blood drip steadily into a bowl. As he chanted in a language that sent chills racing down my spine, the lanterns in the room flickered. Black smoke began to swirl around War, enveloping him as the gear tattoos on his back spun with increasing speed. Glowing symbols emerged from his skin, casting themselves onto the wall like a spectral projection.
"War! Please stop!" I screamed, the energy in the room too dark, too heavy.
He ignored me, his voice relentless as he continued to speak—casting a spell that felt like it was unraveling my insides. "WARRRRRR!" I yelled.
After he finished, he carried the bowl over to me. Tears pooled in my eyes as he stared down at me with hate-filled eyes.
"I’m not the type of nigga who likes to go back and forth, you feel me? I like to get shit done without having to keep explaining myself. I told you I owned you and to act like you had some sense,” he said.
"I’ll behave!" I sobbed.
"Sshhhh," he said, placing a finger against my lips.
He ripped off a piece of my hair. A dark fog swirled around it, turning it into a sharp black needle. War dipped the needle into the bowl with his blood and then pulled down my lip. "In the beginning, you were just a prisoner at my tower, but now I’ll own your soul. You had it easier at first," he said.
He drew on the inside of my lip, his blood burning through my flesh, tears spilling from the corners of my eyes. He dipped the needle back into the bowl and continued to draw. I kept still, feeling the burn travel throughout my body as my veins pulsed under my skin. My eyes fluttered and my back arched off the table—it was a crucial burn.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed, my heart pounding in my ears.
Moments later, the pain vanished, replaced by an aching clit, throbbing with extreme arousal. "I see that you feel it now," he said with a smirk.
“What is this!” I gasped, my skin tingling as if delicate feathers teased every inch of me.
“I bound your soul to mine, linking your life force to me as my blood is stamped and burned into your flesh,” he said. War dipped his fingers between my pussy lips, where golden nectar—fairy’s honey—coated his fingers. Our bodies produce a form ofhoney during arousal for our soulmates. This was the first time my flower had formed its own nectar. War tasted it, letting it drip from his beard, savoring its sweetness.
“Shit, this is sweeter than honey. Reminds me of agave,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that stroked the inside of my walls.
My pussy was pulsating, my legs trembling with an overwhelming surge of arousal. I was damn near panting like a polar bear stranded in the Sahara desert. My pussy was dripping, and my nipples were hard, aching to be suckled as nectar drizzled from them too.
War chuckled, a sound that resonated through the room, and shook his head. “You’ll be begging me to fuck you now,” he said.
The mere thought of him sliding in and out of me, furious and relentless, sent a deep moan from my lips. If I wasn’t restrained, I would have already been lost in my world, bringing myself to a climax with my fingers. War's warrior physique, chiseled features, and kissable lips were almost too much to bear—I was craving a warlock, a known enemy of Charmden.
“This is cruel!” I sobbed.
War’s fingers moved with maddening precision, stroking my center. “Do you want me to come in?” he murmured.
“WHYYYYYYY!” I screamed, my body betraying me even as my heart splintered.
He leaned in. “I can’t let my ancestors down, Eboenia. Your beauty… it’s a curse. I’m drawn to you, but I can’t shame them. The only way I can live righteously is to give you what you craved—and satisfy them by hurting you.”
“Your ancestors are wicked!” I moaned, my legs trembling uncontrollably. War’s touch was like dark magic, his fingers dancing between my folds with a cruel, ancestral rhythm—a celebration twisted by pain and pleasure.
“All spellbinding beings are wicked. Just like you, going to the bars and using your gift to get free drinks. You maneuver through the human world with ease because you know they’re weak against your spells. That makes you a predator, Lor Pussy Fairy,” he replied.
He slipped two fingers inside me, and my body ignited, burning with desire. I rotated my hips, desperate for more, while his hand seized my breast. I looked down at him, heat rising in my cheeks at the sight of him standing between my legs, lustfully eyeing the sticky center oozing onto his fingers.
