I catch her scent. Good. She’s not under a spell, nor is she intoxicated. The trap I have feared is not there. Yet there is something else—
By the Serpent! The Anchor reeks of them. I bare my teeth. She is pumped full of their seed.
They had her in all ways possible.
I growl. If the human has survived mating with a shifter and the most powerful elf of Faëheim, then she would survive me. I see red at the thought.
All the frustration and the dark desires that stole my sleep erupt and sweep my common sense away.
“Guard the entrance,” I yell at Cerberus while I drag her and tie her to the table.
I want to taste her before the Extractor does.
“Cyrell,” the woman cries, her eyes wide. The leather bonds sling around her slender ankles and wrists, stretching her on the wooden surface. I’m panting when I tighten the leash around her neck, and I feel my throbbing cock straining against my pants.
“Cyrell, I came here of my own will, risking everything—”
Her heavy breasts press against the silk of her dress. Her breathing is fast and shallow, and her pupils dilate—is it fear or thrill I see?
I am the most feared warlord in the Lower Lands. Legions kneel at the sound of my voice. And this human has defied me, escaped me, made a fool of me, and given herself to the other Hunters. She must learn to fear me—
“I need your help,” she breathes. My hands freeze in mid-air. I trust my sharpened senses, suggesting that I need to hear her out.
Is this a trick by the other Hunters? Some dark plan to lure me out of the shadows and destroy me?
“I know how to tap into my magic, Cyrell.”
It’s clearly a trick. The location of my hideout is compromised; probably, the priest and the spy are on their way. I have to hook her up to the Extractor quickly.
She should not have come here. It could only end one way for her.
“I have some questions about the Underworld and the Dreadful One.” Her voice almost breaks when I reach for the cables.
So, he, the Dark Lord, sent her to lure me to my demise. It all makes sense now. He has always been the archenemy of my people. He probably found a way to take her away from the other Hunters, break her, bend her to his will, then send her back to me to aid him with his evil plan.
“I need your help, Cyrell. Diaphonus and Tarcyll have learned how to unlock my magic but plan to use it to protect their lands only. And I believe the Underworld is the key to saving all Faëheim.”
I drop the cables and slowly turn to face her. She is pale and shaking, visibly terrified, and I turn away, hiding all the emotions sweeping my resolve away. What have I become? The protector of the Lower Lands who has never hurt an innocent but is now set to brutalize this magnificent female. I remind myself that the fate of all my people is at stake, yet doubt has crept into my heart. My heart of a warrior, of a protector, cannot just doom this life to a painful and agonizing end.
She takes short, pained breaths, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
“Experiencing pleasure while making love to a magic-gifted being, to a Fae, unlocks my magic—” she blurts out, and I have to steady myself, leaning on the table she’s tied to.
The human is telling the truth, I can smell it, and the realization sets me ablaze. Deadly sharp, my fangs elongate; my chest heaves at the thought of all the endless possibilities to test her claim. I am so aroused that I almost attack her in an instant, like a mindless beast. Yet I withdraw my greedy fingers and cock an eyebrow.
“How… how does it work?” I rasp. Curiosity will get me killed one day.
“When I am pleased by a Fae, I release a wave of arcane energy.”
My pheromones set off before I can rein myself in. I have desired her for so long, fantasized about having her in many ways, dominating her, worshipping her, punishing her. Centuries of discipline and stoicism are swept away by the need of my powerful body, a need I can no longer deny.
My fingers brush her cheek and dive lower, down between her breasts.
Her nostrils flare, and she looks me straight in the eye. Her pupils are so dilated that her irises appear as black and hopeless as the darkness of the deepest tunnels back home.
“We should not do this, Cyrell, or he will find us,” her voice breaks.
She tugs on the restraints, her lean body arching, leaning into my caress, and I grind my teeth. I need all my willpower to steady myself not to pounce on her, feast on her blood, and consume her flesh while mindlessly tearing her apart with my cock.
