Willow
Iknelt before him on the obscenely large bed, which was covered in black silk sheets. The gold posts were carved with screaming faces. The thorn collar sat heavy around my throat, its barbs a constant threat.
Alvar studied me like a puzzle, his black eyes glinting.
“Why you?” he mused, tapping a claw against his chin. “No creature has ever carried my seed to term. Had it not been for the wager, I'd never have sullied myself with a mortal.”
I glared at him, my fingers digging into my thighs.
He smirked. “Fiery little thief. You tried to steal what's mine.” His hand lifted, and the collar tightened, thorns pricking my skin until blood welled.
I stood, stepping toward him as his fingers untied the emerald gown. “Take it off,” he ordered with his gaze locked on my swollen belly.
The silk pooled at my feet. His touch was ice as he traced my skin.
“There you are, little one,” he crooned.
“Talk to me.”
Silence. Then—
A cruel smile curled his lips.
“You fed him,” he purred. “Your son's first kick? That was my child stretching itself in your womb. Your 'miscarriage'? My heir swallowing its weakling twin whole.”
I gasped out Luke's name.
“Yes,” he hissed, gripping my breast. “And when he's born, you'll feed him again. Every drop of milk belongs to me.”
He moved faster than I could blink, sharp teeth closed around my nipple, his tongue lashing the sensitive flesh. I cried out, my body betraying me as heat pooled between my thighs.
“That's it,” he murmured against my skin, his breath scalding. “Cum for me, little thief. Let me feel that tight cunt clench.”
I fought it. I fought. But the thorns twisted deeper, and my legs shook as pleasure ripped through me. My back arched, a broken groan tearing from my lips as I shattered.
Tears streamed down my face. Luke. My Luke. He never stood a chance. Alvar pulled back, licking his lips.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“I know you hate me,” he murmured, dragging a claw down my cheek. “But your body adores me.”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.
He moved back and snapped his fingers. I glanced up to see myself surrounded by a golden circular cage. My fingers gripped the bars, holding onto them as anger replaced my grief.
He strode toward my cage.
“Remember that midsummer swim, little thief? The way the water clung to your skin like greedy hands? How you laughed when the current tugged just a little too hard between your thighs?” he said, his voice a venomous purr.
A memory slammed into me.
I was eighteen or nineteen years old, diving into the forest pool to escape the heat. The water had been too warm, and how it swirled around my legs was too deliberate. I’d gasped at the sudden pleasure, blaming the shock of cold...
“Once, you danced barefoot through my woods, plucking my flowers, drinking from my streams,” he said with a calculated look. “Did you truly believe nature loved you, little thief? That it didn’t whisper every step you took back to me?”
His sperm had remained dormant inside of me for at least nine years—until I got pregnant. It was worse than what Grandma told me.
“I own you,” he said. “The child is mine. You’ll stay here until he’s born. Be grateful that I allow you to live after giving birth.” A pause, glacial. “And pray that I don’t change my mind.”
The moment Alvar’s footsteps faded, I collapsed onto the narrow bed, my trembling hands cradling the swell of my belly. The baby pressed back—hard—as if arguing with my grief.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
He’s wrong.
This child might carry Alvar’s poison in its veins, but it had my fire too. Every kick, every roll, and every time it curled tight under my ribs when I sang off-key—that was mine. Not his. Never his.
◆◆◆
The Fae handmaid's nails dug into my nipple like talons, twisting it until I gasped.
“The King prefers them pink,” she sniffed, as if discussing fruit at the market.
I smacked her hand away, the crack echoing off the ceramic tiles. “They are pink,” I snarled, cradling my aching breast.
Her pupils slit in outrage. “Not rosy enough. He wants them—”
“I don't care what he wants.” I spat the words out before I could consider any repercussions.
There was a slow, mocking clap from the doorway. Alvar leaned against the frame, his smile as sharp as a blade.
“Oh, but you will. Leave us,” he said as his eyes moved over the water I sat in.
The handmaid's nails left crescent moons on my skin as she fled. The bathwater rippled between my thighs, suddenly too warm.
Alvar prowled forward, his boots clicking against the wet tiles. Each step sent water sloshing against my bare stomach.
“Defiant today,” he mused, crouching beside the tub. His fingers trailed through the water, parting it effortlessly until his knuckles brushed my inner thigh. “Shall I remind you why that's unwise?”
The collar pulsed, its thorns pricking deeper. My back arched against my will, forcing my chest toward his waiting hands.
“Pink,” he murmured, pinching my nipple hard enough to burn. “Like the roses outside your childhood window.”
His other hand slid lower, water splashing onto the floor as his claws worked around my belly before he reached my pussy. His claws pulled me open, and I felt the warm water enter me. I gasped as it swirled around me.
“It’s time for a lesson. You do not strike my servants,” he said before he snapped his fingers.
I lay on his bed, but before I could react, vines reached out for me, curling around my limbs, stretching me open and pinning my wrists above my head. Alvar's fingers twitched, and the vines moved.
Twin tendrils slithered around my breasts, squeezing until the flesh puckered and ached, forced upright for his appraisal.
“You'll learn your place,” he murmured, trailing a claw down my sternum. “Starting with what these are for.” He flicked a nipple, and the vines twisted in response.
I arched off the bed, not in pain, but in betrayal because my body reacted while he smiled and reached for his waistband.
“No,” I whispered, but his smile grew wider as he unlaced himself.
My breath caught when he pulled out his cock, longer than any man's had a right to be, smooth and unblemished, the same dark shade as his skin. It thickened further before my eyes, swelling until the tip glistened with a single golden droplet.
He swiped it away with a claw and dragged his wet fingers over my lips.
“Lick,” he commanded.
I hesitated before I tasted it.
It tasted like fermented honey, sweet then acidic. He smeared more, and this time pushed two fingers inside my mouth. He didn't need to command me I greedily sucked his fingers. “An aphrodisiac,” he said with a wink.
My heart sank at his words, but heat flared between my thighs.
“Good girl,” he purred, watching me with glowing eyes. “Now you'll beg for what comes next.”
The vines pulsed around my breasts as I began to pant.
His laugh was a velvet stroke down my spine as he palmed my belly, feeling his heir kick beneath his touch.
“Look at you,” he crooned. “Fat with my child, panting like a bitch in heat. And still so hungry.”
The shame burned through me as I arched my back, pushing my belly toward his touch. The vines around my thighs spread me wider. I felt his clawed fingers push their way through my curls, pausing at my entrance, teasing me.
“Tell me what you need, mortal. Beg me,” he said with a cruel twist of his lips.
My body strained against the vines and writhed on the bed. His lips closed over my nipple. I moaned loudly when his tongue lashed my flesh until my insides burned for him.
“Please,” I cried as the burn twisted and flared. “I will do anything, m-make it stop. Oh, God. I need—Aghhhh.”
He moved his thick cock between my legs resting it over my pussy until the leaking tip touched my entrance.
“Yes. Oh, yes, please,” I said, trying to lift my hips.
He moved to my other nipple while I wailed. The ache was taking over, and the need for release felt existential.
“I-I’m sorry—I hit the servant,” I stammered desperately.
He lifted his head, and his gaze locked in with mine.
The endless black eyes shimmered, but not in evil intent, but full of fire.
I wanted to melt into them. They were beautiful.
His long black eyelashes curled upward, bringing me to his antlers.
If he were in the wild, he would be the dominant stag in the herd.
The one that bred all the females. I trembled at the thought of being mounted.
“Give me more children, my King. Breed me again,” I moaned the foreign words out.
Horror flooded me the moment I said it.
That wasn’t my voice. That wasn’t me.
But the heat between my thighs—the way my back arched for him—said otherwise
“Yes, my dirty little flower. This is how you beg your king,” he said, standing up.