9. Kaelen #2
We sit in comfortable silence as her breathing gradually returns to normal, though I can feel the permanent changes the magic has wrought in her body. More sensitive, more responsive, more perfectly designed for my claiming.
Soon, I tell myself. Very soon, all my patience will be rewarded.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asks as I help her stand on unsteady legs, and the eagerness in her voice tells me everything I need to know about how completely I have her now.
"Of course," I reply, watching her smooth her rumpled silk with hands that still tremble slightly. "Though I suspect tomorrow's lesson will be even more... intense."
The promise makes her breath catch, and I can smell the spike of arousal it triggers. She wants more. Wants whatever I'm willing to give her. Wants to discover exactly how far this awakening will take her.
"Until tomorrow then," she says, trying for dignity despite the way her voice wavers with need.
"Until tomorrow," I agree, watching her walk away with movements that carry new grace, new awareness of her changing body.
Tomorrow, I'll push her even further. And the day after that, further still.
Until she's begging for the claiming her body already craves, and I can finally give us both what we've been building toward.
The thought sustains me as I sit in my study, surrounded by the lingering scent of her arousal and the promise of tomorrow's continued education.
She's almost ready.
Soon, very soon, she'll be completely mine.
"Excellent progress."
The voice comes from the mirror mounted beside my desk, and I turn to see the familiar figure of Lord Oberon materializing in the silvered surface.
Ancient beyond measure, the Shadow Court lord appears as he always does—patient, knowing, carrying the weight of three millennia in his silver eyes.
But tonight there's something else in his expression. Something colder.
"My lord," I acknowledge with the respect due to one who remembers the world centuries before the Sundering, a world where the Fae took from humans what we wanted without a care, where we ruled over them with an iron first. "You've been watching."
"I watch the first of the prophecied bonds," he replies, his image flickering slightly in the mirror. "The foundation upon which all others will be built. Your success here will determine whether the other courts even attempt their own claims."
The weight of that responsibility settles on my shoulders like lead. The first bond. The proof of concept that will either inspire or doom the rest of the prophecy.
"The young lady is responding even faster than the ancient texts predicted," Oberon continues, and I catch something sharp in his tone. "Fascinating how malleable human females can be when approached... intelligently.”
Pride warms my chest at his approval, though something in his voice makes me wary. "Her awakening continues daily. The growth magic is working perfectly."
"Yes, I observed today's session with great interest." His ancient features grow more calculating. "Tell me, Prince Kaelen, what do you know of human pleasure before the claiming bond?"
The question catches me off guard. "I... assume it follows standard Fae patterns. Dominance, submission, the alpha taking what he requires."
"Ah." Oberon's expression grows contemplative, tinged with something that might be distaste. "That is where you would be mistaken. In my years between worlds, I had extensive opportunity to study human bonding patterns. The successful ones follow quite different rules."
The way he says 'study' carries undertones I can't quite place—his tone turns dark, as if he's resentful or contemptuous of what he's seen.
"Different how?"
"Human males who successfully claim their mates often worship the female's body with their mouth before taking their own pleasure.
" His voice carries no emotion, but his eyes flash with something cold.
"They spend considerable time learning responses that bring pleasure, serving the female's needs before demanding her submission. "
The suggestion makes something in my chest recoil with instinctive revulsion. Fae alphas do not submit, do not serve. We take, we claim, we dominate.
"I can see your resistance," Oberon observes with dark amusement. "Such behavior would have been unthinkable before the Sundering, when we could simply take what we wanted through power alone.”
"Then why suggest it now?"
"Because willing submission creates deeper bonds than forced submission,” he explains with the patience of someone who's spent centuries analyzing successful and failed pairings.
"The human omega who begs for claiming, who associates your touch with transcendent pleasure, who believes you value her satisfaction—that omega becomes utterly devoted.
Completely addicted. Impossible to steal away. "
His words carry the weight of careful observation, and I find myself leaning forward despite my instinctive resistance to the concept.
"What exactly are you suggesting?"
"Tomorrow, when her arousal peaks, when the magic has her desperate and needy—serve her pleasure before demanding your own.
" His image grows sharper in the mirror, more commanding.
"Use your mouth, your tongue, your magic in ways designed solely for her satisfaction.
Make her climax against your lips until she's sobbing with need. "
The explicit instruction sends heat through my veins even as alpha pride rebels against it. "And then?"
"Then she'll beg you to claim her properly," Oberon says with cold certainty. "She'll offer herself completely, willingly, desperately. The bond formed from that surrender will be unbreakable."
I consider his words, weighing pride against necessity. My court is dying. My people fade more each day. And if the first bond fails, no other court will risk attempting their own claims.
"You speak with a great deal of confidence about human customs,” I observe.
"I've had centuries to observe them from beyond the veil between life and death," he replies with a slight edge to his voice. "Successful pairings follow certain patterns. The most devoted omegas are those who believe their alpha's pleasure comes from serving theirs."
The resentful way he discusses it prickles the back of my neck, as if there’s something he isn’t saying, a part of the story he’s leaving out. But Oberon is far too ancient for a fae like me to question his instructions.
"The other courts will follow your example," he continues, his voice hardening. "If you succeed here, if your bond proves the prophecy's worth, then seven more courts will seek their destined mates. Seven more chances to create complete submission and total devotion.”
"And if I fail?"
"Then the prophecy dies with your court," he says simply. "And we return to the old methods that never quite achieved the devotion we seek, until the day the humans rise up yet again and the Sundering re-occurs in some new form, leading to our inevitable extinction.”
The mirror returns to normal reflection, leaving me alone with thoughts that war between my alpha instincts and the desperate knowledge that my people are dying.
To save my court, to restore our magic, to prove that the prophecy can succeed...
Perhaps I can learn to find dominance in giving pleasure, power in servicing my mate.
Perhaps worshipping her body will be the key to owning her soul.
Tomorrow's lesson will be very different indeed.