Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sister Tilloa, this is suicide,” Gump whispered.

They stood on the edge of a foul swamp, the water sometimes bubbling with the promise of something lurking below. Kneeling on the water’s edge, you reach your hand into the murk, grabbing a handful of sand and mud from beneath the water’s surface. Rising again you turn to Jack, opening your palm to show him the mud. Unremarkable really.

“’Tis just a swamp, brother. Nothing we haven’t seen before.”

Jack eyes the pile of wet dirt in your hand before reaching out and touching it for himself.

“Not ‘just a swamp’ sister, something foul lurks below.”

You turn back towards the water and as if on cue the water bubbles again, something darting fast beneath it. You drop the mud back into the murk.

“Something foul, yes, but something fouler waits for us beyond. This is a small trial compared to what is to come. Think of the unicorn, Jack, think of Lili.”

With the mention of Lili you hear your brother take a deep breath behind you.

“What do you think it is, sister?”

You search your mind for tales past that could help prepare your brother to trek across the bog. It had to be him first, otherwise you’d have happily taken the lead, as you’d done so far on this journey.

“A witch, of course,” Gump states matter of factly.

You purse your lips in a thin line. Not a witch.

“A hag,” you correct.

“What’s the difference?” inquires one of the dwarves.

“The difference does not matter; we are wasting precious time.”

You turn to Jack again and place your hands on his shoulders.

“Brother, you must traverse first, clear the path. Trust your instinct.”

Jack nods once, stealing his resolve and taking a deep breath before taking the first step into the bog.

*****

Within the halls of this keep the shadows came alive. Nothing here was to be trusted, you decide. It didn’t take long for your party to find themselves in the dungeons, a trap triggered rather quickly if you were being honest. The screams that echo from some unseen room at the end of the hall do nothing to calm your nerves.

There is an ogre here, the keeper of the dungeons you presume. He’s come to the cells a few times now, observing his quarry: you, your brother, and the small group of forest folk that had proved vital allies thus far.

The screams are from Blunder, some long-lost brother to one of the other dwarves in your party.

“We must do something, sweet Tilloa. He’s my kin!”

You turn to Jack, who is sitting whispering to Oona.

“Jack, perhaps you could ask Oona for assistance?”

At this Gump’s ears perk up.

“Dear Tilloa, Oona is but a sprite, what can she hope to do?”

You sigh, directing your attention to the little ball of light still held in your brother’s hands.

“Oh, dear Oona, sweet and nice,

won’t you help us in this plight?

We cannot save the light of day

Without your help to guide our way.”

With the last word spoken, Oona darts from your brother’s hand, manifesting before the party in her true form.

“You…you trickster!” exclaims Gump, “All this time? All this time?!”

Oona shoots daggers at him, silencing him with a look of pure, unbridled, fae rage. Her glare focuses on you next.

“You promised! You promised!” she squeals at you.

“Oona, this is serious, you know better than any of us.”

She glares at you in defeated silence for a moment longer before reverting to her preferred spritely form, darting through the cell bars out of sight.

“Great, just great Tilloa! You’ve scared her off!”

You offer no response to Gump. Oona never owed anything to him. Like all fae folk, she was mischievous, she liked to trick and scheme. All in good humor of course but now was not the time for tricks. Not long after her disappearance down the hall did she return, large keys in tow.

Jack darts to the bars of the cell, hand outstretched.

“Oona you’re brilliant!”

Feigning bashfulness, Oona fixes her gaze at your brother, batting her eyes at him before unlocking the cell that holds you both.

“Come now, Oona, now us!” Gump commands. Again, Oona fixes her rage filled gaze to the elf, then to you.

“Thank you, dear Oona,” you bow your head to her, “a debt paid.”

Jack turns to you curiously but holds his tongue.

*****

You had decided to split up. You were charged with looking for the unicorn mare, Jack for Lili, and the rest of the party was to search for a way out when your quarries were found. You could not fail. It was not an option.

You found yourself in a huge chamber, the true size of it obscured in the darkness that clung to everything in this foul keep. Columns were the only thing taking up space in the room, the only noise your bare feet against the cold stone. Oona accompanied you. Though her glow was small, it helped enough to at least ensure you didn’t collide headfirst with one of the columns.

She did not speak to you, but that was fine because this was not a time for chatter. After what felt like ages you finally come to a wall, solid as the stone beneath your feet. But surely there had to be an opening eventually. You place your palm flat on the stone and follow its shape to the right.

After another short while you feel a shift in the stone beneath your hand, and a door begins to open. You jump back at the sudden movement as the door opens to a room illuminated in a warm glow. Oona also seems surprised, though it’s hard to be certain. You peer inside, hoping to find the mare, but are met instead with what looks like a dining room of sorts.

“Oona, you find the others. Check their progress. Offer them any aid they need.”

You have a sinking feeling in your gut you know what this is, and you were prepared to do whatever you needed to to see this mission through.

Oona flutters off without a comment, and in turn you enter the warmth of the room. The door shuts behind you of its own accord. When you turn back to look, the wall is solid once more. You sigh heavily before entering the room further.

The glow comes from an impossibly large fireplace, seemingly in the center of everything, though it isn’t bright enough to illuminate the entire space which you surmise is just as large and vast as everything else has been so far. At least it’s warm. Since the death of the stallion, and the taking of the mare, the world has been unflinchingly cold. No amount of clothing can warm your skin, and your bones ached with the chill.

In front of the fireplace is a large table where two colossal chairs sit at either end. On the table are a pair of crude candelabras and an open box. Approaching, you see it’s filled with jewels. All deep reds and purples. Your mind briefly wanders to Lili. She would appreciate this, you think. Turning from the table you notice an impossibly large mirror propped up on a column. You take in your appearance for but a moment. You look tired; to be expected. But also heroic in your own armor gifted to you by Gump when your brother received his. Your hair barely stays in the bun you put it in at the beginning of this quest, so you pull out the twine keeping it up. Letting it fall over your shoulders, you realize only then how tight it had been on your head and let a small sigh of relief from the pressure escape you.

Suddenly, before your eyes the mirror ripples like water. A huge cloven hoof appears to step out, followed by two massive, clawed hands that grip either edge of the mirror. Horns appear next, followed by the crudely sculpted face of who you can only surmise is the Lord of the castle. Which if that is the case, means that you are now face to face with him. Darkness.

You gasp at the sudden intrusion, losing your footing and collapsing onto your bottom. He is massive. Deep red skin, sickly yellow eyes, vast horns of the darkest black you’ve yet to see. His chest and arms are bare before you, showing off a physique that sculptors could only dream of recreating. His legs are covered in thick black fur, leading to the hooves. A cape hangs loosely from his shoulders, pooling behind him on the floor.

Though speechless, you regain your resolve enough to at least meet him standing. He flashes a wicked grin at you, something akin to a predator before sinking its teeth into prey. But you would not be prey. Even if his teeth had the same sharpness you’d seen in wolves.

“What has fate brought me on this already perfect day?” he began, his voice so deep you could feel it rattle your ribs. “A little lamb, separated from the herd?”

You do not speak, not at first. You need to gauge this situation better first. Why was he here? And if he was here, where was the mare? Where was Lili? He took it in stride, taking a step towards you with a hand outstretched. At once your body ignites, you leapt back deftly.

“Do not touch me, demon spawn!”

He freezes solid before you, his smile faltering for but a moment before he erects the mask again. But it was not enough, you can see his eyes deepen a shade, with fury no doubt.

“Demon spawn?” he repeats, “Do not wound me little lamb. I am the spawner of demons, as you will know soon enough.”

His comment gives you pause, but you try to maintain focus on his entire being. You will not be fouled by this beast’s touch. His gaze moves from you to the table behind you.

“Do you not like your gifts, little lamb?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at the still open box of jewels.

“You have misjudged your quarry, demon. I do not covet jewels or shiny things.”

He hums in acknowledgement, “Then, do tell, what do you covet, daughter of the wood?”

Your gaze hardens. So, he does know you, or of you at least. He picks up on your change in demeanor quickly, flashing you another dangerous smile.

“Yes, I know you. Born of light and nature, you and your brother the un-ordained keepers of the forest above. But who else would come wandering into my domain so willingly, but the children of creation?”

You force yourself to keep your breathing steady. It did not matter if he knew who you were, it was never a secret.

“I’ve come for the mare,” you state matter-of-factly.

His grin hardens, forced now, “You think it is the mare you came for, but in truth this meeting was fated. Written eons ago, before you were even conceived to the world above.”

You frown, wracking your mind with all the stories you’d heard growing up in the wood. There were no tales fating the demise of the last two unicorns.

“Ah, yes, little lamb, it is not a story your kind would tell. Not…spritely enough to make into a good song to chant around a warm fire.”

“I’m not interested in whatever foul tales you tell yourself here in the dark. I am here for the mare, and you will relinquish her.”

He laughs at this, loud, booming, echoing off the columns in the room, giving you a small sense of just how big this chamber was.

“Will I, little lamb? And pray tell, why would I do that? Because you will it?”

“Because you must,” you spit back, “to restore the balance.”

“What care I for balance, when the scale has never favored me?”

He made a step towards you; in return you take several back. As much as you want to unsheathe your dagger, to plant it center in his skull, you ignore the twitch of your hand. He pauses again, eyes flicking behind you towards the table.

“Sit with me, fair lady. Dine with me,” he gestures wide to the table behind you. Looking over your shoulder you see the box is gone, replaced by a lavish feast seeming to contain every and any food your heart could desire.

“To what end?” Maybe if you indulge him, you can buy time for the others.

He ignores your question, taking care to move himself around you with a wide berth, clearly trying to make you feel a sense of safety. You do not fall for it though; you are not a child naïve to the way of the world. You keep your entire body facing him, following his path to the chair nearest you, where he pulls it out, gesturing you to sit.

“To what end?” You repeat, this time louder.

“Indulge me, Tilloa. I will make it worth your while.” He flashes his dagger teeth at you again, but against your better judgement, you approach the chair and sit as he scoots it closer to the table.  

He fills the goblet before you with a sickeningly deep red wine. The odor alone is enough to make you feel lightheaded. He takes a seat at the far end of the table across from you. The most distance he’s put between you both since he appeared from the accursed mirror, you’re thankful for it. You clasp your hands tightly together in your lap under the table, remaining as rigid as the stone surrounding you.

He fills his own goblet generously, and you watch him drink deeply, some of the liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth to run towards his chin. He fills the goblet a second time, wiping the stray liquid away before taking his own seat. As if this is a normal evening, he begins filling his plate with a plethora of different meats, your stomach lurches at the sight. Some of the meat doesn’t even look cooked.

“In time little lamb, you will grow accustomed to the taste of meat,” he says before ripping into the shank of some unknown beast.

You frown at this comment. Why would you ever grow accustomed to the taste of meat? You’ve eaten only from the garden you and your brother so dutifully tended all your lives. What need would you have for meat? You remain stoic in front of him, watching as he devours the shank in only a few large bites.

“You did not answer my question, Tilloa.” He states, pulling you from your thoughts.

Your name sounds foul when he speaks it, like a curse spoken to damn any in its vicinity. You meet his gaze, waiting for him to elaborate.

“What do you covet, if not jewels and shiny things?”

You frown again.

“What does it matter what I covet, devil?”

His amused expression is gone in a flash, and he is standing now, stalking towards you. The chair is too heavy to scoot out of on your own, so you sink beneath the table, rolling out on the opposite side of him. He grabs the back of your abandoned chair, tossing it aside as if it were weightless, his pursuit of you not wavering. You’re backed into a pillar with nowhere to evade as he closes in and without a second thought your dagger is unsheathed, thrown perfectly to plant itself in his broad chest.

Everything is still in the room. It seems to you even the fire has stopped its crackling in the hearth. He frowns, looking down to see only the hilt of the blade protruding from him. He doesn’t hide the shock on his face, but it is quickly replaced by a devious smile and the silence in the room is filled with his booming laughter again.

“And you act as if you are not a hunter, little lamb,” he says while pulling the blade free. Blood leaks thickly from the wound to curl around his nipple, pooling beneath his sculped chest. Before your eyes the wound is gone, healed in an instant. The only thing reminiscent of it is the lingering blood.

He eyes the blade thoughtfully, inspecting his blood on it as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen it before. Perhaps it is.

“I’ve misjudged you, Tilloa,” he purrs, eyes fixing on you again. He kneels before you, “I will not make the mistake twice.” He lunges forward with the dagger, and you inhale sharply, closing your eyes, ready to meet your end. But a sharp crack next to your ear startles you, you open your eyes to see the dagger planted deep into the pillar, just next to your head. You cannot stop yourself trembling now as you feel his breath over your face. You meet his gaze head on, he is inches away from you now, his horns framing your head. You have nowhere to go now, no gap left to squeeze through.

“What do you want from me?” you whisper.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“What can you offer?”

You frown at him then, and he backs off enough to give you breathing room. Your mind is swimming now. What can you offer? You have nothing to give. You live off the land, nature provides. He retreats to the table, taking his seat once again. Leaving you to stew in your thoughts. The sound of his beastly chewing fills the room as he tears into another haunch of meat.

You take in the surroundings again, tentatively touch the dagger now forever wedged in the column next to you. You hear his chewing stop, and know he is watching you. Ignoring him you turn your gaze to the table, your spot now void of a chair, but the glass of wine is still beckoning you. Closing your eyes for a moment, you know what you can offer, but wonder if you have the nerve to do it. Approaching the table, you pick up the goblet, catching your reflection in the deep crimson wine.

You meet his gaze across the table, his interest is piqued, there can be no doubt. You swallow hard, inhale deeply and approach him.

“I offer myself.”

The silence that follows in unnerving. You half expect him to fill it with his booming laughter again, but it never comes. You finally meet his gaze and are stunned to see his eyes have practically turned to flame. Burning with an intensity you’d yet you see.

“And what do you ask for, in return?” he whispers.

“Free the mare, and my party with her. In return I offer myself to…” you pause for a moment, swallowing around the remainder of the sentence.

“To…?” he encourages.

“In…in return I offer myself to you, Lord Darkness, for whatever purpose you so choose.”

Chapter Text

“Do you truly understand what offering yourself entails, little hunter?”

You close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, of course you understand what it means.

“Yes.”

“You will be my mate, bound to me in blood and flesh, duty bound to bear my children.”

“Yes,” you respond again. You force yourself to maintain eye contact with him, hoping he cannot see your deception. You are the daughter of light and nature, but you’d never had your bleeding. At 20 summers old, it was something you were content with. It was not your duty to bear children, your duty was to the wood. To the creatures that lived there; to maintain balance.

Though the thought of being his mate at all filled you with disgust and dread, you found some comfort in knowing your womb would never bear his foul fruit. If you were able to have children, they would be creatures of darkness with the ability to withstand the light above. They could traverse terrain he could not. You shudder at the thought of the chaos they could illicit.

He is silent for a moment longer, mulling over your offer.

“I accept your offer.”

You force yourself to stare into his eyes, raising your goblet of wine slightly in the air, a toast to a deal so foul. In turn he raises his glass as well, a mischievous glimmer in his eye.

“To us, my mate.”

He drinks deeply from the goblet and in turn you take a small sip from yours. The wine is stronger than any elven likeness you’ve had. It is not pleasant to taste, but that’s the least of your worries now. He stands abruptly, causing you to jump back.

“Do not fear me Tilloa, I would never do you harm.” He reaches his hand out towards you, and you force yourself to remain still. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he cradles your face in his massive hand. “There are formalities that must be completed before we can be bonded.”

“Formalities?” you echo.

“Yes,” his hand lingers a moment longer on your face before he turns towards the pillar your dagger now resides in. “Your body is not ready for me, or my spawn. We will prepare it.”

You hold in a snort, there is nothing he can do to prepare you, nature itself decided you were unfit. He pulls your dagger out of the column, and you’re shocked to see it’s still intact. Surely the stone pillar would have shattered it. He turns to you again, dagger in hand and you freeze. What does the dagger have to do with preparing you?

He walks back over to his spot at the table, and you back up a few steps. Fear is settling in your bones now. If he notices, he ignores it. “You will drink of my blood, for three nights, and in turn I will drink of yours.”

“W-what?” you gasp.

He slices the dagger into his palm, filling his empty goblet with his blood. He turns to you, handing you the goblet.

“Tradition, and a necessary formality. Though born of creation, you are still mortal. My mate will traverse space and time with me. I existed before the universe, and I will exist long after. Your body will heal quickly from any injuries you may obtain.” He catches the fear in your eyes at the mention of injury.

“I will not hurt you, little hunter, not willingly of course, but pain is to be expected.”

You take the goblet from his hands, the blood within resembles the wine you had moments ago, though you have a dreadful feeling it will taste far worse.

“This is abhorrent.”

“It is necessary. Your hand, Tilloa,” he holds his hand out for you to take, you notice the cut that should be on his palm is gone. Healed, just like the wound in his chest.

“I…why do you need my blood? It will not heal you…” you tighten your grip around the goblet.

“No, but it will bind us. Your hand.”

You stare at him hard; his gaze does not falter from yours. Tentatively you offer him your hand and he wastes no time digging your dagger into the palm. You hiss at the pain, watching your blood pool quickly. Your shock turns to horror when you see him lean down.

“What…” you begin but are cut off when his lips meet your flesh. You can feel his tongue lapping at the blood, his eyes are closed seemingly in some trance. Bile rises in your throat. This is barbaric, unnatural. He unlatches from your palm, and you’re shocked to see the cut that should be there is healed.

“The sweetest I’ve yet to taste, I will never tire of it.” His gaze fixes on your still full goblet. “Your turn, little hunter.”  

You cannot hide the disgust in your eyes. Looking between your palm, still slick with saliva, to your goblet of foul blood. You expect him to be impatient, but he is standing before you calm as an untouched pond. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before bringing the goblet to your lips.

The smell of blood is thick, and you have to hold back a gag. You close your eyes and throw the goblet back, trying to swallow the thick fluid as quickly as you can. As soon as you swallow the last gulp you lurch, bringing your hand to your mouth to stop from retching.

“Good girl, Tilloa. A fine mate you will be.”

You slam the goblet down on the table, backing away from him with disgust clear in your eyes.

“I will have a servant attend to your comforts for the evening. You will join me come morning for the next right.”

“There’s more?” you gasp.

He chuckles, deep and foreboding, “Yes, mate, there is more.” He turns from you to face the fire, hands clasped behind his back seemingly deep in thought. You take the opportunity to retreat to the far side of the table. Your chair has returned, though you don’t know how. You sit down, feeling lightheaded and stare at your empty plate.

“Dream sweetly, Tilloa.” When you look up, he is gone, and in your solitude you weep.

Chapter Text

True to his word servants appear, though you think you’d prefer to be alone. They are strange, seemingly made of pure shadow. There are no features to discern on their faces, but by their shape you get the sense they are female. There are three of them and they are silent, which you would expect as you see no mouth. They did not make a noise to announce their arrival, so when you finally looked back towards the fireplace, you yelped in surprise to see them standing there, waiting.

“What…what are you?”

The one in front tilts its head slightly at your question and then bows deeply. The other two behind her follow. They unnerve you, as you watch them revert to standing still as stone again.

“I have no need for servants,” you state boldly, hoping the quiver in your voice cannot be heard. Again, the one in the front tilts its head and begins dancing towards the mirror. She gestures her arm, and a large tub appears before the mirror, water steaming from it. There are flower petals floating on the surface, roses you think.

“I’m not bathing in front of that mirror.”

She turns her head to peer over her shoulder, looking at the mirror before tapping it lightly. It disappears before your eyes. You chance a glance at the other two figures, they are no longer standing near the fireplace and this unnerves you. You turn fully around to find them far behind you, setting up a luxurious bed. They are placing sheets and blankets, more pillows than you think you’ve seen in your entire life.

Suddenly you feel a tug on your own sleeves, and you scream, jumping back. The supposed leader of this trio is tugging you towards the tub but jumps away from you when you scream. She bows quickly, on her hands and knees. Looking over your shoulder you see the other two have also stopped what they were doing, joining her in bowing.

“I…you just scared me. It’s…okay.”

She remains bowed before you, seemingly frozen. You aren’t sure what to make of it. You’ve never had servants; you don’t want servants. The only sound in the room is the fire still crackling in the hearth. With a defeated sigh you kneel next to her and place a hand gently on her shoulder. She is surprisingly warm, and soft like velvet.

“Hey, um, it’s okay?” you offer, but the figure does not move. “Okay I’ll get in the tub!”

At this she comes to life again, standing quickly and reaching her hand out to take your own. She guides you to the tub, gesturing grandly to it. The water does look inviting, and you cannot think of the last time you had a bath, let alone a hot one. She approaches you again, circling behind you to undo the strings of your corset.

“No! That’s not necessary! I can do it myself.” You jump away from her. She pauses in her efforts, tilting her head to the side again before shaking it. She gestures to herself then to you, bowing again.

“Can you speak?”

She nods once.

“Then speak to me.”

“As you command, our lady.” Her voice is haunting, like it’s being whispered directly into your ear. It echoes as if it is not the only one speaking.

“Wh-what are you?”

“Your servants, dear lady. We were made for you. We have been waiting for you.”

“I’ve never had need of servants, and I don’t need any now.”

“We live for you, dear lady. We have been kept by the Lord all this time; we are your gift. One of many.”

“A gift for what?”

“For your wedding, of course.”

Your wedding. Somehow you didn’t think he would go through those formalities. What need was there for a wedding? Who would attend…or more so, what would attend?

“My…wedding?”

“Of course, dear lady. We have been waiting an eternity for you.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“All of us.”

You get the feeling then that you aren’t going to get a better answer than that. Sighing in defeat you make to undo the strings on your corset. The woman looks uncomfortable as you do this.

“My lady, please, allow us to serve you. It is our purpose.”

You pause again, looking over your shoulder to see the other two standing behind you now, seemingly done making the bed.

“I don’t need help,” you object.

“You do not need help, yes, but you deserve it. It has been earned.”

You take a moment to process these words. You did not deserve it; you did not earn anything. You close your eyes for a long moment before admitting defeat. It was not worth arguing with a literal shadow.

“Can…he see me? Is he watching me?”

Your question gives her pause, but you have all the time in the world to wait now.

“He is Darkness,” is all she offers.

So yes.

“I do not want him watching me. It is not proper.”

With that, the columns light up with torches you hadn’t seen yet. The entire area, from the fireplace to the tub, to the bed is illuminated in their glow.

“Did…did you do that?” you ask breathless.

She shakes her head.

“Our Lord will do whatever is necessary to ensure your comfort. Even banish the shadows he resides in.”

You’re stunned really; this wasn’t a courtesy you think you’d be afforded: privacy. With this realization you begin to undress, letting the women help you. The first one offers you her arm as you climb into the tub. It is deceptively deeper than you anticipated, but the water is perfect. Almost instantly you can feel the aches in your legs subside.

Sinking into the tub up to your shoulders, you close your eyes in bliss. The women stand next to the tub silently. You can almost forget they’re there. Almost. After some time in the water, you hear movement next to you. Opening your eyes you see the first woman holding a pitcher.

“My lady, you are free to bathe as long as you please of course, but with your permission, we would wash your hair.”

“Oh, um, yeah…okay.”

Suddenly, all three figures move to join you in the tub. It is large enough, sure, but this is unexpected.

“What-” you’re cut off by water being poured over your head. Sputtering, you try again to speak before being met with more water. Giving up, you resign yourself to letting them do what they want with your hair.

Each one holds something different. The first one has the pitcher used to rinse your hair. The second holds sweet smelling bars of soap. The third holds a comb. In unison they work together as if they were one. The second rubs the bar of soap along your hair, massaging it into your scalp with care. As soon as she’s done the first rinses away the suds. The second begins again with a different bar of soap, only for the cycle to repeat. Finally, the third one begins to gently comb through your hair. You expect to feel the pull of tangles, but there is no resistance.

“Your hair is made of gold, dear lady,” the first one comments. You can’t help but laugh at this observation. In unison, they laugh with you. It is more unnerving than comforting really, but you feel bad for being uncomfortable with them. They seem to mean you no harm.

“When you say you were made for me, what does that mean?”

Their laughter stops as quickly as it began.

“I meant no offense,” you offer quickly, “I just mean to understand.”

“You could never offend us, dear lady. We do not know the answer to your question.”

“Oh…” is all you offer. They begin to wash your body, pulling an arm from the water to apply soap. “Do you know who made you? Was it…him?”

“The Lord did not make us. There was nothing, and then there was us. The Lord kept us safe until you were to come. You were fated to him, long ago. Before us, before light. He has been waiting eternities for you, sweet lady.”

Why would a product of life and light be fated to him. To Darkness. What sin had you committed to be rewarded with such a cursed fate? You lived your life for the wood, for good. It was Jack that broke the balance, letting that selfish princess touch the unicorn. Why were you the one made to suffer his actions? You had warned him countless times that the princess may be fair and sweet, innocence incarnate, but she was naïve to the way of the world. She could not be trusted with the deepest secrets of the wood.

“Have there been others? Before me?”

“No. You were made for him. He knew you would come; he waited. No other could compare to the bliss you would bring. No other would be worthy to receive his gifts, to bear his children.”

“Then where do all these creatures come from? These beasts born in shadow?”

“He creates what is needed, but he does not possess the gift of woman. The gift of creation. Not as purely as a woman, as you, dear lady.”

With that the women rise from the water and exit the tub. You expect them to drip on the floor, but there is no water to be seen. It’s as if they were never wet to begin with.

“Would you like us to leave you, dear lady?”

“I’m done, actually.”

The first woman offers her arm to you again. You take it and climb out of the tub, to be quickly wrapped in a truly lavish robe. You silently hope it isn’t made from the hide of some poor creature. The tub behind you is gone now and you let the women guide you to the bed. Bowing deeply again before retreating to the shadows.

“If you have need of us dear lady, we will be here.”

*****

You awake in pain in your lower abdomen. Absently you grip the bottom of your stomach, gasping at the sharp feeling. Your ladies are there in an instant, like mother hens.

“What ails you, dear lady?”

“I…my stomach. I don’t know.”

One of the women pours water for you and you take it, quickly swallowing the entire glass. You feel wrong. You need to stand up, but when you try you feel a foreign wetness beneath you. Did you…? Reaching down you touch between your legs. Bringing your hand back up you see your fingertips coated in blood.

Your mind doesn’t register it at first. Did he come to you in the night? Did he…?

“Your woman’s blood, dear lady. Allow us to help.”

“I…no. I don’t have the bleeding, I never have.”

This does not stop the women from pulling you from the bed, making to change the sheets, offering you a warm cloth and clean clothes.

“Did he do this?!” You scream. Your ladies pause a moment in their tasks, before quickly resuming.

“Do what, little hunter?”

You turn towards the hearth to see him standing before it. He is cast in shadow, but you can see the yellow glow of his eyes. You wipe your hand on the cloth provided, tossing it aside in your anger.

“You defiled me? In my sleep?!” Your voice echoes through the room, putting into perspective just how big it truly is.

“Defiled you?” he repeats.

You reach between your legs again, anger masking any embarrassment you might have felt. You show him your fingers, glistening in the fire light with blood.

“You’ve taken from me, and I wasn’t even conscious?”

You hear a deep rumble from him, a growl.

“I would NEVER!” He roars. He stalks towards you, hooves echoing loudly against the stone floor. You turn around to your ladies but find them gone. Along with the bed you were sleeping in moments ago. He grips your wrist in his hand, leaning down to inspect your blood coated fingers.

“It’s your life blood.”

“I don’t have life blood,” you spit, “I never have!”

He quirks his head at you, dropping your wrist and kneeling to be on your level.

“Never have?”

You realize too late your mistake, in your shock, in your discomfort you have revealed your deception. You do not speak, you barely breathe. He reaches for your hand again, turning it over. He brings it to his face and in disgust you watch him inhale.

“It is your first bleeding,” he confirms before fixing his eyes on you.

“You offered yourself to me, knowing you were barren?”

You will not meet his gaze, fixing your eyes on the floor next to his leg.

“You continue to surprise me, Tilloa. I would not have expected such deception.” He reaches out to grab your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him, “I love you more for it.” Before you can react, his lips have clashed with yours. Your shock passes quickly, and you push yourself free of him, backing away.

“Don’t touch me! How did you do this?”

He is quiet for a few moments; you can see his mind working behind his eyes.

“It would appear my blood has healed any ailments you previously had. Just as it heals me.”

You’re silent, processing his words. His blood…made you fertile. Made you able to bear children. You shake your head at him.

“No. I will never bear your spawn.”

“You will, it is fated. The deal was made.” He rises to his full height, peering down at you with those ghastly yellow eyes. You clutch your abdomen again, fresh pain blossoming through it.

“Why does it hurt?” you whisper.

“I can take it away,” he offers.

“I don’t want anything from you. Nothing!” you scream, “I will bear it just fine. Alone.”

“Little hunter, you do not need to face the world, pain, anything alone. I am here now. Forever, and beyond that.”

You’re so angry you could spit.

“Stop calling me that. I am not a hunter.”

“Are you not? You hunted for your mare; you hunted for me.”

“I did not hunt for you! You are vile! No one would ever seek you out!”

“And yet here you are. What would you have me call you?”

“I would have you call me nothing!”

“You are not nothing, you are everything. Have I not shown you courtesy thus far? Privacy last night? Are your servants not to your liking? I will have them slashed from creation; I will make you something better.”

“No! Leave them be! They are not the problem.”

“Then what is the problem, tell me and I will right it.”

“YOU! You are the problem!”

For a moment you think you see pain flash behind his eyes. Surely this creature doesn’t feel pain? You stabbed a dagger in his chest, and he laughed. He kneels before you, pulling a box from behind his back.

“I told you I do not covet jewels!”

“It is not jewels. It is something far more precious.”

He offers it to you, but when you make no move to take it from him, he opens it himself. You gasp in horror, it’s the horn. The mare’s horn. Tears fill your eyes at the sight of it. You look up to him to see his face is neutral.

“Wh-what is this?”

“A gift, for my wife to be. My mate.”

“I…I don’t want this. This is vile!”

“You do not grasp what it is, not yet.”

“It’s the horn! HER horn! You’re a monster!” In your rage you slap him, the sound echoes against the stone columns. All is silent again, save for his heavy breathing. Tears well in your eyes and when you try to back away, he grabs your arm. His grip is iron, it hurts. The hardest he’s grabbed you yet. He turns his head slowly back to face you. Setting the box down next to him and closing the lid.

“I-I don’t…” What do you say? You aren’t sorry, not really. You wince at another flash of pain, trying to hide the discomfort in your eyes. His other hand comes up to rest over your abdomen and in a moment the pain is gone. You feel…normal again. You gasp at the sudden relief. He doesn’t say anything, just holds you there in silence and fear with his eyes that seem to have set fire.

“I will take it away,” is all he says before wrapping that arm around your waist to lift you effortlessly. Before you can think you’re sitting on the dining table and he is kneeling before you. He pulls at your thighs, scooting you closer to the table’s edge.

“What are you doing?!” You gasp.

“My duty. My right.” He brings his hands to the tie of your night robe, tearing the cloth with one claw. You grasp the fabric closed with your hands. “Don’t!” Is all you can muster, but he over powers your hands, letting the robe fall open to expose your naked body beneath it. You try to cover yourself, try to back away, but he is not letting you go anywhere.

You hear his breath catch for a moment as he gazes up at you. There is reverence in his eyes, but you can only feel disgust at being laid bare like this for him. He fixes his gaze lower to your tightly clenched thighs.

“Open them,” he commands.

“N-no!”

“Bound to me in blood and flesh, this is the second night. And I will drink your blood again. As is my right as your mate. A bargain you made, a deal you struck! It is my right.”

“Then take it from my hand again!” you offer.

“No! I will have it from your life’s blood!” he bellows. He’s all teeth and anger, his face twisted in a rage you have never seen on any man or beast before. He rests his hand over your abdomen again, providing relief from the ongoing cramps.

“I will not hurt you, Tilloa. I live for you and you alone. I always have.”

You’re trembling above him; you’ve never done this before. No one has ever seen you there before. You never even considered being with anyone, never wanted that for yourself. But you made a deal, and if you didn’t let this happen, he could take back everything he promised to free. Slowly and with much reluctance, you open yourself to him.

His eyes leave yours to look at your sex, but he does not linger long. Before you truly understand what is happening his mouth has attached to your womanhood. His tongue delving between your folds greedily. You throw your head back in shock, a gasp escaping you. One of his hand’s curls around your thigh, his claws digging painfully into the flesh there. The other remains flat against your abdomen, promising to relieve any potential discomfort there.

You can do nothing but stare at the ceiling above you. It appears to go on forever, like the rest of this chamber you’ve found yourself in for the last day and a half. You’re trying to ignore him between your legs, ignore the feeling building deep within you. The sounds of him devouring your sex are vile. But when his lips wrap around your clit, to suck greedily you cannot stop the noise from escaping you. You moan loudly, quickly bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. The hand that’s had your thigh in a vice so far comes up to grab your wrist, wrenching it away from your mouth.

“Do you not deny me your pleasure,” he breathes against you, before continuing his assault. His tongue slips within you then, and the sensation is so foreign, so unexpected you can only gasp. You snap your head downwards, to see his eyes watching you. His hand flexes over your abdomen, spreading further to cover more territory. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you deeper towards his mouth.

Suddenly the warmth that’s been building inside you is becoming harder to ignore. You realize in horror what it is. You’re not naïve to the pleasures of sex, many young humans wander to the wood for privacy in the embrace of their lovers.

“I-I can’t,” you groan above him. In response he hums into you, the vibration sending a chill through you.

He moves his hand down from your abdomen slightly, to allow his thumb to find your clit. His touch there is surprisingly light, just enough to pull you over the edge. The euphoria coursing through you is something you have never known. You throw your head back, forgetting what silence is as you moan. He does not stop until your legs are shaking uncontrollably. Only then does his mouth leave your body.

You know he is watching you, but you refuse to turn your gaze from the void above you. You feel his tongue lick the inside of your thigh and force yourself not to shudder. His hand on your abdomen disappears, and you take the opportunity to pull your robe tightly around yourself once again. He stands and you can see him watching you from between your legs. It doesn’t take long for the cramps to return, somehow worse now than before. Maybe caused by your release, you think.

When he moves away you pull your legs up to your chest, willing yourself not to sob. Not in front of him. You lay on your side on the table and see him set the box down next to you. He opens it again and takes out the horn. You avoid looking at it.

“This horn, that I gift to you, is the only thing that can wound me where I will not heal. At least not instantly.” You stop breathing; the horn can wound him? “This is the second night, and I offer you my blood from a wound by your hand, with a weapon that can do me great harm.” He sets the horn down next to your head, and finally you sit up to face him.

He is standing tall before you, just as he was the night before. You look at his chest where your dagger had been and back up to his eyes. Without a second thought you grab the horn and plunge it into his abdomen. You never break eye contact and can see the pain in his eyes as the horn tears effortlessly through his flesh. You hold it there for a long while, listening to his staggered breathing. When you pull the horn free blood leaks from the wound, and you collect it in the hollowed horn.

You drink from the makeshift chalice, never letting your gaze leave him. His hand comes up to hold the wound closed, and he nods his head once to you before turning away and disappearing into the shadows.

Not long after his departure, your ladies return. They do not converse with you, and you don’t try to make conversation with them. You let them tend to you as they did the night before, only requesting proper night clothes this time instead of a robe that can easily expose you.

Tomorrow is the third night, you think. What horrors await you then?

Chapter Text

Sleep does not come for you. Replaying what happened over and over again in your head. It was making you nauseous just thinking about it. Though the entire thing was vile, what bothers you most is your body’s response to it. You couldn’t stop yourself from climaxing, and as invasive as it was it did feel…good. This bothers you also. You don’t want to feel good with him. You reach for the mare’s horn that you’ve tucked under a pillow. It is stained with his foul blood. He has given you a weapon that could end him, if you were to trust his word. Why would he do that?

He took your stabbing unflinchingly, no resistance, no complaining. Was it a test? Perhaps it couldn’t truly mortally wound him. Perhaps he was testing how much he could trust you to not fight him. Did you fail already then, when you drove it into his gut?

Another sharp pain shoots through your abdomen. You hold the skin there, returning the horn under your pillow. Since he…assaulted you the pain from your bleeding was worse than before. Your ladies came to you once with some herbal concoction that wasn’t unpleasant, but it did nothing to stop the cramping. Would it be like this forever? This intense?

“Let me take it away, little light.”

You jump at the voice coming from the shadows, his voice. Sitting up quickly you scan the room for the yellow glow of his eyes.

“Get away from me!” You hiss to the shadows.

“Your pain is my pain now; I can feel your suffering. I can take it away.”

“Yeah, you said that before, devil, and you defiled me!”

He appears then from around one of the columns, stalking towards you slowly. You pull the blankets higher around you, your hand finding the mare’s horn. Your eyes flick down to where you stabbed him earlier to see a crudely stitched gash. He pauses in his pursuit to bring his clawed hand to the wound.

“The only scar I have, given to me by my mate. You are the only being I would allow to harm me.”

“I did not give you permission to harm me though!”

“I did not harm you, Tilloa. I felt your pleasure, tasted it-”

“Stop!” you interrupt him, “I did not consent to that! I did not give you permission to do that to me!” You cannot contain the sob that escapes you. Dropping the horn in your concealed lap, you bring both hands up to hold your face. Your tears wet them quickly, and you try to hold back the sound of your crying. But why? You should not have to hide your misery from him: the cause of it. So, you wail, loud and ugly. Your sobbing shakes your entire body, and it is a struggle to find breaths between each one. Only when you hear him take another step towards you do you remove your hands from your face.

“Do not come near me, beast!”

“Let me take it away, little light,” his voice is surprisingly gentle.

“You cannot take it away! Leave me in peace!”

“I can and I will,” he closes the distance between him and your bed kneeling at the edge of it. “This is my duty. One of many. Let me do it.”

“Stay away from me!” you scream, holding the horn tightly in your grasp. His gaze flicks to your hand under the blanket and back to your eyes. He holds out his arm to you, palm up.

“Hurt me, little light, as I hurt you.”

You frown at this. Staring at his open hand before you. Your grip tenses around the horn. You want to, you should, but you cannot bring yourself to bury the horn in his flesh again. You meet his eyes, trying to discern if this is a trick. You see no intense flame there, just the calm burning yellow. Wiping your eyes, you stop concealing the horn that he clearly knows you have.

“No,” you whisper, “I am not like you. I will not become like you.”

“Then allow me to become like you, little light. Let me help you.”

You’re stunned in silence. Staring at him with your mouth agape.

“If you will not let me touch you, I can offer you another remedy. My blood over the flesh that hurts should calm your womb enough to let you sleep.”

You frown, disgust clear on your face.

“You would…have me smear your blood on my flesh?”

“I will have you choose what you do. Whether by my touch or blood is up to you. If it helps you decide, you can harvest it yourself with the mare’s horn. Another scar earned from my mate.”

“I am not like you,” you scoff, “I do not wish to harm you…or anything! I just want to be left alone.”

“And I do not wish to harm you, Tilloa, but unlike you, I cannot leave you alone. The pull to you is too strong. It is taking all my resolve not to devour you again. The smell of you is nearly unbearable.”

“You’re no better than a beast.”

“Then is it not fitting that the daughter of the wood can control me?”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you inhale deeply holding it in as long as you can before exhaling. You bring your hands up to wipe the tears from your face. Is this your existence now? For eternity? To be bound to this…thing. You took comfort when making the deal that you could not bear his spawn, but even that has been taken from you now. By his foul blood. If you had known what would happen though, that his blood would make you fertile, would you still have made the bargain? The mare would still be captive here; the world above still frozen in frost and darkness.  

No. You would have made the bargain still. A few demon spawn able to traverse the world above would not outweigh the good.

“What…where do you have to touch me?”

“Over the womb.”

You look at him to see his eyes have ignited again. It seems they do that when he feels…strongly about something. Whether good or bad it does not matter.

“I don’t want you going under my clothes.”

“Then I will not go under your clothes, little light.”

You lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling above you as you feel the weight of his hand rest over your abdomen. Relief is instant. Like before, you feel normal again, at least somewhat.

“Why does this work? The blood?”

He hums a confirmation to you.

“Does it work both ways?”

“Yes.”

“Does your wound hurt, too?”

“Yes, but I will not allow you to remedy it. It is deserved for losing control with you.”

You mull over this in silence, still studying the ceiling above. There are carvings there that you did not see before. Crude creatures amongst angels, locked in battle. It is a story you realize. Carved in the stone. How did you not see it before?

“I can see the ceiling, the carvings there.”

He looks up with you, studying it himself.

“You are growing accustomed to the darkness. Your vision is improving.”

“Your blood…?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“What is the story?” you ask, pointing towards the ceiling.

“The creation of light and it’s spawn, battling away the shadows and it’s spawn.”

“Why would you want that on the ceiling? Doesn’t it anger you?”

“It is the history, the way of things. Without the light there can be no darkness. Without the light you would never have found your way to me.”

Risking a glance towards him you can see his attention is fully on you again.

“Your eyes are the only glimpse of the sunlit sky I have ever been afforded.”

You aren’t sure how to respond to this, so you turn your gaze back to the ceiling. Eventually sleep claims you, with his hand heavy and warm still resting on you.

Chapter Text

When you awake again he is gone, but that does nothing to calm the dread you feel. Today is the third day. His words echo in your head: bound in blood and flesh. You were already bound in blood.

Your ladies appear at your bedside, one of them offers you something warm to drink.

“What is it?”

“A tincture, dear lady, to prepare you.”

“Prepare me?”

“For the joining of flesh, dear lady.”

You blink at the bluntness of her statement.

“How will this help prepare me?”

“It will dull the pain of the first joining and heighten your sense of touch.”

You look into the goblet at the amber liquid. You down it in one swig, handing the glass back towards one of the women.

“This is an exciting day dear lady; we will spend it preparing you.”

“Where is he?”

“There are preparations he must take as well. Traditions to be followed. You will not see him until the evening, and then you will only see him for eternity.”

You feel like throwing up, but you hadn’t eaten anything to allow this to happen. As if hearing your thoughts the ladies take you to the long dining table, full again with all manner of food. You take a few pieces of bread and an apple that looks impossibly perfect. Your gaze lingers on a platter of meat. It looks…appetizing. But that cannot be. You have never eaten the flesh of beasts.

You bite into the apple, and though the juice drips down your chin you taste nothing. Looking at the apple it looks perfectly ordinary. You grab something else from the platter of fruit, a grape, and pop it into your mouth. Again, you feel the sensation of it in your mouth but cannot taste it.

“Is something wrong, dear lady?”

“I…I cannot taste it,” panic is clear in your voice.

“Try the meat, dear lady.”

“I don’t eat meat. I never have.”

You ignore the urge to grab for a haunch of meat, filling your plate instead with more fruits and vegetables. None of it tastes like anything. This is a disturbing development, but one you will ignore for as long as you can. You will not become him. When you finish your plate and push it away it disappears along with the spread of food. One of the women takes your hand and steers you towards the same tub that’s appeared the last two evenings.

You notice that your cramping is not as bad as it has been, but you see that you are still bleeding. How foul to think your first joining will be in blood. Perhaps it’s fitting, as vile as it is. There is an extravagant gown resting on the bed.

“A gift from the Lord,” one of the women offers.

It is beautiful, black as midnight and adorned with small dark jewels of purple and red. It fits you perfectly and is surprisingly comfortable considering you’ve never worn anything so extravagant in your life. The women begin brushing your hair straight back, applying some poultice to keep it slicked back. You’re not sure what they’re doing to it, but when they’re done, they steer you towards a large mirror for you to take in your appearance.

You do not recognize yourself. Draped in a gown that looks like the moonless sky, your hair slicked back to be wrapped in intricate braids. One of the women brings her hand to your eyes, covering them for a moment. When she removes her hand, your eyes are covered in thick black charcoal, your lips match. The black around your eyes makes their pale blue stand out even more. You look…unnatural.

“You are beautiful, dear lady,” one of the women whispers.

“The finishing touch,” another says while placing a large black necklace around your neck. The jewels appear black but looking closer you see they are a deep red. Beautiful isn’t the word you would use, but you hold your tongue at their expense. They seem…proud of their work, and you must admit you do like these strange shadow women. They have been nothing but kind to you, helpful to the best of their ability.

They leave you alone for a while, you sit in front of the mirror staring at the person in it. This is not you. It cannot be. Reaching forward you touch the glass, and the figure inside mimics your movement.

“You are…exquisite, little light.”

You jump, startled, and turn around quickly to see him standing at the head of the table. He looks more or less the same, perhaps his cape is longer?

“This is not me,” you say boldly, “it is what you want me to be.”

“You can be whatever you want, little light, but tonight is a special night. The third night.”

“You don’t look any different.”

“I am not the one being worshiped this night.”

“You are the only one that will get enjoyment from this night.”

“No, Tilloa, you will find yourself as lost in the pleasure as I. Dine with me.” He gestures to the table where another feast appears.

“Where does all of this come from?”

“The servants, of course. Not your ladies, they only exist to serve you, but the others.”

“Why haven’t I seen any others?”

“You will in time, little light. You will be their queen, after tonight. This is the status you must hold to ensure your…safety.”

“They would hurt me?”

“You are too sweet to resist, they would try, but I would not let them of course.”

“And after tonight that changes how? How would they know?”

“You will smell of me only.”

You twist your face in disgust, not even trying to hide it from him.

“Dine with me,” he says again. He walks towards the other end of the table, holding your chair for you like he did on the first night. You take the seat, there is no point in fighting what is inevitable. He pours your wine and retreats to his end of the table. Filling his own glass and taking a large gulp before turning to his plate. He stacks it high with meat, and you fill yours with vegetables and bread.

You try again to make the food taste as you remember. Frowning when it doesn’t have any flavor.

“You crave the meat, little light,” it is not a question.

“No. I do not eat meat.”

“Perhaps you did not before, but your body craves it now.”

“Another side effect of your foul blood?” you spit.

His gaze darkens for a moment, his chewing the only sound in the room.

“This foul blood runs through your veins now. The same blood that will run through our children’s veins.”

You look away from him to the feast laid out before you. Angrily, you snatch a haunch of an unknown beast and bite into it. You expect to be repulsed and spit it out immediately. But you are surprised to find that it tastes…good. Better than anything you’ve ever eaten before. You meet his gaze to see him watching you with amusement. You frown, dropping the haunch onto your plate in disgust. You sit back in your chair and fold your arms, avoiding his gaze. He seems unbothered by this and fills the room with the sound of his chewing again. You choose to look past him to the flames in the hearth behind him.

“I would like to get up,” you state, not wanting to crawl under the table again in this gown. He waves his hand in the air and the chair you’re in scoots out enough to free you. Walking past him, you plant yourself on a plush rug in front of the fire. Another beast’s fur, you think. The warmth of the fire is comforting, and you consider for a moment throwing yourself in to be free of this cursed bargain.

Aware of the silence in the room suddenly, you turn around to see him standing next to his chair, watching you. The feast is gone and your breathing increases at the realization of what is next. You hear him approach you and fight your instinct to bolt. He kneels in front of you, two goblets in his hand.

“The final night,” he offers you one of the goblets, “bound in blood completely.”

You’re hyperventilating now, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He brings his hand to your face to hold, turning it upwards to meet his gaze.

“I will not hurt you, little light. Not again.” His thumb traces the shape of your bottom lip before he pulls his hand away. He offers you a dagger, but you shake your head.

“I will use the horn, your wedding gift to me,” you force yourself to look him in the eyes. He nods once, “As you wish,” and from somewhere in this cloak he produces the mare’s horn, handing it to you. You take it in your hands, contemplating. Could you stab it in his head to mortally wound him? Would his neck be better? There is something wrong though as you think this. You realize you don’t want to do that. You don’t want to kill him. In horror you realize his blood in your veins will not allow you to hurt him. At least not mortally so.

He had gifted you the ability to kill him but knew that his blood within you would not allow it. Tears well in your eyes again, and you blink them away in defiance. He is patient in front of you, waiting to see what you do with the horn. You shake your head, looking at him, and the feeling that overtakes you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You feel rabid, sick like you’ve seen some of the creatures in the wood get. Mouths foaming as they wander in circles, fearing the still water.

You jump on him, hands gripping the sides of his head as you sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. His hand comes up to hold your back and you hear him gasp, in pain or shock you do not know. He pulls you closer, his other hand wrapping around you to hold you in a twisted embrace. You feel his skin give under the pressure of your bite and hot blood fills your mouth. You swallow it without a second though, quickly, dutifully. You do not stop until you feel the flow of it falter. If you could you’d have bled him dry. When you tear your lips from him and lean back to see his face, you’re not surprised to see adoration there. This is what he wants isn’t it? A mate as vile as he is.

His hand comes up to wrap around your neck, but you have no fear of it. He leans into you, lips meeting your own, and he wastes no time snaking his tongue into your mouth. You know he must taste his blood there, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He leans you back onto the rug, pulling back from you to sit on his knees. You lay beneath him waiting for what is to come. He rubs a clawed finger down your neck between your breasts, tearing at the cloth there. Even next to the fire you can feel the chill as your body is stripped before him. He discards the torn fabric to the side, unlatching his cloak in the process and tucking it under your head. Both of his hands rest on your knees, spreading you open to him again.

He wastes no time sinking between your legs, to taste you again, fulfilling his part in the blood binding. You do not resist the feeling this time. It does feel good, and you lean into it fully. Arching your back and bringing your hands to hold onto his horns that graze your inner thighs. You want him closer to you, and you try to achieve this by pushing yourself harder against his mouth. He brings a heavy hand to rest on your abdomen, keeping you still for him. You can feel your climax building already, moaning loudly with the feeling. He dips his tongue inside of you then, and his thumb lightly rubbing your clit. You climax then, loudly and intensely. Even more so than the night before. He does not stop thrusting his tongue into you, but he does relinquish the pressure of his thumb on your clit. When you’re begging him to stop, that it’s too much, he obliges.

Leaning over you now, he plants himself between your legs and you can feel the weight of it there. You look down to see his cock, as red as the rest of him, perhaps a little darker towards the head. It is…massive. Scarily so. He sees the fear in your eyes before grasping your chin and tilting your head up to meet him.

“It will only hurt for a moment, little light,” and he wastes no more time, pushing himself inside of you slowly with a deep groan. You hiss at the feeling, it burns, and you can feel your maidenhood break. He doesn’t slow himself entering you until he is fully inside.

“Breathe, sweet Tilloa,” he soothes, wrapping his fingers in your hair to pull you closer to him. And you do. You inhale quickly, you didn’t realize you were holding your breath. He’s not moving anymore, giving your body the chance to adjust to him. “You were made for me, you fit me perfectly.”

It didn’t feel like you fit him perfectly. It felt like you were being torn in half. He started pulling out of you just a little, and you gasped at the sting. Your body clung to him, your sex trying to hold him inside of you as if it didn’t want him to leave. He moaned again and hearing him this way sent chills down your spine. You felt yourself getting wetter around him.

“You take me so well, little light.”

He began thrusting more regularly, just barely pulling out of you and plunging himself back in. Your bodies did not want to separate and soon, just like he said, the sting was gone. Replaced by a feeling of bliss. You were stretched capacity around him, and it felt as though it should hurt, but you only found yourself wanting more. You needed more of him. He leans over you to meet your mouth again, and this time you return the kiss. Your tongues fighting for refuge in the other’s mouth. Suddenly you’re aware of the warm feeling building in you again, and you know you are close to finishing. You pull away from his mouth to wrap your arms around his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his core.

Your moaning becomes more frequent, your hips grinding with his now. He knows you are close too, and he wraps his arms around you to sit you up in his lap. From this angle there is a part of you he’s hitting that almost hurts. Thrusting up into you, you beg him to fill you more. To give you his seed. His response is to thrust harder, deeper, and it only takes a few more for you to shudder around him. Your body is clenching around him of its own will, and you scream at the pleasure. In only a few more thrusts you feel him twitch inside of you, before a hot feeling unlike anything you’ve experienced yet spreads inside of you. He groans, wrapping his clawed hand in your hair and pulling hard. He buries his head in your shoulder, and you can feel the faint brush of his teeth on your skin. He’s holding back, but he wants to bite you.

“Bite me, mark me, Darkness.” He wastes no time considering your request and you feel his teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder. He thrusts into you again, and you can still feel him giving you more of his seed. You sit like this in his lap feeling lightheaded. You feel as though you are drunk, and it is not an unpleasant feeling.

He unlatches from your shoulder to lay you down again beneath him. His eyes are on fire, you wonder if they could burn you if you brought your face close enough to them. He pulls himself from you and his absence feels wrong. You cannot remember what it was like to not have him inside you. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, desire and reverence clear in his eyes.

“My queen, my little light, my Tilloa.”