Page 25 of Burned Alive to Be His

XVITAR

T he roar of my clan is a physical force, a wave of sound that washes over me, a primal chorus of acceptance and joy.

A future is being born, and it is a sound I have never heard before.

I stand before them, my mate at my side, her small hand clutched in mine, and I feel a pride so fierce, so absolute, it threatens to bring me to my knees.

She is mine. And I am hers. And our people, my people, have borne witness.

The celebration, the wild, joyous affair that will surely last until the dawn, is about to begin. The scent of roasting sea-beast already fills the air, and the first cask of strong ale has been broached. But there is one final ritual to be performed. The most important of all.

Vorlag steps forward, his ancient eyes filled with a new, profound reverence. He looks not at me, but at Judith. “The ceremony is complete,” he says, his voice a solemn rumble. “The bond is forged. Now, you must claim your future.”

He gestures toward the shimmering, heat-hazed portal of the sacred cavern. “The prophecy is clear. You must choose one. One egg to be the vessel of your union, the first of a new generation. Go. Let your hearts guide you.”

I look down at Judith. Her face is a mixture of shock and a deep, soul-shaking terror. To choose a life. To hold the future of a race in her hands. It is a burden no creature should have to bear.

I squeeze her hand, my thumb stroking the back of her soft skin. “We will choose together,” I say in a low murmur meant only for her.

She looks at me, her dark eyes filled with a trust so absolute I’m breathless. She nods, a single, sharp movement of her chin.

Together, we turn from the waiting celebration and step through the portal, into the heart of our people’s hope.

The cavern is as I remember it from the day before, a silent, breathtaking cathedral of life. The hundreds of eggs glow with their soft, internal light, their rhythmic pulsing a silent, steady heartbeat. The air hums with a palpable, ancient magic.

We walk through the concentric circles of eggs, our footsteps silent on the soft, sandy floor. I feel the pull of them, the low, vibrational hum of their dormant life force. But I am not guiding this choice. I am following. I am letting her lead.

She moves with a strange, dreamlike certainty, her eyes scanning the kaleidoscope of colors. She passes an egg of shimmering, sapphire blue, another of molten gold. She is being drawn, pulled by an invisible thread, toward the very center of the cavern.

She stops before the same egg as yesterday. The large, deep crimson one, veined with threads of pure gold. It pulses with a light that is brighter, stronger, than any of the others. It is as if it has been waiting for her.

“This one,” she whispers, her voice a breath of pure, unadulterated wonder.

I step up beside her and place my hand on the egg’s smooth, warm surface. A jolt of pure, raw energy shoots up my arm, a shock of recognition, of belonging. It is not just her choice. It is mine as well. Our hearts, our very souls, have chosen the same vessel.

“Yes,” I say, my own voice a rough, awed rasp. “This is the one.”

We stand there for a long moment, our hands on the shell of our future, a silent, profound communion passing between the three of us. Then, I know what we must do.

I take the obsidian dagger from the altar outside, its blade still clean from the ceremony. I hold it out to her. “The prophecy demands a final sacrifice,” I say softly. “A union of blood.”

She does not flinch. She does not hesitate. She simply holds out her left hand, her palm upturned, her gaze locked with mine.

I take her hand in my own, her skin so soft, so fragile. With a surgeon’s precision, I draw the razor-sharp edge of the blade across her palm, a thin, clean line of crimson welling up in its wake. She does not even gasp.

Then, I turn the blade on my own hand, mirroring the cut, my own dark, thick blood rising to the surface.

I press my bleeding palm to hers.

The moment our blood mingles, a jolt of pure, raw power, hot as the mountain’s core, arcs between us.

It is a searing, electric shock that makes my entire body tremble.

I feel her, not just her skin, but her soul, her strength, her fear, her impossible, beautiful hope.

It pours into me, and my own essence, my fire, my rage, my dawning, terrifying love, pours into her.

We are no longer two separate beings. We are one.

Together, we hold our joined hands over the egg. Our mingled blood drips down, a single, perfect, crimson drop that falls onto the golden veins of the shell.

The egg drinks it.

The blood does not run. It does not stain.

It is absorbed into the very essence of the shell, the golden veins flaring with a light so bright, so intense, it forces us to look away.

A deep, resonant pulse, a single, powerful heartbeat, shudders through the egg, through our hands, through the very floor of the cavern.

It is the beautiful sound of a life beginning.

We have done it. We have created a new future.

I gently wrap a clean cloth around Judith’s hand, then my own. Then, with a reverence I did not know I possessed, I lift our egg from its sandy nest. It is heavy, warm, and it hums with a low, steady vibration against my skin. It is our child.

When we emerge from the cavern, the egg held carefully in my arms, the celebration erupts. A roar of pure, unadulterated joy shakes the very foundations of the mountain. The clan surges forward, their faces a mixture of awe and a wild, fierce jubilation.

The night is a blur of fire and music and a joy so profound it is almost a pain.

I watch Judith, my mate, as she moves through the celebration.

She is no longer a frightened slave. She is a queen.

She speaks with the warriors, her voice quiet but firm, her gaze direct.

She shares a piece of roasted meat with the young male who brought her the carving, and his face shines with a pride so fierce it is almost comical.

She even shares a brief, tense, but civil nod with Phina, a silent acknowledgment of her new place in the world.

She is grace. She is strength. She is everything I never knew I needed. And she is mine.

As the second moon begins to rise, its pale light casting long, dancing shadows across the clearing, I know it is time. I go to her, where she is sitting by the fire, her face flushed with the heat and the joy of the night.

“Come,” I say, my voice a deep rumble.

She looks up, her dark eyes shining with a light that mirrors the fire in my own blood. She takes my outstretched hand, and I lead her away from the celebration, away from the eyes of our clan, and back to the warm, silent sanctuary of our cavern.

I carry our egg with my good arm, its warmth a steady, comforting presence against my side. I place it carefully on a bed of the softest furs, in a place of honor, where the magical light of my hoard can bathe it in a gentle, glittering glow.

I turn to my mate.

She stands in the center of the cavern, her red and gold ceremonial garment a slash of vibrant color against the dark stone. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I go to her, and I cup her face in my hands. “I have never known a night like this,” I whisper, my voice a raw, broken thing. “I have never known… joy.”

“Nor I,” she says, her hands coming to rest on my chest, over my heart. “You have given me a home, Xvitar.”

“You,” I say, my voice thick with an emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. “You are my home.”

I kiss her, a slow, deep, soul-searing kiss that is a promise, a vow, a prayer. It is the culmination of our entire journey, of the fire, the blood, the fear, the hope.

When we finally break apart, we are both breathless.

I slowly, reverently, begin to undress her, my fingers tracing the intricate, golden embroidery of her garment before I slide it from her shoulders.

It pools at her feet, a splash of color on the dark stone floor, leaving her naked, beautiful, and utterly mine in the soft, magical light.

“I will not hurt you,” I whisper, my hands tracing the faint, silvery lines of the scars on her back. “Never again.”

“I know,” she says, and she turns in my arms, her own hands going to the laces of my breeches.

When we are both naked, I do not take her immediately.

I lift her into my arms and carry her to the great pile of furs, laying her down as if she is the most precious, fragile treasure in my hoard.

I lie down beside her, and I simply look at her, my eyes memorizing every line, every curve, every scar.

“I love you, Judith,” I say, the words a raw, unfamiliar, and utterly terrifying truth. “I love your fire. I love your strength. I love the way you look at me, as if you see the male behind the monster.”

Tears well in her eyes, shining like stars in the dim light. “There is no monster, Xvitar,” she whispers, her hand coming up to cup my jaw. “There is only you.”

And then, there are no more words.

I kiss her, a deep, worshipful kiss, my mouth and hands re-learning the landscape of her body.

This is not the frantic, desperate claiming of before.

This is a slow, deliberate exploration, a prayer of flesh and bone.

I taste the salt on her skin, the sweetness of her mouth.

I learn the places that make her gasp, the places that make her moan.

“Please,” she whispers, her body arching against mine, her scent, a heady mix of woman and desire, filling my senses. “I need you. Now.”

I move over her, my body a shield, a promise. I position my cock at her pussy, and she lifts her hips, her eyes locked with mine, a silent, eager invitation. I slide into her, a slow, perfect union of flesh and soul. She is so hot, so wet, so tight around me. She is my home.

I begin to move, a slow, deep, powerful rhythm that is a stark contrast to the frantic, desperate energy of our previous joinings. This is not a claiming. This is a worship. My eyes are locked on hers, and in their violet depths, I see my own reflection. I see not a warrior, but a mate. Her mate.

“Xvitar,” she breathes, her nails digging into the powerful muscles of my back. “It feels… different.”

“It is,” I growl, my voice a low rumble of pure, soul-deep pleasure. “This is not just flesh, Judith. This is the bond. This is our souls learning each other.” I thrust deeper, and she cries out, a sharp, keening sound of pure bliss. “Do you feel it? Do you feel me?”

“Yes,” she sobs, the pleasure so intense it is almost a pain. “Always. I feel you everywhere.”

I change the rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back into her slowly, torturously. She whimpers, her hips lifting off the furs, chasing the feeling. “Don’t tease me,” she begs.

“I am not teasing,” I whisper, my lips brushing her ear.

“I am savoring. I want to remember this moment for the next thousand years.” I slide my good arm under her, lifting her, changing our angle so I am seated, and she is impaled on my cock, her legs wrapped around my waist. “I want to remember the way you look, right now, with my son sleeping just feet away.”

The word, son , hangs in the air between us, a sacred, powerful thing. Tears stream down her face, but they are tears of joy. “Our son,” she corrects me, her voice thick with emotion.

“Our son,” I agree, and I begin to move again, a powerful, driving rhythm that rocks us both. The cavern is filled with the sound of our bodies colliding, of her breathless moans and my guttural groans.

“Mine,” I snarl, my thrusts deep, powerful, aimed at the very core of her being. “You are mine, Judith. My heart. My fire. My mate. Forever.”

“Yours,” she cries out, her voice breaking. “Forever, Xvitar. Take me. Make me yours completely.”

I feel her climax building, a tidal wave of sensation that is pulling her under. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight against me. “Come with me, my queen,” I roar, and my body goes rigid, my own release imminent.

We shatter together, an explosion of pleasure and release that seems to make the very crystals in the cavern walls hum with our joy.

My scream is her name, her roar is mine.

We are two halves of a whole, two fires merged into one, and in the blinding, white-hot light of our climax, a pulse of golden energy, the same light we saw from the egg, flares from our joined bodies, washing over the cavern before it fades.

It is the bond, the true mating bond, sealing us, soul to soul, for all eternity.

I collapse back onto the furs, pulling her down with me, her boneless body a warm, welcome weight on my chest. For a long, long time, there is only the sound of our breathing, the frantic beat of our hearts slowly returning to a steady, synchronous rhythm.

The haze of pleasure slowly recedes, leaving in its wake a profound, unbreakable peace. I am no longer Xvitar, the warrior. I am Judith’s mate. And I am finally, truly, home.