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MORRIGAN

Earlann

The kelpie is dead. The artificer is gone. The fae have escaped. The Threst is destroyed. Physical pain is the least of my worries as I climb out of Variant’s bed. Servants scatter, trying to get out of sight as though they fear I’ll lose control and smite them.

They are right to think so.

I shuffle to the study, where Variant researches the ritual. He barely glances up at me as the spell I’ve placed him under demands obedience, forcing him to sift endlessly through the pile of ancient texts.

“Eilish was successful in liberating the fae in the Threst ,” he says. “It won’t be long before word spreads through the realms.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I suppose you also don’t want to hear that Theren has freed himself from your witchcraft?”

I stop instantly, turning to look at Variant. “He what?”

Variant glares at me. “When Eilish knocked you unconscious, it weakened your spell on Theren and he was able to break himself out of the enchantment,” he explains. “A maid found his skin with the rune lying on the floor in a heap of blood and glass.”

“He cut it out of himself?” I repeat, strangely awed.

“Exactly,” Variant responds with a frown.

“He’s been arrested and the Unseelie Court has declared him an enemy of Oronrel.

” Variant steps away from the texts and walks over to me.

“You have no allies in the Unseelie Kingdom. If we let Oronrel slip through our fingers, we won’t be able to recover.

Theren’s army was significant even after he failed to secure the Veil.

We could use his numbers especially after the mess at the Threst . ”

I reach for the ties of my robes and pull them free. Soft fabric pools around my ankles as Variant stares unabashedly at the curves of my naked body.

“Would you be willing to take Theren’s place?

” I ask in a sultry tone. “Would you be willing to unite the fae courts beneath one king and lead a force into the Veil?” I ask as I walk to him and reach out, raking my fingers through the long locks of his hair, I brush my lips along his neck as his hands grip my waist. “What do you say, Variant?”

He licks his lips and reaches between us to unbuckle the belt at his waist, his gaze never leaving mine.

Then he reaches inside his trousers and frees himself from the restraining fabric.

My hands replace his, caressing him to hardness until my fingers ache to hold his girth.

Variant cups my rear and lifts me, setting me down on top of the cluttered desk, not bothering to clear it.

I groan loudly and Variant doesn’t wait to hear any protests or encouragement as he steps between my thighs.

I shiver as I watch him spit into his palm and slide his fingers between my folds to rub and stroke the saliva into my flesh until my body yields.

There’s no other preparation, no soft words of affection, just two bodies uniting.

No gentleness exists between us; we are raw and hungry for release, seeking numbness from all the pain.

Variant pulls away slightly, but not out of my body as he tilts his pelvis and presses forward harder.

He clenches his jaw as my body fights the intrusion.

The sweet, sweet burn causes my eyes to roll back.

“This means nothing, Morrigan.”

It hurts so good. Variant seats himself completely inside me as though it’s where he always belonged—more so than any throne.

Bucking my hips, I lean up to press a kiss to his mouth, but he pulls away.

He turns me around and pushes my chest against the desk.

He lifts one of my legs and bends it at the knee, spreading me open for his claim.

His hands grip me tighter as he slides in and out, moving back halfway before slamming deeper inside, grinding his hips and expertly caressing every sensitive place within me.

“Don’t fight the spell, Variant. This feels so right.”

“I hate you…”

“Then fuck me harder.” I meet his thrusts as he impales my quivering body over and over with his thick and rigid cock. My thighs tremble with a pleasure and I realize I’ve grown addicted to him—to his body, to the way he makes my body sing.

Suddenly, I want to shatter the intense sense of power and defiance he holds dear until nothing else exists in his world but me.

The moans that fill the study are carnal and untamed as Variant’s hand moves to wrap around my throat, pulling my back against his chest. I’m close.

.. so close... hanging on by the tips of my fingers.

One final thrust and the world begins to spin.

He uses my body for his pleasure, and I enjoy the ride.

Variant spills his seed inside me and then moves away from me with a hiss. I spin around and reach for him, but he brushes off my hold. His eyes blink rapidly as he fights the spell that weaves around him, forcing his submission. I won’t let him go. I’ve lost Theren—now Variant is all I have left.

When he finds calm once more, he bends at the waist and breathes deeply. “I will go to Oronrel. But I grow tired of this game, Morrigan. In the end, I will either submit to your treachery or I will fight free as Theren has.” He glares at me. “I have no love for you.”

But he’s my only hope. I can’t lose Variant.

My magics reach for him. The rune on his left pectoral flares to life.

“What you fail to see, Variant, is that I don’t care if you love me or not.

I’ve loved and been scorned by forces much stronger than you and it hasn’t broken me.

If you seek to wound me with words alone, I hate to inform you, but you’ll have to try harder. ”

I leave him there as I pull my robes on once more. He’s served his purpose for now. I have no other need for him at the moment.

But something unexpected creeps up... Silvanus.

I sense his presence. He is close.

***

CAMBION

Mercenary Stronghold

The portal opens and scorching air puffs into my face with a cloud of hot sand.

Pyre seems unfazed by the harsh landscape.

Baron and Aima come through next, simultaneously complaining about the heat.

The vampire hisses and holds his middle finger up to the sun.

With Pyre’s help, he’s learned to tolerate the sun, but that doesn’t mean he particularly enjoys the intense light.

I walk beside Aima, trying to gauge where she’s at mentally. Since she awakened in the Veil, I’ve watched her don a mask to hide her true feelings. “How are you faring?”

“Better than I expected.”

“Pyre told me where they found you,” I mutter. “Aima, if there’s anyone who understands what you’ve been through, it’s me. No one else has suffered greater at the hands of the Unseelie than the two of us.”

“I heard about the ritual Morrigan is trying, Cambion,” she spits the words back at me. “I know you think it’s me who’s required for it, so... no. You don’t know what I’m going through.”

“That ritual won’t come to pass,” I start.

Aima shakes her head. “It seems like I escape one ill fate only to be ensnared by another. What you’ve been through in Oronrel is nothing compared to what I’ve seen and felt at the hands of our people,” she barks at me and then takes a deep breath.

“All I need is space.” She pauses to glance at me over her shoulder.

“It’s nothing personal, and at the same time, it is. I need to find myself again, Cambion.”

“Well, I’m here if you need me.”

My feet sink into the sand as we trek through the dunes.

Baron continuously asks if Pyre can cast a portal, no matter how many times the necromancer explains magic is different in the mortal realm.

Flumph is truly no better with his complaining.

Thankfully, Noni and I have enough decency not to bother Pyre as he navigates the unforgiving scorch of the Decolate Borders.

It takes three days to reach what appears to be a newly built mercenary outpost. A man with a red scarf over the lower half of his face aims a crossbow at us as we approach.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he demands.

“We are allies of Kolvar, Chieftain of the Banefire Horde,” Baron replies. “My companions and I are the Rebel Lords of The Vindication. We stand with all those who fight for freedom in the realms.”

“Aye, we know of The Vindication,” the man says as he lowers his weapon and steps aside. “Apologies,” he says. “Can’t be too careful after the last battle.”

The sentry whistles, and an armed escort appears, in order to take us to the entrance of the Mercenary Stronghold. Before we follow him, I turn back to the man. “Of what battle do you speak?” I ask.

The sentry looks at me as though he’s shocked I don’t already know.

“Lady Fulthain rode to the Threst with a few hundred of our best. She successfully freed the fae and liberated that horrid place. There were losses, but we all sleep better at night knowing the Threst has been destroyed.”

That Eilish is accepted as a leader to these people is a thought I struggle for a moment to grasp.

The gate drops and Kolvar runs to Aima, sweeping her up into a welcoming embrace.

I glance away to give them a moment of peace.

Baron and I push forward with Pyre, Flumph, and Noni, headed toward the heart of the stronghold where we find a utopia of sorts.

I can hardly believe my eyes as species that once warred with one another trade goods and exchange pleasantries.

Flumph’s eyes bulge out of his head. “The fucks goin’ on here? It ain’t right, I says.”

Kolvar catches up with us. “Come, my friends. Let me take you to the others.”

The large satyr guides us through the streets and stops just outside another gate. This one seems newly crafted—black, with a strange emblem on it I don’t recognize. Though most of the clans here are familiar enough to identify, this is one I haven’t seen before.

Kolvar unlocks the gate and lets us pass.