Page 33 of Bred By Sor'en

We are hunted still.

Hated still.

Perhaps even more so.

I place my mate on her small feet, keeping her steady as she steps ahead of me, her attention and awe directed to the Veiled Pool, and rightfully so. It warms my blackened heart to see her appreciation for our planet. The stars and wraiths below will welcome her with warmth, should she learn to allow them. Our Veiled Pool is a simple enough plot of water, only that the mineral compound around it is so heavy, pulled in from the Bonded Sea from which Fa’mora was born, that the water is thicker. Perfectly still. And at night… it looks magical.

My mate's attention is taken as Xyrelith after Xyrelith offers her their flowers, laying them at her feet at the bank in blessing. For a moment, I am struck by the foreign beauty of her. Her soft curves and pale flesh, the way she curls her toes into the grass and her lip wobbles when she cries.

Her hair, the color of fire.

It is fitting.

My fierce star-gifted mate.

Part of me wonders if it will pain her to accept me into her tonight. I know that I can, all medical scans assured my mind and the minds of those far smarter than myself that she can take me. That my seed can root deep within her and from it something wonderful can grow. It is comforting to know a partof me will linger with her, even after whatever horrible fate awaits me comes to fruition. That the price of eternal madness is bearable, should only I redeem myself in their eyes.

After the last of our people filter out, she lets out a breathless little laugh, her arms heavy and feet piled over with flowers I have spent my entire life growing with the hope that I would someday, somehow see myself as I am. Staring at my gift from the goddesses as she is right now.

“I’m not sure what to do now,” she offers breathlessly.

I simply stalk closer, watching as she shifts on her hidden feet that are surely curled into the grass, as if she is desperate to plant herself in the dirt. I am still weakened, my body still desperately trying to push the bond, but there is energy knowing it is coming. Enough energy to carry us through what will come next.

I appear behind her, my lips skirting over the top of her veiled head. “You choose one, and you offer it to me.”

Her breath is a mere whisper on the wind. Hidden from my ears, but I can see it in the way it pushes against her veil quicker than normal. The scent of her need driving my mating pulse higher than it has been before. Not a hard task, there has been no one before her, and there will be no one after. I am for my mate's pleasure alone, as all of my people are for theirs should they come. “Just any of them?”

“It is up to you, my gift. The one whose flower is chosen will be smiled upon by the goddesses. Their womb shall expand and their seed root true.”

“Ah,right. No pressure then.” She laughs, but the sound is wrought with nerves.

She should be nervous, for after this night, I will ruin my mate for all other males. I will rewrite her as she has done to me. I will imprint myself on her DNA so surely she shall feel me with everybreath she takes. Because my tricky, dishonest mate ismine. And like her, I am a very selfish creature.

“Offer me a flower, Draya’la,” I urge softly, barely keeping the growl from my voice.

She lets the bundle in her arms fall, the scent of her need choking me as she digs to the bottom of the pile at her feet. “What does that mean?”

“Hmm?”

She lifts a flower, and my cock jerks as she glances at me over her shoulder, her pretty eyes hidden. Like this, I can almost pretend she adores me too. Almost, but not quite. Like her as she is, hurtful and strong. Rough and unbalanced. “Drylala.”

I smirk. “Draya’la meanssoulveil, the being in which guards my soul.”

Her hand trembles as she shows me what she’s chosen.

She is in my arms in the next moment, her legs wrapping around my waist so that the heat of her core warms my throbbing, vibrating cock. She yelps at the sudden movement, her arms banding around my neck, pressing her taut breasts against me in the most wonderful way.

“My flower, Hue,” I remind her.

“Oh, yeah, here.” She pants, offering me the yellow one she picked.

The yellow Lyr’lumara represents growth, rejuvenation, and hope.

Xyreliths will pick the flowers they wish to manifest in their prayers.

Yellow.

Purplefor love, dedication, and stability.