“The whip,” I mutter, my chin pointing toward the array of weapons on the far wall, ready to try and subdue me if I cause problems in my cell. “Give it to me.”
Svend’s chin shakes as he nods and turns, his back straight even as his shoulders slump.
The hunger inside me, an emptiness that can’t be sated with food, bubbles up. It leaches into my blood to trickle through every muscle, each joint, even the bones that provide their support. The resigned elf turns back to me—the largest whip in his hand—and I huff out a sigh.
This will give Wrath more than any meal. It won’t compare to taking Finaan, but it’ll have to do.
“Give me your back,” I bark, reaching forward to untie my pants with one hand, clinging to the weapon I’m about to wield with the other. As I fist my flabby cock, I loosen the leash I keep on Wrath, letting him share our body so he can take what he needs.
The heat of Svend’s fear wraps around me, surging a smidgen of blood into my shaft at last. Shoving the whip between the bars, I flick it at the little weasel—crimson drops flinging from the gash I rip across his skin—and twist the cock that really needs to get its shit together and join in the fun.
It should be hard as a rock. It’s been days since anyone offered their body to me, and months since that body leeched actual blood. I’m tempted to call Svend toward us so I can run my tongue over his weeping sores. Wrath’s pleasure might be enough to get my blood flowing. But if I’m going to suffer the taste of elf blood, it won’t be this male’s. This’ll have to do.
I can enjoy the weasel’s pain, I tell myself, even if my dick doesn’t. One after another, focusing on the elf in front of me and his sacrifice to my cravings, I give Svend six strikes. The first few do nothing but remind me that I’m doing this only because I can’t yet have my mate. It’s a sad substitute for the satisfaction, the sustenance of my mangled soul, that will come when she accepts our bond. But it has to be enough for now.
With the fourth fling of the whip, I settle into the rhythm of his suffering and start to breathe more easily. The gulps and cries and gusts of air that accompany each flick of my wrist soothe me, drawing up memories of Hel’s training early in my service to her. Well, the conclusion of that training, when I finally learned to appreciate the torture she offered me generously.
Flashbacks of my mistress laboring over my flesh—taking me to the brink of death again and again as she taught me to embrace my own pain—bounce through my mind. Those lessons lasted more years than I care to count, until they finally started bringing me comfort, even pleasure, instead of trauma. When my cock rose with her ministrations and cum drippedfrom me along with my blood, she declared me ready. I had become a true servant of Helheim, ready to prepare others for the eternity they faced in her realm, as she had prepared me.
Dragging my mind back from that abyss, I shake my head and try to ignore the slag forming in my gut, a confusing mix of dread and lechery. It’s been centuries since I let myself get lost in thoughts like those. They serve no purpose in Helheim, and I won’t let them take root in my psyche again.
Instead, I give in to Wrath’s craving for this elf’s life force and taste the glob of blood and skin that lands on my lip. Within a few seconds, I’m so far gone to my beast—I’ve surrendered so much of my skin to his appetites—I shudder with him when Svend’s flesh hits our taste buds, savoring the sacrifice he’s making for us.
But it’s not enough to send us over the edge. Although my cock has finally joined the fun, the release I crave is elusive, veering close before it slips out of reach. I fling the whip again, sending my thoughts to Helheim and the wraiths who filled the hole in my gut when the elves escaped. They were my only salve when I had nothing left, their agony the only form of pleasure my liege would allow me in her accursed realm. Their misery sated me then, and it will feed me here, too.
My cock, though, doesn’t agree. It craves Finaan—her gaze, if not her touch.
Frustration ripples through me. I haven’t even felt her skin again, and already the refuge I found in Helheim when she left has failed me. She’s my mate, and with her scent still filling this dank place, nothing else will do. So I shove myself more fullyinto our consciousness and draw up her image. She’s lying naked beneath me, my knees straddling her hips. One of my hands squeezes the cock that truly comes to life in her presence while the other fondles her breast, tugging at her nipple.
Finally, I’m closer to the release Wrath needs. To the release I need.
And then Svend squeals like a wraith who’s seeing Helheim for the first time. Fear echoes in his voice as he scrambles to the corner and crouches down, as if to hide. I look up and she’s right there, wide eyes staring at the cock that she alone can satisfy.
Wrath writhes inside me, desperate to take over and rip these bars down so we can claim her. For a moment, I consider letting him. My mate looking at my cock for the first time has pulled a shiver from my balls, sending a torrent of blood into the heart that beats for her.
“What the fuck?” Her voice is rattled, a hint of anger spearing through it. But fuck me if I don’t hear her hunger too, a plea that hides beneath the other emotions.
And it turns me on even more, a burst of cum flowing into my throbbing cock. I let my hungry gaze drop to her tits, bouncing up and down with her heavy breaths, and imagine coating them in our essence, rubbing our seed all over her so she knows who she belongs to. That she’s ours. That she’ll always be ours.
“My mate has returned,” I purr as I stroke myself to release and shoot my cum toward her. “Her need for my cock so great, it summoned her back to me. Don’t fear, though. His bloodmay coat me, but your cunt alone fills my thoughts as I spill my seed.” A smile emerges on my lips and I know it’ll piss her off even more, but I don’t try to hold it back. She’ll grow to crave my depraved demands soon enough.
Finaan’s eyes narrow, but they stay fixed on my hard cock until it’s fully milked, every bit of me relaxing at last. She shudders as she lifts her gaze, sending a ripple of pleasure down my spine. She felt it as fiercely as I did—this bond that pulses inside her as it does me. I see the change as she regains her stalwart control, shaking her head while her lips twist into a sneer.
Whipping her stare toward the pathetic elf cowering in the corner, she snarls. “What the fuck are you doing here? And why does he have a whip and your blood splattered across his chest?”
Oh, she’s ferocious. I might come again just from watching my fierce warrior mate. The fights we’ll have. The blood we’ll spill. And the fucks that will follow.
The fates truly have smiled on me, gifting me this female.
Svend’s whimper drags me from my moment of worship, so I swing the whip at him again. The fucker interrupted something special and I can’t have that. I give Wrath a mental caress as I focus on the red tears dripping down the elf’s cheek, and relax even more as my beast drops into his hole.
Finaan ruins it, but I can’t blame her. And I’ve gotten all I need for now.
Striding forward, she grabs the whip by its thong, wrenching it from my hands. “Sick bastard,” she mutters as she stalksto the wall to return it to its place. She doesn’t clean it, thank the gods. I’ll be able to smell and see Svend’s blood until he can return to free me. It might be a while—I hadn’t anticipated Finaan’s return, and I suspect she’ll try to keep him away now—but he’s a determined elf. He’ll come to me soon.
Spinning, she glares at Svend, whose gaze bounces between the two of us. “I asked you a question,” she growls. “What. The. Fuck?”
His head finally stills, glassy eyes focused on Finaan. “He needed me,” the elf whispers, risking a glance my way before he gives my mate his entire attention. “And … and I need him.”
