Chapter 6: Nymera, Warden of the Wilds
The forest did not whisper.
It growled.
After leaving the Whispering Vale, Riven followed no path. The trees of Elvaria's northern reaches loomed thick and ancient — taller than towers, wrapped in vines heavy with wet moss. The deeper he walked, the more the forest pressed against him. As if it watched. As if it knew.
Saelina's words echoed still.
> "Ten thousand women will know your touch, Riven. But not all will yield to it. Some will test you. Some will break you before they let you in."
The air turned humid, dense. Rain fell in slow, warm sheets, soaking through his tunic and darkening his boots. The trees gave no shelter. The storm was alive here — not a curse, but a pulse. A rhythm. A beating heart.
That's when he saw her.
Or… felt her.
First came the scent — musky, wild, like damp fur and crushed herbs. Then, a flash between trees: skin the color of copper, glinting with water; dark hair bound in long cords down her back; eyes like amber flame.
She leapt from the canopy above, landing barefoot before him, crouched low, muscles tense and gleaming.
A predator.
> "You come too deep," she said, voice rough as bark, soft as danger.
Riven held his ground. "I seek only passage—"
> "Then you've failed. No one passes without offering. And you… smell of another."
Her nose flared as she stood to full height. She was tall, strong, and unmistakably feral — her body wrapped in leathers that left much of her bare: thighs carved with sinew, breasts barely concealed beneath straps, rain gliding down the curve of her abdomen.
> "You're not from this forest," she growled. "You've lain with the Veilweaver."
Riven's lips parted, uncertain.
> "I can smell her on your skin." She stepped closer. "Magic. Moonlight. Silk. But you're not hers. Not only hers."
Her hand was suddenly at his throat, not choking, but firm. Measuring.
> "Do you think you can wander this realm of women, planting your seed like a storm, and not be tested?"
Riven met her gaze. "I don't fear the storm."
Nymera grinned — and it was all teeth.
> "Then let me show you what it means to become it."
---
She pulled him forward by the collar, walking him through thorns that parted only for her. The rain deepened, thunder rolling above as they entered a sacred glade, wild and untouched. Trees curved around the clearing like an audience. In its center stood a smooth stone altar, worn by time, slick with water.
Nymera shoved him back against it — hard enough to make him grunt. She stepped close, her breath hot against his cheek.
> "In the Wilds, we do not ask. We take."
Her lips crashed into his — fierce, consuming, wild. There was no prelude, no hesitation. Her hands tore open his tunic, revealing his chest to the rain, her mouth moving to his neck, then lower, teeth grazing with predatory hunger.
She pushed him down onto the stone, straddling him, the rain matting her hair to her skin. Her thighs were strong and wet, gripping his sides. Her hands moved to her own chest, tearing leather from skin — freeing her full breasts, nipples hard under the cool air.
Riven reached to touch her — and she caught his wrists.
> "No," she said, voice husky. "Not yet. You don't touch until I say so."
Her hips rolled down against him, grinding through soaked cloth, eliciting a moan from both of them. Her core was molten heat. Her breath came heavy.
> "You want to lead?" she asked, gaze burning. "Then learn what it means to surrender first."
---
Her hand found him beneath his clothes, already hard from her presence alone. She grinned in approval, lowering herself until her lips brushed against him, teasing, tasting.
Riven groaned, his fingers digging into the stone, fighting the urge to take control.
But this was her domain.
Nymera's mouth wrapped around him in one smooth, wet motion — no gentleness, just pure hunger. Her pace was fast, then slow, then fast again, tongue circling him like she was taming a beast, owning him with every stroke.
She pulled back just as he shuddered near the edge.
> "No release," she said. "Not until I allow it."
She mounted him then, raw and commanding. He slid into her heat, and both of them gasped — not in softness, but in recognition.
They were fire meeting fire.
She rode him with savage grace, hips slamming, back arched, hair whipping in the wind. Her hands braced on his chest as her body devoured him, her cries rising louder with each motion.
He could barely breathe beneath her rhythm, lost in the wild tempo of it.
> "You feel that?" she whispered, grinding down. "That's the forest inside me. And now it's inside you."
---
He gripped her hips, lifting into her. She didn't stop him.
The game was shifting.
Rain poured harder, thunder cracking like orgasmic release above them. Their bodies moved faster, harder, as the storm echoed every thrust. She bent low, panting in his ear:
> "Now. Show me what kind of man Elvaria bows to."
With a growl, Riven flipped her — her eyes flaring wide in surprise and delight. He pinned her beneath him, entering her again with a single deep stroke, and she cried out in blissful surrender.
Now he set the pace.
Now he claimed the wild.
Their bodies slapped together, water and skin and heat. Her nails clawed his back as she met every thrust with abandon. They moved like beasts, like gods, like the forest had given them permission to forget they were human.
When he finally came inside her, roaring her name, she clung to him — her release crashing over them both like a wave of green fire.
---
For a long time, they lay on the altar, chest to chest, the storm now softening above.
Nymera stroked his hair, her voice drowsy but satisfied.
> "You passed."
> "Passed what?" he whispered.
> "The Trial of the Wilds. You didn't ask permission. You earned it."
She rose, dripping and powerful, and placed a kiss on his forehead.
> "The forest will remember you. And now you carry its mark."
When Riven looked down at his chest, a faint vine-like sigil glowed — pulsing softly in rhythm with his heartbeat.
> "Go," she said, turning toward the shadows. "The next waits. But you'll never be tame again."
And with that, she vanished into the trees, like a panther disappearing into midnight.