The cave's guts opened into a cavern, the air thick with a damp stink that stuck to my scales. Them vines hung heavy, glowin' green like some witch's brew, twistin' 'round crystals that pulsed like livin' hearts. Elara moved ahead, her runes flickerin' on that leather armor, guidin' us like a damn beacon. My claws scraped the stone, tail draggin' like a dead weight, and that amulet scorched my chest, its hum poundin' like a war drum gone wild. Them phantoms from before were quiet, but I felt their eyes—hungry, waitin'. The sorceress's curse burned in my blood, and that whisper—"The throne awaits"—kept gnawin' at me. I was in over my head, and there ain't no crawlin' out.
We hit the glade, and hell, it hit back. The vines swayed without wind, their glow castin' shadows that danced like specters. The air turned sweet—honey and magic, thick enough to choke on. Elara stopped, breathin' hard, and I lumbered up, my bulk fillin' the space. "This is a glade of the old ones," she said, voice low, almost reverent. "Their power's thick here. We're gettin' close." Her eyes swept the vines, and I felt it too—a yank from the amulet, pullin' me like a leash. But it wasn't just the throne callin'.
Her scent slammed into me—pine and that elven magic, raw and wild—and my gut twisted hard. The beast reared up, that hunger roarin' like a furnace, mixin' with somethin' hotter, deeper. She turned, catchin' my stare, and them green eyes narrowed, but there was a spark—curiosity, or maybe a dare. "You holdin' up?" she asked, steppin' closer, leather creakin' like a whip. I grunted, shiftin' my stance, tail thumpin' the ground. "Yeah," I lied, voice gravelly as hell, scales itchin' under her gaze.
The glade hummed, vines swayin' like they were alive, and a heat rolled off the amulet, sinkin' into my bones. Elara touched a crystal, and it flared, light spillin' over her—lean frame, them curves pressin' 'gainst her armor, hair silver like a blade in moonlight. My breath caught, and that fire turned to a blaze. "This place amps power," she muttered, not lookin' at me. "Yours too, I bet." She was dead right—my scales gleamed brighter, and the beast pushed, wantin' her bad, wantin' to take.
I stepped in, towerin' over her, and she didn't flinch—tough as nails. "Elara," I growled, voice half-beast, "this ain't just power talkin'." Her eyes locked on mine, and the air crackled—magic, tension, somethin' we shouldn't touch. She dropped her bow, hand pressin' my chest, fingers grazin' scales. "I feel it," she whispered, and that broke the dam.
We collided, rough and hungry, the glade's glow wrap pin' us tight. My claws gripped her waist, careful not to shred, but the beast demanded more—wanted to claim her. Her hands roamed my scales, diggin' into ridges, and she gasped as I hoisted her 'gainst a vine wall. Her lips crashed into mine, fierce and hot, tastin' of magic and defiance. My tail coiled 'round her leg, yankin' her close, and she arched, armor clankin' as it fell aside. Her skin was smooth, a stark slap 'gainst my rough hide, and the heat between us built like a storm.
She yanked at my shirt—rags from the curse—and I tore it off, scales glintin' in the light. Her nails bit my shoulders, and I growled—crossed it out, damn it—lost in her touch. The amulet pulsed, magic floodin' me, and I shifted—jaws lengthenin' just enough to nip her neck. She moaned, head tiltin' back, and I took it, my forked tongue trac in' her pulse. Her hands slid lower, explorin' me bold, and I lifted her higher, vines holdin' us as I pressed in deep.
It was raw, primal—my claws diggin' into her thighs, her legs clampin' 'round me. She moved with me, matchin' my grind, and the glade's hum turned to a chant, magic fuelin' our fire. I felt her heart pound, her breath hot 'gainst my scales, and that hunger hit its peak—pleasure slammin' through me, roarin' with the beast. She cried out, elven words spillin' like a spell, and we clung tight, vines glowin' brighter, like they blessed the act.
We slid down after, pantin' hard, her head restin' on my chest. The shift faded, leavin' me human but stronger, sharper. She pulled back, eyes wide. "Your power surged," she said, voice shaky. I nodded, feelin' it—the amulet's hum softer, like it'd fed off us. But the peace didn't last. The glade's light dimmed, and a shadow darted—fast, silent.
I shoved her behind me, claws out, as a figure loomed—tall, cloaked, red eyes glintin' under the hood. "The throne knows you," it rasped, voice like grindin' stone. "But you ain't ready." Elara snatched her bow, arrow nocked, but the thing vanished, leavin' a cold bite. My gut clenched—another damn test.
"What the hell was that?" I barked, turnin' to her. She shook her head, yankin' her armor on. "A guardian, or Valthor's scout. This glade's a magnet—power draws trouble." Her hand brushed my arm, and that pull hit again, but the threat sobered us. The amulet pulsed, whisper still there, and I knew this wasn't just our moment now.
We geared up, the glade's magic lingerin' on our skin—pleasure tangled with danger. The cave rumbled deeper, a growl from its heart, and I flexed my claws, ready. That forbidden clash had changed me, bound me to her, but it lit a fuse—somethin' big was brewin', and the throne's call wouldn't wait.