The warehouse was quiet now, but the faint sound of snow falling outside threaded through the cracks in the wooden walls. Jaeson stayed just out of sight, watching his mother and the visitor in the dim light, noting every gesture, every inflection in their voices.
The man—tall, confident, and dressed in the dark elegance of a noble mage—stepped closer to her, not in threat, but with ease. He carried himself with a familiarity that was almost... intimate.
"You know," he said softly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I often think back to our days at the academy. You and Caldrin, young and reckless, always so sure you could bend magic to your will."
His mother laughed—a low, melodic sound that carried a hint of nostalgia. "And you," she said, arching a brow, "always the one who tried to keep us in line. You think you were clever, but half the time you were just… charmingly foolish."
"Foolish?" he echoed, stepping closer, letting the warmth of his presence brush against hers. "I'll admit… perhaps. But those days taught me a lot. About loyalty. About desire. About… how far one might go to get what they want."
She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing with both caution and curiosity. "I hope you don't think those lessons apply here," she said, though her voice wavered slightly.
"Not exactly," he replied, his tone softer now, almost intimate. "But they remind me of what mattered to us then. What made life… worth something. You, Caldrin, the ambitions we chased, the spells we nearly broke ourselves trying to master."
They lingered near the shadowed shelves, the air between them charged not with violence, but with memory and proximity. Jaeson, hidden just beyond the doorway, noted the subtle shifts—the way she tilted her head, the way her hands moved slightly when she gestured, the faint flush on her cheeks.
"You were always cleverer than you knew," he continued. "And the things you left undone… perhaps some of them still haunt you."
She looked away, briefly gazing out a small window at the moonlit snow. "And what about you?" she whispered. "Do your old ambitions… haunt you?"
The man's gaze softened, almost wistful. "Every day. But seeing you again, it's as if time hasn't passed. The lessons, the laughter, the mistakes… they linger, don't they?"
Jaeson's brow furrowed slightly. He wasn't used to watching his mother look human—as if not all of her composure was armor. And he was beginning to understand why the goddess had chosen to let him remember everything: even in a world that should have been foreign, he could already see the currents of desire, loyalty, and old power weaving through the lives around him.
He stayed silent, hidden in the shadows, letting their conversation reveal the cracks in the people he had once thought untouchable.
-
The dusty air of the warehouse was thick, smelling of old timber, magically-preserved herbs, and the faint, lingering ozone of spent charms. Jaeson stood in the deep shadow cast by a towering shelf of crates marked with faded runes, his expression a mask of cold marble. He was a ghost here, a spectator by design, the cloaking spell wrapped around him as tight as his own skin.
Across the vast, open space, a pool of warm light spilled from a single enchanted lantern, illuminating a scene staged upon a discarded velvet chaise lounge. His mother, Lanara Blathazar, reclined against the opulent fabric, a stark contrast to the gritty surroundings. Her gown, a complicated affair of wine-dark silk and lace, was parted, the bodice undone to reveal the pale, generous swell of her breasts. Her corset lay discarded on the floorboards like a slain serpent.
Valerius, his father's oldest friend and most trusted business partner, knelt before her, his mouth working at her neck. His voice was a low, rumbling thing.
"You taste of night-blooming jasmine and ambition, Lana."
Lanara's laugh was a soft, breathy sound that didn't quite reach her sharp, calculating eyes. "And you taste of cheap port and flattery, Val. Get on with it. My husband expects me home to discuss our son's future."
"Let him wait," Valerius murmured, his hands sliding up her stockings, finding the garters with practiced ease. He unclipped them, the sharp snap of metal a punctuation in the quiet. "The boy's future is the least interesting thing in this room right now."
Jaeson watched, his breath even, his heart a steady, dull drum in his chest. He felt nothing. Not anger, not shame. Just a detached, analytical curiosity. This is the woman who lectured me on family honor this morning, he thought. The hypocrisy was expected, almost banal.
Valerius pushed her skirts up to her waist, exposing her fully to the dim light. Lanara made no move to cover herself. Instead, she arched her back, a silent, commanding invitation. Her fingers tangled in his greying hair.
"You talk too much," she purred. "I didn't come to this drafty place for conversation."
"What did you come for, then?" Valerius asked, his voice rough with want as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her silk drawers, pulling them down her hips.
She guided his head down with a firm pressure. "That."
Valerius needed no further instruction. He buried his face between her legs, and Lanara's head fell back against the chaise, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Her eyes screwed shut. Jaeson could see the muscles in her thighs tense, then relax as Valerius's tongue found its mark.
"Yes," she hissed, her polished composure cracking. "Right there. Don't you dare stop."
Her hips began a slow, rhythmic roll against his mouth. Her breath came in shorter bursts now, little pants that fogged the cool air. One of her hands scrabbled at the velvet, clutching it as if she might fall. The other remained fisted in Valerius's hair, controlling his pace, his pressure.
"You're so greedy for it," Valerius muttered, coming up for air, his chin glistening. "So wet. Is this all for me, Lana? Or do you just enjoy the thrill of the deceit?"
"Does it matter?" she breathed, her eyes fluttering open, hazy with building pleasure. "Just make me come. Now."
He complied, diving back in with a fervor that was almost violent. Lanara's back arched violently off the chaise, a broken cry echoing through the warehouse. Jaeson didn't flinch. He watched the precise moment her pleasure crested; the way her toes curled in her heeled shoes, the sharp tremor that ran through her entire body, the silent 'O' of her mouth as the waves of sensation claimed her.
She collapsed back onto the chaise, spent and breathing heavily. Valerius rose to his knees, fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. His erection sprang free, hard and eager. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smug grin on his face.
"My turn," he growled.
He didn't wait for permission. He positioned himself at her entrance and drove into her with a single, deep thrust. Lanara cried out, not in pain, but in sharp, gratified surprise, her nails digging into his arms.
"Gods, you're eager," she moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist, locking him in place.
"You have that effect," he grunted, setting a punishing rhythm from the start.
The sound of their coupling filled the silence—the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the creak of the old chaise, their ragged breaths. Lanara met every thrust with a roll of her own hips, her earlier languidness gone, replaced by a raw, physical hunger.
"Harder," she demanded, her voice dropping to a guttural whisper. "Is that all you have? My husband fucks me with more purpose."
It was a provocation, and it worked. Valerius snarled, flipping her over onto her knees with a strength that betrayed his age. He pulled her up so her back was against his chest, one hand tangling in her intricate blonde hair, the other gripping her hip possessively. He plunged into her from behind, the new angle drawing a shocked, delighted scream from her lips.
Jaeson watched the muscles in Valerius's back bunch and strain. He watched the way his mother's body jolted with each powerful thrust, her breasts swaying, her face a mask of utter, abandoned ecstasy. Her eyes were open, staring blindly into the shadows where he stood, yet seeing nothing but the fire burning within her.
"Yes! Like that!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Don't stop! Don't you dare stop!"
"Who owns this, Lana?" Valerius rasped into her ear, his voice thick with exertion and triumph. "Who makes you feel this way?"
"You do," she whimpered, the admission torn from her. "You do, Val. Only you."
It was a lie. Jaeson knew it. She would say anything, be anyone, in pursuit of this feeling. Her pleasure was the only truth she served.
Valerius's control broke. His thrusts became erratic, frantic. He released her hair, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her steady as he pistonned into her. A guttural roar was torn from his throat as he climaxed, his body shuddering against hers.
For a moment, they were frozen there, connected and trembling. Then he slid out of her, collapsing onto the chaise beside her spent form. The only sound was their labored breathing.
Lanara slowly, languidly, turned over. She didn't look at Valerius. Her eyes, clear and sharp once more, scanned the dark warehouse. They passed over the shadow that hid her son. A slow, cunning smile touched her lips, as if she'd known he was there all along.
-
The silence that followed her question was absolute, broken only by the distant drip of water and Valerius's sharp, indrawn breath. He shot up from the chaise, scrambling for his trousers, his face a mask of panicked confusion.
"What? Who's there?" he demanded, his voice rough.
But Jaeson was already moving. He didn't flinch, didn't react to the sudden tension. With a soft, almost dismissive whisper of an incantation—one of the few simple spells he'd perfected through sheer, obsessive repetition—the cloaking magic dissolved. He stepped out from the shadows, his form solidifying before them. The dim gaslight from a lone wall sconce caught the sharp planes of his face, his expression one of cool, unnerving detachment.
Valerius froze, one leg in his trousers, his eyes wide. "Jaeson? By the gods, boy…"
Lanara, in contrast, simply smiled. She made no move to cover herself. She lay back on the ruined velvet, one arm draped over her forehead, her pale skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat. Her eyes, the color of winter ice, tracked her son with unabashed curiosity.
"Took you long enough to drop the parlor trick," she said, her tone light, almost teasing. "I felt the air shift the moment you arrived. Such a clumsy little spell."
Jaeson ignored her, his piercing gaze fixed on Valerius. He took another step forward, his boots silent on the concrete floor. "Kneel," he said. The word was flat, devoid of anger or heat. It was a command, simple and absolute.
Valerius barked a disbelieving laugh. "Now you listen here, you ungrateful little—"
"I said," Jaeson repeated, his voice lowering into a soft, dangerous register that seemed to suck the air from the room, "kneel."
It wasn't a shout. It was worse. It was a promise of consequence. A pressure seemed to fill the space, a psychic weight that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with sheer, unnerving will. Valerius, a man who dealt in trade and influence, found himself staring into the eyes of something he didn't understand. His bravado crumpled. Slowly, awkwardly, with his trousers around his ankles, he sank to his knees on the cold floor.
Jaeson looked down at him, his head tilted. "My father calls you friend. He shares his wine, his business, his home with you." He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Jaeson, this is…" Valerius began, but the words died in his throat.
"You will be silent," Jaeson stated, and Valerius's mouth clicked shut. Jaeson's eyes finally slid to his mother. "And you. You knew I was there."
Lanara's smile widened. She slowly sat up, letting the thin chemise she'd pulled on fall open, revealing the full, heavy curve of her breast. "Of course I did. The question is, why were you? A good son would have turned away. A powerful son would have stopped it." She let the implication hang in the air, a challenge. You are neither.
"I observed," Jaeson replied, his stoicism unbroken. "I learned."
"And what did you learn, my curious boy?" she purred, shifting so her legs parted slightly, a deliberate, taunting display of the dampness that still glistened on her inner thighs.
"I learned that power isn't only in the wand," he said, his eyes not leaving hers. "It's in the secrets you know. The leverage you hold. The willingness to do what others will not." He took a final step until he was standing directly over Valerius, looking down at the top of the older man's graying head. "This… is leverage."
He reached out, not with a hand, but with the toe of his boot. He placed it under Valerius's chin, forcing the man's head up. Valerius flinched, humiliation burning in his eyes, but he didn't—couldn't—move away.
"Look at him," Jaeson said to his mother, his voice a low hum. "All that experience. All that sexiness. Brought to his knees by the 'untalented' son. How does that make you feel, Mother? Does it… excite you?"
Lanara's breath caught, but not in fear. A new light entered her eyes, one of sharp, calculating arousal. She watched the scene unfold as if it were a play staged for her benefit. "It's… a start," she conceded, her voice a husky whisper.
Jaeson applied a tiny bit of pressure with his boot, and Valerius groaned, a pathetic, choked sound. "He defiled you in this filthy place. He disrespected our name. My father's name." Jaeson's eyes were locked on his mother's, a silent conversation passing between them. "He should be made to apologize. To show proper reverence."
Lanara's tongue darted out to wet her lips. She understood the game instantly. It was a game she loved. "And how would you suggest he do that?"
Jaeson finally removed his foot from Valerius's chin. He gestured with a single, dismissive finger toward the floor between his mother's parted legs. "There. On his knees, where he belongs. Let him use that talented mouth for something worthwhile. An act of contrition."
Valerius shook his head, a barely perceptible movement. "I will not…"
Jaeson's hand shot out, quick as a viper, and gripped Valerius's jaw, his fingers digging into the flesh. "You will." The command was absolute, final. The fight drained out of Valerius completely, replaced by a dazed submission. The power had shifted, irrevocably, and he was now merely a instrument for this strange, terrifying family's dynamics.
Jaeson released him and gave him a small, pushing shove toward the chaise. Valerius shuffled forward on his knees, the rough concrete scraping his skin. He stopped before Lanara, who looked down at him with a mixture of triumph and raw hunger.
"Well?" she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "You heard my son. Apologize."
Valerius hesitated for only a second before leaning forward. His hands, trembling slightly, settled on her milky thighs, pushing them further apart. He buried his face between her legs without another word.
Lanara's head fell back against the chaise with a soft thud. A low, throaty moan escaped her lips, far more genuine than any sound she'd made with him before. Her eyes slid shut, then flickered open again to look at Jaeson, who stood watching, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression still unreadable.
Oh, yes, she thought, the pleasure building under Valerius's practiced tongue. This is so much better. This was power. Not just the fucking, but the control. The spectacle. Her son, the one they all dismissed, was orchestrating it all.
Valerius worked with a desperate fervor, as if his future depended on his performance. Which, they all knew, it did. His tongue lashed at her core, licking and sucking, trying to elicit the responses he knew so well. Lanara's hips began to roll gently, meeting his mouth. One of her hands tangled in his hair, not guiding him, but gripping, holding him in place.
"Yes… just like that," she murmured, her gaze still fixed on Jaeson. "Your father's friend… is so very… sorry."
Jaeson didn't smile. He simply watched, his eyes dark and intent, missing no detail. He watched the way his mother's back arched, the way her free hand crept up to pinch and roll her own nipple through the chemise. He watched the abject submission in Valerius's posture, the complete surrender.
The air grew thick with the sounds of Lanara's escalating pleasure—soft gasps, sharp inhales, the wet, rhythmic sounds of Valerius's apology. Her legs began to tremble, her grip on his hair turning punishing.
"Don't stop," she commanded, her voice cracking. "You will not stop until I say."
Jaeson took a single step closer, drawn into the orbit of their depravity. He could see everything now, the intimate details, the flush spreading across his mother's chest, the desperate focus on Valerius's face. This was no longer about observation. This was about participation.
Lanara's eyes snapped open, locking with his. Her expression was pure, unadulterated lust, but it was fused with a dark, shared understanding. This was their secret now. Their victory.