Ethan woke to the sound of the village celebrating below—distant drums, laughter, songs of new life. He lay in a wide, soft bed within Seraphine's private tree-house, surrounded by Rowan, Talia, and Lysa, their hands gently resting on the slight curves of their bellies. The joy of confirmed pregnancies still hung in the air.
He had drifted off again, exhausted but content.
Then the door opened.
A woman stepped inside—small, delicate, heartbreakingly beautiful. Long auburn hair fell in waves over slender shoulders. Her skin glowed warm in the lantern light, eyes a soft hazel full of shy longing. She wore a simple white shift that clung to modest but perfect curves. Rowan and the others stirred, smiling sleepily.
"She's from the outer groves," Lysa murmured. "Seraphine sent her as a gift—said you deserved one more before sleep."
The maiden approached the bed with downcast eyes, voice soft. "My name is Lirael. I… I wished to thank you personally, Breeder."
Ethan, still drowsy and trusting in the safety of Willowmere, nodded. The women around him kissed his cheek and withdrew quietly, leaving him alone with the newcomer.
Lirael climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips with surprising confidence for such a shy demeanor. Her small hands traced his chest, lips brushing his in a kiss that tasted faintly of smoke and night flowers.
Magic rippled across her skin like heat haze.
In an instant, the delicate maiden vanished.
Vaeloria towered above him—seven feet of pale, powerful flesh. Black hair cascaded down her back; massive breasts swayed heavy and threatening as she grinned down at him. The white shift tore away like tissue, revealing the full, terrifying glory of her true form.
Ethan's eyes widened in horror. He tried to shout, but her huge hand clamped over his mouth, fingers easily spanning his jaw.
"Shh, little Breeder," she purred, voice deep and amused. "The wards keep sound in, not out. No one will hear you tonight."
She had infiltrated the village in disguise—magic far stronger than Willowmere's defenses had anticipated.
Vaeloria shifted forward, knees pinning his thighs. One massive hand wrapped around his cock, stroking with cruel precision. Despite his fear, blood rushed south—her dark magic forcing arousal even as his mind recoiled.
She lowered herself slowly, guiding his rigid length to her entrance. Even prepared by magic, she was impossibly tight—hot, slick walls stretching around him as she sank down inch by merciless inch.
Ethan gasped against her palm, back arching at the overwhelming pressure.
When she took him to the hilt, her weight settled fully. Seven feet and hundreds of pounds of muscle and curve bore down, her hips already rolling in a slow, grinding rhythm.
"Feel me, Breeder," she growled, removing her hand from his mouth to grip his shoulders instead. "Feel what true power takes."
She began to ride.
Each downward thrust slammed her full weight onto his pelvis—hard, relentless. The bed frame groaned. Ethan cried out as sharp pain lanced through his hips. Something cracked deep inside—a sickening pop that made his vision blur.
Vaeloria only laughed, breasts bouncing heavily with every motion, black hair whipping as she increased her pace.
She leaned forward, pinning his arms above his head with one hand while the other squeezed his throat just enough to warn.
"You will fill me," she hissed, walls clenching rhythmically around him, milking with supernatural strength. "Your seed will be mine, and then your life."
Ethan fought to stay conscious, but the pain was overwhelming. Another thrust—another crack, this time in his lower ribs. Agony exploded on both sides of his chest. Breathing became fire.
His body betrayed him, pleasure building against his will from her magical grip and the sheer intensity of her heat. He felt the edge approaching, but consciousness slipped before he could crest it.
The world grayed.
Vaeloria noticed immediately. She slowed, grinding deep, and realized his eyes had rolled back, body gone limp beneath her.
For a moment she stilled, looking down at his pale, sweat-slick face.
Then she laughed—low, rich, genuinely amused.
"Oh, little one," she murmured, leaning down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to his slack lips. Her tongue traced them possessively. "So fragile. I took too much too soon."
She lifted herself off him with deliberate slowness, his still-hard cock slipping free, glistening with her juices but denied release.
Vaeloria stood beside the bed, towering once more, and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead almost tenderly.
"Sleep now, Breeder," she whispered. "Heal. Grow strong again. I will return when you can withstand me fully—and next time, you will spill everything inside me before you break."
With a ripple of shadow magic, she shrank back into the form of the delicate maiden Lirael, gathered the torn remnants of her shift, and slipped silently from the room.
Outside, the village continued its joyful celebration, unaware that death had already walked among them.
Ethan lay unconscious, pelvis fractured, two ribs cracked, chest rising in shallow, pained breaths.
And somewhere in the dark between the trees, seven feet of hungry shadow waited patiently for round two.