Chapter 33
February 14th, 1944
Tom
Bliss may be something I am unfamiliar with, something that has been thoroughly lacking in my life. However, I am one step closer to it, far ahead of where I was last year. Leagues in front of where I would have been, had my angel of a fiancee not come into my life. Now, my life has whittled down to two problems, with far more solutions in the works.
The first being our wedding date; Hope wants to wait as long as possible while I would sigh in relief if we got hitched tomorrow. No matter how many times I argue that she’s in danger as long as we aren’t married, she simply refuses to put me through her werewolf transitions until her birthday.
Regardless of the rolling of my eyes at the idea of physical pain being too much for me, I didn’t expect my insistence to find out what she goes through each month in at least this way to fail. Neither did my attempt at convincing her that more time to control a massive surge of magic coupled with new instincts I won’t completely understand would be a good thing.
“No wonder no one has found this,” Hope mutters as we slowly make our way to the meeting room, and pulling me from my musings. “Did you have to find the absolute furthest corner from the rest of the rest of the castle? Not all of these decaying piles are restraints, some are remnants of medieval torture devices, and what’s left from a few victims.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” I lightly respond. Not bothering to detail the various ways I’ve fixed and used a few in the past.
With a knowing sigh, she drops the subject, “Are you sure bringing me today is such a good idea?”
“Yes, my Darling. What could be more romantic than trading worst fears and assisting in the health of our herd?” I ask while holding back a tattered tapestry. It’s so thread bare, I can’t be sure of what the art was.
Hope snorts and turns a dubious expression on me, “Literally anything. Will every Valentine’s Day include scheming?”
“No, statistically speaking there’s no way I could line up a scheme for the same day every year for eternity. Not to mention that quiet life I promised for at least a few years as I work my way up in the Ministry,” I explain. Unable to bring up the present I have for her, my project I believe I’ve finished.
Punctuating the last statement with a kiss to her forehead before I continue, “On the other side of that door, remember the role you step into the moment you cross that threshold. Simply because I will not announce your seat at my side until the end does mean that you are not a Queen already.”
Her expression manages to soften at the warning while still hardening in preparation, “I’ll be fine, we talked about this extensively. Abraxas will be with me when you aren’t, and you know I can take care of myself. I’m ready.”
Despite her assurances, I still am not happy about the danger Hope will be in tonight. This will lead to a significantly safer future for her, it’s also my idea, however I can’t help the protective irritation I feel. If anyone lays a single finger on my future wife…I can’t pick which unspeakable punishment I would immediately commence. I already have one project going to ensure her safety, I have no issue adding another.
Besides the date, we agree on nearly everything else; an intimate ceremony, performed quietly without unnecessary pomp and frill, with the most important accord being the hiding of our engagement. She is still wearing my ring, simply using her left forefinger to fool the larger student body. Our close friends know and have sworn themselves to secrecy— which does make my neck itch.
Malfoy is the person I deemed safe enough to know; someone whom I have spent ample years with and have seen him keep silent under duress. With all due respect to the attack dogs named Mary and Anthony, who I understand Hope means to train— they couldn’t hold up against those currently vying to harm my wife-to-be.
Far be it from me to choose who she can tell, however my need to protect her wars with her timeline of events. In a way, I do sympathize with her side of things; being present for all of her transitions isn’t exactly my favorite part of each month, yet I refuse to allow those horrific moments to go unwitnessed.
That is why I understand what I am getting myself into in making the request to marry soon, with minor coaching I know I could make it through a handful of torturous days. If anything, it would give me insight into her life, into the being I’m going to turn into after completing Eterna’s Promise.
With a wave of my hand, the final door opens to our work space, and I fall into the countenance of Lord Voldemort effortlessly. Further down lie the various cells, some have been turned into something resembling a giant box, though. In the forefront is a wide open space, about the size of a large classroom, however there are still many chains attached to the walls waiting for prisoners.
Near the closest wall sits the very long table and the Knights of Walpurgis sitting in their various seats, who are surprised to find Hope following me in. The only exception to the usual seating arrangement is that the chair to the left of mine is currently vacant, which will be where she resides for the seated part of this discussion.
My men stand as I reach my first version of a throne, and we all sit as one, everyone following my lead. Hope is doing an exceptional job at keeping a blank expression, gaze focused on me and not those sending glances her way in what they believe to be discreet ways. I’ve cataloged each reaction from the moment I entered the room, and I can’t say I’m surprised by those around this table.
“Worry not lads, this meeting won’t take too long. However, I thought that a present is in order to go along with Miss Mikaelson’s first appearance,” my voice is mildly amused, but still low and dangerous.
The general atmosphere lightens, despite the very unhappy Dolohov who likely won’t stop glaring at my witch for the duration of the night. Others like Black, Avery, and Lestrange seem either amused or pleased to see her present, which doesn’t make me feel any better. Most are simply confused and perplexed by her presence, where she’s seated, and not able to form an opinion this early.
“Surely, you all remember third year, correct?” I continue, my lips barely twitching into a smile, and many catch on with snickers and grins of their own. “Battling a Boggart for us will be entertaining, a pleasant warm up to the main event. I believe our muggles will offer some wonderful fear to further fuel our amortal little friend.”
Cheers sound around the table, everyone remembering those days fondly, especially that specific class where Professor Merrythought brought one in, allowing us the experience of defending ourselves through humor.
With a nod of my head, Malfoy and Lestrange stand to go levitate one of the box-cells into the wide open space. Goyle and Crabbe craft a large magical boundary across the room, ensuring to create a contained area for the events of the evening.
Once everything is set up, I stand just in front of the boundary and ask the group, “Who would like to be first?”
Avery and Nott raise their hands with ample enthusiasm, and I motion for them to enter the boundary. Everyone else follows, creating a line leading to the box, and Abraxas moves to Hope’s side to ensure her comfort at the end of the line while I ready myself to mentally document what the Boggart turns into. I watch her through my periphery, noting the lecherous stares from Black and Lestrange as they purposefully position themselves behind her. Taking a deep breath, I try to concentrate on anything other than bloodshed.
Weeks were spent having small conversations about what being a werewolf and a vampire would mean in the most realistic sense. Perhaps no one in her old world knew as much about Klaus Mikaelson as his beloved daughter, however I learned as much as possible. Discussions on morality and things Hope never wants to suffer through commenced throughout, and we have agreed on my actions being— as she says— ‘dark grey.’
Seeing that everyone is prepared, I flick my wand towards the large box. Doors appear on the seamless surface, opening to complete darkness. Before Avery, a suffocating, black mass slithers out— a Lethifold. An eerie yet pleasant humming comes from the thing that seems to be shaped like a harmless trench coat, yet kills everyone it preys on. At least, a real one would, however this Boggart can still likely do some damage.
My knight blanches, but raises his wand regardless. A strong voice calls out, “Riddikulus!”
Then the Lethifold turns into one of the ugliest rugs I have ever seen. Lime green carpeting with bright orange polka dots, the length long enough that your toes might become tangled in what looks like soft hair. Laughter erupts through the line, and my eyes snap to Hope’s amused smile.
Shaking off the distraction, I manage to catch the creature just as it turns into Nott’s worst fear— a Basilisk.
“Close your eyes!” I shout, doing the same as I send my knight flying off to the side.
I hear him landing with a thud and a grunt, then the hissing stops. Peaking through my lashes, I call out the all clear as I watch a mass of swirling darkness. Turns out, behind the man currently sprawled across the floor with a relieved expression, stands Mulciber. For him, the Boggart transforms into me with a glowing red gaze as a monstrous chuckle sounds through the room.
“Pathetic, you believe yourself to be a great wizard in the making?” Faux Tom sneers menacingly. “A child could disarm you.”
I barely keep from rolling my eyes, and am nearly thankful when Mulciber exclaims, “Riddikulus!”
Seeing myself transform into a hunchbacked clown with colorful makeup covering my face is strange, yet I allow my mouth to turn into a good-natured smile. The creature won’t be very deterred by the nervous laughter that first erupted, but after seeing my expression, my knights calm into genuine humor.
More take their turns, eliciting some begging and penniless versions of the men before the Boggart, others bringing forth either myself or some dark creature they likely latched onto as a child. Seeing myself brings forth a sense of pride, even if I’m not taken off guard. That fear will play into whether they stay or leave this group, one of many new criteria. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to use this newly acquired knowledge for anything other than threats presently. Thanks to that little moral agreement with Hope.
Essentially; innocents are spared, including most of the people in this room, and saving particularly gruesome curses for those presently doing us real harm. Meaning that unless those to be cast out pose an actual threat, I cannot do more than Obliviate and change memories when ousting them. Mainly Abraxas has decoded who is safe to include or those too devoted in their blood standards to completely outlaw working with powerful people irregardless of their family of origin.
No matter how my knights have seen me, most have only given me different masks. That has only recently become a problem, however Malfoy is the Pureblood. With someone considered royalty aboard, I’m sure we’ll be able to tempt more influential members.
There still needs to be money and connection, however I have no issue with diversifying. Enforcing leadership over a gaggle of only Purebloods has been difficult enough as a singular Halfblood— adding another to the mix would only be more arduous. Her request was a true reality check, and I know now that I don’t need the approval of those in my house.
Yes, their money and sacrifices have been appreciated, yet I cannot imagine trusting more with an intimacy such as real kinsmanship like I have with Abraxas. Slytherin is full of power hungry teenagers, me included, and that worked as long as I was the most important person in the bunch.
Each of them fell in line because of a lack of official hierarchy amongst my followers. Malfoy may have been my right hand, however influence is deemed acceptable currency for a job well done in these circles. Being that he was the only to never disappoint, none could find it in them to argue the slight ranking, and he’s very impressive when it comes to magic.
These people have all been taught and tutored since infancy, yet a poor, orphan from the muggle world could out do all of them in every way imaginable. Once is a miracle they could overlook, twice is unfathomable for the unshakable. Fighting for my followers to accept my Queen is a useless waste of energy, especially when she knows who beat me. They clearly aren’t Slytherin Purebloods, at least the majority.
Creating an army for the genuine greater good feels odd, however the ability to work up to an any-means-necessary capacity is nice. I suppose if progress is the price I have to pay for all my dreams to come true, then I can call myself a lucky man. Especially when I likely will attract the very witches and wizards who would have thwarted my reign in another life.
Finally, Abraxas steps up the front. His pale eyes widen dangerously when an etheral version of Lady Hazel Malfoy stands before him brandishing a scalpel and an equally sharp grin. If you ignore the enhanced beauty, this version could be an exact copy of the crazy lady my friend calls ‘Mom.’
“Come here, my gem. Let me take a look in your head, Mother will fix whatever is wrong,” she coos in a nauseatingly flirtatious way. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the faux Lady used her arms to further accentuate her cleavage.
“Riddikulus!”
Abraxas’ spell lands successfully, and a hideous fur pants suit appears on his mother. Simultaneously, Madame Malfoy’s nose and mouth elongate and transform into the snout of a wild boar, tusks and all. Half pig-half human cries escape the woman who’s central characteristic is vanity, hands trading her face for the brown monstrosity covering her. Even I can’t help but laugh at the sight, one I likely won’t get again anytime soon.
Once he steps aside, Hope is the next up. The Boggart begins morphing again, it’s form turning into a swirl of shadows before taking a new shape. Eerie laughter escapes the hunched figure, filling the space with a creepy ambiance, and the Boggart slowly straightens with it’s back to the room. In almost slow motion, the form turns to show a very familiar face. Dark auburn hair frames striking blue eyes, and a malevolent grin I’ve never seen. Despite resembling Hope almost exactly, being beautiful in the same way black roses are, yet there’s something…off about the Boggart’s rendition as it glares menacingly at my witch.
“You stupid girl,” other Hope lilts dangerously while brandishing her teeth. “Did you really think that a different world could save you from me? Well, maybe I should thank you, these boys do look delicious.”
Then her irises turn a mixture of gold and blood red, the veins beneath her eyes darkening considerably as her canines elongate. Setting my shock aside, my attention latches onto my Hope, and how she’s frozen in abject horror. The Boggart starts approaching her, however my girl doesn’t move to protect herself. Without thinking, I race forward, grabbing and cradling her against my chest.
“Riddikulus!” Abraxas shouts, thankfully keeping the Boggart from displaying my greatest fear. “Impedimenta!”
Lifting her briefly off her feet, I move us five paces before I can partially address her shaking figure. Hope clutches me with white knuckles, her face twisting and untwisting in agony. This was too much, I should have known that something like this would happen.
The silence is thick, smothering. No nervous laughter from my men, no sharp remarks—only wide eyes and furrowed brows. Even Black, who had spent the better part of the evening attempting to undress Hope with his gaze, now watches her like one might a dragon whose chains had just snapped.
Placing her behind me, my heart clenches as I feel her fisting my robes, leaning on me for support. I turn to my followers with a severe expression, “Gentlemen, if I hear even the slightest whisper about what has transpired this evening, then I will personally ensure the inability to father an heir. Am I understood?”
“Yes, my Lord,” my men murmur succinctly.
Sending a severe look around the room, I find that everyone is nearly as affected as Hope. Pale faces are filled with fright as silence falls over the space again, all eyes trained on me and the witch clinging to my back. The Boggart now resembles a giant Flobberworm, but no one can presently find humor in the frozen beast. Sharing a look with Abraxas, I wait for him to nod his understanding before I start shepherding Hope towards the exit.
Pausing at the door, I turn with an insidious smile, “Feel free to continue in my absence. Malfoy, ensure the space is silenced before unleashing the Boggart on the muggles. I expect our secrecy to be upheld in my absence.”
Abraxas takes on a determined expression, understanding his role for the rest of the evening, “Of course, my Lord.”
******
Hope
Numb; that’s how I feel as the door closes behind me. Where moments ago, thoughts raced through my mind so fast I couldn’t decipher them, now there’s only a deserted absence. My limbs feel heavy, my head begging to lull to the side, and all I want is to collapse on the stone floor. There’s no fight left in me, and I don’t struggle as I’m picked up off the ground. Any other night, I might have swooned at being carried princess-style, pressed against a firm chest. But tonight, there’s no warmth—only cold, creeping dread.
Coming face to face with an evil version of me, one that activated her vampire side, was too much for me. The way she taunted me, how her hungry eyes scanned the room for a meal…the Boggart showed me everything I don’t want to turn into. She is who the witches from my world warned everyone about, the version of me that would destroy the world. She is who I might turn into once my hunger calls for people instead of food, a wild animal that I’m willing allowing Tom to become tethered to.
Being gently laid on the Slytherin Head’s mattress, I can’t even find the energy to care that I’m in the wrong common room. Green bedding surrounds me, the silence in the small space both comforting and oppressive. Tears are beyond me at this point, the pit of despair I’ve fallen into won’t allow such an emotional reprieve.
“Hope,” Tom whispers as he climbs next to me. Leaning against the headboard, he pulls me to his side so I’m resting against his chest, “That was a Boggart, not an oracle. Your future is yours alone, and I won’t allow you to forget who you are.”
Now would be the time to respond, to prove to him that I am not catatonic. Yet, all I can do is stare at the shirt peaking through his robes like a mindless blob. Faux Hope’s words repeat over and over again in my head, ‘Did you really think that a different world could save you from me?’
The vision of my face taking on vampiric features is plastered to the back of my eyelids, and I can only imagine what Riddle’s followers thought of this little glimpse into the future. Tom can say what he likes, that my fate is not to wake up a monster, but I’m going to look like that. Maybe my glowing eyes will change color, they might become evening more frightening.
His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly, but I feel it—warmth pressing against my skin, grounding me before I can spiral too far. He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes, “Darling, talk to me. What is going through that beautiful mind of yours?”
Seeing the worry etched onto his handsome face, Tom looks more like a painting than the school boy he’s dressed as. His voice comes out pleading, his eyes imploring me to show any sign of life.
“That’s who I’ll turn into,” I hear myself whisper despondently. “What I’ll look like.”
He’s already shaking his head, “No, you will be whomever you wish to be. Perhaps that is what you might be like without your humanity, however we’ve promised each other to never forego it. Since you do not wish to be like that, then you will not.”
“Even if I don’t wake up with that attitude, the craving for blood will eventually turn me into that. Who knows when I’ll lose count of the lives I’ve taken, could be after a hundred years, could be within a decade. Maybe I’ve just been wasting our time with all the talk of morality,” I sigh, no longer able to hold eye contact.
Arms encircle me, crushing my body against a warm chest, and I feel him rest his cheek on top of my hair before he speaks, “You’ve told me about your family, about the mother of your friends. While I have not met them, I am confident that there are vampires from your world who did not devolve into mindless monsters.
“Simply because our diet changes does not mean that our entire personalities will as well. If our characteristics are compounded, then the good nature, your care for others, will as well. By then, our souls will be tethered together; if you believe I would allow any part of you to slip away from me, then you do not know who you are engaged to.”
The ghost of a smile quirks my lips, and I let the logic of his statements wash over me. If Rebekah was here, she would tell me not to worry so much. She is a prime example of how you can be caring, love others, and save violence for those who truly deserve it.
Hearing that not everyone turns as barbaric as my Father or Cole for the thousandth time might make feel a bit better, and I’ve heard Caroline’s story from nearly every adult possible. Being trapped at seventeen is something she got over in time, and it didn’t hold her back in journalism.
“What about your knights?” I ask, sitting up enough to make eye contact without leaving his arms. “I ruined your plans for the evening, and they saw what my face will look like next year.”
Relief turns into a fond smile, “There is nothing to worry about. Abraxas will find the last of the fears, and the others will soon be sorted into one of two categories; those who are trustworthy and those who will not remember being a member of this group. Obliviating them of one more memory is hardly something to fret over.”
Releasing a deep breath, I rest my head against his chest again. Despite the ladder Tom managed to drop into my pit, hopelessness keeps me from climbing too far up. Regardless of this evening, being in a relationship has only led to different arguments that weigh me down.
While getting the Soul Bond over with would technically result in both of us being safer, it would only result in his torment. Whether he could withstand the pain is beside the point, I don’t want to watch him suffer like that. Going through his mind, seeing his memories, I’ve already witnessed enough of his misery. Just because he insists on being present every month for my transition doesn’t mean that I want the same thing.
“I can hear your mind churning,” Tom suddenly says, surprising me out of my thoughts. “What else is there, my Darling?”
Biting my bottom lip, my muscles tense momentarily. Being caught is both unsettling and makes me want to smile with how well he knows me, so I give in and tell him the truth, “I don’t want to watch you be tortured. Marrying me early isn’t worth your bones breaking over and over again.”
He gasps and sits up straight, bringing me with him as excitement dances in his eyes, “I am so happy you’ve brought this up. There’s news on that front, although I apologize I couldn’t have it ready for the last full moon.”
“Wh—what?” I stammer, frazzled by our sudden change in position.
Kneeling on the bed, Tom takes both of my hands in his, grinning like a man that just won the lottery, “Over the last months, Slughorn has afforded me both a cauldron to work with and free reign of his private reserves. I believe I’ve made a Wolfsbane Potion that will work for you, though I cannot be entirely certain.
“The theory is sound, but you’re the only one of your kind. This is…uncharted territory. I’ve researched everything possible thing about that potion, and I will ensure to have burn paste ready as a precaution. However, if I’m correct, your transitions will be a thing of the past.”
Opening and closing my mouth like a confused fish, I try to process what he’s saying. My first reaction is disbelief, I’ve accepted that I’ll go through pain as long as I stay mortal. Letting go of the relative peace I’ve found in my circumstances would be hard, but I swallow my nervous doubts. If anyone could change a potion to work for me, it would be the man in front of me. The following reaction is happiness hiding behind loose suspicion.
“Is this a ploy to convince me to marry you sooner?” I inquire with a quirked smile.
Genuine laughter fills the room as Tom throws his head back, “While that is something I would do, this endeavor started long before our engagement. No matter how impressive I might be, reworking potions takes time. This has been a project of mine since November.”
“November?!” I can’t help but shout, my voice coming out squeaky.
With wide eyes, I think back to that month. Sure, he asked me how wolfsbane affects me, but I took his declarations as pretty words spoken by a handsome boy that wanted to date me. Hearing that he’s been working since then, when there was no evidence of a long lasting romance between us…my heart flutters in my chest.
“Of course, that is when I had the inspiration. Being the favorite of both my head of house and the school’s potion’s master does have its perks. Now, I would prefer you to drink some soon as a test to ensure it does not burn you.
“Distilling the wolfsbane should have relieved the potion of the worst of the effects, however I would like to know well before the moon waxes. That way, I can have a batch prepared the week before, seeing as you will need to take a dose each evening leading up to your transition,” he explains, slipping into a clinical air that does nothing to dilute his excitement.
Gently grabbing his face to return his attention to the present, I let my expression soften. If this was just a gambit, then he would be focused on how wonderful his actions are, how helpful he’s being. Even if he actually managed to do what he says, the reasoning is clearly not selfish in nature.
Maybe wanting me to be in less pain can be portrayed as self serving, but all I see is a man who wants to protect me from a curse. Ignoring the surprise written across his features, I kiss him soundly. Between how thrilled he is to be of assistance, how long he’s put into this task, and he hasn’t said one word about the thanks I have yet to give…if I wasn’t already, I’m definitely in love with this manipulative goofball.
Pushing his shoulders down onto the bed, I straddle his waist before fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Unwrapping my man like a decadent dessert, I don’t waste time with trying to make this into a scene.
When I reach his bare chest, Tom pulls back, telling me through raged breaths, “Far be it from me to stop you, however I did not share this for a reward. My goal was to put a smile on your face, nothing more.”
“This isn’t a reward or payment for your help, I can promise you that. But, would you stop me from sleeping with my soon-to-be husband? If we don’t have to wait for my birthday, that only leaves us with a couple months to continue having premarital sex,” I inform him with a devious smile.
Pure euphoria breaks out across his face like the sun when it breaches the horizon, but is quickly reigned in, “Hope, I meant what I said. This is not a ploy or bribe, nothing untoward. Selfishly, I simply cannot listen to your agony for longer than necessary, and this is something I can do to help.”
“I know,” I breathe, sliding my hands down to his chest. “Tom, when I said that I wanted to wait to get married so that I don’t have to hear or watch you transition, I meant exactly that. If we could simply take a potion until my birthday passes, then I want us to do it.
“Once you absorb your Horcruxes, you’ll be mortal again, and then I’ll be the one worried about you. Making sure my blood is in your system at all times isn’t feasible, but a Soul Bond would copy the magic in my blood to yours. Then, no one could take you from me.”
The vulnerability I feel is reflected in his gaze, as his hand comes to cradle my face, and his expression softens, “No one ever will. I’m yours, Hope Mikaelson.”
This time, he kisses me gently, holding me firmly but reverently. My hands continue their journey, beginning to undress him again. Instead of stopping me, he assists, throwing his clothes off to the side. My uniform follows, hastily discarded, and our mouths meld back together as soon as we’re both free.
His hands map out my body, charting each erogenous zone like I’m his latest astronomy assignment. Arousal and an intense need to claim races through my system, insisting I forego the preparation usually present during our sexual exploits. Not caring to wait, I wrap my fingers around the base of his hard length and line it up with my entrance. Tom makes a questioning sound, which turns into a long moan as I slam myself down. A gasp escapes me, and I lean my head back while I appreciate the delicious way I stretch around him.
My movements only pause for a moment, glancing down to see that only half of him is inside, but then a craving for more forces my hips to grind against him. Inch by inch, more of him is enveloped, and the greed inside me is offered a small reprieve. Hands end up gripping my hips, encouraging my progress, guiding my movements, and digging into me hard enough to bruise. Once I reach the hilt, I lift my head to find Tom already studying me on top of him.
“I’ll never get used to this,” he breaths in a sultry, deep voice. “How perfect you feel, how ethereal you look as you take me so well. I’ll never let you go, my Darling.”
Firmly gripping his shoulders, I continue my motions, staring into the furthest depths of his gaze, “You’re mine, Tom. No one else can have you, can take you.”
Sliding up and down his length, I can feel heat building. A deep possessiveness ignites my insides, my skin tingling from both arousal and my magic. Phantom wind starts to fill the room, shifting our hair and the bedding. Each descent on his cock is punctuated by a whisper in my mind slowly growing louder; ‘mine, mine, Mine, MINE!’ My thighs begin to burn, my grip on his shoulders tightening, and I begin worshiping his neck with nips and kisses. Sucking hard, I ensure a hickey sprouts, the bruising skin stoking my desire.
“There’s no one else,” Tom rasps, voice rough with need. “Only you. It’s always been you.”
His hand shifts to circle my clit, his touch scorching, “I’m your wizard.” A reciprocal sharp thrust pulls a cry from my throat, “Yours to use. Yours to ruin.”
I clench around him, and his breath stutters. His fingers tighten on my hip, his control slipping. “So beautiful,” he groans, almost desperate. “Take what’s yours, my Queen.”
A whimper breaks passed my lips and my movements become frenzied. The sound of skin slapping and squelching fills the room, our breath mixing together. Wind picks up the closer and closer I come to a frantic climax, and my magic wraps around Tom, tasting him.
Preening and teasing the handsome man beneath me, my powers recognizing him as someone to love and protect. He groans at the tactile sensations, thrusting up into me so our hips kiss, and our eyes meet again. Letting words rest, our bodies fully take over, exalting in our connection. Together, our tension builds, and Tom is the first to break.
“Hope—” he manages before shouting as he reaches completion, and I feel him gushing inside.
That sends me toppling over the edge, and the wind becomes violent. Pistoning up into me, I collapse against him chest as my body quakes and shakes. Our pleasure and my magic comes to a crescendo, before everything floats back to the world, settling in blissful silence. Resting my forehead against his, a silly grin sprouts on my face. Soon, Tom’s expression matches mine, and then we laugh together. Wrapped in each other’s arms.