[Coming at you with some self-made art again! 😅 How we liking this Leyla/Dohmenic moment?💗 I thought you'd need it because the end of this chapter holds a
⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️]

Leyla

Leyla woke up in the Dralan's arms that morning, to the gentle caress of his thumb on her collarbone. She was still pressed against him and he still had his arm around her. As she stretched and blinked her eyelids in the morning light, she felt his arm tighten around her.

"Don't move too much," His deep, sleep-grated voice rumbled behind her. Leyla immediately froze up and stayed still. Was it because...?

Carefully, she shifted a little again and felt his hard length throb against her rear end. Gasping, she stiffened and didn't move an inch.

"You do that to me," He whispered behind her and now slowly let his hand glide down to her hips to press her further back against him. The length of his hard cock dug into the fabric that covered her globes. Leyla stopped breathing. "Every time you move, dahna... every time you speak... you get me like this. Even in your sleep."

Leyla closed her eyes and focused her mind on the hard sensation against her rear. So steely, so strong. Sweet Miss, what happened to being the pliant female again? To avoiding this, to cutting the tie?

She was pathetic. She couldn't quit. In a manner of weeks, she had succeeded in becoming addicted to him and now she couldn't resist him. Pathetic.

Turning around in his arms, she looked up at him and found his face being gently caressed by the morning light through the drapes, his electric blue eyes shining. Awe struck her the same time his eyes met hers, the same time his hand came to her face and gently swiped a blonde curl away from it.

"Beautiful," He whispered, staring at her features. Leyla couldn't help but stare back. Those plump lips that moved when he talked, the high arch of his cheekbones, the straight line of his nose...

She softly brought her hand up to his sharp jawline and brushed across the fresh stubbles that had grown there over night, now lightly prickling her fingers. She loved it. She saw his eyes glaze over with something as she moved her hand to the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers through his black mane. He suddenly moved closer.

Mirroring her movements, he bunched his hand in her unruly curls and dragged her lips up to meet his, slowly letting his own glide across hers. Leyla couldn't help but moan and close her eyes as she felt his mouth claim hers, slowly, gently, unhurried... deeply.

His tongue pried her lips open, and with a deep groan, he dipped into her mouth and explored her. Leyla completely lost it and arched into him, gripped his hair tighter and drew him closer. Dohmenic let his hand travel down the length of her body, around to her back, before he found her lush globes and palmed one. Squeezing her and pulling her against him, he continued kissing her deeper, their tongues tangling like their bodies.

Leyla wished every morning of her life could be like this. Her heart felt like it was going to burst from happiness, her eyes felt like crying. She realized just how far her addiction went and that scared her. One day, it would all have to end... one day when he found his true Mihrisa...

But for now, he's here with you, her inner voice told her. Leyla let that voice dominate her and decided to enjoy him for as long as she had him. Every part of him.

Untangling her hand from his hair, she slid her palm down his bare chest and felt his skin under her own, felt how it heated at her touch. A strong, musky scent was coming from him, a scent that now rubbed off on her as her hand continued its exploration down his torso. Muscles... scars... more muscles... the Dralan was a vision of male beauty in all their mighty glory. Leyla felt herself grow giddier against him, felt her skin flush and her heart beat faster.

At last, her hand reached the part of his anatomy she craved.

Cupping him through his breeches, she felt the Dralan grunt and then pull away from her lips to hiss, his fangs having elongated. Leyla's heart thudded faster as she watched his face contort in pleasure when she squeezed him lightly, rubbed her palm against him. A groan rumbled from his chest.

"Leyla," He huskily breathed, his hips jerking forward to her touch. His grip on her rear tightened as his eyes found hers. "Dahna, you can't do this to me."

Instantly pausing, Leyla blushed up at him. "Y-you want me to stop?"

Groaning, the Dralan crashed against her lips again, the same time his hand went from her rear to the hand she was holding over his cock. He wrapped his larger palm around hers and made her squeeze him tighter. When she felt him jut against her, Leyla gasped and felt a tingle between her legs. Sweet Miss...

"Feel that," He hummed against her lips, making sure she kept her hand tightly wrapped around him. He was so big, he hardly fit in her palm. "You do that to me, Leyla. You made this happen, which means all of this is yours." He grabbed her palm and made it slide down to his base, then slowly dragged it up his full, thick length, all the way up to his tip. Leyla stopped breathing and felt a hard throb against her palm - one that matched the throb she felt between her legs.

All hers... all of it... She was so close to just begging him. Begging him to take her, to make love to her, to fuck her, to do whatever he wanted. She almost didn't care what happened anymore... she couldn't think...

"Leyla," He breathed against her lips again. His hips jerked forward once more, ground against her hand. "This is yours. I'm yours. I can't fight you anymore..."

He punctuated his sentence by claiming her lips again and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Leyla mewled against him, completely gone. All she felt was throbbing everywhere; in her palm, in between her legs, in her heart, in her head... it all throbbed and begged for a release.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door. Both of them froze up; Leyla sucked in a shocked gasp, while the Dralan merely growled. The pounding sounded again, and with a deep sigh, he then untangled himself from Leyla and got up, stalking to the door. Without caring about the massive tent in his pants, he yanked the door open and glared at his personal Kathmir; Callath.

"What?"

"Sorry to interrupt, my lord, but we might have a lead. Your presence is required in the map room."

The aura instantly changed from hostile to charged. From the bed, Leyla saw the Dralan's face harden before he gave Kathmir a nod and then closed the door. Without then wasting a moment, he went to the closet and pulled out a clean shirt and a jacket to match.

Leyla looked away while her King got changed and instead got out of bed as well, trying to shake off the moment from before. Reality came knocking on the door - quite literally - and pulled her back into the real world. The one where their relationship couldn't be more than professional.

"Will you need anything from me, my lord?" Leyla therefore pliantly asked and bowed her head as the Dralan looked her way, tying his weapons belt around his waist.

She heard footsteps and then felt his hand lift her chin until their eyes were forced to meet again. His were hard, but serious.

"The only thing I need from you is your heart," He replied, keeping his voice leveled. "When we are in public, I will keep up this façade you're intent on maintaining, but when we are alone..." Without giving her a chance to think, his lips were against hers again and his hand was in her hair. He kissed her hard and throughly, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Leyla could all but moan helplessly and grasp on to his shirt to not fall down, collapse. When he finally pulled back, she was breathless. "I will have every part of you and nothing less," He finished, leaning his forehead against hers. His voice remained stern. "You are mine, Leyla, and nothing will change that. Understood?"

Swallowing hard, Leyla nodded blindly, then felt him draw back a little, dragging in a breath.

"Good. Then you'll bathe now," He said, taking another step back. "You'll eat. You'll take care of yourself while I'm gone and not neglect your needs. You hear me?"

Slowly opening her eyes, Leyla swallowed and nodded again. "Y-yes, my lord."

He hummed satisfied and then sat down on a chair to drag on his boots. "I'll be back later. I might bring the females of the house together in the upstairs tea parlor," He then surprised her by saying, standing up again. Leyla blinked, astonished. "I think you could all need some time together. It will do you good," He stated, running a hand through his hair to fix it. "If the lead turns out to be nothing, we will join you later and then we'll all eat together. Sound good?"

Leyla who couldn't really believe his words, nodded shakily and then curtsied when he went for the door. "V-very well, my lord."

"And Leyla?" With his hand on the doorknob, he looked at her over his shoulder and caught her eyes. "Make sure to bathe like I am here with you."

And then, leaving her with flushed cheeks, he walked out and sealed her in.

Sweet Miss.

*

Sippin tea in the tea parlor with Lady Derina, Seralia and her younger sister Auhrelia - the latter who was happily and unwittingly playing on the floor, too young to understand the situation - was a tense affair. Lady Derina hardly moved, simply just sat in the farthest corner in a plush chair, staring into nothingness like Leyla had for days. She couldn't even imagine what the mother was going through. What she was thinking. Her child was missing, but they all knew what was happening to her. Leyla forced herself not to think about it, or she'd end up like Lady Derina again.

Next to Leyla, on a couch much more centered in the room, sat Seralia, and unlike her mother that was practically a statue, the younger female squirmed in her seat every now and then, but hardly looked up from the embroidery she was making. On the floor in front of them, they both watched the youngest Auhrelia enjoy her dolls. She was the only happiness in the room, and oddly enough, it was a relief to know that the horrors of the world couldn't touch everyone. Leyla smiled a little at that.

In another corner - bent over a large square table with a bright chandelier hanging over it - stood all the males who had joined them not one hour after they had sat down. The lead must've been a dud, and therefore they had moved into the parlor with them. However, leaving their work seemed to have been a struggle, for now all the males were bent over said table, deep in discussions about strategy, approach, coordinations, and many other things Leyla didn't understand. They mumbled quietly under their breaths and made sure the females never caught word of what they were planning.

So now, they were all sitting in the parlor, the females quiet and the males mumbling in their corner. As previously stated, the aura was tense and Leyla felt chronically uncomfortable being there. Not only did she feel out of place with all the high-ranked, rich vampires, she also felt as though their eyes kept sneaking glances at her - but that could just be her paranoia.

Sighing, Leyla looked into her half-empty teacup and pressed her lips into a flat line. They all knew she was to blame, yet here she sat, pretending to be non the wiser. She wanted to blurt out apologies after apologies, but she knew what they would do; absolutely nothing. Until the Lady Kahtrina's safe return, nothing she said would matter. So instead, she stayed quiet and drank her tea.

Time moved so slowly. It was barely past midday and the sun outside mocked the gloomy atmosphere inside the fort. All except for the little Auhrelia, they all wore grim masks of worry and pain.

And Seralia, Leyla now noticed with a small frown, wondering why the female kept looking up towards the males, then blushing and looking down at her embroidery.

Leyla carefully lifted her eyes to the males, and the first one she saw was of course the Dralan. His profile was facing her, but still, he was the largest, most powerful male there, exuding strength and authority with every move he made. When he motioned to the maps and charts on the table in front of them, the other males simply nodded in loyalty and replied with respect. That was the sole proof that they held respect for him as their Dralan. They trusted him and he trusted them; enough to draw war plans with them.

After a moment of simply staring at him work, Leyla then shifted her eyes to the person Seralia was staring at. There, amongst the males stood a much younger one, more in the background, much quieter. He was observing - learning, most likely. It was Lord Amasgohn's only son Tharlis, and Seralia's mate.

The same one the Dralan had told her to go tell the truth to the last time they were all in the same room. Realizing this, Leyla's eyes widened and they flipped back to Seralia, watching as her cheeks stained again. Had they...?

With all the chaos, Leyla had lost track of so many things. She had hardly seen Bhria - only caught glimpses of her, but the female had strangely enough been avoiding her. Another thing she had almost forgotten was Seralia and her problem. The one the Dralan overheard them discussing.

She had been lying to her mate about her bleeds so she could avoid engaging in... carnal activities with him, but after the Dralan heard them speak, she had been forced to come clean.

Now, as Leyla glanced back and forth between the young couple, she suspected that truth might have landed on the table - which could partially be the reason why young Tharlis was now a part of the males gathered around this table; he was a male now.

Leyla glanced back at Seralia who currently had her eyes on the flower pattern she was creating on her embroidery. If Tharlis had claimed her, then that meant... the female sitting next to her was no longer a Mihr. The way she kept squirming could be a sign of discomfort, but it could also be a sign of... restlessness. Leyla had heard that losing ones purity could spark an almost unquenchable desire inside the female's body. Seeing Seralia - who now should be called Lady Seralia (if she had at last confessed to her bleeds) - squirm in her seat, Leyla confirmed her suspicion. And as if that hadn't been enough, her blush also spoke its own tale.

The young female couldn't help but cast small glances at her mate - then blushing if she caught eye contact with him. Leyla noticed several times how the male looked back at her when she wasn't looking, his lips twitching at the sight of her. He was proud, but also... happy. Their bond had strengthened, and apparently, it couldn't have been a disaster as Leyla had thought it would be. If the female's constant squirming was any indicator, she was lusting for more... but perhaps the circumstances had killed the mood. Either way, Leyla was happy to see the young couple had figured it out.

If they could, then maybe there was hope for her and...

No, she willed to herself and now sipped her tea again. She couldn't think like that. Her and the Dralan had to stay... professional. It had to.

"Very well," The Dralan then suddenly spoke up, causing all eyes to look up from what they were doing and glance at him. All the males stood up from the table, but it was the Dralan who stepped out first, accompanied by Callath. "I'll send my Lathras onto it immediately. Callath..."

"I'll follow you to the courtyard," He affirmed and bowed to his King, as all the males did when he began walking to the door. Glancing back at the females, his eyes connected with Leyla who quickly blinked and looked down. "Stay here with the females and keep them company. We'll return to you when we have news. If not, then at dinner," He informed them, now looking at Lord Amasgohn and Lord Tharlis.

Both males gave a respective bow with their heads before the Dralan and his Kathmir left. Leyla silently begged in her head that he wouldn't go, but as the door closed, she knew she would have to endure many hours more of this silent torture.

Well, she thought to herself. At least the tea was good. 

Dohmenic

"We need progress, Callath," The Dralan growled as they walked down the grand stairs to the first floor. "It's been three days. The Amasgohn's are losing hope, and the Lady Kahtrina's time is running out. We need to find her."

"We are searching everywhere," His friend replied, walking steadfastly next to him as they reached the ground floor. They begun heading down the hall to the doors that lead out to the courtyard. "The Lathras are working day and night, and nobody is resting until she's found. So far we've found sixteen secret Mihr hunter lairs, but none of them had any signs of the Lady Kahtrina."

"It's still not enough," He barked, clenching his fists. "If we don't find her within the next twenty-four hours, I'm riding out myself."

Callath opened his mouth to bring up the safety issue he knew would involve the pure-blooded female sitting up in the parlor in that very moment, however he never got the chance to voice it as Dohmenic swung open the giant door to the courtyard to step out.

But they never made it past the threshold.

"Oh, Sweet Miss." Callath whispered.

Both males froze up as their eyes fell to the person lying on the doorstep, drenched in blood and soil, smothered in blue and black bruises. Cuts and open wounds everywhere, she laid in a fetal position in front of the door, face towards them. Her red hair was shining with grease and was tangled up in knots. Her face... if it wasn't for the hair, she would've been unrecognizable. Bashed up and swollen, bleeding from her mouth, nose, and a gash by her temple, she barely breathed.

Both males stared down at the Lady Kahtrina for exactly five seconds before they both snapped into action.

"Sweet Miss," Callath repeated as they both crouched down to her naked body, none of them really knowing whether to touch her or not. It felt like even the tiniest pressure on any part of her body would cause her more pain. The female, however, whimpered and let more blood drool from her mouth.

The Dralan damn well nearly broke his teeth from clenching his jaw so tightly. As he gently kneeled down to her face and brushed a stand of hair out of her swollen eyes, she whimpered. A pull in his body made him retract his hand immediately. Instead he let his eyes trail down over her mangled body, taking in her injuries.

And just as he saw it, he heard the male next to him curse as well as he laid eyes on it, too.

"That sick fuck," Callath breathed, anger vibrating through every syllable. "That... sick... fuck."

Dohmenic looked at the knife marks right above her pubic bone. Letters had been carved into her skin, each bleeding, but making the letters no more unreadable.

PHLAGUE

That sick shit had left his name on her. Carved it into the very place he had abused - taken over and over again while she screamed.

But he hadn't settled there.

Across each of her bloodied breasts - where each nipple had been cut into, almost cut off - his name also presented itself. Her neck, too. Over her vein. Tiny letters made out his name like a sick chant.

PHLAGUE. PHLAGUE. PHLAGUE.

"She's bleeding so much," Callath spoke, his voice barely contained. As he leaned down to inspect the blood streaming from between her legs, he frowned. "There's something... something is lodged in-- oh, fuck."

The male suddenly sprung up and jumped over the female, only to catch himself against a pillar and bend over the staircase. The next second, the male retched for all he was worth, the content of his stomach coming up in hard gags.

The Dralan frowned hard and glared at his friend. The male had handled almost every case of Mihr hunter victims, he had seen their wounds and inspected all of them, had heard their tales in explicit details. In other words, the male had one of the strongest stomachs Dohmenic knew. For him to throw up, he had to have seen something truly horrific.

Warily, the Dralan leaned down to the Lady Kahtrina's pelvis and looked for what had his friend grunting and spitting out the remnants of his guts onto the stairs. He slowly narrowed his eyes, searching, until...

He had to hold back the content of his own stomach as well as he laid eyes on what that... that motherfucker had done.

Shoved up into her bleeding core, bound together by a sturdy string, three severed fingers had been pushed into her, the ends sticking out, bone and tissue only visible as you looked. The tips of the fingers were inside. Her own fingers, he now realized as he glared back at her hands, saw them curled up to her chest, just barely bound together by a thin strip of cloth. Just enough to stop her from bleeding out, but not enough to stop it from infecting.

Every fiber in his body... every single atom shook inside Dohmenic and had the very ground shaking as he slowly, with a determined hand, reached between her thighs and pulled the fingers out of her. The female whimpered and let out a small sob, but only gargled sounds smothered by blood were audible. No words.

The Dralan took the three digits and wrapped them up in a handkerchief from his pocket, unsure of what to do with them. He couldn't just throw them away on the ground. They would most likely be burned. For now, he settled for wrapping them up and shoving them into his pocket.

"Callath, I need you to help me," He gritted out to his friend that was still breathing hard to control his gag reflex. "I need you to check her rear, see if anything..."

Callath finally turned back to the scene and wiped his mouth down. He slowly flipped his eyes to Kahtrina again and took a step, but then immediately froze up. His eyes zoned in on something on her back, and with a cautioned voice, he spoke. "Dohmenic. Her back."

Eager to find out what had the male stopping up, the Dralan gently pressed on the female's shoulder, rolling her a little forward the same time he leaned in over her.

And then he read.

"Callath," He barked, but already before he could give out the order, the male shrugged out of his Kathmir robe and draped it over the female's body, shielding it. Dohmenic gritted his teeth. "Fetch help. Get the healers, then call the Kischmirs. Tell the Amasgohns their daughter has been found, but don't let them see her."

Callath gave a stiff nod, his face contorted in wrath.

"And Callath?" The Dralan called after his friend as he was about to run off. They locked eyes, hard. "Whatever you do, do not let Leyla see her either."

Nodding again, Callath then turned and bolted off. The Dralan didn't wait to watch him disappear around the corner, but instead turned his attention back to the female in front of him.

Like his friend, he shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over her lower body, covering her bloodied legs and shielding himself from the sight as well. He was holding it together by a thin thread, only temporarily numbed by shock that kept his wrath under a lid. But as soon as the tension blew over, he would blow up. And anyone standing too close to him would find themselves getting severely hurt.

"Kahtrina," He whispered softly, leaning down to her face again. He gently brushed her cheek, but her puffy eyes were too swollen to open. She was barely conscious, but she sensed him there. She whimpered. "Kahtrina, I need you to talk to me."

The female gurgled something, but still didn't speak. More blood leaked from her mouth and had the Dralan clenching his jaw when suspicion hit him.

Carefully, he leaned down to her face and cupped her chin, heard the female whimper at his touch.

"I know," He whispered, but gently pried her mouth open despite her protests. She started crying and struggling. "I know, forgive me, Kahtrina, but I have to."

Finally getting her lips pried open enough, he confirmed his suspicion as he looked inside her mouth.

The fucker had sliced off her tongue - cut it out. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he had ripped out her fangs, too.

Letting her go again, Dohmenic saw the female crimp away from him and cry more, broken and beaten on the doorstep.

Sweet Blithesome Miss, he prayed and closed his eyes. He felt his hands fold over each other in his lap. See mercy on this female. Her body you gave her shall never recover, but see kindness to her immortal soul. On my blood, I will avenge hers and bring you the soul who shamed hers. You have my solemn word, Fateful Miss.

Opening his eyes again, he gently leaned in and tugged their coats around her body thoroughly as he now heard people rushing in from the hall behind him. Her body had been more than pried of its innocence and modesty, but he would still shield her for what was left of her soul. Now, as the healers came to her aid along with the Kischmirs, he watched as they carefully pulled her onto a stretcher they had brought, then followed them with his eyes as they carried her mangled body to the closest bedchamber where they'd start the healing.

But even if they someone managed to heal her wounds, she would forever be scarred. Her soul and mind couldn't be fixed with herbs and potions, couldn't be nurtured easily into a state of health. No. He feared the Lady Kahtrina he knew would never be the same again.

Closing his eyes, he turned away from the sight of them rushing her away and instead sunk down on the steps, next to where his friend had emptied his guts.

What had he done to her...

Anger that had never met its match before flamed up in the Dralan's soul as the words on the female's back flashed before his eyes.

He had tortured the Lady Kahtrina, raped her and fucked up her soul, then cut out her tongue and ripped off her fingers so she would never be able to tell the tale of what exactly she went through.

But Phlague was smart. He had still made her deliver a message to him, a message that had been carved onto her back like a sacred promise.

Dohmenic roared so loudly he swore the vile male heard it himself - knew that he had gotten his message;

LEYLA IS NEXT