The morning sun filtered through the palace windows, casting long shadows in the dungeon where the air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the faint echo of labored breaths. After a quiet breakfast in their chambers, Hazel and Primus descended the stone steps, flanked by silent guards. Lazarus awaited them, his fists bruised and bloodied from hours of work. Zakri hung chained to the wall, arms stretched high above his head, body a canvas of welts, cuts, and purpling bruises. He lifted his head weakly as they entered, his yellowed eyes widening in disbelief.
How? The thought screamed in his mind. He had seen it—Hazel stabbing Primus seven times, the lord's blood soaking the sheets, his body going limp. Celebration had been short-lived; Lazarus had burst in like a storm, overpowering him despite his spells. Even captured, Zakri had clung to victory: Primus dead, Hazel his puppet. But now… both stood before him, alive, unbroken.
He tested the waters, whispering into her mind: Hazel, kill them both and free me, your master.
Hazel's eyes flickered. She stepped forward, expression unreadable.
Zakri's lips curled into a triumphant sneer.
But instead of obedience, her hand cracked across his face—once, twice, three times. The slaps echoed like thunder in the confined space, splitting his lip and drawing fresh blood.
"How dare you enter my head after what you did last night," she hissed, voice cold and commanding.
Zakri reeled, shock giving way to recognition. He bowed his head as far as the chains allowed, awe and fear mingling in his gaze. "I am sorry, Goddess of the Earth, Queen Mother of Witches," he murmured in worshipful tones. The potion had failed—utterly. She had awakened, not as the puppet Ruelle, but as something far older, far more primal.
Hazel's eyes narrowed. "For your punishment, you shall wander the wilderness of the earth—without food, without water. You will never set eyes on human or animal. You will roam alone, alive forever, unable to die even if you beg for it."
She reached out, touching his forehead. White light erupted from her palm, searing into his skin. Zakri screamed—a guttural, soul-rending wail—as the magic coursed through him like fire in his veins. His body convulsed, chains rattling violently, before he vanished in a swirl of sand and wind.
He reappeared in an endless desert—barren sands stretching to infinity, no trees, no water, no life. The sun beat down mercilessly, and as he staggered forward, the horizon mocked him with its unchanging emptiness.
In the dungeon, Lazarus and Primus stood frozen, the air thick with the residue of power. Hazel's face was impassive as she turned and walked out without a word, her footsteps echoing up the stairs.
Primus blinked, shaking off the daze. "Something is wrong with her," Lazarus said quietly.
Primus nodded. "Send guards to search for Morwen and Tobias. Scour the realm. I'll go to her."
He left Lazarus in the dim light, hurrying after his wife.
──
In her chamber, Hazel sat before the mirror, fingers tracing the crescent-moon necklace. Memories flooded her—not fragments, but a torrent. She was the Goddess of Heaven, descended to Earth as the first witch, guardian of life and balance. Her sister, Goddess of Darkness, had betrayed her—seduced by a demon who became the first vampire, poisoning her mind to steal her powers. In death, she had hidden her essence in this necklace, waiting for rebirth.
She remembered incarnating as Ruelle in the slayer line, but those details remained shrouded. And now… married to a vampire? The very creatures she despised—spawn of that demon, parasites on the earth she protected. Conflict roiled within her: How could this body choose him? Vampires are abominations. Yet… he feels familiar. Safe. Should I end this farce? Or… forget the hate?
The door opened without a knock.
"Hazel," Primus called, stepping inside.
"Don't come close," she warned, voice laced with divine authority.
He didn't listen, advancing with concern etched on his face.
She raised her hand. Power surged—white light flaring—and he flew backward, landing hard on the bed with a thud.
Hazel rose, climbing atop him, straddling his hips. She studied his features—strong jaw, crimson eyes, the faint scar on his cheek from some ancient battle. "Bloody vampire," she whispered, half-curse, half-caress. So handsome. So… mine? Gods, what is this pull?
"Goddess of the Earth, Queen of Witches—whatever you are," he said, smiling up at her without fear, "you are Hazel. My wife."
The words ignited something fierce and sweet. She crashed her lips to his—hard, demanding, pouring centuries of longing and conflict into the kiss. He responded instantly, hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. She tore at his shirt, buttons flying, exposing the hard planes of his chest. Her mouth trailed fire down his neck, nipping at his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin.
She moved lower, fingers deftly unfastening his trousers. His arousal sprang free—thick, veined, pulsing with need. "So big and warm," she murmured, wrapping her hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip. Primus groaned, hips bucking into her touch.
Hazel leaned down, tongue flicking out to taste the bead of precum at the head—salty, musky, intoxicating. She took him into her mouth, lips stretching around his girth, sucking gently at first, then deeper, her tongue swirling along the underside. He moaned her name, fingers threading through her hair, guiding but not forcing. She bobbed her head, hand pumping what her mouth couldn't reach, hollowing her cheeks to increase the suction. The wet sounds filled the room, mingled with his ragged breaths.
"Gods, Hazel…" he gasped, eyes dark with lust.
She pulled back with a pop, a string of saliva connecting them. "Not done yet."
She shifted, swinging her leg over his head, positioning her core above his mouth while facing his length. Her dress hiked up, exposing her glistening folds. Primus growled in approval, hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her down. His tongue delved in—long, slow licks from entrance to clit, savoring her sweetness. Hazel moaned around his cock, the vibration making him thrust up instinctively.
They moved in sync—her sucking him deep, tongue teasing the sensitive head; him lapping at her folds, sucking her clit with firm pressure, fingers parting her to plunge his tongue inside. Pleasure built in dual waves: her hips grinding against his face, his cock twitching in her mouth. Moans vibrated through them both, bodies slick with sweat and arousal. She came first—shuddering, flooding his mouth—then redoubled her efforts, sucking harder until he spilled down her throat with a guttural cry.
Hazel lifted off him, turning to straddle his waist. "I want you inside me."
She positioned him at her entrance, sinking down slowly—inch by inch—gasping at the stretch. Once fully seated, she rocked her hips, riding him with deliberate rolls. Her hands braced on his chest, nails digging in as she set a teasing pace—up slow, down fast, grinding her clit against his base. Primus watched her, mesmerized, hands roaming her breasts, pinching her nipples until she arched.
But control slipped.
With a growl, he flipped them—her back to the bed, him looming above. He tore the remaining fabric of her dress, exposing her fully. "My turn."
He thrust in deep—hard, claiming—pulling almost out before slamming back. Hazel cried out, legs wrapping around his waist. He set a punishing rhythm—hips snapping, skin slapping, the bed creaking under the force. Each plunge hit deeper, his cock filling her completely, rubbing that perfect spot inside. She clawed his back, drawing blood, the pain spurring him faster.
They fucked like the world was ending—raw, desperate, sweet in its intensity. Whispers of "I love you" mingled with moans, bodies slick and trembling. Orgasms crashed over them—hers clenching around him, milking his release; his pulsing deep inside her.
Finally, spent, Primus collapsed beside her. This goddess is terrifying—her libido could kill me, he thought with a weary smile.
They lay naked, tangled, sleeping through the morning—court duties forgotten in the afterglow.