Page 67 of His Darkest Devotion

He kisses me,his tongue tangling with mine then he moves.

There’s no gentleness,no hesitation—just raw, relentless need. His thrusts are deep, each one dragging against that spot inside me that makes rainbows explode in my vision. Pleasure coils tighter with every snap of his hips, my body clenching around him, desperate for more.

“Vaelin—please—”I sob, my legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper.

His hand slides between us,his thumb circling my clit with ruthless precision. “Come for me,” he orders, his breath hot against my lips. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

The command unravels me.My climax crashes over me like a storm, my body seizing around him as pleasure rips through me, wave after wave, until I’m shaking, screaming his name.

He followsme over the edge with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside me, his grip on me almost bruising. “Elira,” he chokes out, my name a promise, a prayer.

For a heartbeat longer,we stay like that—foreheads pressed together, breaths ragged, hearts pounding as one. His cock is still buried inside me, both of us reluctant to separate. His thumb traces my cheekbone, tender despite the ferocity of our joining.

“Always,”he whispers again, his voice raw with emotion.

I tilt my head,capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. “Always,” I echo against his mouth.

He pulls back just enoughto search my face, his dark eyes blazing with something fiercer than desire. “No matter what comes—gargoyles, war, the fucking Overlord himself—I will always find my way back to you.”

My throat tightens.I know the weight of that promise, the blood and battle behind it. But the certainty in his voice leaves no room for doubt.

I curlmy fingers into his hair, dragging his mouth back to mine. “Then take me again,” I murmur, rocking my hips against him, already feeling him harden inside me. “Show me how much you mean it.”

His answering growlvibrates through my bones.

And he does.

Morning comeswith a pale sunrise that bathes the plateau in gentle light, revealing the wreckage more starkly. But the air feels cleaner, free of the suffocating malevolence that once shadowed us. Purnas and orcs clear rubble, humans cart away debris for pyres or rudimentary shelters. The field of petrified gargoyles stands as a silent testament to our triumph—and a warning of curses that might resurface if vigilance fails.

I find Vaelin near a circle of novices treating wounded. He’s offering quiet words of encouragement, illusions sparking from his fingertips as he tests his new powers. The novices watch with wide-eyed curiosity, astounded by the runic lines beneath his skin. I see a flicker of sadness cross his face when he realizes how different he is, but he musters a smile.He’s forging a place among us, however unorthodox.

We meet eyes across the campsite, warmth flooding my chest at the devotion there. He strides to me, illusions flickering at his heels. Our alliance stands unbroken, deeper than any vow. “Ready?” he asks softly.

I nod, illusions sparking in calm arcs. “The Matriarch wants us to travel to the main coven hall soon, to formalize treaties and help craft new wards for the gargoyle prison. We’ll need to confirm the Overlord’s exact status, locate the Red Purnas who escaped. There’s so much to do.”

He offers a wry grin. “We’ll do it together. But first, rest.” His eyes flick to my exhaustion, illusions swirling unsteadily. “You nearly died bringing me back.”

A weary laugh escapes me. “Worth every risk. But yes, rest. Then we rebuild.”

My illusions fade to a gentle halo as I lean into him, content in the hush of dawn’s aftermath. For the first time in countless moons, hope kindles in my soul, unburdened by the prophecy’s terror. We overcame monstrous curses, freed ourselves from the Overlord’s tyranny, and resurrected Vaelin from the void. If that’s not defying fate, I don’t know what is.

We lingera final day on the plateau, burying our dead with solemn rituals, erecting a crude memorial for the fallen. The purnas carve runes into a tall fragment of stone, listing names of those who perished in the gargoyle battles, each etched with illusions that glow at night. Orcs construct cairns for their warriors, humans do the same, and a hush of unity wraps every funeral rite.

I stand with Vaelin by a pyre crackling with gentle flames, illusions swirling across the smoke. Even as we grieve, we glimpse the healing power of camaraderie. Orcish chants blend with witch incantations and human prayers. The orcs vow to remain allied as long as we keep the gargoyles sealed, the purnas vow to guard the land from future monstrosities, and humans pledge to hold a fragile peace.We stand on the threshold of a new era, forged by the blood spilled here.

That evening, the Matriarch calls a final gathering. We gather near the pillar ring, Vaelin’s hand clasping mine. Olyssia stands with us, illusions flickering in subdued pastel. The Matriarch addresses our battered alliance, voice echoing:

“We have endured catastrophe and heartbreak. Gargoyles remain sealed, but the Overlord and Red Purnas aren’t vanquished. We must remain united, forging a future beyond the old hatreds and cruelty. Let this battlefield be our foundation stone—where we chose cooperation over division, where we resurrected hope in the darkest hour.”

A murmur of agreement spreads. Some cast glances at Vaelin, seeing proof that miracles or abominations can arise from love. I feel the weight of their stares but hold Vaelin’s hand tighter. We answer with unwavering resolve.

When the moon rises,I slip away from camp with Vaelin. We climb a gentle slope that overlooks the silent ring of gargoyles, each statue locked in mid-snarl or half-lunge. The runes carved into their bases glow faintly in starlight, wards newly reinforced by coven elders. A shudder passes through me, recalling how easily curses can break if neglected.But we’ll watch them closely.

Vaelin’s fingers trail across the petrified flank of a lesser gargoyle statue, illusions dancing at his fingertips. “It’s strange,” he murmurs, voice reflective. “I feel no kinship with them now. Once, my gargoyle blood howled for acceptance. But since the resurrection, that roar is gone. I’m… free.”

My heart squeezes with relief. “I’m glad. You deserve peace.”

He turns to face me, illusions framing his features in soft luminescence. “Elira, none of this would be possible without you. I was born to be a tool of destruction—created by the Overlord’s twisted design. You shattered those chains, even defied death itself to bring me back. How can I ever repay that?”

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