Page 74 of His Darkest Devotion

“Yes!” Vaelin roars, and he follows me to the top, his cock pulsing inside me as he spills deep, our magic erupting in a final, radiant burst.

We stay like that for a while—entwined, breathless, trembling—as the aftershocks fade into a warm, sated glow. The illusions around us dim to a soft shimmer, but the vow’s magic lingers, humming beneath our skin, an unshakable promise.

He gathers me against him, his lips brushing my temple, and I sigh, boneless and content.

“Mine,” he murmurs.

“Yours,” I whisper back.

After a quiet interval, Vaelin shifts, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Elira,” he murmurs, illusions flickering around us in lazy whorls, “I never realized how incomplete I felt until you made me whole. Now, this vow… it cements everything.”

I brush my lips over his jaw, savoring the closeness. “I can hardly believe it myself,” I whisper, illusions trailing along his torso. “From the broken enforcer who haunted me at first to the man who’d give his life for me… to the partner who stands here, heart open, giving me everything. I love you.”

He smiles, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I love you,” he echoes.

We lounge together for a while, letting the candle flames gutter into a warm hush. Our illusions fade to gentle embers, a sign that our souls rest in sated contentment. Outside the window, the sky darkens to a velvety midnight, studded with stars that watch over our quiet vow.

Eventually, we rise, redressing in comfortable robes that the novices tailored for us, illusions still faintly shimmering in our aura. We blow out the last of the candles, each flame snuffed in a swirl of illusions that glimmer and vanish. Hand in hand, we exit the small terrace room.

The coven halls are mostly quiet by now, novices asleep, orcs dozing in guest chambers, humans retired. A single robed elder patrols the corridor, illusions glowing in pale hues to keep watch. They nod politely, not questioning our presence—perhaps they sense the deep magic humming between us.

We wind our way to our shared chamber, nestled in an upper level where the mountain wind sometimes howls at night. Inside, I wave my staff to kindle a faint orb of witchlight. Vaelin sets aside his cloak, illusions flickering across the silver runes on his arms.

He glances around the snug chamber—our bed, a small table, shelves of scrolls. His expression softens. “It feels like home now,” he murmurs, illusions dancing in content circles. “I never had a place that felt like mine. But here, with you…”

I close the distance, slipping my hands around him. “It’s ours,” I say, illusions brightening, “and you’ve every right to call it home.”

He cups my cheek, his eyes glinting with promise. “Tomorrow, we’ll announce publicly that I’ve become your official vessel, that we completed the vow.”

A grin spreads on my lips, illusions swirling. “And you’ll stand at my side, no matter the Overlord’s next schemes or the gargoyle wards we must maintain.”

His expression darkens slightly at the mention of threats, but he nods. “We’ll handle them. Nothing can stand against us when we’re united.”

I lean up to kiss him, illusions flickering in a final hush of synergy. “Then let’s rest. We have a lifetime to shape, building a world that leaves monstrous curses behind.”

Morning arrives with a gentle golden light spilling through the narrow window. We wake entwined, illusions drifting in calm sunrise colors across the bed. My chest feels weightless, as though I’ve cast off every chain of prophecy and fear. Vaelin stirs, pressing a drowsy kiss to my shoulder.

We dress, illusions weaving around us in playful arcs as we share a quick breakfast in the corridor—a small platter of fruit and freshly baked bread the novices prepared. Laughter echoes off the stone walls. Olyssia catches us grinning at each other, illusions glowing with a newly bonded shine, and rolls her eyes in amused exasperation. “You two are nauseatingly happy,” she teases, though her smile betrays her genuine warmth.

Soon, we gather in the Matriarch’s study, illusions drifting in subdued glimmers around the neat table stacked with scrolls. The Matriarch stands near a panoramic window that overlooks the valley. She regards us with a thoughtful gaze. “So,” she begins, illusions shifting around her staff, “you each have an announcement?”

Vaelin clears his throat, illusions swirling around his ankles. I lace my fingers through his, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He speaks calmly. “I’ve officially pledged myself as Elira’s vessel, sealed by the Purna vow. We performed the ritual last night.”

The Matriarch’s stern features soften. A faint smile tugs at her lips. “I suspected as much. Congratulations. This is a significant step in your personal bond and your role in the coven. While the mating ceremony recognized your union, this vow cements Vaelin’s place as your magical counterpart. I see no cause for concern. The coven will welcome your choice.”

My illusions spark in gratitude. “Thank you, Matriarch. We do this not just for ourselves, but to fortify the synergy that helps guard the gargoyle prison.”

She nods, illusions drifting in regal arcs. “Precisely. And with the Overlord still lurking, we need every strong alliance. I will spread the word among the elders that Vaelin’s vow is recognized. Your partnership sets an example that might further unify purnas and those outside the coven.”

Vaelin inclines his head respectfully. “We appreciate it. And we’ll continue serving the coven, forging alliances, and ensuring peace endures.”

The Matriarch turns to a side shelf, retrieving a small medallion etched with runic designs. She hands it to Vaelin with a solemn air. “A token of acceptance, symbolizing that you stand as a recognized vessel within these halls. Wear it if you wish, or keep it close. It helps novices or outsiders identify your special status.”

He lifts the medallion, illusions shimmering across its surface. “Thank you,” he whispers, touched.

That evening, with the Matriarch’s blessing, we gather briefly in the grand atrium to share the news. Most purnas receive it with warm applause, illusions flaring in celebratory hues. Orcish representatives grin, exchanging approval for what they see as another sign of bridging differences. Humans clap politely, though some are mystified by the complexities of Purna rituals.

Olyssia hoots in delight, illusions spiraling in shimmering confetti overhead. The novices cheer, a few of them winking conspiratorially at me. Elders nod in quiet approval, illusions shifting in subtle acknowledgment. Even a handful of reformed Dark Elves who dwell among us now appear pleased, likely reminded that a new era of acceptance is possible.

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