The Merciless Alpha(erotica)

“Dinner is ready, Master.” Lymarith declared quietly and I heard the clink of dishes being distributed on the table.

Heilantu finished her massage. I leaned my head back and she lightly kissed my lips. I rose and followed her into the kitchen.

The large table was filled with food, and I noted there was plenty of space still, despite the seven of us seated here. We could probably fit a table, or even two, in the next room, but I could probably get to a dozen matrons at this table before we even needed another table.

A prayer was given by Diamiutar over the food, thanking the Enlightened Host for the bounty, and asking them to bless the food. A warm breeze swirled the room and I wondered how literal that blessing would be on our food.

It was delicious. The banthir meat was somewhere between beef and the buffalo meat that I’d had back on earth, and it seemed slow roasted. Elves had utensils much like those which we had developed back home. It seemed like spoons, forks and knives were standard between our cultures. The knives were completely unnecessary for the meat, as it was easily cut with a fork and melted in my mouth. The potato-like pieces were small, about the size of a golf ball, and had been steeped in the juices of the meat, along with oversized carrots, and something like leeks and celery. The flavors blended wonderfully with the rich and savory spices. There was the slightest hint of a spicy heat in the lingering flavor in my mouth.

Fruit juices and nectars were passed around for drinks. Paired excellently with the earthy, savory flavors.

I was shocked at how well Diamiutar had planned out the portions, bringing out some soft rolls to clean up the flavorful juices on the plates and the table was cleaned of food.

It occurred to me that I’d never heard elves speak of alcohol and they hadn’t even offered it to me. I was on the verge of a food coma, so I elected to discuss it with them later.

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The cleric of Cranatha, the True Healer, and Second Mother of the Enlightened Host, had cast a spell to rid her body of whatever disease had caused her temperature to rise. Radrine politely declined a full examination, and once the cleric left her, she lay on her bed.

Her room felt small. Smaller than it ever had before. She had to wait lest someone suspect anything and stop her, her heart was breaking in her chest at the thought of what was to come. She rose and started pacing, before realizing she had a moment of sweet freedom. She tried to run to the door, but her body froze. No, that would give her away.

An idea struck her. She sat at her writing desk and pulled out her journal. Quickly, she started writing as much as she could. What was going to happen. What had happened to her. Everything she had learned from her short time in captivity at El’muth’ran. Everything she had told Kathra. She tried not to apologize, nothing she had done was of her own free will, except this effort to warn against the tactics that Kathra was willing to employ.

Finally, her hand seized, dropping the pen. She rose to her feet and slowly walked to the door. This was it. Her orders would not be ignored. With leaden feet, she walked from the barracks and walked toward the Gold Leaf District…

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After dinner, we relaxed in the chairs in the sitting room just inside the front door. The fireplace had a nice glow, giving a lazy warmth to the room. I sat on a curved chair, just large enough for three to sit close together, Lymarith cuddling me on one side and Heilantu on the other. Narusil sat nearest the fire, contently rubbing her lower belly. Tavorwen and Creadean sat playing a game, looking like a chess or checkers comparable game. Diamiutar was embroidering and humming happily.

A timid knock sounded on the door, and I slipped from between the matrons I was cuddling and walked to the door. The gaze of my matrons followed me to the door.

Opening it, a young elven battle maiden stood. She stared at me silently for a moment.

Tavorwen joined me, “Radrine? What are you doing here?”

Radrine’s face broke, sorrow flooding her face, “I’m sorry.”

At that moment, the breeze shifted the collar of her cloak and the briefest flicker of a white sigil around her neck was visible.

A deep voice boomed, “Nik’tho vir Hafra!”

Radrine’s eyes glowed white and her mouth opened to scream but only white hot air escaped her mouth.

A voice behind me called out, “Calal Hosir Vai Uruturfa!”

There was a flash and flames leapt toward me, only stopping inches in front of me as it hit an invisible wall.

“Lav to corith vic solin!” The voice called again, and turning, Narusil had risen from her seat, her face was locked in concentration and her hands were extended, her fingers flexed and straining. I realized that the voice had been hers, however her normal voice was soft and almost timid. This voice was powerful, assertive and noble.

My eyes flew back to where the flames roared in front of my face. As Narusil’s hands squeezed closer together, the flames were squeezed in an invisible bubble, contained and prevented from blowing out and harming us and the house around us.

The flames continued for what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a minute. Then it fizzled out. Leaving only a scorch mark on the walkway leading to our door and traces of molten metal from what had been the elven maiden’s equipment.

Tavorwen stared at the burn marks, “Radrine…” The emotional devastation was immeasurable.

I felt a wave of exhaustion and ran to catch Narusil as her legs gave out. She collapsed into my arms.

I picked her up. The elves, being as tiny as they were, were light, less than a hundred pounds for any of them, and Narusil was no exception. I set her back in her chair. Her hand brushed my cheek.

“You are unharmed?” She pleaded, begging to hear me say it.

“I’m fine. You saved me.” I told her, brushing a hair out of her face. “Not even a hair lost.”

She laid back, breathing deeply.

This had been a direct attack. I shouldered my rifle, I hated the fact that the fight had literally been brought to my doorstep. I couldn’t help but think of the battles I had left back home. I thought of what I’d glimpsed just before… whatever that was… happened. That had been a sigil. White and circling her neck.

I turned to Tavorwen who was still staring at where the poor elf had disappeared.

“Did you see the sigil on her neck?” I demanded of Tavorwen.

“A sigil?” Tavorwen gasped.

“White, with what looked like diamond shaped symbols spread out, I only saw a bit of it.” I admitted.

“A slave sigil!” Creadean breathed. “How in the Eleven Hells did someone get a slave sigil on one of our sisters!”

Battle maidens flooded the area.

“What happened?!” “Is the summon secure?” “Was anyone injured?”

Tavorwen took the brunt of the questions as the area was secured. Creadean began discussing with a small group of maidens with darker cloaks. Knowing that the hemming was where elves carried their rank markers, I saw violet cats of some kind on the sleeves of the elves Creadean was talking with.

Mages began magical investigations on the burn mark.

Tavorwen came to me, “Can we go to the barracks… I want to see her room.”

“Is this investigation our job?” I verified.

Tavorwen shook her head. “No. But if we leave it to the others, standard procedure will take a year to turn up anything.”

I nodded.

Creadean was immediately at my side as we walked through the door. The mages paused their investigation spells to let us through. Tavorwen led us back to the Silver Ivy Barracks. I could feel, deeply and poignantly, how much this was hurting Tavorwen.

“Are you okay?” I prodded gently.

“That was Radrine.” Tavorwen finally declared, with pain. “She was the youngest member of my squad… before I was sent to summon you, then was transferred to be your guardian, then battle matron. I trained her. She was a promising swordsman. She was barely of age. Six months of field experience. I have no idea when this happened. Did… Did I fail her? Did this happen under my nose?”

There were guards outside the doors. A word from Tavorwen and they let us in. Tavorwen led us through winding corridors inside the gigantic tree, pausing to rest her hand on what I guessed was her old room. Finally we arrived at Radrine’s room. The small room just had space for a few changes of clothing, a bed, a chest and a writing desk.

On the desk was an open book. An open inkwell sat next to the book and a pen had fallen to the floor. We walked to the writing desk. The flowing symbols of the elvish language sat on the page for a second before swimming and forming cursive English, just as flowery and delicate as the elven script had been.

“How can I read this?” I asked, “It’s like the writing translates itself for me.”

Tavorwen and Creadean shared a glance. “Oh… you speak such good elvish… I suppose I just forgot to explain.” Tavorwen apologized. “Every summon has been able to speak with the people who summoned them. I suppose it is part of the summoning that you can speak with us. Though it’s been long enough I suppose we forgot. The extent of the power of the translation granted by your summon is unknown.”

I nodded. That made sense. At least I wasn’t the only one in the dark on this.Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Does your gift translate the words of magic?” Creadean asked, curious.

“No. But forget it. Let’s get to this. What did she write?” I asked.

Tavorwen was already reading what her former subordinate had written.

“Oh gods….” Tavorwen breathed, “She was captured. Taken by the Shadow Claws while everyone was distracted by the battle with the gruthir and shadow elves.”

“What are the Shadow Claws?” I demanded.

“Kathra’s assassins.” Creadean explained. “They use claw gauntlets to let them climb and attack even if their weapons are taken. They use horrific poisons and magic to be more deadly then they have any right to be.”