Chapter 44: The Touch of Love



*

I ache for you, your body near. A frantic pulse I cannot steer. Your hands, your warmth, they pull me in. A heat that burns beneath my skin.


My lips seek yours, a desperate fire. Each kiss ignites forbidden desire. Your touch, your weight, your every move. Consumes my mind, my body, my groove.


I grind, I press, my need untamed. Each gasp and moan, your essence claimed. Your sighs, your laugh, they twist my core. I hunger more, I ache, I soar.


My hands clutch tight, I cannot hide. This storm of want, this raging tide. I give, I crave, I need you near. Your body’s call, my only fear.

*

   

   

   

   

—

Her trembling had dulled to soft shivers, the ragged rhythm of her breaths easing beneath my hand. Ysara’s sobs no longer tore through her like storms; instead, they faded into quiet tides against my breasts. 

I held her through every wave of it, my fingers combing gently through her dark strands, tracing along the faint bruise already vanishing from her neck. My blood mended her flesh, but I knew there were wounds deeper than flesh—wounds I had carved myself.

Only when I felt her weight truly melt into me, her body relaxed, the terror drained from her, did I shift. Slowly, carefully, I guided her from the refuge of my breasts, though my arms never let go, possessive, unwilling to release her to the cold air of the hallway.

   


Crimson eyes lifted to mine, wide, wet and shining, heavy with the remnants of grief. In them I saw not only fear but devotion—pain twisted with longing, need laced with love. 

She parted her lips, uncertain, yearning to speak but I hushed her with a whisper, a gentle murmur, brushing my thumbs across her cheeks to clear away the last of her tears.

   


“Shhh…” I breathed, soft as a lullaby, my touch smoothing. “Not yet.”

   


Her face was so close now—too close, not close enough. I cupped her cheeks delicately, as though her skin were glass and my touch might shatter her. The world itself seemed to still—there was only her, only us, bound in the silence.

Then, with a slowness that made my heart tremble, I leaned in.

Our lips met, not in hunger, not in the cruel fire of lust that had so often ruled me, but in something purer, deeper—an aching tenderness that burned hotter than any desire. 

I poured myself into her, every unspoken apology, every fractured prayer, every shred of love I could no longer cage. Her mouth yielded against mine, hesitant at first, then pressing forward with sudden courage. Answering with a fervor that stole my breath, leaning into the kiss as though it were the only truth left in her world.

   


Time unraveled. I no longer knew how long it lasted—only the warmth of her lips, the taste of iron lingering between us, the desperate way her tongue brushed mine, tentative yet yearning. I let her in, let her learn me, let her know the love I could not say aloud.

When at last I drew back, it was only by a fraction, and even then, the bond refused to break. A long, silken strand of saliva stretched between us, glistening in the dim light. Ysara’s lips were parted, her tongue still reaching, her gaze glazed in a haze of love so raw it ached to see.

I couldn’t help myself. A low, amused chuckle slipped past my lips, soft but rich, and it startled her as surely as a thunderclap. She blinked rapidly, a flush rising beneath her pale skin, as though shame had caught her in some forbidden act.

“Ah… my sweet girl,” I murmured, leaning my forehead against hers, closing the distance once more, my breath mingling with hers. My voice trembled despite me, wrapped in sorrow and affection. 

   


“I’m sorry,” 

   


Her lips parted once more—my daughter, always so eager to offer, to plead, to take blame that was never hers but I silenced her a second time, pressing a finger gently to her mouth. And with the command of my voice.

“Let mother speak first.”


A soft laugh escaped me. It startled even myself, because it wasn’t born from amusement alone—it was bitter, edged with something far darker.

How laughable, how utterly laughable.

I, who had been beaten, broken, and abandoned by the woman who birthed me in my previous life. I, who had been dragged through pain with no hand to catch me, no voice to call me beloved. My mother had never loved me. Her hand was heavy, her words sharper than knives. And now—here I was, cradling a daughter of my own, and what had I done? I had hurt her. Just as I had once been hurt.

The realization gnawed at me, carving me hollow. I drew her closer, clinging to her as though the act itself might rewrite the past. I buried my face against her temple, trembling though I would not let her see it.

“My daughter…” My voice broke before I could control it. “I must tell you something.

I carry memories… of another life. A life where I was never loved. Not by my mother. Not by anyone.”

   


I felt her stiffen, then soften again, listening, her breath quick against my skin.

“I wanted it so badly,” I confessed, my words shaking. “Just a kind word, a gentle hand. But, all I ever received was pain. All I ever heard were her curses, her screams. And here I stand now, reborn into this form, vowing to be more than her, vowing to give what I never had. To be better than anyone before me. To love you as fiercely as no one ever loved me.”

I leaned back just enough to see her face clearly, watching every flicker of emotion. My hand rose, brushing her cheek, tender and trembling, my thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. 

“And yet… you didn’t really mean what you said earlier, did you, my daughter?” My eyes searched hers.

Ysara’s response came like lightning, spilling from her lips so fast she nearly stumbled over her words. Her hands clutched desperately at my arms,

   


“No, Mother! I swear it—it was nothing, a mistake, a slip of the tongue. I could never mean it, never against you. Please… believe me.”

Her voice cracked, rushing with fear and desperation, but beneath it—love. Such raw love, it stole my breath. The sheer urgency of it made me smile, unbidden, against all the sorrow weighing me down.

“It’s fine, my daughter,” I murmured, wiping the dampness from her cheeks. “I forgive you.”

The words struck her like release. Her shoulders sagged, her breath poured out in a shuddering exhale, and I felt her relax against me, like chains falling away.

I stroked her hair back, curling it behind her ear, my voice low and uncertain. “I will try not to hurt you like that again…”

But Ysara, in her blind devotion, shook her head whispering,

“It’s alright, Mother. You can hurt me as much as you wish. If it’s you… it doesn’t matter. I’ll endure anything.”

   


The sincerity of it pierced me. It should not have comforted me, yet it did. A deep, aching chuckle broke from my throat, one part sorrow and one part love, tangled beyond separation.

I rose slowly, pulling her up with me, guiding her gently to her feet. I never let go of her hand, never once loosened my hold. My arms circled her waist, steadying her.

“Don’t be so stiff my love,” I told her softly, my lips brushing her ear. “Don’t be as you were with them. Not with me. I am not them.”

She swallowed, nodding faintly, her eyes downcast.

I lifted her chin again, commanding her gaze. “Be your true self with me, Ysara. As your mother, I want to see only that. The joy, the life, the laughter you showed when you were explaining these halls to me. That light in your eyes… I want more of it. Show me more of my daughter’s true self.”

   


My words hung heavy, raw with longing. It was more than a command. It was a plea. A desperate plea from a broken heart that had never been given such light, begging—no, starving—to see it in hers.

Ysara hesitated only a heartbeat, her breath catching as if she weighed something vast inside herself. Then, with her voice low, she asked,


“Is it really… alright, if I am my true self?”

   


“Yes.” My answer came without hesitation, without doubt, my tone firm and absolute.

Her lips curled into a smile so wide, so radiant it was almost feral. It stretched from ear to ear, revealing her sharp, beautiful teeth—danger glinting in the rune light, yet framed by a joy I had longed to see.

Then she leapt.

In an instant her arms wrapped tight around my neck, her legs locking around my waist with startling strength. Her breasts slammed into my own, with every frantic grind of her hips. Each time she moved, I felt the sharp peaks of her nipples spear into mine, hard and aching, sending jolts of fire racing through me. 

The sudden weight and heat of her pressed against me, knocking the air from my chest, but before I could react her lips crashed into mine.

   


The kiss was no gentle plea, no trembling confession. It was hunger—pure, unrestrained hunger. Her mouth moved against mine with an intensity that startled me, that stole my breath and bent me into her rhythm. Her hips ground frantically against me, searching, demanding, as if all the fear, devotion, and longing she had carried finally spilled over into a single, fevered act.

Her tongue forced its way past my lips, desperate. Mine met hers, serpent-like, twisting, tangling, an endless duel of heat and surrender. We did not pause for air, breath itself became irrelevant. There was only this, her frantic need, my willing indulgence, and the wildfire igniting between us.

Amusement flickered in me even as I drowned in her passion. To think that after everything—after blood, cruelty, and my own unrestrained wrath—this would be what she offered me. Her heart. Her body. Her entire being.

   


She was wild, frantic, gripping me like she would drown without me. And gods, I indulged her. I wanted her chaos, her desperation, her need.

My hands seized her ass, fingers digging deep, groping each cheek as they belonged only to me. The flesh yielded and bounced beneath my grip, hot and perfect, as I squeezed harder, dragging her against me. Each knead made her hips jerk harder, until we were nothing but pressed heat and trembling flesh.

Her mouth was still fused to mine, tongues battling in an endless spiral of wet friction, her moans spilling straight into me. She ground harder, tighter, every movement reckless.

Claws scraping, her flesh filling my hands like ripe fruit as I pulled her tighter against me. The sound she made—a muffled cry into my mouth—was exquisite. My tail drove with the same urgency, each thrust pulling another gasp from her lungs, each motion winding her higher.

She was shuddering now, our breasts smashing desperately, nipples grinding and sliding slick with sweat, until the heat became unbearable.

   


And finally, she broke.

Her body arched against mine, legs locking around me like chains as a raw, broken moan tore from her throat. 

She convulsed in my arms, hips jerking helplessly, I held her, drinking in the sight of her unravel—her head thrown back, mouth open in surrender, every ounce of control ripped away in the storm of her climax.

And I smiled, eyes fixed on her trembling beauty. Nothing in this world was more perfect than watching my own daughter moan so loudly, losing every shred of control in my arms.

   


When at last her cries faded into ragged breath, her gaze lowered to me again. Her legs were still wound tightly around my waist, her arms still clinging to my shoulders, but her face had softened. A faint blush stained her pale cheeks.

And then, almost shyly, she whispered.

“I’ve wanted to do that… since the first time I saw you mother.”

Her honesty, so sudden and unguarded, drew another smile from my lips. A slow, knowing smirk that curled into something tender.

   


…

My hands sunk deep into the curve of her ass, her legs locked firm around my waist. She was warm, shaking faintly, yet there was nothing timid in the way she held me. A quiet smile tugged at me.

“I told you love, don’t be shy,” I murmured, brushing my nose along her cheek. “You are my daughter. Whatever you need… just ask.”

She flushed, crimson eyes darting down, I felt her thighs flex, her weight shifted as though to climb free of my hold. But I pressed my fingers deeper into her flesh, lifting her more securely against me, and she gasped, startled.

“No,” I whispered, savoring the sound of her breath catching. “It’s alright, darling. I enjoy holding you like this.”

   


Her arms immediately curled tighter around my neck, the corners of her lips cracking before breaking into a giddy little smile that warmed me from the inside. She nestled her face into my shoulder, too full of joy to hide it. 

Her body pressed close with every step I took, her breasts flattening against mine, her heartbeat a frantic flutter against my skin. The contact made me knead her again, slow and deliberate, drawing out those tiny, shivering sighs that slipped unbidden from her throat.


For a while, she was quiet—content to bury her face in the curve of my neck, her legs squeezing me tighter whenever I shifted her weight. But then, with a mischievous spark, she tilted her head up and brushed a soft kiss against my lips, feather-light compared to the frenzy from before. 

It was her way of drawing my eyes to her, and it worked.

“Mother,” she said softly, “that phantom… the one that was behind you before…” Her voice curious, a trace of unease. “She looked… familiar.”

I studied her for a moment, then answered without hesitation. “That was Baloria.”

Her eyes widened, a flicker of shock rushing across her beautiful eyes.

   


“Baloria?” she whispered. “But… I thought we killed her. We drained her dry—every drop of her blood.”

I smirked faintly, tilting my head as I adjusted my grip on her ass. “You killed a clone, my love.” I said simply. “Her true self still lingers.”

The worry in her eyes was immediate, sharp. I felt it as keenly as if it were my own. So I silenced it, pressing her more securely against me. Grounding her in the warmth of my hold.

“When the time comes,” I whispered against her hair, “I’ll devour her true self just as I did her clone. She won’t control me again, my daughter. I won’t allow it.”

The tension fled her body as though my words themselves had unshackled her. She beamed, soft and radiant, tucking her head beneath my chin with a quiet nuzzle, her lips brushing my neck. And said nothing more.

   


That silence surprised me. “That’s all you wish to know?” I asked, arching a brow.

“Yes,” she said simply, muffled against my skin.

I let out a quiet laugh, so amusing. “You don’t want to know about my past life, or anything else?”

She lifted her head then, just enough for me to see the fierce light burning in her eyes. “No. I know you don’t wish to speak of it, Mother. And I don’t care. None of it matters to me.” 


Her grin widened, almost defiant in its joy. “Instead I’ll give you all the love you never had. I’ll make you happy, mother. Happier than anyone else ever could.”

   


For a moment, I could only stare at her. That earnestness, that boundless devotion—it pierced my heart. For a heartbeat, I felt another’s touch, soft hands smoothing my hair, soothing whispers, the warmth of lullabies. This… kind, gentle, a warmth I had once clung to. The memory brushed against me. 

   


It ached.

   


But I pushed it aside. What was gone would not return.

Here, in my arms, was something real. Something mine.

I leaned in, brushing my lips over her temple, my voice low, tender, unshaken.


“You already have my love, Ysara. You already have.”


Her body stiffened at that, and she held me tighter, her expression radiant as though I had given her the world.

And perhaps I had.