The deeper they ventured into the Whispering Woods, the stranger the forest became.
Sunlight filtered through leaves that shimmered with an unnatural opalescence, casting shifting rainbows across the mossy ground. The air grew thick with the scent of blooming nightshade and something sweeter—honey and crushed petals, laced with the unmistakable musk of arousal. Birds no longer sang; instead, soft sighs and distant laughter drifted on the breeze.
Elara's bare feet sank into velvet moss as she followed Thorne along a hidden path only he seemed to see. After their joining, he had scavenged clothing for her from an abandoned hunter's cache: a soft leather vest that laced loosely over her breasts and a short skirt of supple hide that left her legs free. It was practical, but it did little to hide the glowing filigree of Crimson Lust that now traced delicate patterns across her collarbones and down between her breasts. Every time the wind brushed her skin, the marks pulsed warmly, as if reminding her of the power—and the hunger—coiled inside.
Thorne moved ahead of her, senses alert, but even he seemed affected. His steps had slowed, his breathing deeper. Twice now he had stopped to press her against a tree, kissing her fiercely, grinding the hard line of his cock against her belly until she was gasping and wet. Each time he pulled back with a growl, amber eyes glowing.
"This place," he muttered. "It's the Hidden Grove. Nymph territory. Their magic… it calls to everything with blood in its veins."
Elara licked her lips, tasting him still. "Then why are we here?"
"Because the Church's hunters won't follow us in. And because we need allies." He glanced back at her, a feral grin flashing. "Nymphs know every secret path in these woods. If anyone can hide us until the next Blood Moon, it's them."
They stepped through a curtain of hanging vines—and the world changed.
A vast, sun-dappled glade opened before them, ringed by ancient willows whose branches trailed in a crystal-clear lagoon. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors—crimson petals veined with gold, violet blooms that pulsed like heartbeats. In the center of the lagoon rose a small island of white marble, overgrown with flowering vines.
And everywhere, nymphs.
Dozens of them—female and male and something beautifully in-between—lounged on the rocks or floated in the water. Their skin ranged from deepest ebony to palest moon-glow, hair cascading in waves of emerald, sapphire, and rose. They were naked, unashamed, bodies glistening with water and oil. Some reclined in tangled groups, hands and mouths exploring with lazy sensuality; others danced alone, hips swaying to music only they could hear.
The moment Elara and Thorne appeared, all movement stilled.
A hush fell over the grove, broken only by the soft splash of water. Dozens of eyes—emerald, amethyst, liquid gold—turned toward them. Elara felt the weight of their gaze like physical touch, caressing her skin, slipping beneath her clothes to tease nipples and clit with ghostly fingers.
A female nymph rose from the water, walking across the surface as though it were solid ground. She was tall and willowy, skin the color of fresh cream kissed by sunlight, hair a cascade of living vines threaded with tiny white flowers. Her eyes were the green the grove's magic pulsed strongest in her—ancient, knowing, and hungry.
"Wolf," she said, voice like wind through leaves. "You bring something new to our grove. Something… delicious."
Thorne inclined his head, respectful but unafraid. "Lirael. We seek sanctuary."
Lirael's gaze shifted to Elara, and the Crimson Lust flared hot beneath her skin. The nymph's eyes widened, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of green remained.
"Blood Moon born," she whispered. "The vessel walks among us."
Elara stepped forward, refusing to cower. "I'm no vessel. I'm Elara. And I need your help."
Lirael smiled, slow and predatory. "Help is never free, moon-child. Especially not from us." She gestured, and the other nymphs began to move closer, circling like sharks scenting blood. "To earn passage through our grove and the protection of our paths, you must pay the tithe all flesh pays here."
Thorne tensed beside her. "She's under my protection—"
Lirael raised a hand, and invisible bonds of air wrapped gently but firmly around Thorne's wrists and ankles, holding him in place. He snarled, muscles straining, but could not break free.
"This tithe is not for you, wolf," Lirael purred. "It is for her. The grove demands balance. Pleasure given, pleasure taken. Will you feed us, moon-child? Will you let us taste what the Blood Moon has awakened in you?"
Elara's heart pounded, but not with fear. The air was thick with invitation, with promise. She could feel the nymphs' desire like a physical force—warm, liquid, wrapping around her thighs, teasing between her legs. Her nipples ached against the leather vest, and wetness slicked her inner thighs.
She met Lirael's gaze steadily. "What exactly do you want?"
Lirael's smile widened. "Everything."
Before Elara could respond, the nymphs moved.
Hands—soft, strong, countless—descended upon her. Her vest was unlaced and peeled away; the skirt followed, leaving her naked in the warm sunlight. Fingers traced the glowing filigree of her Crimson Lust, making it flare brighter with every touch. Lips brushed her throat, her breasts, the curve of her hip. Someone knelt behind her, spreading her thighs gently as another mouth closed over her nipple, sucking hard.
Elara gasped, head falling back as pleasure crashed over her in waves. She had expected roughness, demand—but this was worship. Every touch reverent, skilled, designed to draw out the maximum sensation.
Lirael stood before her, vines of living hair curling forward to wrap loosely around Elara's wrists, raising her arms above her head. The position arched her back, offering her body fully to the grove.
"Look at her," Lirael commanded softly. "See how the moon has marked her. See how she burns."
A male nymph with skin like polished obsidian and hair of midnight blue stepped forward, his cock already hard and glistening. He knelt between Elara's spread thighs and, without preamble, licked a long, slow stripe up her center.
Elara cried out, hips bucking. Another nymph caught her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss, tongue sliding against hers in perfect rhythm with the one between her legs. Hands were everywhere—kneading her breasts, rolling her nipples, fingers slipping inside her alongside the clever tongue until she was sobbing with need.
When the first orgasm hit, it was shattering.
Crimson light exploded from her skin, washing over the grove like a tidal wave. The nymphs moaned in unison, drinking in the surge of power that poured from her climax. Elara felt it leave her—pleasure transmuted into raw magic, feeding them, strengthening them.
But they weren't finished.
Lirael released her wrists, guiding her down onto a bed of soft petals that had appeared on the marble island. Nymphs followed, arranging themselves around her in an intricate, living tapestry of limbs and mouths. One straddled her face, slick folds pressing against her lips; Elara licked eagerly, tasting sweet nectar that made her head spin. Another settled between her thighs, this one female, grinding their clits together in slow, deliberate circles.
Someone—two someones—sucked her nipples in perfect synchronization. Fingers filled her, curled, stroked. A vine—Lirael's hair—slipped between her ass cheeks, circling her tight rear entrance before pressing inside, thick and flexible, finding a rhythm that matched the fingers in her pussy.
The second orgasm built slower, deeper, coiling in her belly like a storm. When it broke, Elara screamed into the nymph riding her face, her magic surging outward again—this time stronger, wilder. The lagoon water rose in shimmering waves, flowers bloomed instantly around them, and hidden paths through the grove suddenly blazed with soft crimson light.
Lirael knelt beside her, eyes glowing with satisfaction. "Again," she whispered. "Give us everything."
They took her for hours.
Positions shifted fluidly—Elara on her hands and knees, mouth full of cock while another took her from behind; spread-eagled on the marble as tongues and fingers and vines explored every inch of her; riding Lirael herself, the nymph's vine-hair buried deep inside her as they ground together, breasts pressed tight, mouths fused in a kiss that tasted of blood and honey.
Each climax fed the grove, revealed more paths, strengthened the wards. By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Elara was trembling, covered in sweat and nectar and the evidence of multiple releases, her voice hoarse from screaming.
Lirael finally called a halt, pressing a gentle kiss to Elara's swollen lips. "Enough. You have paid the tithe tenfold, moon-child. The grove is yours to command."
The bonds holding Thorne dissolved. He staggered forward, eyes wild, cock straining against his trousers. The nymphs had kept him on the edge the entire time—teasing touches, whispered promises, never letting him finish.
Elara reached for him weakly, and he fell upon her like a starving man.
They took each other there on the marble, surrounded by watching nymphs, his thrusts deep and desperate, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. When they came together, the final surge of Crimson Lust sealed the pact: hidden paths opened fully, wards flared to life, and every nymph in the grove knelt in sudden, reverent acknowledgment.
Elara was no mere visitor.
She was their lady now, too.
As twilight painted the sky in shades of violet and rose, Lirael pressed a small, glowing seed into Elara's palm. "Plant this where you would make your stand. The grove will answer."
Thorne pulled Elara close, nuzzling her neck, licking gently at the fresh marks the nymphs had left. "We have allies," he rumbled, voice rough with satisfaction.
Elara smiled, exhausted but triumphant, the taste of nectar still on her tongue and the feel of a dozen lovers still lingering on her skin.
"Yes," she whispered. "We do."
Far away, church bells tolled again—closer this time.
But for now, in the heart of the Hidden Grove, Elara rested in Thorne's arms, surrounded by new kin who had tasted her power and found it sweet.
The Blood Moon's chosen was gathering her court.
One pleasure at a time.