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Vendel'o Eranu (Make Me Forget)

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Jaina summoned a cold lance of energy into her hand, shooting a frost bolt through the C’Thraxxi breaker barreling toward her. It pierced the creature’s massive chest, splitting its rib cage and spilling green ichor onto the ground. It fell with a choked roar, shaking the earth as it collapsed atop a pile of its brethren. A pile that was rapidly growing.

The battle had raged for hours, but showed no signs of stopping. No matter how many Old God minions Jaina slaughtered, more arrived, teeth and claws bared, inhuman mouths gaping, their scents so alien and foul she nearly gagged. She sent a blast of arcane magic at one such maw, disintegrating an approaching naga and three more behind as well. She would have taken down the whole line with shards of ice but for fear of harming her allies.

And there were many allies, some more surprising than others. Bloodied but unbowed, the combined Alliance and Horde forces who had converged to defend Stormwind continued fighting. A tauren warrior charged a looming faceless one while a complement of kal’dorei archers covered him. Sin’dorei warlocks sent their demons to ease the pressure on a pinned group of draenei paladins. Goblin and gnome mechas marched in formation together, while the Forsaken fought alongside humans.

The sight would have stirred Jaina’s heart if she hadn’t been so focused on avoiding injury. N’Zoth’s forces were numerous and terrifying enough to forge alliances among the worst of enemies. Even she was not immune to fear and exhaustion in the face of such odds. Her limbs shook, and she was drenched in sweat, along with blood and other, more horrifying things. Taking out the first several waves single-handed might have been a poor choice, in retrospect. She hadn’t known the Old Gods had this many creatures at their disposal, and freezing the sea by Stormwind’s docks had only slowed, not stopped, their advance.

“Lady Proudmoore!”

In the thick of things, Jaina couldn’t tell who called out, but she saw what had frightened them: a giant, three-headed hydra, the largest of its kind she’d ever seen, slithered up from the docks at an alarming rate. Wet chunks of ice sloughed from its scaled body, and it spewed acid from its roaring mouths, scattering a line of troll shamans atop the steps.

Jaina’s brow furrowed. This beast didn’t seem to mind the cold, but she had other elements at her disposal. Fire bloomed in her cupped hand, and she poured the stormy tide of her anger into it, until the spell shone bright enough to hurt her eyes. She snapped her arm, sending the ball hurtling toward the hydra.

At first, the fireball raged, growing as it sped toward its target. Footsoldiers dove out of the way, taking refuge where they could, but it was a near thing for some of them. Jaina watched, already mentally preparing for her next strike in case the creature somehow managed to survive… only to gape in bewilderment as the blast imploded, burning out so quickly she almost didn’t see.

One moment it was there, less than a yard from the hydra’s heads. The next it was gone, disintegrating into a pathetic puff of smoke. Startled, the hydra reared back in shock, letting out a blood-curdling roar as it cast about for the source of the blaze.

Jaina stared.

What just happened?

There wasn’t time to figure it out, because the hydra had caught sight of her. All six of its small, piggish eyes narrowed directly at her as it crashed back down to all fours, crushing a kal’dorei glaive thrower. The unfortunate driver barely managed to squeeze out before the wood crunched into an unrecognizable shape upon Stormwind’s blood-slick flagstones.

Jaina gritted her teeth. Her fire seemed to be failing her — for reasons she couldn’t think about right now, with a monster bearing down on her — so she called up a miniature snowstorm. With arms outstretched, she flung the icy gale in a cone directly before the thrashing beast. She had already slain thousands. One hydra wasn’t going to best her.

This time, the spell worked. Too well, in fact. While she’d only meant to stop the hydra, the area of impact spread, white frost finding a foothold in a swiftly growing arc. It froze the hydra, the glaive thrower, and everything else in its path, including the unfortunate sentinel and a few other soldiers.


Jaina tried to retract the spell, but it had already spiraled beyond her control. The circle of frost expanded outward, flash-freezing everything within a hundred feet of her. Frantic naga tumbled over each other on the outskirts, while those unlucky enough to be in the middle found themselves encased in solid ice. Jaina winced as a goblin mecha spun wildly across the ice, propelled by a burst of flame from its rear. A success, perhaps, but a horribly messy one.

Tides, what is wrong with me? she thought as she shattered the friendly ice blocks, hoping it wasn’t too late. The soldiers she’d freed stumbled away, dazed and more than a little blue. Her magic never failed her. Magic was in her blood, an inexorable part of her very being. She was the former leader of the Kirin Tor, for gods’ sake! But the power within her churned, stuttering and inconsistent.

I’m just tired, she decided, taking a moment to survey the field. The battle’s been going on for hours, everything smells awful here, and I’ve been casting with hardly a second for food or rest. And yet, despite her attempts to reassure herself, she remained uneasy. That explained the shakiness of her legs and the sweat on her brow, and as an omega she had always been sensitive to scents. But the odd warmth she could feel coiling somewhere in her gut, the prickliness of her clothes, and the way her magic twisted and writhed in her grasp, instead of coming to her call… I haven’t felt this… off… in a while. Not for months, in fact. Not since my last… oh no. Not now. I can’t be going into heat now… can I?

Too late, Jaina noticed the naga attacking from the left. It thrust its trident at her, and she cried out as it pierced her side, soaking her robes in warm, sticky blood. She dispatched the creature with a wave and threw up an ice shield, cursing herself for letting it get so close. Something was wrong with her. Very, very wrong.

The latest naga hadn’t come alone. More took its place, swiftly surrounding her. Jaina summoned frost bolts, but her strikes were wildly inconsistent. Some barely grazed her attackers, while others exploded the naga to bloody pulp and bored into the stone steps beyond. They were either too weak or too powerful, and Jaina — who never missed — even sent a bolt or two careening wildly into the air. She realized she was a faulty cannon, something that could decimate her own ship and crew if she didn’t stop as soon as possible.

But there was no way out. The combined Alliance and Horde forces had retreated further into the city to fortify the next barricade, and she was surrounded on all sides. Naga, Faceless, sea giants, unnamed beasts from the deep: all closed in on her in a swarm, their smells thick and foul and threatening to choke her. She clutched the pendant around her neck, eyes glowing white. If I don’t survive this, at least I got to make up with my mother before…

An otherworldly shriek split the air, and Jaina clapped her hands over her ears on instinct. She knew that horrible noise all too well, but for once, she was relieved to hear it. Moments later, a dark blur shot overhead, sweeping through the circle of enemies and causing them to wither before her very eyes. Only then did Sylvanas Windrunner solidify, already in the midst of drawing her bow.

She fired Deathwhisper faster than Jaina could blink, sending an impossible stream of arrows into their remaining foes. To cap it all off — and rub her nose in it, Jaina just knew — Sylvanas scaled an ice block that should have been far too slippery to climb and launched herself at a sea giant’s face, firing an arrow straight between its eyes. It toppled, crushing several of its smaller fellows.

Once Jaina realized she wasn’t about to die after all, she sighed and pinched the bridge of her forehead. “I… appreciate the help,” she said through gritted teeth, “but was it really necessary to burst my eardrums?”

Sylvanas merely offered a deadpan look, drawing another arrow from her quiver and glancing over Jaina’s shoulder. The next wave of enemies was already advancing from the docks. “Hurry, Lord Admiral. Your boy-king and the old mongrel sent me to save you, but you are wasting their gift, and my good will.”

Jaina scowled at the sarcastic use of her new title. “As if you’ve ever had good will about anything,” she grumbled, but she was grateful to be alive, and since she preferred to stay that way, she did as she was told. She blinked up the steps, then broke into a run despite the stabbing wound in her side, Sylvanas sprinting next to her. The fact that she didn’t need to breathe outside of speaking made watching her run a particularly eerie experience, and Jaina found herself oddly captivated, so much so that she nearly stumbled more than once. Sylvanas eventually took hold of her arm to haul her along, but for some reason, the Warchief’s touch burned icily through the fabric of her dress.

Soon, they arrived at the barricade. “Hold fire!” someone shouted, and Jaina followed Sylvanas through, panting with pain and exhaustion. Once they were clear, glowing purple shields went up, backed by iron-barred gates and plenty of rubble. In any other state, Jaina would have rushed to help, to reinforce the defense wards or relieve the battlemages atop the ramparts. As it was, all she could do was bend over, resting her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath.

Beside her, Sylvanas stood perfectly still, red eyes dancing with derisive amusement.

“An interesting strategy you employed out there. Were you hoping to freeze the entire city, or just yourself?”

Jaina clenched her hands into fists. If anyone deserved an infamous Kul Tiran right hook to the nose, it was this infuriating alpha. She drew herself up, a fiery retort rising to her lips, and possibly her palm as well, but before she could let fly, Anduin came jogging down the steps of the church they’d been using to house those injured in the battle. His sleeves were drenched in blood up to the arms, and his face was streaked with more, but Jaina doubted much of it belonged to him. He had most likely been tending to the wounded.

“Jaina! Thank the Light you’re all right,” he said, the light of healing magic already gathering at his fingertips. He reached out to tend to the wound in her side, and she shuddered at the warm contact. “We got reports from the front that you’d been caught in some kind of ice storm, but we couldn’t spare any of our champions to go after you. So I asked if word could be passed along to the Horde fighters in the area to try and get you out. I see Sylvanas here… um…” Anduin’s voice trailed off, his cheeks going pink.

Jaina’s heart sank. As a fellow omega, if Anduin could smell her even under her coating of grime and ichor, that must mean her suspicions were correct. “I had a… mishap, yes,” she told him, lifting her chin and trying to keep her voice steady. “I believe I’ll need to retire for a while. Can Stormwind hold on without me?” She could feel Sylvanas’s eyes on her almost as keenly as a physical touch, but she refused to let herself look at the alpha.

“Um… yes, yes it can,” Anduin said, eyes wide. “We’ve stalled N’Zoth’s forces for now. Let me take you back to your quarters. I’ll post guards outside to make sure your, uh, rest isn’t disturbed. Beta guards,” he added in an undertone, darting a glance at Sylvanas.

This time, Jaina couldn’t resist following his gaze. Sylvanas stared back, her look outwardly disinterested, but something in those cold red eyes sent a jolt of heat through Jaina. I need to get out of here before something embarrassing happens! More embarrassing than almost flash-freezing myself, anyway…

But she couldn’t seem to look away from Sylvanas, her gaze traveling the length of the Warchief’s lean body. The way she stood, one hip cocked, Deathwhisper gripped loosely in her hand, was unspeakably mesmerizing for reasons Jaina didn’t want to contemplate. Her eyes traveled lower, past the Banshee Queen’s high, firm breasts, barely covered as they were by her armor, down to her taut stomach, and lower still. Between her long, powerful thighs… Jaina couldn’t hold back a gasp.

Despite her air of apparent disinterest, it was clear from the bulge pressing against the seam of Sylvanas’s damnably tight pants that she, too, had noticed Jaina’s condition. Jaina had to hold in a moan at the sight — Sylvanas’s clothes left precious little to the imagination, and it was obvious that she was huge. The alpha's pants were so close-fitting that Jaina swore she could see everything: the ridge of the thick head, the outline of the long shaft, possibly even the bulky beginnings of a knot… A question drifted vaguely across Jaina's overheated mind. How does she even manage to fit it all in there...?

And yet instead of leaning in to catch a better whiff of scent, or going slack-jawed and hungry-eyed as many an alpha soon would, Sylvanas only gazed at Jaina with mild amusement before turning to Anduin. “You should get her packed off to bed soon, King Wrynn,” she said, putting a lightly mocking emphasis on his title that made Anduin flush. “Before she starts a riot.”

“Edni! Khaalus!” Anduin snapped, gesturing for a tall pair of draenei paladins. “Escort Lady Proudmoore to one of the empty rooms and take up your post outside until I tell you otherwise. Admit no one.”

“Come, Lady,” the female told Jaina, taking her arm just below the elbow. “You will be safe with us.” Even though her beta scent was calming, the touch made Jaina shudder. She had begun to sweat again, and her limbs shook from more than exhaustion. She needed to get out of the open, or Sylvanas’s words would be more than just mockery. But as she stumbled along beside her escorts, trying to ignore the need coiling in her gut, she couldn’t get the Banshee Queen’s blood-red eyes out of her mind.

It’s nothing. Just your heat talking. It’ll pass. But beneath her rational voice, another, more primal part of her privately doubted.


“This has the potential to become a serious problem,” Anduin said. “Jaina has been instrumental in keeping the enemy at bay. Without her, we may be overrun.”

They were gathered in the Keep’s war room, Alliance and Horde leaders seated face to face, but as Sylvanas scanned those assembled, one hip propped against the table rather than sitting in her chair, she noted that not a single expression looked hopeful. Though she hated to admit it, she agreed with Anduin’s assessment of the situation. ‘Serious problem’ was, in fact, an understatement.

“Has one of the healers been up to treat her?” Greymane’s black lips rippled back from his gleaming fangs. It was hard to tell, since he always looked as though someone had shoved dung under his nose, but Sylvanas thought he seemed distressed. Under other circumstances, his worry would have been delicious. Not much could rattle the old wolf, obnoxious and troublesome though he was.

“Yes,” Anduin said. “Unfortunately, omega mages can be… resistant to the usual treatments. Their bodies often reject suppressant spells, and the potions are hit or miss. Especially mages as powerful as Jaina.” His discomfort surrounding the subject was written all over his flushed face, and Sylvanas didn’t bother concealing her smirk.

“Embarrassed, little lion?” she murmured, commanding the attention of everyone in the room without raising her voice. “Is it difficult for you to see your former guardian this way?” From the pink flush that flooded Anduin’s cheeks, she knew it was.

Greymane narrowed his eyes and growled at her, which caused Nathanos, who stood beside her like a silent shadow, to reach for his bow. Before a fight could break out, Baine held up a massive hand. “This isn’t the time for barbs, Warchief,” he said. “N’Zoth’s forces are beating down our door.”

“Not our door,” Sylvanas reminded him, flicking an ear in annoyance.

Anduin got himself under control. “Please, no more games, Sylvanas. You know every day we keep the bulk of the Old God’s army occupied here, at Stormwind’s gates, is another day Orgrimmar and Lordaeron remain standing.”

Once again, Sylvanas was forced to concede Anduin’s point. It wasn’t that the omega was stupid — she’d never thought that — but he was frustratingly soft and naive. Not so today, it seemed. He knew exactly why she had agreed to defend his accursed city, and he had no problem exploiting her motives. If it kept N’Zoth’s army away from the Horde's cities, which Saurfang was currently defending in her stead, she would wield Talah’Ental for Stormwind, no matter how much it galled her.

Tyrande cleared her throat. “Back to the subject at hand.” The priestess leaned forward, adopting a posture that commanded attention. Sylvanas spared her a bored glance. Of course Tyrande would be the one to ruin her fun with serious business. The night elf had always been a dour sort. “We all know what an invaluable asset Jaina is. Without her, Stormwind would have fallen long before now.”

“All of Azeroth would have fallen,” Lor’themar added, from his seat beside Baine.

Sylvanas considered silencing him, but decided against it. There was no point in denying that Jaina was the most skilled mage alive, in possession of enough power to change the face of Azeroth if she so desired. And she had changed it several times already, for better and worse. At the height of her strength, Sylvanas knew N’Zoth’s army wouldn’t stand a chance against Jaina. Even as an enemy, the Lord Admiral had always been a force to be admired.

“If the treatments aren’t working, we need another plan,” Greymane rumbled. “How long will this last if she’s… sated?”

Sylvanas clicked her tongue, adopting a mocking pout. “Ah, Greymane, has it been so long for you and your mate that you’ve forgotten? However did you manage to spawn two children?”

Greymane’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Do not speak of my son, witch. As if anyone would touch your lifeless corpse—”

“Please,” Anduin said, casting them both an imploring look. “Not now.

Greymane very much looked like he had more to say, but he muzzled himself. Sylvanas glanced away from him with airy detachment, refusing to acknowledge that his words had stung. Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner had had no shortage of potential mates, although she’d been far too wrapped up in her responsibilities to take advantage, aside from the occasional dalliance for the sake of stress relief. Banshee Queen Sylvanas was, if possible, even busier. Besides, she had an image to maintain. She felt nothing, cared for nothing, except the burning desire to advance the Forsaken.

And yet…

Despite herself, Sylvanas couldn’t help but recall the events of a few hours earlier. Jaina Proudmoore was undeniably an exquisite creature, even with her white and blue Kul Tiran garb drenched in blood and her braid askew. Her pale skin had gleamed — no, glowed with sweat, and the mere memory of her scent made Sylvanas’s leggings distinctly uncomfortable. That was a problem she rarely dealt with these days. And the Lady Proudmoore had definitely noticed, judging by the way those soft blue eyes had widened...

“The problem is serious,” Lor’themar agreed, “but not insurmountable. If the Lord Admiral finds herself, er — in need, and her cycle is too temperamental for spells and potions, then she must be provided with a suitable alpha.”

“It seems the obvious solution,” Tyrande said. “Surely many alphas here would be honored to assist her.”

Briefly, Sylvanas wondered if Tyrande might be one of those alphas. She’d never understood why the high priestess had married that simpering, over-dramatic fool of a druid, but it would go against Tyrande’s grain to commit any act of unfaithfulness or disloyalty, even in the name of saving Azeroth. Sylvanas relaxed, unsure why the thought had bothered her in the first place. Normally, Tyrande’s ‘morals’, which the High Priestess only adhered to when it suited her, were a source of annoyance.

Anduin grimaced. “I would hate to see Jaina in a situation she didn’t want…”

Baine snorted, nostrils flaring. “Your Majesty, I can smell her from here. She’s in need, and she could freeze any alpha who wasn’t to her liking in less than a second.”

Sylvanas hardly heard the last part of Baine’s statement. As casually as possible, she drifted in his direction, striding behind the seats of the other Horde leaders and stopping beside the tauren chieftain’s chair. She rested her hand on its back, gripping the wood tighter than she intended.

Baine was right. She could smell Jaina from this side of the room, and the scent was distracting, to put it mildly. Sylvanas rarely paid attention to such things. Orgrimmar was a veritable stewpot of scents both fair and foul, but something about Jaina’s made her inhale deeply and hold the breath in her lungs, even though she had no need for air.

Jaina smelled like omega. Like the salt of the sea. Like a storm of untamed lust and need. Although she no longer felt the cold, Sylvanas shuddered as though a chilly breeze had blown past. The pressure at the front of her pants made its presence known again. Unfortunately, Nathanos noticed, because he stared for a moment before frowning and looking away.

Sylvanas ignored him. To distract herself from the discomfort of her body’s unexpected reactions, she said, “I agree. The Horde will take first watch upon the ramparts and keep N’Zoth’s forces at bay. Surely the Alliance can find one alpha among their champions to suit the Lord Admiral’s tastes.”

“I see no other option,” Greymane said, to Sylvanas's private surprise; she had expected him to disagree out of sheer spite. “The sooner Jaina is back on her feet, the sooner we can clean up N’Zoth’s forces and move on to the greater battles ahead. We need her.”

“Understood,” Anduin said, although he still looked horribly embarrassed. “I’ll see to it at once.”

As Sylvanas watched him rise and leave the room, she found herself in the curious position of having to stop her lip from curling. Her ears flattened back and a growl rose in her throat, but she curtailed it sharply, and it remained coiled in her chest like a brooding beast. Such responses could easily be explained as the reactions of an alpha to an omega's call… for anyone but her. She was Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, and she couldn't remember the last time an omega's heat had even affected her, let alone this powerfully.

For a moment, her brooding unease turned into a cold snap of anger. This is some trick. Some spell of Proudmoore's to make me vulnerable, so I might fall in battle. But she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. As idiotic as these Alliance fools are, even they would not go to the effort of holding a war council just for the benefit of their ruse.

But the thought that it might not be some trick or ploy, some magic she had yet to hear of or unravel, was somehow even more disturbing.

Enough. It is nothing, and we have a battle to win. Motioning Nathanos to her side, Sylvanas opened her mouth to give orders — and was hit full in the face with a blast of heat-scent. The pressure between her legs tightened to the point of pain, and she suppressed a wince.

Fuck. They had better find someone soon. Otherwise this whole city will be a powderkeg before sundown. Her Forsaken would not be an issue, of course, their bodies largely devoid of such urges, but most of the other races were still far too susceptible to those baser lusts.

And so, apparently, are you.

Sylvanas quashed the errant thought, turning instead to snap at her lieutenant. “Nathanos, gather the Dark Rangers. You'll scout the north banks for any sign of the enemy's advance until further notice.”

“Of course, My Queen.” He glanced around the room, making sure no one else was within earshot, before adding, “Unless you would like me to pay the Lord Admiral a visit while she’s vulnerable…”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “There will be no assassinations today, Nathanos. Loath as I am to admit it, we need the Alliance as much as they need us. And we need Proudmoore. You are not to interfere with her heat in any way.” Although he was an undead beta, and therefore no competition, the idea of him entering Jaina’s room while she was in such a state made Sylvanas’s skin crawl.

Competition? Since when am I one of the competitors?

Nathanos gave her a baleful look. “As you wish, My Queen.” He departed with a bow.

Sylvanas sighed, allowing herself a moment to press at the dull headache pounding in her temples before lifting her chin and throwing her shoulders back, every inch the Warchief and the proud alpha. As the Banshee Queen, she was above such things… but the sooner the lustful Alliance bitch found someone to fuck her, the better.


“Out! Get out!”

Jaina sent a fireball spiraling in the direction of the fleeing worgen champion. She heard a whimper as the woman disappeared beyond the door, and let out a low hiss of regret. She hadn't meant to deliver anything more than a warning, but her hold on her magic had only grown more tenuous as the hours passed. The potions weren’t helping. Magic wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping.

She stumbled back to her bed, letting the soaked sheet fall away from her body. The stagnant air did little to cool her burning skin, and even less to soothe the searing ache between her legs. Emptiness coiled in her belly, screaming to be filled with something, anything.

Whimpering, she shoved her hand between her legs for what felt like the millionth time. She was so slick that three fingers slid in effortlessly, but she knew they would bring her little more than yet another unsatisfying orgasm. Her inner walls clenched, searching for a fullness they couldn't find, a hardness she couldn't give herself, a coolness to bank the fires that burned inside her.

No! Think about someone else. Anyone else. Anyone but… her…

Entirely without her own permission, Jaina found herself lost in a fantasy of cold hands grasping her hips and holding her down. A cold, hard shaft splitting her open. Cold red eyes boring into her own…

“No,” she moaned, and yet she rubbed her clit furiously, pumping her fingers without mercy. She imagined Sylvanas's cock in their place, Sylvanas's claws digging into her flesh, Sylvanas's breath cold against her cheek as she leaned in to whisper…

“L—Lady Proudmoore?”

Jaina's eyes flew open before narrowing in rage. The voice, an even mixture of respectful and tremulous, was so far from the one she had almost expected to hear: Sylvanas’s, somehow both high and low at the same time, a little sibilant, redolent with careless power. It ignited rage deep in her chest.

When a draenei shaman stepped into the room, only Jaina’s poor aim saved him from having his head severed from his body by a shard of ice. “Get out!” she roared, even as he stumbled backward. She rose from the bed, fire blooming in her hand. She could tell instantly from his scent that he was an alpha, but the impressive bulge he was sporting would have told her the same. She didn't get to fling the fireball at this one, though. He was gone before she could let it loose.

Jaina slumped back on the bed with a low sob, tears of frustration and fury spilling down her cheeks. Tides, what is wrong with me?

Plenty of the alphas Anduin had sent were attractive. In a normal situation, she might have even been receptive to some of their advances. But this was no normal situation. Her body kept rejecting even the thought of mating with any of them. Her pussy ached with the need to be filled, yet the idea of inviting any of her suitors back to do it made her insides twist with revulsion. The only alpha she could possibly imagine allowing to mate her was…

Jaina's eyes narrowed. She gritted her teeth, withdrawing her sticky fingers and wiping them on the sheet. This has to be some trick of hers. She wants to take me out of commission so she can commit some treachery. Her fury hardened into purpose, and she gathered the sheet around her as best she could. Putting on clothes was well beyond her at this point, but she wouldn't be deterred. Bursting out of her room and storming into the hall, her mind remained focused on one thought:

This ends now.


“Preposterous,” Greymane snarled, swiping his hand angrily through the air. “You mean to tell me the Lord Admiral has rejected every Alliance champion?” The pair of draenei paladins reporting to him cringed, much to Sylvanas’s amusement. The blustering old wolf was all bark and no bite, but he certainly seemed furious as he leaned in, glaring at the guards with glowing yellow eyes. “Explain.”

“Apologies, King Greymane,” one of the paladins said. “We sent in the alphas as instructed, but Lady Proudmoore… ahem.” He coughed, pausing to clear his throat. “She was displeased.”

From the emphasis he put on the word, Sylvanas could guess what had transpired. Jaina had chased away her swarm of amorous suitors, most likely with magic that had left them scurrying for cover, possibly with singed backsides as well. She almost pitied the poor alpha who so much as shared a room with Jaina Proudmoore when she wasn’t amenable.

The omega’s scent, however, told a different story.

Although Sylvanas didn’t need to breathe, she found herself taking regular lungfuls of air, simply to taste Jaina’s scent. It had grown strong enough to blanket the entire keep, which should have annoyed her — and yet, despite her reservations, annoyance wasn’t the primary emotion Sylvanas felt. She pressed her lips together as the ever-present bulge at the front of her pants gave a pleased twitch. The reaction didn’t bother her. Every other alpha within a half-mile was similarly affected. Still, some primal part of her was relieved that Jaina had found all the Alliance champions unsuitable, and that relief unsettled her a great deal.

Why does it matter? You have no intention of mating Proudmoore yourself…

No. Absolutely not. Such a course of action would be beneath her. Besides, Jaina loathed her. She would hardly be the mage’s first choice, and quite possibly her last.

The other Alliance leaders were dismayed by the guards’ report, Anduin in particular. “Is she all right, at least?” he asked, giving them a worried look.

“Well, er…” The female paladin hedged. “There’s been a lot of, um, screaming, Your Majesty. Otherwise, I think so?”

Anduin sighed. “Thank the Light for that, at least, but she’ll need help soon.” He spoke with the empathy of an omega who understood Jaina’s situation perfectly.

“I suppose we could offer her some of our champions,” Baine said, obviously trying to keep his tone neutral. In spite of that, his suggestion sparked a chorus of protests.

“Absolutely not,” Tyrande said, looking and sounding terribly offended. Under other circumstances, Sylvanas would have taken a great deal of joy in the disgusted expression on her annoyingly pretty face.

“We have other champions,” Genn growled, “every one more than a match for yours.”

“Is that so?” Baine snorted. He stood from his chair and rolled his massive shoulders. Sylvanas wasn't sure if the movement was intended to give Greymane a look at the truly impressive bulge at the front of his trousers, but from the look of outrage on the old wolf's face, it had that effect anyway.

Sylvanas found herself having to choke back an entirely undignified snicker. Baine was more of a pacifist than she preferred, but sometimes she did indeed like the tauren chieftain. When he disagreed with something, he rarely minced words.

“The situation is growing desperate,” Lor’themar agreed. “We need the Lord Admiral, and the longer she’s indisposed…”

“Have any of you,” Sylvanas drawled, “considered asking the Lady Proudmoore what, or whom, she would prefer? Assuming she is still capable of coherent speech.” She tried not to think too deeply about the implications of her own comment. Tried not to imagine Jaina Proudmoore covered in sweat, chest heaving, eyes dilated. Legs spread, shapely rear end raised to be mounted… She could practically smell the image.

Come, Sylvanas. Put aside this nonsense. You cannot possibly indulge such base urges, especially for such an infuriating woman—

“… might not get a word in edgewise, but I suppose I could try,” Anduin was saying, although his expression revealed that he was decidedly not enamored with his own suggestion. “She might speak to another omega.”

“I wouldn’t risk it, Your Majesty,” Lor’themar said. “Omegas in heat can be… volatile, especially one as powerful as the Lady Proudmoore.”

The door to the keep’s war room flew open with a loud crash. Sylvanas whirled, Talah’Ental drawn and ready in less time than it took to blink, but no enemy intruded upon their meeting. It was, in fact, the subject of their discussion: Jaina Proudmoore, clutching a stained bedsheet around her body, looking like a wild animal and stinking of sex. Her gaze roamed the room, as if in search of something, before landing on Sylvanas. Jaina’s eyes bored into her like twin frost bolts, and the air around the omega crackled with arcane energy.

Sylvanas nearly dropped her bow. She knew she should do something, but she couldn’t remember how to move her legs as Jaina stalked toward her, trailing the ruined bedsheet behind.

“You. You.” Jaina stopped a pace away, close enough for Sylvanas to feel the heat of her agitated panting. “I can smell you all the way upstairs. I can’t stop smelling you. What have you done to me?”

Sylvanas swallowed, summoning all the power she possessed to keep her face blank. It worked, barely, although a painful shot of the ichor that served as her blood rushed between her legs. “I have done nothing.”

“Jaina,” Anduin said, hurrying around the table with a hand outstretched. “We need to get you back to your room—”

Jaina rounded on him, baring her teeth. “No! Don’t touch me.”

Anduin took a startled step back. “But Jaina…”

“Leave,” Jaina snarled, but her eyes never left Sylvanas. They trailed down from her face to the swells of her breasts beneath her leather chestplate, the bowl of her hips, and at last to the considerable problem in her pants. “All of you, leave!”

Omega though she was, there was enough command in Jaina’s voice to shake the sturdiest of wills. Tyrande started to protest, but Anduin put a hand on her arm, guiding her toward the door in a roundabout way that wouldn’t put her too close to Jaina. Baine and Lor’themar left without argument, although the elf did shoot Sylvanas a knowing look before doing so. She didn’t return it. Couldn’t, while Jaina’s face hovered so frustratingly close to her own. It would be easy to lean in, to taste those swollen lips, so pink and plush and full of life…

“Jaina?” For once, Greymane’s growl was more concerned than aggressive. Rather than a wolf, he looked like an unfortunate dog that had been reprimanded by its master.

Jaina was unamused, to say the least. She turned to glare at Greymane, though Sylvanas could tell from the taut tendon at the base of her throat and her visibly pounding pulse-point that it took considerable effort. She found herself hypnotized by the sight, unable to look away, lost in wondering how that pulse would feel against her lips, or better still, between her teeth.

“Out,” Jaina commanded, brandishing a finger at the door.

Even Greymane, Warrior-King of Gilneas and the strongest alpha of his kind, could not object. He left, but not without shooting Sylvanas the dirtiest look she’d ever received from anyone in her undeath.

Before his drooping tail even made it through the door, Sylvanas found herself at Jaina’s mercy. The mage placed a hot hand on her sternum, walking her backwards and steering her into a chair, which was partially pulled out from the war table. She shoved Sylvanas into it, causing the chair’s legs to screech against the stone floor.

“Enough, Warchief.” Jaina dropped the bedsheet, letting it fall from her trembling form. As Sylvanas had guessed, she was naked, without a scrap of clothing except for the pendant above her ample breasts, a shining silver anchor cast amidst a sea of light brown freckles. “End this torment. Now.”

Sylvanas had many doubts, and an even longer list of frustrations and grievances, all to do with the shaking omega in her lap. But with a surprising sense of resignation, she realized she was incapable of resisting. Jaina’s smell was too strong, her pull too powerful, her need too great. Never before had Sylvanas been ensnared by an omega’s wiles, but this particular omega was unmatched in all of Azeroth. Worthy, perhaps, of her assistance.

Yes. Assistance. I am simply assisting her, for the benefit of my own people as well. Without Proudmoore, we will all perish.

Sylvanas seized Jaina’s messy braid, jerking her forward until their lips were less than an inch apart. “If that is your desire, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Shut up.” Jaina kissed her. A hot, hungry kiss that burned like fire, fire that Sylvanas felt all the way through nerve endings that should have been long-dead. Rather than return the kiss, she bit Jaina’s lower lip, sinking her fangs into it until she tasted copper. Jaina didn’t object. She didn’t pull back. She whimpered, and the sound travelled straight between Sylvanas’s legs.


Jaina was no stranger to the curious similarities between ice and fire, but with Sylvanas, she found herself reevaluating her knowledge all over again. The Banshee Queen’s cold body was a balm for her overheated skin. She draped herself over every bit of it she could reach, wishing desperately that there was more skin exposed. But that would have required her to leave off kissing Sylvanas, running her palms over every inch of that long, lean form, and grinding against the hardness pressing at the seam of Sylvanas’s pants, and Jaina was unwilling to do so for even a second.

She groaned against Sylvanas’s lips, desperate for anything and everything, the emptiness inside her roaring like a storm-stirred sea in the presence of the alpha she desired — no, needed. As incredibly unlikely as it was, as much as she detested the Warchief, Sylvanas was the one her omega had chosen to soothe her heat. There was nothing to do but get on with it. Keep calm and sail on, as they said in Kul Tiras.

To Jaina’s immense frustration, Sylvanas seemed in no hurry. Her hands merely rested on Jaina’s hips, and the only suggestion that she was affected by having a naked, needy omega writhing in her lap was the way her claws dug in every time Jaina ground against her. Which was good, of course, but not nearly enough. Jaina needed more, and needed it yesterday.

“Fuck,” she growled into Sylvanas’s mouth, before beginning a trail of kisses punctuated sharply with nips along the Banshee Queen’s slender purple neck. To her delight, the exposed flesh bore the dark temporary imprint of her teeth for a few seconds after she unlatched. Still, Sylvanas waited.

“Must I do everything myself?” Jaina demanded, fuming. “I thought the Warchief would be more proactive.” Guessing it was as likely to be as sensitive a place as any on Sylvanas’s undead body, Jaina bit down hard on the edge of her pointed ear. Sylvanas's ears flattened against the sides of her head, and she let out a snarl.

Whether it was her harsh words, the heat-scent pouring off her, or the way she bore down firmly against Sylvanas’s erection, Jaina didn’t know. One moment she was atop Sylvanas, her heat-addled brain struggling to come up with a better way to get the alpha naked than burning off her clothes. The next, she was being lifted and twisted around with inhuman strength and speed.

Sylvanas slammed her against the war table hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs, and then draped her cold body over Jaina’s. “That isn’t how this is going to work, Proudmoore. You will do as I say, and take what I give you, when I choose to give it to you.”

“Fuck you,” Jaina tried to say, but Sylvanas chose that moment to thrust against her ass, and all she managed was a whine. Heat burned beneath her skin, threatening to overtake her, throbbing in time with the cold hardness pressed against her rear. When Sylvanas thrust again, all thoughts of defiance fled Jaina’s mind, as well as all thought in general. She was a being of pure need, centered entirely on Sylvanas.

She slumped against the table, burying her face in her arms and emitting a low moan. That seemed to please Sylvanas. Cold lips pressed against Jaina’s ear and muttered, “Good girl.” Jaina couldn’t even try to hide how the words made her clench around nothing, and she was sure the alpha could tell. She trembled, hoping for more, praying Sylvanas would take pity on her before she had to beg, but she remembered the hard glint in the Banshee Queen’s eyes all too well. There had been no mercy there.

Sylvanas drew back, leaving Jaina without even the divine torture of feeling the alpha’s hardness against her. She whimpered, shifting her hips back, but Sylvanas only chuckled. “Patience, Lord Admiral. You’ll get what you need soon enough.”

There was a rustling of fabric, of laces being untied and yanked apart, and then suddenly something hard and firm was probing at her entrance. And cold — just as cold as she’d imagined back in her room, with only her own hands to soothe the burning ache within her. Jaina gasped, whined, wriggled to get closer, but Sylvanas gripped her waist, holding her firmly against the table. When she continued to struggle, sharp claws dug into her vulnerable flesh.

“Enough.” Sylvanas’s voice was as hard and cold as the cock that rested at Jaina’s opening. “Clearly you need to be fucked, so that’s what I’m going to do. But not until you submit.”

Anger flared in Jaina’s chest, urging her to snap back at Sylvanas, to tell her to leave, that she would find someone else to take her through her heat — but there was no one else. And, she realized with a full-body flush, part of her wanted it this way. Wanted Sylvanas to hold her down and make her submit before fucking her. Wanted to be taken, controlled, owned, even if only for the duration of her heat.

Jaina slumped against the table, spreading her legs and raising her rear in offering. An expectant silence hung behind her, and finally, she did the one thing she’d sworn she would never do, especially not for Sylvanas Windrunner. Jaina begged.

“Sylvanas, please…”

A moment later, she howled as Sylvanas’s length slid into her, thick and cold and perfect. The thrust wasn’t fast, but it was brutally precise, hitting every achingly sensitive spot inside her — and it was relentless. There was no stopping to allow for adjustment, no breathing room for the ache to turn into pleasure. Sylvanas pushed forward until she was fully sheathed, hips flush against Jaina’s ass.

“Does this please you, Lord Admiral?” Sylvanas purred, rocking her pelvis deliberately. “Am I enough to satisfy these selfish urges of yours?”

She was. She absolutely was, and she knew it, judging by the condescension dripping from her voice. Sylvanas repeated the motion, and it was almost more than Jaina could bear while she was already so cursedly full. Spots flashed before her eyes, and she shuddered, clenching around the thickness inside her.

Sylvanas noticed, of course. She gave a cold chuckle, dragging her sharp nails across Jaina’s hips to grasp her backside in both hands. When she squeezed, Jaina went rigid. She swallowed past the lingering taste of blood in her mouth and gasped, “No.” Sylvanas was more than enough, almost more than she could handle, but without movement, the Banshee Queen’s presence inside her only increased her torment, which Jaina supposed was the point.


A stab of panic pierced Jaina’s gut as Sylvanas pulled out almost completely, dragging her cock back at a torturously slow pace. The loss was keen, the return of pain instantaneous. Jaina’s core rippled in agony, and she wailed, angry tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean stop,” she panted, rocking back to try and keep Sylvanas’s tip inside. If Sylvanas pulled out completely, she was certain she’d go mad. “I meant move, damn you.”

Sylvanas clicked her tongue. “We already discussed patience, Lord Admiral, did we not? If that is your desire, you know the price to be paid.”

Jaina gritted her teeth. Galling though it was, there was only one way to find relief. She buried her face in her forearms, closed her eyes tight, and said, “Please.” Despite her attempts to muffle it, the word came out much more pathetic than she would have preferred.

She waited, desperate, but Sylvanas didn’t react. The Warchief remained resting where she was, the head of her cock barely stretching Jaina’s entrance, keeping that deliciously broad shaft out of reach no matter how insistently Jaina’s hips bucked. “You can do better.” Sylvanas bent down, and Jaina felt the press of leather and metal against her bare back as the alpha stretched out on top of her. “Ask properly,” Sylvanas crooned, her breath a cool breeze against the shell of Jaina’s ear.

Jaina bit the inside of her cheek, but she already knew she couldn’t fight it. When she’d begged before, fervently and genuinely, she had been rewarded, and the emptiness within her was even worse with Sylvanas’s weight on top of her, reminding her of what she could have if she just gave in.

“Please, Sylvanas,” she repeated, with a tremulous note of longing, “ fuck m—ahh!”

Midway through Sylvanas’s name, she got what she asked for. Jaina’s mouth fell open against her arm, but not a sound came out. She couldn’t even manage a moan. She froze, her inner muscles parting easily for Sylvanas’s length as it slammed inside.

The stretch was utterly overwhelming. If Jaina hadn’t been so slick, so ready to be taken, it would have hurt like blazes. Sylvanas wasn’t merely thick; she was determined to get as deep as possible in a single thrust. She was smug about it, too. “Do remember to breathe, Lady Proudmoore,” she said, nipping the lobe of Jaina’s ear. “Living things generally need to.”

The way Sylvanas said ‘Lady’, when Jaina knew her actions were anything but ladylike, made her stomach churn, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Her face flushed, while the cold of Sylvanas’s cock made her core burn even hotter in comparison. “Are you going to follow through, or are you all talk?”

She almost expected Sylvanas to punish her again, but Jaina melted in relief as the Banshee Queen finally started a proper rhythm. It was slow, but rough and deep, and even though waiting for each thrust nearly drove Jaina mad, the payoff when Sylvanas finally slid all the way to the hilt, hitting as deep as possible and still pushing in search of room, was more than worth it. It wasn’t the fast, hard rut Jaina craved, but it was nevertheless exactly what she needed.


Without thinking, she removed one of her arms from under her cheek and squeezed it beneath her stomach, cupping between her legs. The amount of wetness she found was horribly embarrassing, but she was too far gone to care. She sought out her clit, hissing as her fingertips made contact.

“No.” Sylvanas snatched Jaina’s wrist, dragging her hand away and pinning it to the table with surprising strength. “You will take what I offer, omega, and no more.”

The harsh words only fueled Jaina’s need. She struggled, but there was no freeing her wrist from Sylvanas’s clawed grip by ordinary means. Instead, she used her other hand, cupping between her legs and rubbing in rough circles. If she could just get in a few strokes, she could come, even if Sylvanas stopped moving…

“I said no!”

Sylvanas’s magically amplified voice filled the war room, but that wasn’t what made Jaina’s heart stop. It was the sickening sensation of emptiness and disappointment she felt when Sylvanas’s cock withdrew, sliding out with an embarrassing shlick of fluid. Heat dripped down Jaina’s thighs, and she keened, rocking shamelessly to regain what she’d lost.

No. No no no… need… full… need in… please back in!

She didn’t realize she was chanting aloud until Sylvanas seized her braid and jerked her head back, pulling hard enough to hurt. In spite of herself, Jaina relished the pain as much as she mourned the loss of fullness. “It seems you need to be taught a lesson, Lady Proudmoore,” Sylvanas snarled into her neck, her voice soft, but somehow even more terrifying for it. “I shall take a great deal of pleasure in delivering it.”

Suddenly, Jaina found herself flat on her back, sprawled across the war table and gazing up into Sylvanas’s red eyes. They were ice cold despite their color, and there wasn’t a scrap of pity in them. She bared her teeth, and Jaina barely had time to notice that they were very, very sharp before black smoke coalesced around Sylvanas’s slender frame, making her look larger and even more intimidating than usual.

Jaina tried to tell herself that she wasn’t afraid, but that was a lie she didn’t have the energy to maintain. She was terrified, not just of Sylvanas, but of the intensity of her reactions. No one — not Arthas, not Kalec, none of her other lovers in all her years, had ever made her feel like this. And yet, her fear did nothing at all to diminish her desire. She glared at Sylvanas, refusing to shy away from the Banshee Queen’s blood-red gaze. If she did, this might end, and she couldn’t accept that possibility. “Do your worst.”

Shadowy tendrils shot out, gripping Jaina’s wrists in a cold vice and slamming both of them above her head. She gasped, arching instinctively, but there was no room to maneuver. Two other tendrils secured her legs, spreading them further apart than was comfortable. Sylvanas leaned over her, teeth bared, but this time there was no aura of toying patience about her. She was furious, and Jaina realized she wanted the alpha this way.

Sylvanas’s cock drove back in, sending a shock of pleasure-pain through Jaina’s body that she only partially enjoyed. She needed it, of course — she was half convinced she would die without it — but as Sylvanas pounded into her with rough, unrelenting strokes, Jaina went limp. She wanted to rock against Sylvanas, to join in the rhythm, but the tendrils and her instincts refused to allow it. All she could do was whimper as Sylvanas claimed her, savagely and without mercy.


Sylvanas had no need for breath, but harsh pants ripped from her lungs as she rutted into the omega beneath her. Something had overtaken her, something she could not name. The closest she could come was bloodlust or battle-fury, and yet she was not at war. Or if she was, it was an entirely different kind of war than she was used to fighting. It was easier to frame it that way, in terms of blood and death and pain, than anything else. And yet...

She wasn't sure what, exactly, about Jaina Proudmoore had aroused this sort of reaction in her. The omega had struggled, fought, and denied her at every turn, which infuriated Sylvanas while spurring her on as well. She had never backed down from a challenge, and Jaina Proudmoore was nothing if not a challenge. And yet…

The situation was utterly maddening. She was almost possessed with the urge to take Jaina, to claim her, to make the omega scream and wail and cry out her name...

“Say it.”

The words came from between Sylvanas’s lips involuntarily, in a tone she almost did not recognize as her own. The shock nearly made her stop pounding into the scorching heat of the omega's cunt, but at this point, she didn't think there was any force on Azeroth that could stop her.

Jaina's eyes snapped open, their usual clear blue clouded by lust. “What?” The word left her mouth as a breathy sob, which rose as Sylvanas gave a particularly harsh thrust.

“Say my name.”

Jaina's eyes narrowed in confusion, but then the defiance Sylvanas had come to know so well flared in them once more.

“Fuck you, Sylvanas.”

Sylvanas’s hand struck quicker than a snake, wrapping around Jaina's throat. She didn't squeeze, but she dug her claws into the soft, vulnerable skin there. With the last ounce of self control she possessed, she pulled all the way out of Jaina's blazing heat, hissing as her cock met empty air. For once in her undeath, she missed the warmth.

Jaina bucked and thrashed in a vain attempt to recapture what she'd lost, but Sylvanas held firm, even though her own restraint was balanced on the razor's edge. It was terrifying to be so close to losing control. She could only remember feeling it a handful of times in life, and never since she’d fought free of Arthas. But she pushed past the strange swirl of emotions, leaning down to growl in Jaina's face:

“Say. My. Name.”

The tumult of expressions that passed over Jaina’s face was entrancing. First her eyes narrowed and her lip curled, mouth opening to issue some retort, but something made her snap it shut again. The look she gave Sylvanas held neither fear nor defiance, but something curiously like understanding — which it couldn't be, because who could possibly understand the Banshee Queen? She was a being apart, unlike anyone else on Azeroth. Yet that was the look Jaina Proudmoore gave her, and it shook Sylvanas to the core.

But it soon passed, to be replaced by something much more familiar: need. Jaina squeezed her eyes shut, nails gouging so hard into the wood of the war table that Sylvanas was sure it would bear the marks of her passion afterward, and the words she had demanded burst from Jaina's lips in a wail that would have done a banshee proud.

“Sylvanas, please!”

With an echoing snarl, Sylvanas drove back into Jaina's heat. The omega's inner walls welcomed her, grasping greedily until she was fully sheathed. But Sylvanas didn't stay that way for long. She set a blistering pace, the fastest yet, hips pumping at a speed no mortal could have matched. She reveled in the sounds their bodies made as they came together: the slap of skin against skin, the lewd wet noises her cock made every time it plunged into Jaina's cunt. But the sounds that came pouring from Jaina's lips were even sweeter, because they held Sylvanas's name.

“Yes—yes please, Sylvanas, please—ah, I need more… need you, Sylvanas, all of it—yes, fuck, there, Sylvanas, please…”

Jaina's muscles drew tighter and tighter. Sylvanas felt them squeezing around her cock, and standing out from Jaina’s neck where she grasped it. Jaina was on the very edge of release, something that could not be borne. She tightened her grip on Jaina's throat, not enough to restrict her airway, but enough to send a message.

“Don't you dare,” she hissed, leaning in closer to glare at Jaina, even as she continued pounding into her. “Don't you dare come. Not until I've knotted you.”

Jaina’s face screwed up, and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing out frustrated tears. She didn’t come, though, and Sylvanas knew it must have taken every scrap of her willpower to resist. Her inner walls clenched, and it was all Sylvanas could do not to come herself at the sudden, unyielding increase in pressure: hot insistence all around her. She let out a startled breath without meaning to, hoping it would be lost to the muffled whimpers trapped behind Jaina’s clenched teeth.

“Just do it,” Jaina growled, straining against her shadowy bonds. She opened her eyes again and glared, a good portion of her loosened braid falling across her glistening forehead. “Get it over with.”

Sylvanas drew upon all her resources, and did something that seemed almost impossible with such a willing, vulnerable omega splayed beneath and wrapped around her. She stopped thrusting, keeping the top of her knot pressed just against Jaina’s entrance, and waited. She would stand longer than Quel’thalas’s walls and taller than its spires if it meant hearing Jaina sing her name just one more time… only once more…

Her cock twitched with longing. In retrospect, that was probably a very poor metaphor.

Then, finally, she got what she’d asked for: “Sylvanas!”

Satisfied and more than a little relieved to have outlasted her opponent, Sylvanas seized victory. She loosened the bonds around Jaina’s ankles and hitched the omega’s legs up, urging them to wrap around her waist. Jaina’s heels locked eagerly at the base of her spine. Taking that as permission, Sylvanas pushed.

Her knot didn’t sink in on the first try. Wet and open though Jaina was, the fit remained incredibly tight, tighter than any she could recall from her days among the living. Sylvanas had to grind against Jaina’s opening several times, and only when the river of slickness between them started dripping down their thighs and onto the flagstones below did she finally make progress.

Still, it wasn’t enough until she returned her hand to Jaina’s throat, squeezing with barely restrained insistence. Jaina made a desperate sound, and her eyes rolled back far enough to reveal their whites. Her body melted like the spring thaw as her walls strained and twitched to accommodate their joining.

Sylvanas could have purred in satisfaction, but the noise that escaped her instead was far more desperate. She groaned, lashes fluttering as Jaina’s heat closed around her, squeezing as if to never let go. If Sylvanas had needed to breathe, she would have stopped. If her heart had worked, it would have skipped a beat. She felt a moment of infinite stillness, of perfect pleasure, far stronger than any emotion or sensation she could remember.

Then Jaina came, screaming Sylvanas’s name loud enough to send it echoing not just through the war room, but throughout the entire keep.

Sylvanas stared in awe, too distracted to keep up the tendrils around Jaina’s wrists. Although her claws remained clasped possessively around Jaina’s throat, the omega’s hands fell free, and one shot straight between her legs. She rubbed furiously at her clit, arching off the table and sending the anchor pendant between her swaying breasts falling to one side.

“Ah, fuck! Coming, Sylvanas… nn... big—you’re so… ahh, shit, don’t yes, there, move damn you!”

More than a little astounded, Sylvanas obliged. She gave her hips a few sharp snaps, savoring the delicious yelps that vibrated through Jaina’s throat and into her palm. The fire around her cock rippled, and soon, its fullness became unbearably distracting. Painful. That was strange, and more than a little frightening. Her undead body rarely felt pain, aside from the constant agony of the scar in the center of her chest.

But it wasn’t an unpleasant pain. Not exactly. It was pleasurable, too, so pleasurable that Sylvanas felt a piercing stab deep within her abdomen. Her ears flattened, and her claws flexed, nicking Jaina’s soft, pale skin, but she barely had time to acknowledge what she was doing, or the rush of sensations that swept over her, before they overwhelmed her. Her knot throbbed, and she let go of Jaina’s throat as she fell forward, trying her best to make it seem like a deliberate action, and not because she needed to brace an elbow on the table.

The next thing she knew, she was coming. She buried her face in Jaina’s neck, where her heat-scent lived, and followed her over the edge, spilling into the warm silk that shuddered around her cock.


Jaina shivered as Sylvanas’s form descended on hers, pinning her flat to the table. Her first orgasm had finally, finally eased the constant agony of her heat, and she was so relieved that she didn’t even mind the way the sharp edges of Sylvanas’s leather-studded armor pressed into her belly and breasts. In fact, she relished the mild discomfort. It only made the crashing waves of pleasure stronger.

“Ban shindu,” Sylvanas rasped against her ear, on a rattling breath that sounded far more passionate than Jaina might have expected. She understood the words — roughly, at least — but was too wrapped up in her own ecstasy to fully comprehend.

A sudden twitch of Sylvanas’s knot and the rhythmic rush of fluid that followed clarified some things. It wasn’t cold, much to Jaina’s relief. In fact, most parts of Sylvanas she could feel had taken on her own body heat. But even if it had been, she would have sobbed with gratitude. She needed Sylvanas to fill her just as much as she’d needed her own release.

She wrapped both arms around the Warchief’s torso, clinging tightly to her slim, powerful form as Sylvanas shuddered against her. When she noticed the slender purple curve of Sylvanas’s neck near her lips, Jaina latched her lips to it and sucked, using the edges of her teeth.

Sylvanas snarled and came harder, emptying in harsh spurts. Jaina grinned around her hold, lashing at the near-black marks she'd left with her tongue, but she found herself gasping when Sylvanas returned the favor. The sensation of those sharp fangs worrying at her throat, and the implicit threats they bore — death or, possibly even worse, a mating bite — made Jaina clench even harder around the knot filling her.

And gods, Sylvanas really was filling her, wasn't she? The alpha continued to rut against her as much as the tie allowed, letting out pleased growls with each pulse of come she released into Jaina's pussy. Jaina felt her own inner walls flutter greedily around the knot, massaging it, begging for more just as she had with her voice.

Jaina couldn't bring herself to consider it for long. She felt too good, borne away on the tidal waves of pleasure racing through her. She could feel her belly expanding to press against Sylvanas's stomach, almost as though the Banshee Queen had managed to breed her. The thought made her jolt back to reality for a moment, eyes snapping wide — but there was no way, was there? She's dead. Her seed can't have survived this long in an undead body. There's no chance.

Jaina allowed herself to relax into the blissful feeling of fullness, to collapse against the table as Sylvanas poured the last of her come into her deepest places. To her surprise, the alpha slid her fingers between their bodies, toying with Jaina's clit and coaxing her into another orgasm. They finished together on a low ebb of pleasure and soft noises and movements. Jaina shut her eyes, enjoying the sensation of completeness, Sylvanas's cock and come trapped tightly within her, no longer cold.

She caught herself just as she was about to press a kiss to the side of Sylvanas's neck. Flushing, Jaina forced her hands to uncurl from where they'd fisted themselves in Sylvanas's cloak. She curled them around the edge of the table instead, struggling to regain some semblance of a bearing. A primal part of her was reveling in what had just happened to her, was still happening. She had just been fucked to within an inch of her life by an incredibly powerful alpha, and that alpha's knot and come were still lodged firmly inside her. The roaring heat within her had been sated — for now, anyway —and she felt herself drifting off, the lukewarm weight draped over her like a blanket sending her ever closer to sleep…

“So.” The voice in her ear, echoing with supernatural smugness, vaulted Jaina straight back to wakefulness. Fuck, she had almost managed to forget that the alpha inside her was Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde, the Banshee Queen — and Jaina's hated enemy. But the cold glee in Sylvanas's tone, and the smug look on her face, was more than enough reminder.

“I had heard Kul Tiran omegas were greedy, but I hadn't realized they were so… insatiable.”

Fury rose in Jaina's chest. She wanted to scorch the Warchief's damnably pretty face off, but that would make for a rather awkward half-hour while they waited out the tie. So she settled for arching an eyebrow and snapping, “I had heard that Forsaken alphas were incapable of satisfying anyone at all.”

Sylvanas's tufted eyebrows rose for a moment in outrage, and Jaina found herself momentarily possessed by the urge to reach out and stroke them to their endpoints. But then Sylvanas's smirk grew wider. “I think the entirety of Stormwind Keep knows that is a falsehood now.”

To her mortification and fury, Jaina felt her body flush yet again at the implication. Gods, but she had been loud, hadn't she? And there would be no doubt precisely who had been drawing the screams out of her throat, with the number of times she had called out the Banshee Queen's name…

The thought made her clench involuntarily around Sylvanas's knot, and she winced, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. There was no way the alpha wouldn't have felt that.

“In fact, you proved it so loudly that you might have done a banshee proud,” Sylvanas continued, voice dripping with glee. “Shall I induct you into my choir?”

Jaina was momentarily reduced to inarticulate snarling as she groped for a retort, but then the door burst open behind them.

“Dark Lady! I had heard that you were indisposed, and I wanted to make sure that you were not — oh.”

Nathanos Blightcaller had stopped dead in his tracks just inside the war room, fingers frozen on his nocked bow. His wide, pale eyes trailed along their joined bodies in a way that made Jaina flush even deeper, shivering in disgust. Something about his gaze was almost… possessive, and not of her.

The Banshee Queen, however, seemed to experience no such consternation. “As you can see, Nathanos, while I am indeed indisposed, I am most certainly not in any danger,” she said, her voice silky and self-satisfied.

She likes this, Jaina realized. She likes showing me off. She likes that everyone knows she had Archmage Jaina Proudmoore, Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, writhing under her and screaming her name. To her shock, the thought was not entirely unwelcome, although she certainly did not appreciate that it was Nathanos who was seeing them like this.

“But My Lady, this is Proudmoore. Surely you would prefer that I remain with you in order to ensure your safety—”

“Enough, Champion,” Sylvanas said, and there was steel beneath the silk this time. “It is not for you to decide. You are only to serve.”

“But Warchief—”

“Out!” Sylvanas roared. There was enough of the banshee in her voice to rattle the door in its frame as it slammed shut behind Nathanos. Jaina couldn't help shuddering at the display of power, somehow a mixture of raw alpha and total command. The sudden spike in her arousal could not have escaped Sylvanas's attention, for when she turned back to look at Jaina, the embers of her eyes were burning just a little more brightly.

“I'm surprised you didn't want him watching,” Jaina snapped, to cover her embarrassment. “That's why you had me saying your name so many times, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” Sylvanas said unrepentantly, the familiar smug look that Jaina wished she didn't find so alluring recapturing her face. And yet there had been something in the Banshee Queen's eyes when she had made her demand, something beyond mere dominance and control, something that made Jaina privately doubt. But she pushed the thought away, unwilling to consider it. Not while Sylvanas was still knot-deep inside her, anyway.

“Despicable,” she spat, but Sylvanas's nightsaber grin only widened.

Jaina stared back at her, torn between kissing her and slapping her. One of them would certainly be more satisfying in the short run, but the warmth that had flooded her body when she blushed had only deepened. Her heat was rising again, and for better or for worse, the alpha currently smirking down at her was the one she had chosen to satisfy it. Most definitely for worse.

Settling for something in between petty revenge and naked need, she reached up and ran her fingers along the tips of Sylvanas's ears, enjoying the full-body shudder that her actions provoked.

“You grow bold, Proudmoore,” Sylvanas rumbled, a growl vibrating palpably within her chest. “Stop that at once.”

“Shut up and make me,” Jaina retorted. Then she grabbed Sylvanas's face and drew her down into a kiss, meeting the chill of Sylvanas's lips with the fire of her own.


“Impressive,” Sylvanas murmured.

She hadn’t meant to express her admiration so openly, but she couldn’t deny that it was warranted in this case. Stormwind’s docks were covered in corpses both burnt and frozen, along with scores of unfortunate fish that had been caught up in giant tidal waves, but no living enemies remained. In a matter of hours, Jaina had ended N’Zoth’s siege single-handed.

“I suppose,” Nathanos said, with an audibly sour note in his voice. He seemed even gloomier than usual, but Sylvanas couldn’t find it in herself to be annoyed with him. She was almost… not happy, exactly — she didn’t feel such pointless emotions anymore — but reasonably content.

Stormwind remained standing, which meant Anduin and the Alliance would lend their aid to Orgrimmar and Undercity when N’Zoth’s forces inevitably returned. She had fucked Jaina Proudmoore into the war table not once, but several times, before carrying her back up to her bedroom to ensure the omega’s heat was thoroughly sated. Her undead body had experienced more pleasure than she’d known it was capable of, and best of all, Greymane was furious. He could scarcely stand to look at her.

All in all, not a bad day.

“I know it galls you to assist our former enemies,” Sylvanas said to Nathanos. “I feel the same. But our actions today will benefit the Forsaken and the Horde. With Proudmoore’s help, we can take the fight to N’Zoth and secure our people’s future.”

Nathanos looked at her with mild surprise. “With Proudmoore’s help?”

“And the rest of the Alliance, I suppose,” Sylvanas drawled. “Proudmoore just so happens to be slightly more competent than the majority.” She cast her gaze down toward the docks below the wall, watching her Forsaken, as well as several human soldiers, clear away the debris. It looked as though they had a long night ahead of them. Perhaps more than competent… but the least foolish among fools is still a fool.

“And what of…” Nathanos trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

Sylvanas was almost surprised. She hadn’t thought her champion brave enough to mention the incident, even indirectly. However, she was in a rare good mood, and chose not to bite his head off. “It is nothing. Desperate times require desperate measures, so I took a desperate, but necessary, action.” Desperate was, in retrospect, a good word to describe what had happened between them. “In a few weeks, this will all be forgotten.”

Nathanos seemed skeptical, but did not voice his opinion. Sylvanas suspected few would. Rumors might swirl, but no one would dare challenge her directly, and she would get to enjoy months, if not years of discomfort from the Alliance leadership whenever she alluded to the subject (which would be often, if she had her druthers).

Proudmoore did cut quite a sight, storming into the room with that sheet billowing behind her…

One of Sylvanas’s ears gave an irritated flick as heat gathered in her lower belly, but she suppressed the feeling. There would be no further dalliances between her and the mage, or between her and anyone else. She had suppressed such base urges for decades with little to no trouble, and she was confident that when she left Stormwind, things would return to normal.

Anything else was simply inconceivable.