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Quel'Felo (High Flame)

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“Rebuilding Stormwind will take some time more,” Anduin said, “but I believe we’re making progress.”

Sylvanas flattened her ears, scowling across the war table and resisting the temptation to rake her claws over the wood. Anduin always irritated her, but today, his cheerful, golden voice made her want to draw Talah’Ental and fire an arrow through the eyes of everyone in attendance, herself included. The torment that would surely follow the end of her undeath couldn’t be worse than this.

Had I known peace between our factions required so many pointless meetings, I might have killed the Alliance and let N’Zoth wipe the Horde out.

“So we’ve seen,” Baine Bloodhoof said to Anduin, ever the diplomat. “You’ve already rebuilt the outer wall stronger than before.” He sat to Sylvanas’s right, while Lor’themar Theron was seated at her left. Nathanos hovered behind all three of them, a silent, watchful shadow.

“With the help of the dwarves, yes,” Anduin replied, offering Baine a hesitant smile. “Add to that a little gnomish and goblin ingenuity…”

“Goblins and gnomes?” Tyrande said. “Elune be praised. It is a miracle they restrained themselves from blowing a bigger hole.”

Under different circumstances, Sylvanas might have found the comment amusing. Tyrande was usually a spoilsport, so hearing such dry commentary from the priestess was rare indeed. Still, Sylvanas glowered and remained silent. Tyrande’s voice grated on her nerves as much as Anduin’s. Possibly more. It took an effort of will to keep from peeling her upper lip back from her fangs.

Anduin gave a good-natured chuckle. “I know what you mean, Tyrande, but you have to admit, their more recent inventions have been useful in pushing back N’Zoth’s forces…”

Sylvanas stopped listening. She watched Anduin’s lips move, trying to pay at least a modicum of attention, but the restlessness inside her prevented it. She didn’t want to be here, in an enemy city, trapped in an uncomfortable chair across the table from Genn Greymane and his ilk.

For his part, the worgen leader looked similarly unsettled. He glared at her, yellow eyes narrowed with suspicion, and Sylvanas held his gaze for a long, tense moment before looking away on her own terms. She did so with an air of boredom, as though he were utterly inconsequential, and felt a momentary flicker of pleasure when Greymane snorted.

“... would that be possible, Sylvanas?” Anduin asked.

Sylvanas blinked, keeping her expression neutral. Anduin continued staring at her expectantly, so she stole a quick glance at Lor’themar, who subtly mouthed ‘yes’. “Yes,” Sylvanas said, reminding herself to find some way to reward him later. Perhaps a fancy new eyepatch to go with some of his showier ensembles — which was basically all of them, in true Silvermoon style.

Tyrande looked surprised, while Greymane remained dour and suspicious. Anduin seemed delighted. “Excellent. Not only will the Forsaken speed along our efforts, intermingling with the people of Stormwind could do much to alleviate the tension.”

Sylvanas nearly swallowed her own tongue. She gritted her teeth in a forced smile, all while shooting Lor’themar an arrow-sharp look. Forget the eyepatch. I may very well take his other eye for this.

Still, she couldn’t go back on her word. Anduin had a point, loath as she was to admit it. Many of her undead subjects longed to be reunited with living family members, and while she never would have allowed such things in the past, strengthening the Horde’s ties to the Alliance, and cementing the Forsaken’s loyalty to her, would only make them a stronger force to be reckoned with. They would need every bit of that strength for the Old God’s next assault.

“Very well,” Sylvanas said, in the calmest voice she could muster. “I shall put out a call for volunteers.”

Nathanos made a choking noise behind her. Sylvanas suspected he would question the decision later, which would lead to her shrieking at him to remind him of his place. It was a confrontation she hoped to avoid. Such displays of power and intimidation could be enjoyable, in a childish way, but they could also allude to weakness. Those who ruled loudly rarely had tight control over their subjects.

From across the table, Greymane growled. Her champion wasn’t the only one with objections, it seemed. “Your Majesty,” he said to Anduin, “are you sure that’s wise? Allowing the Forsaken into Stormwind…”

“We already have,” Anduin said, tilting his head at Sylvanas. She quirked one long, blonde eyebrow. Though she still longed to escape from this room and expend the restless energy that scratched at some hard-to-reach part of her, it amused her to see Anduin call his dog to heel.

“That was for the battle,” Greymane said. “We had no choice. But this…”

“Why?” Sylvanas asked, tilting her head in mock innocence. “Do you mistrust me, Genn? We are allies now, are we not? I even saved your precious Lord Admiral so she could wash away the last of N'Zoth's forces.”

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to needle Greymane so, but it worked. Too well, in fact. He rose from his chair, unsheathing his claws. “Saved her? Is that what you call it? You ravaged her with your undead filth, and I should kill you for it, damn the treaties!”

Sylvanas stared at him in shock, her ears pinned flat against her head. She had anticipated fury, hatred, loathing… but not this. Not what he was accusing her of. Although Sylvanas Windrunner rarely felt pain the way the living did, the stabbing sensation in the scar beneath her sternum was unmistakable. The tear-tracks on her cheeks tingled as if they were burning.

“How dare you?” she roared, her voice rising to impossible levels and shaking the furniture. Several stained glass windows shattered, but she paid them no mind. She discarded her body, dispersing into a cloud of black smoke and rushing across the table to seize Greymane’s throat. He made a choking noise, his eyes roving wildly in search of escape.

Sylvanas was too angry even to take pleasure in his fear. “Lady Proudmoore was a more than willing participant,” she hissed in his face. “Everyone in this room, in this damned city, heard her scream my name. And yet you have the gall to accuse me of taking her by force?”

Sylvanas was dimly aware of shouting and the scraping of chairs as the others sprang to their feet, but she paid no attention. Greymane's eyes bored into hers with panicked defiance, his claws scrabbling at her wrist. She saw him rake deep furrows into her flesh, but barely felt it. She could only think about one thing: squeezing his throat until he breathed even less than she did. Nothing and no one on Azeroth could have dislodged her grip.

No one except for Baine Bloodhooof. With a grunt, he seized her about the waist and hauled her away from Greymane, holding her in his massive arms. Redness seeped into Sylvanas's vision as she tried to claw her way back to her adversary, who leaned against the table, gasping, with a hand on his throat. “Unhand me!” she shrieked, the force of her voice shattering the few windows in the room that remained unbroken and making several observers cover their ears. “Release me at once!”

Her words abandoned her then, devolving into inarticulate snarling as Baine carried her from the room as though she weighed nothing. In her fury, Sylvanas forgot the dozen ways she knew to escape just such a hold; she forgot that Talah'Ental hung at her back alongside a full quiver; she forgot that this was supposed to be a meeting to solidify the tentative truce between Alliance and Horde into something more concrete. All she could think of was getting to Greymane and tearing him limb from limb.

Dimly, she heard Baine saying in his deep rumble, “The Warchief is indisposed. We will resume our negotiations when she's well. I offer apologies on behalf of the Horde.”

And then the door to the war room slammed shut behind them.


“I'm telling you, I've never seen anything like it,” Anduin said, shaking his head. He and Jaina were in one of the keep’s private rooms, which he had ushered her into with a worrying sense of urgency before beginning his tale. She’d barely gotten the chance to disembark her ship at the docks before he’d pounced on her, but his recounting of events was so bizarre that she almost forgot her weariness.

“Honestly, the fact that Sylvanas tried to kill Genn doesn’t surprise me,” Jaina said. “But launching herself at him? Baine carrying her off like a spitting cat? You almost lose me there. I didn’t even know she was capable of feeling emotions that strongly…”

“If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it either,” Anduin told her, “but it's true. Ask Genn. He's still hoarse a week later.”

Jaina couldn't conceal her skepticism. Treachery? Assassination? Unfortunately believable. That fit with what she knew of Sylvanas: always cool and calculating. The news that Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen, in whose veins ran ichor that might as well have been ice, had lost her temper badly enough to fling herself at Genn Greymane in the middle of peace negotiations was nearly impossible to believe. But, as always, Anduin's face was open and guileless.

“I almost wish I'd been there to see it,” Jaina said, surprised to realize that was true. The sight of Sylvanas in such a powerful display of dominance was interesting to her in ways she did not wish to contemplate. She swallowed and pushed the thought down. Don't think about Sylvanas. Don't think about her leaping across the table, all grace and anger and steel-cord muscle. Don't think about… fuck. Too late.

Jaina schooled her face into what she hoped was wry amusement, but the narrow look Anduin gave her suggested he wasn't fooled. However, he didn't seem interested in calling her on it. “I'm glad you got back from the fleet when you did. To tell you the truth, we could use your help.”

Jaina gave him a guarded look. There was no way he could know about the troublesome thoughts, and even more troublesome dreams, she’d been having about Sylvanas ever since their mating three weeks ago. He doesn't need to know that I still dream about her claws as she held me down and took me, that I still catch myself thinking about the size of her cock and… Jaina clenched. And that I've gotten myself off almost nightly remembering how her knot felt inside me...

Snapping out of her lust-fueled haze, Jaina asked, “For what? Are the talks not going well?”

“They're not going at all. Sylvanas has returned to Orgrimmar, and from all our spies’ reports, she's barricaded herself in Grommash Hold and refuses to see anyone. All of our diplomats have been rebuffed. None have been hurt, but…” Anduin spread his hands and shrugged, looking exasperated. “Several have needed treatment for burst eardrums.”

Jaina's eyes narrowed. What was he trying to gain by telling her all this? She knew Anduin. While he might play at being the sweet, kind omega king, there was a sharp tactician's mind beneath the veneer of innocence. “Spit it out, Anduin.”

He sputtered for a moment before sighing. “I guess there's no way around it. We— I was hoping you might be willing to travel to Orgrimmar as an envoy, and see if you can convince Sylvanas to come out of her hole and resume talks. I know what Genn said was upsetting and unfair, but she has to know that making our peace official is much more important than a grudge. N'Zoth’s forces could return at any moment.”

“You definitely don't need to tell me that,” Jaina said sharply, before relenting. “What did Genn say to her, anyway?”

Anduin blushed, and she could smell his embarrassment. “Well… he… implied that your mating with Sylvanas was… less than consensual.”

Upon hearing that, it was Jaina's turn to blush. Mating with Sylvanas during her heat had been many things — depraved, degrading, the best sex of her life — but it had been her decision. “He knows that isn't true,” she settled for saying. That's the understatement of the year. All of Stormwind, and possibly Elwyn Forest as well, heard me.

“Well, yes,” Anduin said, “but you know those two can't stand each other. But, um… well, I was thinking you might have a little more luck dealing with her because of your… er… connection.”

Jaina gave him a hard stare. “Anduin?”

His face flushed a bright pink beneath his mop of blonde hair. “Yes?”

“You aren’t seriously asking me, your mentor and adviser, who has known and cared for you since you were only a pup, to mate with Sylvanas for the Alliance?”

Anduin’s eyes grew very wide. “No,” he gasped, sounding more than a little horrified. “Not like… you don’t have to… I just meant…” He sighed and hung his head. “Just talk to her, Jaina. Please. She’s sent everyone else away, including Baine and Lor’themar. At least you might be able to get in the door.”

Jaina seriously doubted that she would succeed where Baine and Lor’themar had failed, but she couldn’t ignore Anduin’s plea. She had always been weak where he was involved. “Very well,” she grumbled, “but do tell the Horde to expect me. I would hate to level Orgrimmar because they didn’t know I was coming, and decided to attack first and ask questions later.”

As was typical of the past three weeks, Jaina’s mind immediately sank into depravity. If I did mate with Sylvanas again, Orgrimmar would most definitely know I was coming… She pushed that thought into the back of her mind and walled it off there. There will be no mating. Sylvanas and I came together — oh, for Tides’ sake, phrasing, Jaina! — Sylvanas was forced to assist me during an incredibly difficult situation, for the greater good. This situation is different. Nothing untoward will happen.

And yet, Jaina couldn’t quite believe her own words.


Orgrimmar was not exactly how Jaina recalled it. As she stepped through the private portal she’d conjured, appearing beside the auction house with her hood raised, she saw that the shops and homes in the Valley of Strength seemed in good condition. The smell wasn’t as bad as she remembered, either. The scent of mud and kodo dung still lingered, of course, but not as strongly as the days when Garrosh had ruled. It seemed Sylvanas preferred to keep her city clean and in good working order.

It was still militarized, of course. With N’Zoth’s forces undoubtedly gathering for another attack, the number of guards and ballistas on the ramparts were no surprise. Still, Jaina spared them a nervous glance before turning her attention to Grommash Hold. The crowd by the notice board was smaller than she might have expected. In fact, there seemed to be very little business going on in this part of the city, despite being attached to the main thoroughfare…

A loud, magically amplified shriek echoed from within the hold, startling several carrion birds perched atop its roof and scattering any unfortunate passers-by much the same.

A Dark Ranger came scurrying out of the hold, and Jaina resisted the impulse to laugh. She had never seen one of Sylvanas’s honor guard, always eerily silent and stoic, look so shaken. As she approached, she realized why. The thick, pungent scent of alpha filled the air around the hold, and Jaina suddenly found it difficult to breathe. When she did manage to inhale, her legs wobbled and a shiver ran down her spine.

Jaina forgot why she’d come. She forgot she was in Orgrimmar, a city that had very recently wished for her death (and still did, in many parts). She nearly forgot her own name as Sylvanas’s scent, for it could belong to no other, curled into her nose. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck, and she felt a sudden, almost irresistible urge to fall to her knees.

“Lady Proudmoore?”

Jaina heard her name as if from a distance. She tried to fix her gaze on the woman who had spoken, but found it exceptionally difficult to focus. She was elven, judging by the ears, and Forsaken, judging by the skin tone. The ranger wore a dark hood, but she wasn’t Sylvanas, so Jaina didn’t fully understand why she mattered.

Sylvanas… Jaina shook herself, fighting to pay attention to the cloaked figure rather than the very distracting memory of Sylvanas pounding her into Stormwind’s war table, as well as the equally distracting hope that the Warchief might do the same again.

Luckily, her escort did not seem to require a coherent response. “I am Dark Ranger Anya. We were told to expect you. Please, come with me.”

Jaina was in no condition to object. She nodded, checking to make sure her own hood hadn’t fallen, and allowed herself to be led away from the sparse crowd at the auction house and toward Grommash Hold, as well as the delicious scent waiting within.

“Normally, we would never allow an Alliance… delegate into Orgrimmar unaccompanied, nor on such short notice.” The way Anya said delegate made it clear she bore a considerable amount of distrust. “But the situation is urgent.”

Despite her dazed condition, Jaina frowned. Anduin had made it sound urgent before, but this was worse than expected. Obviously, Sylvanas was in some kind of distress if her alpha pheromones were potent enough to travel beyond the room she was in, let alone surround the entire hold.

Jaina sniffed the air again. If I didn’t know better… if Sylvanas wasn’t undead… I would almost think she was...

“No one is to know you’re here, of course. Aside from the mages who lowered the city’s wards, we thought it best to keep your visit quiet,” Anya continued. “For obvious reasons.”

“Of course,” Jaina said, barely listening. They had reached the steps, as well as the unfortunate Dark Ranger who had incurred Sylvanas’s wrath. To her credit, she had managed to pull herself together. Her face looked blank, although she stood ramrod straight in her position near the door.

“Kalira,” Anya said, giving the other ranger a stiff nod. “You are relieved.”

Kalira nodded in return. She stood aside, allowing them entry.

Jaina proceeded in, but Anya stopped her before she could enter. Her face and voice were deadly serious, although maybe that was just the undeath. “My lady, I hope you know what you're getting yourself into. It may not be… safe for you in there.”

Jaina drew herself up as best she could when all she wanted to do was fall to her knees and crawl closer to the source of the alluring scent inside the hold. “I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know,” Anya said grimly. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

Jaina frowned at her, but before she could ask the Dark Ranger what she meant, the doors to the hold burst open. Nathanos Blightcaller, stinking even more of fury than usual, stormed out so quickly he nearly slammed into her. Jaina managed to sidestep him at the last moment, but only just.

“Proudmoore?” Nathanos turned on her, his eyes glowing with rage. “What is the meaning of this?”

Anya opened her mouth, but Jaina held up a hand, motioning for the Dark Ranger to remain silent. She was only a little surprised when the gesture was obeyed.

“I’m not here for you,” she said, sticking out her chin and meeting Nathanos’s glare with a determined stare of her own. “The sooner I speak with Sylvanas, the sooner I can leave.”

Nathanos’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his slicked-back hairline. “You dare,” he growled, but Jaina cut him off with a roll of her eyes.

“Yes, yes. How dare I come here, how dare I speak to your Dark Lady…” She waved a careless hand and gave him a thin, icy smile. “I’m a Kul Tiran omega, Blightcaller. Telling us not to do something only makes us more determined.”

While he sputtered, she pushed past him in the hallway, doing her best not to touch him once she’d tapped, none too gently, at his shoulder. Before he could turn and stop her, she raised her hand, encasing his fine, black leather boots in shards of ice.

“Thank you, Anya,” she said, without bothering to look back. “I can handle it from here.”

Anya said nothing to her in response, but Jaina did overhear a few words the Dark Ranger spoke to Blightcaller before she exited the hallway. “Did you really think skulking around here would get Sylvanas to fuck you? Grow up, Nathanos.”

Jaina barely suppressed a snort, but her amusement vanished when she entered Grommash Hold itself. The torches had burnt out long ago, leaving the space pitch black. She summoned a ball of faint white light, holding it up in order to see. What she saw, however, wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as what she smelled.

Sylvanas’s frustration, which had been more than powerful enough to cloud Jaina’s mind outside the hold, was twice as strong here in the darkness. A wall of scent hit her, and heat rushed between her legs, ruining her smallclothes in a matter of seconds. Worst of all, the smell was familiar. She remembered the last time it had called to her, and every single debauched act that had followed.

She recalled, with nervousness and more than a dash of self-reproach, her words to Anduin as well: ‘You aren’t seriously asking me to mate with Sylvanas for the Alliance?’ There could be no more pretenses or denials now. The smell around her was undoubtedly the smell of a rut, the strongest she’d ever encountered, and she wasn’t here simply as an ambassador or negotiator. She was here because she wanted, and had wanted all along, to sate it — and herself.

“Sylvanas?” she called, scanning the hold with the orb of light in hand. It barely breached the darkness of the vast stone room, but then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. She whirled, only to see a pair of glowing, blood-red lights pierce the gloom. They blinked at her, then narrowed, and Jaina recognized them with a surge of fear and lust in equal parts.

Fuck. What have I gotten myself into this time?


One of the few positive things that could be said for Sylvanas’s undeath was that she no longer felt the cold. The icy gales of Northrend, which set many an orc and elf shuddering beneath their cloaks and furs, felt as mild as a breeze. Having tasted the bite of Frostmourne, what could snow and wind do?

And yet, ever since she had returned from Stormwind, a chill had prickled beneath her skin, an itch that could not be soothed. It was a restless thing that nipped and nagged at her to pace, to flatten her ears and quell the shivers that coursed through her body, for she had an image to maintain. The Banshee Queen felt no cold, real or imagined, especially not in the dry heat of Durotar.

In life, the passions of her body had not been great when compared to her passion of spirit, her devotion to her people, to the glory of Quel'thalas and its defense. Her ruts had been brief, flickering flames, easily quenched by a few days of sweaty grappling in bed or barracks, enabling her to return to her duties. This was so different she hadn't recognized it for what it was until far too late.

At first, she'd simply ignored it, putting it down to her frustration at the limping pace of the negotiations, and to Greymane's outrageous slight. But she spent the week furious and snappish, unable to settle to anything, or sit long enough to receive a single report. She snarled at Nathanos and her Dark Rangers, growling louder the more they cowered beneath her glares. Meanwhile, the cold prowled beneath her skin like a living thing, pinching and biting and urging her to… what?

She might have called it some trick, some foul spell to torment her, if not for the dreams.

Sylvanas rarely slept, and when she did, her dreams were of war, reliving battles fought lifetimes ago — and those were the good ones. Now, her dreams took her down different paths of memory entirely. She recalled long, lazy afternoons spent tussling or tangled with fellow rangers, or the particularly attractive omega daughter of an innkeeper at whose establishment her unit had once stayed most of the night. They'd been kicked out once Sylvanas's indiscretion had been discovered. Or they were partners she'd never had at all, merely daydreamed about. Some didn't even have faces, merely collections of warm limbs and soft skin and sharp teeth. To her even greater consternation, Jaina Proudmoore also featured frequently in these dreams. The fury in her eyes and the liquid fire of her cunt often woke Sylvanas in the middle of the night, leaving the sheets a tented mess about her midsection.

All that would have been bad enough, but before long, the dreams intruded on her waking hours as well. She would be in the middle of receiving a very long and boring report about her farmers’ quarrels with the Alliance homesteaders in Tirisfal Glades, which should have been moved months ago per her agreements with Anduin, and all of a sudden she would be lost in visions of silver hair falling across a shapely neck, back muscles flexing as she tangled her fingers in those tresses, long since twisted free of their braid...

Sylvanas would sit up abruptly, forcing herself out of the daydream, or vision, or whatever it was, and do her best to twitch her cloak over her lap as subtly as she could, before nodding at the unsuspecting farmer to go on. But the memories and their attendant urges would linger, and she would eventually have to cut things short and order Nathanos to cancel the rest of her meetings for the day, so she could stalk off to her private chambers and take herself in hand, losing herself in the waking dreams of scent and sound and sensation.

It made her feel like a youth again, having to pleasure herself so frequently, although truth be told even Ranger-Cadet Sylvanas had had more self-control than this.

It will pass, she had told herself, gritting her teeth as she spilled uselessly yet again into her own hand, and then I can get back to work. But it hadn't passed, and had indeed only grown worse. Clothing had become intolerable, and light also, so she had banished both from her presence. She remained solely in Grommash Hold, cloaked in shadows and lustful wrath. She refused to see anyone, not even her Dark Rangers, and Nathanos could barely remain five minutes in the room with her before she roared at him to get out.

He seemed to her to be hovering more than usual, full of excuses of concern for her welfare, for the good of the Forsaken, whatever — it didn't matter. Every moment he was there was one where she had to force herself to focus on the world around her, instead of losing herself in the disturbing dreams of pleasure that had become her reality. For the only time she did not feel the endless, prickling, biting cold was when she was lost in the fire that was Jaina Proudmoore, a fire that scorched and soothed her all at once.

It was the memory of that brilliant flame, and the desire to be burned again, that caused Sylvanas to recline on her throne and take herself in hand for what had to be the hundredth time. A futile effort, she knew, as was evidenced by the sticky mess on her naked thighs from previous attempts. She had abandoned her clothes long ago, too tormented to bear them against her skin, but self-pleasure had done nothing to ease her pain. Yet the temptation was too strong to resist, just as Jaina had been impossible to resist when she’d pushed Sylvanas into the chair and straddled her hips.

A shudder raced down Sylvanas’s spine. In her fevered state, conjuring the details of that day was surprisingly easy. Time loosened its grip, and she was lost in how Jaina’s blazing hand had felt on her sternum, how Jaina’s eyes had pierced her like twin frostbolts, how Jaina had smelled: sharp, like the salt of the sea, overlaid with a warm blanket of heat-scent. Sylvanas groaned as it surrounded her, ensnaring her, smelling and tasting so very real…

Too real?

Her eyes snapped open, and she felt the impulse to bark out a frustrated laugh. I must be going mad, she thought as her gaze landed upon the shadowy form of Jaina Proudmoore, illuminated by a small globe of white light, wearing a storm grey cloak over her blue and white Kul Tiran attire. She was not some vague shape, in the way memories often were, but startlingly clear in the dimness of the hold. Sylvanas could make out the weary lines on her face, the individual strands of her white-gold hair, even the rapid, almost alarmed rise and fall of her chest. The anchor she wore gleamed like a shining silver star above her breasts.

Sylvanas throbbed in her own gripHer imagination had never played out a fantasy quite so vivid, but she was too desperate to question it. She locked eyes on her prey — Jaina, standing helplessly before her, ripe for the taking — and gave in to the urge to hunt, letting her hand fall away and rising from her throne. She stalked through the shadows with single-minded determination: she would have her omega, if only in her dreams.

Then, her claws were on Jaina’s sleeves.

Then, she was swallowing Jaina’s gasps.

Then, Jaina’s body was writhing beneath hers, wrists pinned against the flagstones.

Then, her teeth were at Jaina’s throat, and for the first time in days, she felt warm.


What the — Sylvanas?!

Jaina yelped as Sylvanas’s mouth collided with hers, but the sound was muffled by a ferocious kiss. Sharp fangs sank into her bottom lip, and her startled cry became a deep groan of need. She’d barely seen Sylvanas coming — only a split second had passed between glimpsing the eerie red glow of Sylvanas’s eyes and having the alpha’s tongue halfway down her throat — but instead of fear, she felt elation. If Sylvanas had wanted to kill her instead of fuck her, she would have been dead before she could throw up an ice shield.

But Sylvanas most definitely wanted to fuck her. Jaina’s world spun as Sylvanas grabbed her, bearing her down to the floor with incredible speed. Slender though her build was, her lean, wiry muscles contained inhuman strength.

“Fuck,” Jaina spat, tasting blood. It wasn’t an objection, but it was the only word she could summon as Sylvanas’s fangs sank into the side of her neck. The sting of the bite sent a jagged lance of warmth through her belly and deep into her core.

Yet the word had the opposite effect of its meaning: Sylvanas pulled back, panting harshly, each unnecessary breath pressing her bare breasts against Jaina's. Fuck, she's completely naked, isn't she? The hardness she could feel throbbing against her center through her skirts told her that Sylvanas was. The eyes burning down at her through the darkness made her feel almost as bare, but then they clouded with confusion.

“Proudmoore. You're really here?”

Jaina frowned. Of course I'm here, she almost said, where else would I be? But there was something oddly lost about Sylvanas that made her belay those words.

“Yes,” she settled for saying. “I'm here.” Taking a risk, she stroked the tip of her finger along the edge of a tapered ear all the way to the end, and tried not to revel too visibly in the way Sylvanas shuddered, hips jerking against her own.

“Then you must know that I am in the grip of my quel'felo. If you remain, I cannot guarantee your safety.” Sylvanas’s words were grave, forced out between clenched teeth, and it was clear from the way she shivered that it was taking every ounce of her self-control to refrain from tearing aside Jaina's skirts and taking her.

Jaina knew she should be afraid — terrified, in fact, of what Sylvanas could do to her. She knew what she should say. I am here as an envoy, nothing more. I was sent by King Anduin to reopen peace talks between the Horde and the Alliance. As a diplomat, I am not to be harmed, so you will unhand me at once. The words were on her trembling lips, on the tip of the tongue that traced across them, but they weren't the words that left her mouth.

“I know.”

Sylvanas's ears flicked and her tufted eyebrows lifted minutely, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, but the heaviness in her scent and the fire in her eyes suggested she was rapidly approaching the point of not caring.

“And you are here of your own accord?” Sylvanas rasped, hips twitching, stirring the fabric that separated them — fabric Jaina couldn't for the life of her understand why she was still wearing. “Do you… want this?”

Jaina licked her dry lips yet again. Anduin had sent her, yet he had been abundantly clear that he had not sent her to mate with Sylvanas Windrunner. He had definitely not sent her to mate with a Sylvanas Windrunner in rut, to be fucked by her over and over again until she was sore and full, but past the point of caring. Yet this was what she had come for, and if she was being honest, she had known it all along. But if she wanted it to be more than just one of the many fantasies she'd indulged in recently, she had to admit it first.

“Yes,” she breathed into the darkness, transfixed by the points of bright, feverish red light that were Sylvanas’s eyes. “I am here of my own accord. And I want it.”

Sylvanas let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan, and then her lips were on Jaina's, fierce and plundering, as though she couldn't decide whether she wanted to drink deep or bite. She lowered herself until their bodies were flush, and her hips started pumping immediately. It felt good — Tides, did it feel good — but it wasn't what Jaina wanted, or at least it wasn't enough. As hard as Sylvanas was, it would only take a few more thrusts for her to spill uselessly on the fabric of Jaina's dress.

“Sylvanas,” she whispered. “Sylvanas, wait, my dress—” She didn’t care at all for the dress, but there were far better places for Sylvanas’s release.

The only response she got was a snarl, and an even more urgent jerk of Sylvanas’s hips. Jaina groaned, letting her head fall back, resigning herself to waiting this out. Maybe once Sylvanas came, she'd be more inclined to be reasonable, although Jaina honestly doubted it. But then Sylvanas surprised her yet again. She pulled back to loom over Jaina, her gaze furious but determined as it traveled down from Jaina's face, to her throat, to where her breasts heaved against the cage of her corset.


“Fuck!” Jaina blurted out, torn between amusement, annoyance, and arousal. When she looked down at herself, arousal won out. Sylvanas had torn her dress straight down the middle, leaving her almost completely bare. Before she could figure out precisely how she felt about it, Sylvanas stretched over her again, kissing her as though she wanted to devour her whole. But Jaina could only focus on one thing: the cold, hard press of the cock against her entrance.


Sylvanas snapped her hips, shuddering in ecstasy. The tight, rippling velvet teasing the tip of her cock was far beyond unbearable, and it undid her in ways she couldn’t find words for. All she knew was that she she needed to be in, and she needed it immediately.

But Jaina was tight. So incredibly fucking tight. She made small whimpers as Sylvanas breached her entrance, and Sylvanas drank them into her own mouth with a thirst she had no hope of controlling. Nor did she wish to. She was well beyond the facade of trying to temper her lust. That required focus and clarity she no longer possessed, and Jaina consumed every bit of her attention.

Jaina wasn’t quiet about it, either.

“Inside,” she growled, detaching herself from Sylvanas’s lips long enough to stare into her eyes. “Do it, just fucking—”

She screamed. Or maybe Sylvanas screamed. She couldn’t tell. Then they were joined, at least part way, and Sylvanas nearly came at the soft, greedy seizing of Jaina’s muscles.

“Falo’ban’dorei,” she hissed as Jaina squeezed around her, as if to draw her in. No, definitely to draw her in. The infuriating omega was doing it deliberately, Sylvanas just knew. “Kim falo’ban.”

Dimly, she realized Jaina might take offense. She wasn’t sure how much Thalassian the human knew, particularly the filthier bits. Some, it seemed, because Jaina whined and raked her nails between Sylvanas’s shoulders, hooking both legs around her waist. It was a desperate, clinging grip, but not as tight as the omega’s walls, which were still trying to draw her deeper.

“Fuck, that’s thick,” Jaina panted, burying her face in Sylvanas’s shoulder. Her lips wandered up to Sylvanas’s ear, and she sucked eagerly at its edge, using both tongue and teeth. “Give… give me a second…”

Slowly, Sylvanas told herself. Let her adjust. But greed got the better of her. She pushed the rest of the way in, unable to wait for Jaina’s clenching muscles to ease their violent grip even a little. Her hips jerked, and she sank all the way inside.

In her many years on Azeroth, she had experienced almost everything it had to offer: its beauties and wonders, as well as its horrors and filth. But in her centuries of life and decades of undeath, never before had she been anywhere near so perfect as Jaina Proudmoore’s pussy.

Perhaps she should have been better prepared. They’d done this before, after all. But Jaina’s clinging muscles hugged her like a silk robe in summer, and her vision splintered. Her hips churned without permission, and she found herself rutting into Jaina at a blistering pace she hadn’t intended, and neither of them was prepared for.

Fortunately, Jaina didn’t seem to mind the abrupt entry or the harsh rhythm. “Tides,” she cursed, biting down harder on the edge of Sylvanas’s ear. A bolt of pleasure shot through Sylvanas’s body, all the way down to her buried cock, tensing every one of her muscles as well. The gnawing cold within her retreated at last, only to be replaced by a blazing warmth that managed to be both better and worse in the same instant.

That warmth was Jaina Proudmoore. Jaina Proudmoore’s teeth, still thoroughly occupied with her ear; Jaina Proudmoore’s nails, which continued scoring the flesh of her back; Jaina Proudmoore’s breasts, which rose and fell sharply beneath her own; and Jaina Proudmoore’s cunt, wrapped tight around her cock.

It was well-known that an unmated alpha would settle for just about any available partner during quel’felo, but some deep part of her rebelled at the thought of anyone other than Jaina easing this exquisite torment. Under different circumstances, Sylvanas might have been alarmed, but just now she was well past caring. The only thing she could bring herself to care about was pumping herself deeper and deeper into Jaina Proudmoore and fucking the chill out of her own veins.

Jaina gasped and writhed beneath her, in a way that could have been interpreted as struggling if not for the fact that every one of her movements brought them closer. Her legs were wrapped so tightly about Sylvanas's waist that she could hardly pull out, but that was fine. Sylvanas could barely stand to give up the silken fire of Jaina's pussy even long enough to push back in. But it was bliss, Valhalla and Hellheim wrapped up in one to do so. Snarls ripped from her throat with every thrust, noises entirely beyond her control, just like the rest of her body. A small part of her was shrieking in terror at the idea of being so out of balance, but it was small, and easily ignored. It scarcely seemed real compared with the omega beneath her.

Jaina's scent was not quite as dizzyingly irresistible as it had been during her heat, but it was still incredible. Sylvanas couldn't resist burying her nose beneath the omega's chin in search of the source, and once there she had to taste. Her tongue flickered out, laving the smooth skin, but it was when her teeth grazed Jaina's throat that she was rewarded with even more of the smell, and a fresh burst of slickness around her straining shaft. She growled, latching on, and Jaina keened and arched beneath her, nails raking fiery furrows down Sylvanas's back.

Sylvanas knew on a certain level that she must be hurting Jaina. Her claws were not gentle where they raked along the omega's sides and breasts, and her teeth gripped tight enough that a mating bite was almost a concern. But if anything, the pain seemed to drive Jaina wilder. She moaned and huffed, her hips rising steadily to meet Sylvanas's rhythm, her heels pressing against Sylvanas's ass whenever she felt the alpha wasn't driving hard enough — which was now, apparently.

“Faster, damn you,” she growled into Sylvanas's ear, leaning up to nip the lobe and sending tremors coursing through Sylvanas's whole body. “Harder. Are you in rut or not? Fuck me like you mean it!”

Somewhere in the depths of Sylvanas's mind, something snapped. She was the alpha here, and this was her rut! “Silence, omega,” she hissed, pinning Jaina even more firmly by the hips and leaning back to snarl in her face. “I am in control here.”

But Jaina's blue eyes blazed back at her in the darkness, full of lust but entirely free of submission. “Prove it,” she spat, digging her nails into Sylvanas's back for emphasis.

A low, guttural growl erupted from Sylvanas's throat. This was unacceptable! She was the Banshee Queen, ruler of the Forsaken and Warchief of the Horde, alpha over all, and her instincts screamed at her to show her dominance. More than that, it seemed Proudmoore herself wanted the very same, and Sylvanas was determined to give it to her.


When she tore herself out of Jaina's cunt, the cold suddenly returned, scorching her like the fire she'd just left. Sylvanas was barely able to suppress a whimper at the loss. For a moment her reserve faltered, and she nearly plunged herself right back into Jaina's warmth — but then the omega snarled, and that decided her.

“Sylvanas, what the fuck? If you don't stick that back in me right this instant, I swear I'll—”

She flipped Jaina over and raised her hips, and then shoved back in with one short, hard stroke that cut Jaina's words off with a gasp. The relief was so instantaneously immense that she nearly collapsed onto Jaina's back, but the omega’s anger and defiance reminded her of her purpose. She would make Jaina submit, and then she would rut her hard and deep, and fill her with her knot and seed.

She wrapped one hand around Jaina's hips, digging her claws in sharply, and leaned forward to tangle her other hand in Jaina's hair. She raked her nails gently along Jaina's scalp for the briefest of moments, eliciting a confused noise of pleasure, and then pushed Jaina's cheek against the floor, hard.

The new angle nearly made her see stars. Jaina's ass was raised for her to rut against, perfectly positioned for the obscenely wet glide of Sylvanas's cock, and she set a blistering pace, one which drove what little breath remained out of her lungs.


Jaina panted, dragging her nails along the flagstones. She desperately wanted to grip Sylvanas instead, to hold some part of her, a small gesture of control to keep herself anchored. But Sylvanas did not allow it. The cold iron of her claws remained in Jaina’s hair, pinning her cheek to the floor, while the hard shaft of her cock, no longer cold at all, plunged mercilessly into her deepest places.

In Stormwind, during Jaina’s heat, Sylvanas had remained in complete control. She had not tempered her savagery in the slightest, but her grip on Jaina had been icy in more ways than one, her methods cold and calculating. Not so anymore. Now she rutted into Jaina like an animal, proving with every brutal stroke that the Thalassian term for rut, high flame, was very apt indeed.

Watery tears welled in Jaina’s eyes. Sylvanas wasn’t hurting her — at least, not in any way that wasn’t equally pleasurable — but the sheer force stole her breath away. She had been with alphas in rut before. Tides, she had been with dragons. But Sylvanas put them all to shame. With every thrust, Sylvanas threatened to ruin her.

And she was eager to be ruined. Despite her vulnerable position, she did all she could to encourage Sylvanas’s wild, savage claiming of her body. She writhed and cursed, not caring how she looked and sounded, or what Sylvanas might think, in the least. Even outside of her heat, her need was too great. Her heat had snared Sylvanas, but Sylvanas’s rut did the same to her and worse.

She realized, dazedly, that she should have come several minutes ago. She was past ready, and Sylvanas had already provided more than enough stimulation, but the overpowering sensation of being fucked into the floor was so intense, so all-consuming, that she couldn’t find enough space between the crashing waves of pleasure for her orgasm to begin. Sylvanas was almost fucking her too much, too well, and it only drew out her agony.

Soon, she could no longer form words. She could only wail as Sylvanas snarled and huffed into her neck. That was fine, because Sylvanas seemed to have lost her powers of speech as well. But when she stopped one of her thrusts short, and Jaina felt a sharp sting at her entrance and unexpected firmness against her throbbing clit, she knew in an instant what Sylvanas was asking.

She means to knot me.

The gesture was just as clear as an order would have been. Sylvanas snapped her hips, grinding the swollen bulge against Jaina’s opening, wordlessly demanding that she yield.

Jaina didn’t have it in her to fight. She had no reason to. She wanted Sylvanas to knot her just as badly as Sylvanas did. She gritted her teeth and tensed, bracing herself for pain, knowing an even greater portion of pleasure would follow…

Sylvanas did not approve. She tugged harder at Jaina’s hair, pulling her head back to rasp in her ear. “Mine.”

The word was a burning brand, and it did more than the whole of Jaina’s determination. All the tension drained from her limbs, and when Sylvanas’s knot pressed against her, seeking entry once more, she softened. She opened. Her body yielded, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. The stretch was so great that she couldn’t bring herself to make a sound.

Tides, she’d forgotten. She had touched herself to the memory of it countless times over the past few weeks, but damn her, she had forgotten how large it was. How it pressed against every part of her. How blissfully good it felt forcing her open, demanding that her quivering muscles make room.

She hadn’t been able to come before, but the instant Sylvanas tied her, the typhoon hit. Her core clenched, molding tight to Sylvanas’s shape, and she cried out, finding her voice at last.


Sylvanas’s hips snapped at the sound of her name. Her teeth found Jaina’s neck once more, and a foolish wish rose within her. She wanted Sylvanas to bite her. Permanently. She wanted the relief she knew would come, the rush of belonging she could sense just out of reach. She wanted to bite down, to taste Sylvanas’s blood or whatever it was that fueled her, to bind Sylvanas to her and never let go.

Her teeth snapped against empty air. And the very, very small part of Jaina that hadn’t been overtaken by raging lust was glad, because actually biting Sylvanas would have been an utter disaster, in every sense of the word. But she was still coming, and so she focused on that to belay the curious emptiness she felt. Not that she could feel empty for long when Sylvanas was filling her so very well.

And then, Sylvanas filled her even better. The alpha’s cock gave a harsh throb, and her hips jerked as she spilled over, her knot twitching within the grip of Jaina’s walls.


Sylvanas felt as though her soul were being ripped from her body once more. She went rigid, digging her claws into Jaina’s hip, and screamed. Then, blissful relief. She trembled as the echo of her wail reverberated around her, thundering through her. Through them both. Beneath her, Jaina clenched and cried out, drawing a flood from Sylvanas’s aching shaft.

The intensity of her orgasm made her collapse on top of Jaina, and she barely caught herself on her elbows as she bore the omega to the ground. Her fangs itched to bite, to break soft, warm flesh and taste the blood beneath. Only the last dregs of her conscious mind recalled that it would be a terrible idea. She settled for latching onto the back of Jaina's neck, to keep her in place while she bred her.

“Dalahn,” she growled, hips jerking mindlessly against Jaina's ass. Each thrust sent a fresh spurt of come pulsing into Jaina’s heat, and forced a harsh sob from her throat. She seemed beyond words, but judging by the rhythmic squeezing around Sylvanas’s knot, she most certainly approved.

Yes! Mine… fill her… with my seed, with my…

Her ears shot straight up, then flattened against her skull as she realized the dangerous direction her thoughts had headed. It was impossible, of course. Her body could no longer sustain life, and she largely didn't care. It was simply her instincts making her think this way, a vestige of her time as a living alpha, that made her imagine Jaina Proudmoore large and swollen with her litter…

Sylvanas growled again, reaching beneath Jaina to feel along her belly. Sure enough, it had already begun to swell with the volume of seed Sylvanas was pumping into her. Jaina moaned and rocked her hips back as Sylvanas's hand spanned its breadth, allowing herself to imagine for a moment the quickening of lives there, the movement of tiny bodies… but she shut down that line of speculation. It would never happen, and even if it could, Jaina Proudmoore was the least appropriate omega on Azeroth for it to happen with.

And yet Jaina seemed to have fallen into the same foolishness. “Fuck, that's it,” she gasped, reaching back to rake her nails along Sylvanas's neck in a way that made the hairs on her nape prickle. “Fill me up, alpha. Give me everything — make me…”

Her words cut off abruptly, but Sylvanas didn't miss her burning blush, visible even in the darkness. She rumbled in answer, jerking her hips harder. She might not be able to give Jaina what neither of them dared ask for, but she could certainly fill her omega — and she would. Jaina Proudmoore would never be able to forget how well she'd been fucked. Sylvanas would make sure of it.

“Silence,” she hissed, pressing Jaina's cheek into the floor again. “I don't want to hear your voice again until I've finished emptying inside you.” Jaina moaned, clamping down around her knot, and Sylvanas smirked.

So you like that, do you? Harsh words, and harsher treatment. Imagine what your precious little lion would think if he knew that's what gets his mentor hot and bothered. She opened her mouth to say so, but then Jaina whimpered, and Sylvanas reconsidered. Jaina might be her enemy, but she had arrived in Sylvanas's hour of need. That counted for precious little, considering their shared history, but it meant something.

Gritting her teeth, Sylvanas reached around Jaina's hip to find her clit, dragging a claw through her soaked folds and gathering up the wetness there. She’d barely completed a circle around the twitching, needy bud before Jaina cried out, slumping to the floor as she shivered into another orgasm.

That tore a yet another groan from Sylvanas's lips. Jaina’s walls milked her so perfectly, drawing more from her than she'd thought she had to give. She fell into a series of shudders, an extension of her previous orgasm, or perhaps a new one entirely.

It took her much longer to empty than she expected. Jaina’s aftershocks kept her spilling for what felt like an eternity, but eventually, she was too drained to continue. She whimpered, a horribly undignified sound that would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been so exhausted, and collapsed, panting harshly into Jaina’s hair.

Jaina trembled a few moments longer, then groaned and closed her eyes. Sylvanas realized their bodies were soaked with sweat, sticking together everywhere their skin touched. To her surprise, she didn’t mind. She had never been much for cuddling afterward — although the knot often made that a requirement — but even after her release, maintaining contact with Jaina felt… not right , precisely, but it also didn't feel wrong.

Apparently, the omega had managed to banish the burrowing cold that had tormented her. That she was able to take this much comfort from her enemy felt wrong in and of itself, however. Sylvanas felt compelled to make it clear that nothing had changed between them, no matter what had occurred — and to ensure that no words were spoken about the foolish thoughts that had momentarily gripped them both.

“You will have quite the story to tell your little king and the others when you return to Stormwind,” Sylvanas said. Just because she felt better didn’t mean she had to be nice. “Although I suggest keeping our rendezvous from the old wolf. Next time he accuses me of taking anyone against their will, I promise those will be his last words.”

Jaina huffed in annoyance. Strands of silver hair clung to her flushed face, mixed with the striking lock of gold. “Wonderful. You lasted… what, less than a minute before you had to go and ruin this?”

Sylvanas let out a dark chuckle. “I assure you, despite the… eagerness… my quel’felo brings, I always last much longer than a minute. As you are well aware, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina scowled, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, you’re nicer when you’re calling me a whore than when you use one of my titles.”

“Oh?” Sylvanas’s eyebrows lifted. “So you did understand.”

“Barely. The first words I learn in any language are usually curses.”

“How very Kul Tiran of you,” Sylvanas drawled.

“I never claimed otherwise.”

All at once, Sylvanas realized that she was… bantering. With Jaina Proudmoore, of all people. She shut her mouth abruptly over her next remark. Apparently, Jaina had the same realization, because an awkward silence fell over them, not unlike the one they’d experienced in Stormwind Keep, sprawled together on the war table. The sense of familiarity only served to make Sylvanas more uncomfortable. She didn't get familiar with people, let alone her enemies. Even her Dark Rangers and Nathanos, her most trusted champion, were kept at a distance.

So why do I keep winding up entangled with Proudmoore? Surely she won’t make a habit of these encounters. That would be extremely foolish, no matter how much she needs a good fuck.

“I’ll stay the rest of your rut,” Jaina said — a statement of fact, not an offer. “Once it’s over, you’ll resume talks with the Alliance. Fair?”

Sylvanas blinked down at the omega. Jaina's face was still half-smushed against the floor, but her tone was dead serious. Despite the fact that she was speaking to the Banshee Queen and Warchief of the Horde, she didn’t appear at all concerned that Sylvanas might disagree.

I should punish her for that, Sylvanas thought, but when she tried to move her hips, her body failed her. She was bone tired, a rare occurrence for elves, especially undead ones. Apparently, fighting her instincts had taken more out of her than she’d anticipated.

“Very well,” she grumbled, nipping the edge of Jaina’s ear just to show she wasn’t cowed. “But while you remain in Orgrimmar, you will make sure I am thoroughly sated. Is that clear?”

To Sylvanas’s surprise, Jaina grinned. “Threatening me with a good fuck isn’t the way to intimidate me, if that’s what you’re going for. You’ll have to do better than that. You aren’t losing your touch, are you?”

“I will let you be the judge of that, Lord Admiral.” This time, Sylvanas’s body did respond to her orders, and she rutted gently against Jaina’s rear, the barest stirring of a rhythm. The cold was gone, but in its place was a persistent flame, driving her to repeat what they’d already done. “I assure you,” she continued, “this has barely taken the edge off. You won’t find satisfying me as easy as you assume.”

The light of challenge glinted in Jaina’s blue eyes. No longer hazy with lust, they sparkled with anticipation. She ran her tongue over her lips, then bore down with her inner muscles, making Sylvanas twitch. She was only barely able to hold back a groan. “I’ll believe it when you prove it.”