Beg Me, and I Just Might

Please read me before proceeding:

This series has been up for less than a month (1/8/26 marks 30 days), and we've only just begun. I want to thank everyone for the outpouring of encouragement for this project so far. It really means a lot to have YOU, my dear reader, along for the ride. There’s still much more ahead of us, and I'm looking forward to shocking, delighting, and surprising you as we continue this journey.

Now, I must confess that I've lied to you. I said the premium bonus NSFW scene (aka Ch. 13.5) would be 3k words... but it ended up at 4.2k (a meaty sized chapter). It has to be one of, if not the most, unhinged pieces of fiction I've ever written.

For those who read it, this is how far I intend to take things in bonus scenes. Know that I regret absolutely nothing.

Note: The bonus scene does NOT impact the core plot. It is intended for readers who would like to deepen their experience inside this universe. As a notice, bonus NSFW scenes will have explicit content significantly more graphic in nature than what I share in the public release. Consider this your one and only warning.

For those choosing to opt out of the bonus scene (13.5), Libby will be providing you with a brief internal segment to reorient you at the start of Ch. 14 (The Wrath Round).

To gain access to this premium, vulgar content, please join my Discord, read/acknowledge the rules, and then navigate to the channel with the two blue arrows to unlock access. ➡bonus-scene-info⬅

https://discord.gg/nWxs9K5HMa

You can also go to my Kofi and become a member to access this content directly:

https://www.patreon.com/palescript

Anywho, Ch. 13.5 is now up and ready to be read for those of you brave enough to follow it where it leads.

See you on the other side.

-Palescript

Beg Me, and I Just Might

Shortly after giving Libby a hug that was just a little too tight and just a tad too long, Eldra Vorn dissipated into mist much like the sovereigns had, leaving Libby to wait in the small room for the chime of the next round.

*Lilibeth.*

Maybe she hadn't heard the witchdoctor correctly. Or perhaps Eldra Vorn had simply gotten her name wrong?

Truth be told, she didn't have the mental capacity to turn it over in her mind for long. A demon calling her by a different, yet similar name, was the least of her concerns.

She'd taken a seat on the stone bench with her knees drawn up to her chest. She didn't notice when she'd started rocking back and forth, but the motion was the only thing keeping the rising scream firmly lodged in her chest.

The longer she sat there, the more her nerves began to fray into thinner and thinner pieces. Her breathing followed suit, coming in shorter gasps. And because she wasn't suffering enough, a deep nausea had started to churn in her center at the thought of what was waiting for her out there in the next round.

A sharp rap made her jolt upright to her feet, heart pounding in her ears. Her eyes darted to the doorway, and every muscle in her body went taut.

Galen stood just inside the threshold. Fenrow was a few paces behind him, leaning against the scarred wall of the alcove with his fingers laced behind his neck, his legs casually crossed at the ankle.

"The Wrath round will be starting in an hour," Galen said, his voice carrying that same emotionless quality that always set her teeth on edge. "We're here to make sure you're prepared for it. While you will likely disapprove of our methods, these extra precautions will ensure you have an advantage in the next trial." Just over his shoulder, Fenrow briefly closed his eyes, his lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile.

She didn't acknowledge Galen's words or make any moves to approach or back away. She only stood there, chin lifted and eyes blazing with unconcealed hatred. A shadow passed over the darker elf's face. He took a menacing half-step towards her, and Libby knew she had precious seconds before he crossed the short distance to where she stood.

She quickly searched the room for anything she could use as a weapon. Her frantic gaze snagged on one of the torches mounted to the wall, and she lunged for it. Her fingers curled around the handle at the same time Galen seized her opposite arm. She shrieked in outrage, trying to wrench free from his hold, but his grip was a vise of unyielding stone.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She shifted her center of balance and pivoted on her heel. Using her momentum, she snatched the torch from its mount and brought the blazing haft down in a diagonal arc toward him.

A gaping void almost two feet across silently opened between them. A wave of forge-hot heat blasted her in the face as blackened arms shrouded in a layer of inky vapor surged from the dark oval and plucked the torch from her grasp. Her weapon disappeared inside the impossible manifestation, and three, four, five shadowy hands latched onto her wrist, her forearm, her shoulder. They were feverishly hot, the fibrous texture of their skin as coarse as sandpaper.

Galen stepped around what she now realized was a portal, an unreadable expression hewn across the austere planes of his face.

“Good,” he said with a nod, giving Libby a once-over. “I'm glad to see you still have some fire left. You’re going to need that fighting spirit in the next round.”

“Let me go,” she spat, trying to slip from his hold. She’d already broken her silence with Eldra Vorn twice before, and in here, there was no reason to hold back the roaring inferno of rage burning inside her. "Don't pretend you're here to do me any favors. We all know you're both sadistic, narcissistic bastards who get off on seeing me like this." Her voice was a vicious snarl. "So save the concerned act for someone stupid enough to believe it."

The skin around Galen's eyes tightened, and he removed his hand from her upper arm, but the grasping hands didn’t move to release her.

“What are these… these vile things?”

“The souls of the damned,” Galen said simply. “Or rather, the ones I’ve condemned to the fiery pits of Gehenna.” He lifted a heavily muscled shoulder before letting it fall. “I may be cursed with the animus of ****, but sometimes it has its uses. Especially in moments like these.”

Galen made a small motion with a clawed index finger. The portal in front of her *glided* to her right side, and the cluster of arms dragged her along with it. Caught between fear and mute horror, she didn’t even notice the second portal appear on her left until it was too late. A low, terrified whine shot from her lips as more hands clamped onto her other shoulder, her elbow, squeezing until her arms were completely immobilized on both sides.

Her whine pitched into a scream as her feet left the floor. The shadowed souls hauled her through the air until her back hit the wall with a jarring thud. Her ears were still ringing when the portals flattened against the stone on either side of her head. The dark limbs kept her pinned there, her arms stretched wide, her legs dangling uselessly below her. Panic set in, tearing through her veins in a white-hot inferno. *Helpless*. She despised being helpless. She was in no more control of her body now than when she’d been out there in the arena.

And in here, they could do whatever they wanted. In absolute privacy.

As if he’d been waiting for some silent signal, Fenrow pushed off the wall outside and ducked under the doorframe. He crossed the room in a few long strides, his body blocking her view as he deposited multiple items on top of the table. He languidly turned and came to stand beside Galen, the ghost of a smile playing across his full, sensual lips.

Her legs hung nearly two feet above the floor, trembling under the weight of their combined scrutiny. Her position on the wall put her nearly at eye level with the two elves, though in no way did it make her feel like their equal.

Fenrow stepped forward until his sinfully handsome face was inches from her own. She thought he was about to kiss her, but then he angled his head to get a better look at her unclothed body. Several locks of his white hair tumbled across his forehead as he leaned down to inspect the tape Narcissa's champions had crudely placed over her cunt. He extended a hand, his dexterous fingers tracing along the edges. Libby couldn't suppress a shudder. A breath later, a cruel, biting laugh escaped him, and he slowly shook his head.

"I guess it couldn’t have been all that bad. Look," he said, gripping a corner of the tape. Libby braced for pain, but the strips wetly peeled off as one with an audible squelch. He let the offensive thing drop to the floor with an incredulous scoff. Cool air hit the front of her soaked pussy, the evidence of her arousal from Pride's expert ministrations still glistening across her mons and her delicate pink folds.

Fenrow straightened one vertebrae at a time and came to brace a hand above her head on the wall. He leaned in close until their lips were almost touching again. "Despite your colorful assessment of our characters, we are here to ensure you have an advantage for what's to come. Now," he said, lowering his voice as if he were about to tell her a secret. He let his thumb trace along her jawline and tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "Perhaps you've been lucid enough to notice that we're one sovereign short for the Rite. A rather curious discrepancy, don't you think?"

She… had noticed. Every scriptural text she'd ever read had always claimed there were seven circles, not six. Dante's Inferno claimed there were nine, but Dante Alighieri had clearly never been to Hell. Libby hadn't exactly been dwelling on the disparity, though. One less trial had seemed like a small mercy in an otherwise merciless situation, and she hadn't been about to question it.

"Though Velmion—our esteemed, illustrious, dependable Sovereign of Greed—has been missing for over a decade, we must still do our part to ensure the Fourth Circle is properly represented in the ritual."

Libby was trying to pay attention to his words, but a flash of movement past his shoulder pulled her eyes from his piercing, diamond gaze. She didn't have time for a full glance, but she saw enough to recognize that whatever Fenrow had placed on the table was moving.

Fenrow caught her wavering stare and gave her a cold, hollow-eyed smirk. He pushed off the wall and sauntered across the room, his long, lithe frame completely blocking her view of the table.

"Velmion is actually the second sovereign to rule over Greed," Fenrow commented without looking back. "Though Velmion wasn’t a blood relative of the former monarch, he was afforded the privilege of apprenticing under his predecessor for a little over five hundred years.”

Fenrow paused in front of the table, shifting through various objects she couldn't see from her position on the wall. “The first sovereign, Auric, was responsible for a… particularly gruesome massacre. One that wiped out the entirety of the royal family and put a swift end to a very powerful bloodline overnight. Quite tragic, really.” She heard him unsnap the latches of a box. “Since then, Velmion has ruled this domain uncontested for nearly a thousand years. Which is almost as long as I've been alive. Although Galen is a few years older than I am, and a bit older than our sovereign, if I remember correctly."

"I already had more than a century to my name when Velmion spawned in Hell," Galen replied without inflection. "Though, since drow age much slower than most races, I was still a child by our standards."

She had no idea why they were telling her this. What did any of this have to do with her? And, more importantly, what did it have to do with whatever was on that table?

Her eyes slid to the aloof elder brother. Galen had been standing to the side with a stormy expression locked across his features, the hilt of a curved dagger clutched in his hand. The upper portion of the blade was exposed, revealing an intricate inlay of golden filigree.

But that wasn't what gave her pause.

His clawed thumb was pressed against the sharp edge, his knuckles blanched a paling shade of gray. Her brow furrowed when she caught sight of a widening cut dripping a steady stream of inky black blood to the cobbled floor beside his steel-plated boots.

He was still wearing the same leather vest from earlier, which left both of his veined, powerful arms exposed. However, it wasn’t his musculature that she lingered on. Even in the gloomy murk, she could see the scars that littered almost every inch of visible skin. Some were jagged and cruel, others were fine and precise. From the way they trailed along the defined ridge of his throat and disappeared past his collar, she could only assume that he had far more under his clothes. Only his noble face was spared from the painful myriad of silvered lesions.

He caught her staring, and she quickly darted her gaze past his shoulder. Fenrow started speaking again, drawing Galen’s attention away and giving her little time to process the unsettling mutilation of his hand.

"As a matter of fact, only Wrath, Gluttony, and your new paramour—" Fenrow spat the word, "Pride are what remain of the Original Seven."

A low murmur of contemplation escaped the fair-haired drow as he picked something up from the table and turned back to face her. When she saw what he held in his hand, a surge of gooseflesh broke out across her body. A wave of her earlier nausea immediately followed, slamming into her tenfold the longer she stared at the obscene object, or rather objects, writhing in his hand.

Dozens of undulating, fleshy tendrils formed two distinct, phallic-shaped masses. The sinuous lengths were as wide as her forefinger and as long as her forearm, all a shade of purple so dark they were nearly black.

She tore her eyes from them to glance past him. In that moment, she saw there were still several more implements on top of the stone slab other than the one he now held in his hand. If this aberrant monstrosity was just the first, what fresh hells did the others promise?

Libby jerked her focus back to the swollen, prehensile roots as Fenrow came to a stop in front of her. They pulsed with a rhythmic thrum, as if they were still attached to some great, beating heart. A cloudy fluid oozed down each tangle in viscous, dribbling streams, and her stomach twisted painfully at the sight.

The wriggling appendages were affixed to the interior of a shallow golden cup a little larger than her hand. Positioned at the upper end of the cup was a small hole no wider than her smallest finger. When her eyes settled on the multiple rows of decorative, yet sturdy chain that hung from either side, a cold feeling settled in her chest. She had a strong suspicion she knew what she was looking at.

What its intended purpose was for.

"I know, they're absolutely revolting, aren't they?" Fenrow remarked, bringing the horrifying organs closer and allowing the slick tendrils to blindly trace the soft plane of her belly. A sharp squeal left her lips, and every fine hair on her body stood on end.

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to cry.

"Now, Velmion may be missing, but the Rite doesn't specify that the present sovereign must participate. According to the Rite's founding texts, the only requirement is the sovereign must be of legitimate blood. And these…" he said with a feverish gleam in his eyes, "are very legitimate. They belonged to, well, still belong to Auric, the first and former Sovereign of Greed. Much like the original Lust, Envy, and Sloth, Auric succumbed to his sin, ultimately metamorphosizing into an abomination so powerful and so grotesque that he had to be sealed away in the deepest reaches of Hell."

Every cell in her body was saturated with a fear and disgust so potent, she could barely think, let alone process what he was saying.

To her horror, multiple tips had found the entrance to her navel. They were trying to worm their way inside, as if hungrily seeking for a warm place to nest.

Fenrow tapped Libby on the nose with the tip of a finger. "Which is exactly what our mutual acquaintance, the once-legendary Pride, has to look forward to the moment Narcissa loses control of him. One might even say the compulsion she tricked him into is the only thing keeping him sane nowadays." He gave an errant shrug of his shoulders, but there was something deeply satisfied in his tone, as though Pride's predicament brought him genuine pleasure. "Hubris always exacts its price in the end. A rather poetic fate for someone who once believed himself to be a god."

Understanding settled in her bones, and a pang of conflicted sympathy flickered in her chest as she considered Pride’s grim fate. It’s not that she pitied him, exactly, for the length of his lifespan and the circumstances around his rule likely meant his ledger of sins was far longer than most. God only knew how many had suffered at his hands and how many had been crushed under his heel.

However, it was impossible to ignore the parallel between them. To have everything, only to lose it all, wasn’t quite the same experience as her own. And yet… she understood what it meant to lose your own autonomy. Along with everything you’d ever built in your life.

Pride's last words, his promise that he'd come back for her, distantly echoed in her mind. She didn't allow herself to hold onto the hope that any of them had been true. After everything she'd endured, she knew better than to mistake a moment of benevolence for anything more than fleeting sentiment.

Libby’s eyes refocused on the pale drow before her. Fenrow was gazing at the vulgar specimens he held against her skin, his expression turning thoughtful. Her gaze dropped to the fever-warm flesh in his hands. It was almost… sentient in how it explored her, twitching with barely contained anticipation as they wetly trailed across her skin.

"My, my. Look at how eager Auric is." Fenrow half turned and gestured towards his brother with his other arm. Galen was still steadily bleeding onto the floor, his pinprick eyes tracking her every movement. "Thanks to Galen, we were able to portal straight into the sealed vaults of Lower Sheol and remove two of these beauties from Auric's metamorphosized body." His face practically glowed with mischief. "I must say, it was no small feat. Thankfully for us drow, trickery and subterfuge run through our veins, so we were able to take these without too much of a fight."

A dark chuckle accompanied his words as the ends of Auric's cocks made a slick trail down her lower abdomen and began to probe at the entrance of her seam. A shrill whimper burst from her lips, her ragged breathing impossibly loud in the cramped room.

"Sealed as he is, it's not like the poor bastard can do much of anything with them, anyway. Besides," he said, "he had far more of these growing from his nethers than I'd had the stomach to count." His nose wrinkled in distaste. "You know," he said with a quirk of his lips, "I venture that what comes next will be the most action he's had in over a millennia."

Her heart slammed inside her chest, her vision narrowing to those two hulking masses. She strained her arms and desperately kicked her legs, doing everything she could to put as much distance between her and those questing tendrils. Overheated fingers closed around her ankles from somewhere below her line of sight, yanking her legs apart and pinning her to the wall like an insect.

Libby was already shaking her head, wordlessly pleading for them to show her even a sliver of mercy. The idea of those things burrowing into her, wriggling inside her, made her skin crawl with instinctive revulsion. Almost simultaneously, her body responded with a flood of heat, and an appalling pulse of need throbbed at the apex of her legs.

Bile threatened to surge up her throat at her own involuntary reaction.

God, what was she becoming?

Her eyes tracked the movement of the glistening, wine-dark phalluses. Had something vital been carved from her and replaced with these foreign, sickening urges? Or had they always been waiting, lying dormant inside her?

How many more parts of herself could she lose before the person she used to be was replaced by a total stranger?

Fenrow shook his head and gave her a reproachful tsk. "Out there, you're going to need every advantage you can get. Believe it or not, Auric will give you a much-needed layer of protection against Wrath's marauders."

His cruel dismissal of her terror, coupled with Galen's impassive, dead-eyed stare, lanced the fear from her body. It bled away in a dark torrent, clearing her thoughts and summoning her fury from the roiling cauldron behind her ribcage.

"Does it make you feel powerful?" she hissed. "Does violating me again and again make up for whatever the fuck is wrong with you?" Her lips pulled back into a snarl, quivering with anger. "How _pathetic _you both are, tormenting someone who can't fight back. You're both twisted, broken, worthless, sad little men who are so fucking empty inside that tormenting me is the closest you'll ever get to feeling alive."

A laugh burst from her throat, raw and jagged and edged with hysteria. "No wonder you had to abduct me. What woman would ever choose one of you willingly?" Something inside her had snapped, an overstretched wire pulled to its limit, and more manic laughter spilled out, reverberating off the stone walls. "Oh yes, I see right through you spineless fucking cowards."

A sudden thrill went through her at the realization that they couldn't kill her, at least not yet. They needed her alive for the Rite. Which meant she could say whatever the fuck she wanted. They could beat her, they could break her, but compared to the Underground, compared to the arena, how could anything be worse than what she'd already survived?

Fenrow's eyes tracked Libby's hostile expression, his usual grin faltering. "Brother," he said quietly. He'd spoken a single word, but it was weighted with concern.

Galen's response was clipped. "I know."

"Do you? Because if the binding is unraveling—"

"It's not. The witchdoctor warned us that not everything could be suppressed."

"And if it fails despite her reassurances?" Fenrow returned, his hands slightly trembling. "What if she breaks character and her true nature surfaces out there?"

"Then we deal with it."

What binding? Whose character?

She didn't parse a single word of their exchange. All of it was senseless drivel.

"Eldra fucking Vorn had better determine which sovereign's _contribution _was compromised. And fucking soon." Fenrow produced a small vial from the billowing cerulean folds of his shirt and uncorked it with his gilded fangs. "Vorn's incantation may be preventing Libby from being bred by those lowly savages, but I'm not leaving anything else to chance. Come now," he said, catching the delicate point of her chin between his fingers. "Open up for me, sweetheart. We're not taking any risks after coming this far."

He tipped the contents towards her lips, and she recoiled, jerking her head away.

"Galen," was all Fenrow said.

When no response came, Fenrow snapped his head behind him and bellowed, "Galen!"

Galen's eyes slid shut. He raised a clenched fist and made a circular motion with his index finger.

Feverish hands gripped the sides of her head, locking her in place. Bitter rage flooded her veins as they pried open the clenched line of her lips wide enough to allow Fenrow to pour the effervescent draught down her throat. She sputtered and coughed, trying to expel the liquid, but the hands of the damned worked the outside of her throat and **** her to swallow.

The liquid was thick and cloying, coating her tongue with an almost floral sweetness that quickly turned acrid. Underneath the saccharine sweet layer was something earthy and musky that clung to the roof of her mouth, leaving a tingling warmth that consumed her body with expanding, roiling heat.

"It might affect her going into the next round, but we can play it off and say their combined vitalis is starting to overwhelm 'her delicate human constitution,'" Fenrow said, a shaking hand smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear that'd unraveled from her disheveled braid.

The sensation started in her belly, a glowing ember wrapped in swaths of rippling velvet. It was almost pleasant. Soothing, even. The warmth quickly spread outward in lazy tendrils, creeping along her ribs, sliding down her spine. Her skin prickled with awareness, each point of contact—the stone behind her knees, the air against her bare shoulders—all suddenly amplified.

Another wave of heat bloomed between her thighs, sudden and demanding. Her inner walls clenched around nothing, and the emptiness felt obscene, unbearable. The warmth had become a need, spreading like wildfire through her veins until every nerve ending screamed for touch, for friction, for relief.

The shadows released her head at the same time her nipples hardened into aching points. Her clit throbbed with a desperation that bordered on pain. It was too much, and yet somehow it was not nearly enough.

"What did you—" A gasp cut her off as a fresh surge of arousal swept through her. "What… what did you do to me?" Her voice came out breathy, almost a moan.

"That's it," Fenrow purred in her ear at the same time his hand came up to gently trail along the inside of her leg. "You're so perfect when you surrender to me like this. So fucking perfect, Libby."

When his fingers trailed through the moisture dripping down her inner thigh, she thought she'd shamed herself and lost control of her bladder. Just as mortification began to set in, she realized it was her own slick running in clear rivulets along the interior of her leg and steadily dripping from the tips of her toes.

"You don't need to fight it, my love. Relax for me. Yes, just like that." His skilled digits slipped inside her overflowing slit and found the diminutive bundle of nerves sheltered there. "Let me take over. I promise to make it all better."

A husky groan expanded in her lungs, spilling out before she could bite it back. He stroked her with the lightest of pressure, teasing her like they had all the time in the world.

Instead of easing the scorching fire that radiated to every extremity, it built a maddening, hollow cramp, only serving to remind her of how empty her center was. She didn't care if her cunt or her ass or both were filled, she just needed it now or she would lose the remnants of her mind entirely.

Her eyes darted to the pulsating lengths frantically thrashing and contorting in his other hand. Horror and need warred within her core, each polarizing emotion so intense she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

A faint voice cried out from somewhere in the depths of her psyche that it was just the potion coursing through her veins, not her actual desires. She couldn't want this. She couldn't. Because if this desire was real, if some part of her truly craved the possibility of those alien appendages stretching her open and filling her completely, then… then…

"You don't need to fight this," Fenrow whispered. "I can see it in your eyes. You crave them, you _need _them. There's no use lying when your body is telling me everything I need to know." His thumb swirled around her clit in agonizingly slow circles. "But I want to hear you say it. I want you to beg me to fuck you with them."

Libby opened her mouth to curse at him, to spit in his face, but instead what came out was a weak, broken plea stripped of all pretense. "Yes. Yes, I want them. Give them to me, I want..." A hiccup caught in her throat. "Please, I can't stand it anymore. I just—" She couldn't even finish the sentence, her composure reduced to throaty gasps and seeking, rolling hips.

"Hmm," Fenrow mused, cocking his head. "I think she can do better than that, can't she, Galen?"

Her hooded eyes rolled to the figure standing behind him. Only the male she witnessed through her bleary vision wasn't the stoic individual she'd expected to see.

A network of tenebrous veins pressed against the underside of his slate dermis. Multiple branches surged from below the neckline of his fitted leather doublet and carved fissuring valleys across the planes of his dark visage. It made his face look like a mirror that had shattered, an obsidian resin poured through the cracks the only thing holding him together. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, his white diamond irises so small his eyes were nearly black.

His mouth opened, then closed, the battle warring inside him starkly evident on his strained features.

"Galen?" Fenrow prompted softly. "Don't you want to see our beautiful girl begging us for once? After everything she's put us through, don't we deserve to see her like this?"

Galen's nostrils flared, a visible tremor running through his massive frame. "Yes," he rasped, the guttural sound of his voice so deep it grated on her ears. "I want her ruined and **** for the relief only we can give. Hear her beg us to defile her until her shame becomes indistinguishable from her pleasure. And then I want to make her come so hard that she forgets she was ever anything but ours."

Fenrow turned back to face her, a breezy smile spreading across his angelic face. "You heard the male. Trust me, you don't want to deny him what he wants when he gets like this."

Libby had been unraveling with every word of their exchange, reduced to a trembling, whimpering mess as they calmly discussed how to further erode her sanity. Auric's dual lengths undulated with increasing urgency, as if sensing her unsated desire, and strained towards her wet, starved, wanting center. The emptiness inside her had evolved from a longing to an all-consuming void, and listening to them discuss defiling her like she wasn't even there only made it more excruciating.

A fractured sound tore from her throat, something caught between a sob and a moan. "Please," she gasped, the word cracking apart. "I—I'll beg. I'll do anything. Just fuck me, put them inside me." Her voice dissolved into a keening whine. "I don't care what you do to me anymore. I can't—I'm—" She was openly sobbing now, her words tumbling out in a humiliating rush. "Fill me. Ruin me. Do whatever you want, just make it stop. I'll be good, I promise, just please—give it to me!"

"There's my good girl." Fenrow's voice was thick with approval. "That's exactly what I've been waiting to hear."

Galen moved in closer, his towering frame blocking out the torchlight. He canted his head a few degrees past what should've been possible, a dangerous, eerie gleam in his eyes. "I'd be careful if I were you, princess. For I intend to hold you to every word." He inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent of her ripening fear. "By the time we're done with you, there will be no doubt about who you truly belong to."

If gratuitous amounts of cum, witnessing Galen turn into a terrifying black flag yandere, or humiliating, unfiltered degradation is your thing, then this bonus scene is for you.

Not to mention there’s also a very special cameo.

https://discord.gg/nWxs9K5HMa

https://www.patreon.com/palescript