The Witch's Prize

To my literotica followers and readers:

I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for the overwhelming support you've shown for The Witch's Captive (the first part of this story) -- I'm honestly stunned (and a little flustered) to say the story's had nearly three thousand reads in just over a week, with over fifty reviews. You've all made me feel incredibly seen and encouraged, and I couldn't be more grateful.

If you're enjoying the world of Mirella and Evric -- the teasing, the magic, the dommy goth witch energy -- I'd love it if you'd leave a comment, favourite the story, follow me, or even leave a review. It makes a huge difference and keeps the creative fires burning!

Also, for those really want more, I've just started publishing my work to Amazon Kindle. If you're in a position to do so and want to help support my writing, you can now purchase my stories as e-books with cover art! It means the world, truly.

And don't worry -- Evric and Mirella's tale is far from over. As long as people want more of them (and maybe even some scandalous witchy side characters...), I'll keep writing.

Thank you again for reading, sharing, encouraging, and being the wonderful deviants you are.

Now, on to the story.

Regards, RD.

Evric Thorne was naked.

The woods sprang out of the darkness to meet his stumbling, bare feet. Roots threatened to reach out and snare his ankles as low-hanging branches lashed at body. He ran as fast as he could, gasping and panting as the cold night air froze his lungs.

All kinds of creatures and beasts of the night scurried and dashed around him as he crashed through the forest, the shimmering haze of potion intoxication making every tree a foe and every sound an ambush.

"Bitten off more than he could chew" would have been the understatement of the age.

The witch had

consumed

him - ensnaring his body with her mind, and his mind with her body.

The academy's training had failed. Outdated, or simply fictitious.

She had invited him inside. Given him something...

A truth serum, she had called it. Loosened his tongue and made his mind speak... horrible, sinful, wretched things.

All of them truths.

Then there had been the elixir of wilful submission. A few drops, and he had followed her every command - but only those commands which he wanted to obey...

Obey he had.

Not obedience in the meek, frightened-in-the-face-of-authority kind of way, but

OBEY

- in a forbidden, parched man at the well kind of way.

Evric ducked beneath a low branch of a nearby tree, the limb scratching at his bare skin. The pain only reminded him of her nails scratching at his back as he had worked within her, thrusting and grinding - and her breathy whispers and moans of pleasure in his ear.

A shiver ran down his back, and finally, he slowed his pace. He came to a stop beneath a patch of moonlight, and the sounds of the forest closed around him like a cacophonous blanket of the wild.

It was cold. The stars were out in full assembly, twinkling like diamonds in a dragon's hoard. An icy breeze made the leaves in the trees whisper and sigh, and he thought of her again.

Mirella,

his body pined. It made him ache in his centre.

"Push her from your mind, Evric," he growled to himself. "Shake it off."

Slapping himself, he pushed on - in his terror (or perhaps exhilaration), he had made it halfway back to the inn.

Mirella finished sweeping the floorboards of her cottage, using a dustpan to cast the remains of the demon into the fireplace.

It roared in delight as it snapped at the blackened ashes. She shook her head.

"Stupid," she scolded herself. "Stupid, stupid girl."

Mirella could've used magic to set the cottage back to its chaotic-but-clean state, but she didn't want to risk opening a gate again.

How could she have been so careless?

"You know exactly how,"

she reminded herself. The tingle between her thighs had faded, but the pulsing, magical power that she had drawn from the Slayer's seed still remained.

"Okay, Mirella, shake it off," she commanded herself.

It didn't work, but it was a start.

"So, you had your fun, you got distracted and accidentally summoned a demon. So, he might've saved your stupid ass while you were busy leeching power out him. No biggie."

Looking in the mirror, her enchanted reflection shrugged at her. She noticed with a hint of frustration that she was smiling.

She turned absent-mindedly, inspecting the curves of her recently transformed body. He had liked the dimples above her hips, the depth of them. The way that her butt had swayed and bounced as she walked. She caught herself pinning her breasts together, giving them the slightest lift -

"

Gods

, what am I!? A teenager? Am I going to latch on the first adventurer that comes in here with muscles and an orgasm?"

Mirella sat with a huff on her bed, swiping her hand at the front door from across the room. Arcane energy crackled as the lock bolted shut.

"Get a grip, girl, come on."

Turning to her bedstand, she grabbed at the nearest tome and began to read restlessly, turning an impressive number of pages and absorbing nothing.

Mixley, her cat, phased onto the bed in a puff of pink smoke. Stalking up her legs, he sat on her lap. He miaowed, a knowing inquisitive sound.

"Don't wanna hear it, Mixley. He came here to kill us. Just another sword-swinger wanting fame and fortune."

Mixley miaowed again.

"I mean, sure. He

was

sexy. Cute, too. I couldn't believe he was a

virgin,

too - but that doesn't mean-"

Mixley miaowed again, casually flopped on his back to present his belly. She sighed, giving him a gentle pat.

Mirella gazed across the floor at the slayer's sword. It laid right where it had clattered to the floor.

Her skin tingled, an involuntary wave of electricity, as she pictured what had happened - looking up, still greedily drunk on the magical siphon of his seed filling her belly.

The demon had attacked, lifting her off the ground. She had recognised its eyes - a shadowborn, one of the most dangerous demonic entities from the Nether.

In the aftermath after the Slayer had fled, she had pieced together the scene to figure out what had happened. She had tripped on a water pail - it had rolled into the shelf, causing a summoning potion to tip into a container of powdered netherspawn claws.

The elixir of wilful submission must have worn off, and the witch-slayer was able to wrestle free from his bonds. The bonds

she

had restrained him with. He had every right to have seized the opportunity to run, or to kill her. She had seen it in his eyes - he had thought about it. But instead, he ran. Was he a coward? Or was it... something else?

Mixley miaowed again, a gentle reminder.

"I guess you're right... he

did

save us."

Evric had stolen a blanket from the stables before approaching the Oakgrove tavern. He prayed it was a quiet night inside. The last thing he needed was prying local eyes watching him returning naked after setting out to slay "Mirella the Malevolent, Witch of the Woods."

"Set out to slay a witch, saved her from a demon instead," he muttered darkly to himself.

The heavy door creaked as he pushed it open. A drunk or two sat drooling at the bar, flecks of soup in their beards. A sole adventurer by the fire barely looked up, poring over a book with interest.

The barkeep polished a goblet, giving him a nod from behind the bar. Evric recognised him as the barkeep he spoke to the other day. The old man arched a scarred eyebrow at his ragged appearance - but seemed to know better than to question a stranger.

"Heading back up, lad?"

"Yes. Very tired, I'll show myself in."

Evric made for the stairs before he could be asked too many questions.

The barkeep shrugged as Evric clambered up the stairs, finding his way to his room and closing the door behind him.

The bed sagged noisily as he collapsed into it. A sweltering whirlwind of memories began the moment his head hit the pillow; he knew that sleep was out of the question.

Sitting up and staring at the window, he tried to remember anything in his academy training that might help make sense of his situation.

"Think, damn it."

Evric drew a blank, staring into the dark as though expecting an answer to emerge. He had left everything at the Witch's cottage.

His plan had been to walk up, draw his sword, and slay her - but she had been too powerful; overpowering him with ease and...

and

using him.

She had invaded his very mind itself, her potions loosening his tongue and making his body act out his deepest, darkest desires...

She had used his body as a plaything. But then...

A shudder of both disgust and pleasure tickled the back of his neck.

He had loved every moment.

The warm covers of Mirella's bed did nothing to stop a shiver running down her spine as she remembered.

The shadowborn had struck from behind as she was at her most vulnerable. She had played with the Slayer, forcing him to act out his urges with her - but she had grown cocky in her power play. As she had relished in absorbing the power of his seed it had attacked.

She touched a tentative hand to the bruise on her throat.

The shadowborn's strength had been immense, titanic. She had never felt so powerless. It was strange. She was just as powerless to stop the demon as the Slayer had been to stop her.

Yet he had saved her life.

Right as the demon had her in its grasp, its burning eyes staring into her soul - the witch-slayer had plunged his sword through the demon's heart.

There had been a moment - one of those fateful, fork-in-the-road moments - as he stood, his sword pointed at her. Anger had swelled within her... why?

The powerlessness, that ugly alien feeling that magic-users feel so rarely.

Yet beneath her anger as she laid naked and vulnerable at his feet, she had found herself studying his eyes and saw...

Mirella shook it off and scolded herself.

Try as she might, however - something tugged at her. Deep in her body, a curiosity. An aching, yearning hunger for the Slayer to come back to her.

Evric knew deep down that every step he took back into the forest was a step back to Mirella. The fact remained, however, that his pack, clothing, and sword were all back at her cottage. He knew that it was just an excuse. He spent hours wrestling in futility, resisting what he knew was his deepest desires.

He lost.

Pulling on his only other clothes from the trunk at the base of the bed, his movements were robotic and slow. He knew precisely what was coming, what he wanted - but he had no idea what might happen when he returned to her.

The sun was beginning to rise, the early blue-pink glow of the sky heralded by the gentle twitter of birdsong. The crisp air nipped at his nose as he left the inn before it got busy with morning guests.

A dull headache had begun to creep up behind his eyes. He hadn't slept well the night before setting out to slay the witch, and yesterday's hike through the forest (followed by last night's... "grappling match") had depleted him.

Evric hadn't felt so physically and mentally exhausted since some of the more rigorous testing days at the academy. Yet something drove him effortlessly back into the forest, meeting the trail with fresh legs that seemed to move themselves.

He... yearned for her.

Mirella had barely slept. Her dreams had been restless, thirsting fever dreams of arms, shoulders and rough, calloused hands.

Frustrated, she had decided channel her urges into cleaning the cottage up some more.

She hadn't known what to do with the Slayer's things. She had placed his sword back into its sheath, leaning it against the brickwork of the fireplace.

She had felt weak as she caught a whiff of his scent as she picked up his shirt, pants, and the plate of body armour he had removed under the influence of the elixir.

Not influence, but desire - she reminded herself. She felt a strange, guilty shame.

What was it about this idiot mortal that had so raptly captivated her?

Was it his lean, tantalising physique - or his dark, handsome face?

Or was it because his first instinct was to save her life?

Pushing the sparks circulating in her navel somewhere deeper and hidden, she muttered a quick spell and flicked her hand.

The clothes became fresh and clean, folding themselves rapidly and stacking at the base of her bed.

"Off," she said, blushing at the implication of his clothes sitting there.

The clothing awkwardly shuffled their way off the bed and into the chair set by the window - and that was when she saw him.

The witch-slayer had returned - kneeling over something on the far side of the clearing.

The morning sun had just cleared the trees, and Mirella's eyes traced over his silhouette hungrily. She realised she was holding her breath, and it took everything within her not to slap herself.

"He's probably just come back for his sword, get a hold of yourself," she hissed to herself. She found herself remembering the sensation of his breath and tongue on her skin, and blushed furiously.

The silhouette straightened up tall, slinging a bag over his shoulder and hefting something into the grass. He turned in the direction of the cottage, pausing.

"Please. Please, Slayer,"

she urged silently.

The cottage came into view the moment he entered the clearing. It was as though this time she wanted to be found. Pretending not to notice it but accepting that he was merely delaying the inevitable, he knelt to find his pack right where he had left it the day before.

The tin of protection spell powder rattled as he rifled through the bag. He removed it, tossing it angrily into the grass.

'Some protection spell,'

he thought. '

What good did it serve yesterday?'

Evric clasped at the flask of blessed oil as well. Pondering it briefly, he tipped it out, throwing it aside. The oil had certainly ignited beautifully yesterday - turning his sword into an intimidating beacon of flames, before...

'My sword,'

he realised.

Evric turned to the cottage, staring at it. A gentle pillar of smoke snaked upward from the chimney, an inviting smell on the wind. As his eyes fixed on the door, he was finally able to identify the storm that had been brewing within him.

A confession to himself sprang from his lips.

'You know exactly why you're here

.

Gods, be done with it.'

The grass swept at his sides as he walked, parting as though to beckon him forward.

He knocked, his heart skipping a beat as he heard her approach to open the door.

Mirella's hair flowed loose around her shoulders; her robe only half-pulled on. She looked like temptation itself without even trying. Her eyes took him in slowly, as though checking for damage - and seemed relieved to find none.

A cheeky smile cracked across her lips.

"Looks like the forest dragged you back to me."

"I... wasn't sure you'd have me back."

Mirella stepped aside to invite him in.

"You're lucky you have my curiosity, Slayer."

"Evric," he said absent-mindedly. "Evric Thorne."

He looked around the cottage slowly as he walked in.

The entire configuration - the bed, rug, table, shelves - had changed since last night. Doors still peppered the walls at odd angles, leading to gods know where. She watched him the entire time, an amused smile on her face.

"You ran from me last night like a frightened little thing, Evric Thorne. Now you're back like a kid in a candy shop. Are you here to try to slay me again?"

Evric swallowed hard. She watched the movement in his throat and wanted badly to kiss it.

"I'm here because I... can't stop thinking about what happened. About

you

. But I do seem to remember saving you from a demon, Witch," he said with a sly grin.

The nickname sounded affectionate, she decided. She'd never noticed how straight his teeth were.

"I remember that too," she said quietly, her expression softening.

Neither of them said anything. The distance between them seemed to crackle with some unseen force - a kind of magic that neither of them were equipped to handle.

"My sword," he said, pointing to the weapon leaning against the fireplace.

"It was bigger than I expected," she joked.

Evric's steely blue eyes reflected the fireplace as they met hers. She lost herself for a moment in his gaze. She felt a flash of guilt again as it reminded her of his expression when she had subdued him.

"Look, Evric, about last night-"

"It was amazing."

"Huh?"

Her voice echoed into a shocked silence.

"Look, last night... I was the one who came to you. I invaded your home, thinking it would earn me fame and fortune. You had every right to kill me," he explained.

"But you didn't. You showed me exactly how useless my training was. How weak I really was. You made me feel..."

"Powerless?"

His eyes widened, but then he smiled, understood.

"I've trained all my life to slay all kinds of evil monsters and beasts... but I was surprised when I found you. You were..."

Mirella tilted her head, a knowing smile curving her lips.

"Irresistible? Charming? Beautiful?"

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"All of the above, but...

different

. Alive. Not some monster I was trained to slay."

Her face softened, but the smile remained. She regarded him warmly, then made her decision.

"Come back to my bed, little witch-slayer. No magic but ours this time."

Evric smiled, his body relaxing. He moved towards her.

"I'm not a witch-slayer," he said, "and I seem to remember we did it on the rug last time. No bed."

"Then come to my bed, Evric Thorne. Let's see if I can't make you regret staying away so long."

Mirella's hips swayed a delicious rhythm as she turned slowly and crossed the cottage to a large, warm-looking bed tucked in a smaller section of the cottage behind a curtain.

Evric followed. He felt a quiet, ravenous certainty - that he wanted to be here with her, that he wanted to have her in every way his exhausted body could manage, and that there was nothing else that was supposed to happen today but this.

Evric turned to her; his face inquisitive as he gestured to the plush bedding.

"Is this where the magic happ-?"

Evric tried to joke to break the tension - but she came to him, her lips brushing against his before pulling him onto the bed.

Sparks ignited and swirled like a kicked bonfire somewhere deep between her thighs as his hands instinctively found the small of her back. His fingers explored down the curves of her hips and ass.

Mirella kissed him wildly, boldly, exploring his mouth with her tongue. Her breath was cool on his skin as she kissed down his neck. Sucking and biting, she pulled his shirt up over his head - blindfolding him and pinning his hands. His breath became ragged and caught in his chest as she kissed down his body.

Evric's chest began to heave in needful, panting breaths as she explored his strong, muscular chest, kissing at his nipples and licking her tongue down the middle of his taut stomach. She flicked his belt open, tearing his pants down his legs. He helped her kick them off as he removed his shirt the rest of the way, tossing it onto the chair in the corner of her room.

Mirella gazed at him for a moment, thinking - and then kissed him. It was a light, affectionate peck - but she held it a little longer. The light touch of her hands sent Evric's brain into overdrive. She traced down his chest and stomach, reached down slowly and patting gently at the growing bulge in his underwear. The flecks of gold in her eyes danced as she giggled softly, staring lovingly from the bulge to his eyes.

He sat up and reached down, taking her cheek in his hand. She leaned her face into his hand, closing her eyes to savour his touch. He pressed a thumb to her lip, and she moaned quietly as he rolled it down gently.