Chapter 328: Lawof Nature

She sat on him naked, the way females usually were positioned in such moments. There was nothing particularly spectacular about her breasts, nor the way they moved as she lowered herself and impaled herself on his lower member. Her body reacted the way bodies were meant to, her muscles tightening and loosening in practiced rhythm.She groaned loudly with pleasure, her voice rising and falling without restraint, even as she forced her hips to move faster than she usually did. There was effort in it, an eagerness that bordered on desperation, as though she were trying to wring something more from the act than it was capable of giving her.

Her moans filled the room—loud, unrestrained, and deeply irritating. The sound of her thighs slapping against his own was strange to him, a sensation he had never grown accustomed to no matter how many times he endured it. There was heat, friction, movement—yet none of it stirred what it was meant to.

The smell hanging in the air was wrong.

It did not smell sweet, not at all like the descriptions he had once read in the books he had bothered to study. Those accounts spoke of warmth, of musk and desire, of intoxicating intimacy.

No.

This was almost offensive. Sharp in a way that prickled at the back of his senses. Like a bug trapped in the air—too small to be seen, yet irritating enough to be constantly felt. A presence that refused to be ignored.

Clay watched her as she clung to him for support, her fingers digging into his shoulders while her thighs trembled. She made sure to let out a moan every few seconds, her eyes fluttering closed as though lost in pleasure.

He knew better.

He was fully aware that he needed to act the part. God forbid he do less than what a normal person would. God forbid she notice the emptiness behind his gaze.

His hands moved slowly along her back, fingers splayed gently against her skin. The touch was soft, controlled—careful. All the while, his true desire burned beneath the surface: the urge to rip into her spine, to tear her body apart and witness the beauty of her blood spilling free.

He grabbed her waist and increased his thrusts, forcing himself to mimic urgency while holding back his revulsion. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding slightly as he focused on rhythm rather than sensation.

Pleasure—he felt none of it.

It was not because he did not understand what pleasure was. He knew it intimately. He felt it when he watched the light go out of someone’s eyes—anyone who was not a Zygon. When he took over their memories, their lives, their identities, consuming who they once were.

Something he had not done in a while.

His magic core felt low, not empty but dangerously close. His thoughts drifted briefly, unbidden, to which trees he could drain next without drawing suspicion. Which groves were isolated enough. Which roots were old enough to give without screaming.

He dragged his mind back just in time, realizing that his partner was close. Her breathing had changed, her movements becoming erratic. That meant he had to put in more effort than usual.

Gritting his teeth, Clay forced himself to act out the part he hated most.

"Ahhhh!" he groaned, feigning pleasure as he increased his thrusts—sharp, precise, aimed exactly where she needed him to go. Her legs gave out, collapsing against him as her body shook violently with release.

Her scream was muffled by her hands as she tried—and failed—to contain it.

Clay released himself inside her, ensuring the act was complete. If it had been the first time, his essence would have made her mind his entirely. But considering how many times they had slept together, it was useless now.

He could order her to kill herself, and she would not hesitate. She would not even blink before finding the most satisfying way to do it.

When the shaking finally stopped, Clay went limp beneath her, staring blankly upward as she collapsed beside him. A satisfied smile curved her lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

She was already gearing herself to go again.

That did not surprise him.

Every time she slept with him, she saw Zyren—the one man she was infatuated with, the one she could never have. Clay was merely a vessel, a substitute shaped by obsession and fantasy.

Quietly, he stared at her as she gazed up at the ceiling, likely replaying the scenes in her head. He knew how she was going to die. He had planned it thoroughly, without remorse, long before this night.

And yet, as he looked at her smile—at the strange hopefulness in her eyes—something unfamiliar stirred.

Hesitation.

A fleeting urge to send her away. To push her out of the castle, far from him, far from Zyren, far from everything that would eventually destroy her. To allow her some semblance of a life.

The urge to...protect.

He did not even know what that meant.

The thought unsettled him deeply.

"Clay!" she called, her voice soft now, using his name—not the name of the man she truly loved.

"...You always have that manic look in your eyes when you look at me," she said, her observation disturbingly accurate.

Clay nodded slowly, allowing a faint, tired smile to flicker across his face.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I’d like nothing more than to eat you?" he asked seriously.

She laughed, as she always did, smacking his shoulder playfully before rolling off the bed. "You’re ridiculous," she said, already moving toward the bathing chamber.

She busied herself with preparing warm water, speaking all the while—words they had exchanged more times than he cared to count.

"If it were up to you, we’d stay here all day, every day," she sighed. "...You’re always so energetic and vigorous."

She paused briefly before continuing, "But alas, I’m a noble with noble duties. And with the Zygon infestation, he’s planning to wipe them out. We’re still sectioning people so it’ll be easier to sweep through the cities all at once."

Clay did not ask questions. He knew better. The quieter he was, the more she talked.

He rose from the bed and followed her toward the bath, dreading this part even more than the rest. Water was torture. His human skin was nothing but a mask. Beneath it lay scales, ridged and layered, filled with tiny crevices that water always found.

It made him itch. Made him want to scratch until the mask split and bled.

The last time that happened, Lady Vivian had panicked at the sight of the wound—one he could not heal immediately without drawing suspicion.

Lady Vivian stepped into the tub first. Clay followed, the basin large enough to hold them both comfortably. She leaned back against his chest, sighing contentedly as she relaxed into the warmth.

"I hate the Zygons," she said suddenly. "They do nothing but kill and attack people."

"Zyren does the same," Clay replied flatly, "and you love him."

She laughed, taking it as a joke. "Yes, but Zyren has power. Those with power can do as they like. It’s the law of nature."

She turned to smile at him.

Clay’s eyes fluttered as something old stirred within him.

"Law of nature," he muttered.

She sighed happily, unaware that behind her, he had gone completely still—wondering what he was doing, sitting in warm water, playing house with his food.