Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 220: Breeding for clan

He pointed a finger at her chest, his gaze burning into hers.

"You carry it. Pure, even though it is only half. You are the most eligible person for a true heir this clan will ever have."

A flush crept up Sigora’s neck, staining her brown skin a deeper shade.

Her breath hitched.

This wasn’t in her carefully laid plans.

"Jorghan... that is... inappropriate. I am your aunt. Your guardian. The clan’s stability requires legitimate, recognized partnerships with other houses. What you’re suggesting is..."

"Me...at this age..."

"Necessary," he finished for her, taking another step.

The space between them crackled.

The scent of her, warm herbs and sun-baked skin, filled his senses, mingling with the lingering musk.

"You think Madayanti’s child will be a Sol’vur? It will be an Amasurata with a dash of our power. A bargaining chip.

I need a foundation.

I need you."

She shook her head, taking a half-step back, her wide hips bumping against the edge of the heavy table.

"I cannot. My role is to guide you, to manage this. Not to be... bred like a prized mare."

"Too late."

The words were a soft growl.

He closed the final distance in one swift motion.

Before she could protest further, before she could summon the authority of the elder she was, his hands shot out. One tangled in the loose knot of her dark hair, pulling her head down. The other arm wrapped around her thick waist, yanking her off balance.

With a strength that belied the foot-and-a-half height difference, he pulled her down to his level and crushed his mouth against hers.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss.

It was a claim. Hard, demanding, all tongue and teeth and shameless hunger.

Ahhh!

She gasped against his lips, a muffled sound of shock, her hands coming up to push against his chest. But the push lacked conviction. Her body, traitorous and warm, melted into the kiss after a second of resistance. Her lips parted, and a low moan vibrated in her throat as he explored her mouth, tasting the unique flavor that was purely hers.

While his mouth devoured hers, his hand left her hair and slid down her body. It slipped under the simple fabric of her tunic, over the soft, heavy swell of her belly, and down further, past the waistband of her skirt.

She was bare beneath, as he knew she would be.

Her eyes flew open wide when his fingers found her heat. She was already wet, slick with an arousal she hadn’t admitted even to herself. He pushed two thick fingers inside her without ceremony, curling them upward, stroking the sensitive, spongy wall deep within.

"Nngh!"

The sound was torn from her, swallowed by his kiss. Her body arched, her full breasts pressing hard against his chest. Her claws dug into his shoulders, not to push him away, but to anchor herself as her knees threatened to buckle. She was so tight around his fingers, hot and clenching, her body betraying every word of refusal.

He broke the kiss, his lips hovering a breath from hers. His blue eyes were dark, pupils blown with lust and absolute certainty. He worked his fingers inside her, the wet, obscene sound loud in the quiet tent.

"You see?" he rasped.

"Your body knows me."

"Jorghan... please..." she begged, but it was a plea for more, not for him to stop. Her head fell back, exposing the long column of her throat.

"I’ve decided," he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean, his eyes locked on hers. He tasted her essence, musky and sweet.

"Tonight. I will put my seed in you. We make the first true heir of the new Sol’vur. From our blood. No politics.

Just legacy."

He released her suddenly. Sigora stumbled, catching herself on the table, her legs trembling, her core aching and empty. She stared at him, her golden eyes wide, her lips swollen from his kiss, her tunic disheveled.

Jorghan didn’t wait for a response. He adjusted himself, his erection still prominent against his pants, a blatant promise of what was to come.

He gave her one last, long look, a look that held the weight of a dynasty yet unborn.

Then he turned and walked out, leaving her amidst the scattered plans for a future that had just been irrevocably changed.

The flap fell closed behind him, but the echo of his declaration hung in the air, thicker than any desert heat.

Sigora slowly sank into his vacated chair, her hand drifting between her thighs, feeling the wetness he had left there.

A shiver ran through her powerful frame.

He had decided.

And she knew, with a terrifying, thrilling certainty, that she would not—could not—refuse him when he returned.

*

Three days later, Jorghan stood before an assembly of the Nue’roka, the Nuwe’rak, and the inhabitants of the floating island, roughly five hundred elves who’d gathered to hear Jorghan’s plans for the future.

The first waves of the absorbed clans had begun arriving. About two hundred had reached Brownhill Dunes so far, with the remaining six hundred expected over the following two weeks. They’d set up temporary camps on the outskirts of the existing settlements, creating a sprawling expansion that would need proper organization soon.

Jorghan stood on a raised platform Sik’ra had constructed for exactly this kind of address.

Sigora stood beside him, her presence lending authority and legitimacy to whatever he was about to announce.

Grace watched from the crowd, still adjusting to elven culture but interested in understanding how their new home functioned.

"Thank you for gathering," Jorghan began, his voice carrying clearly across the assembled crowd.

"I know many of you are tired from travel, from the strain of relocating your lives to join Sol’vur. I appreciate your commitment and your faith that what we’re building here is worth the sacrifice."

He gestured toward the northwest.

"In one week, we begin the journey to the Colloniel ruins. The ruins, where my father’s clan once thrived, where the Sol’vur name meant something before betrayal and violence destroyed it. We’re going to rebuild that settlement, make it our home, and create something that will last for centuries."

Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd.

This was expected; everyone knew the plan was to establish a permanent Sol’vur base.

"But a settlement is just buildings without people," Jorghan continued.

"And people need more than just shelter and food. They need families, children, and futures that extend beyond their own lifespans. The Sol’vur clan currently has only me. That’s not enough to sustain a great clan, not enough to ensure our survival if catastrophe strikes again."

He paused, ensuring he had everyone’s complete attention.

"So I’m announcing my intention to take multiple partners, to father children who’ll carry the Sol’vur bloodline forward, to create the next generation that will inherit what we’re building."

The murmurs became louder, some approving, some surprised, some calculating, as various elves began considering implications and opportunities.

He looked directly at the section where the absorbed clan members were clustered.

"You can send your favored candidates to me, and I will decide."

Sigora stepped forward, her presence commanding attention.

"I’ll be coordinating these partnerships as Elder of the Sol’vur clan. Anyone interested or who has concerns about the structure should speak with me directly. This will be managed carefully, with respect for everyone involved and a clear understanding of expectations and privileges."

Jorghan resumed.

"I know this is unusual timing. We’re in the middle of a migration, preparing to establish a new settlement, and dealing with Empire threats and Council politics. But building a clan can’t wait for perfect circumstances."

He straightened, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd.

The crowd was silent now, processing what they’d just heard.

For many, this was the moment when Jorghan stopped being just a powerful warrior who’d restored his clan’s name and became an actual clan head, someone thinking in terms of generations rather than just immediate survival.

And many of them saw it as an opportunity to get close to him.

"That’s all," Jorghan concluded.

"Return to your preparations. We move to Colloniel in one week. Questions or concerns should go through Sigora or your clan representatives. Build the future with me, and I promise the Sol’vur will become something worthy of your sacrifice."

He stepped down from the platform, and the crowd began dispersing, conversations erupting immediately as everyone discussed the implications of what they’d just heard.

Sigora fell into step beside him as they walked back toward her dwelling.

"That went well. Clear, direct, and no room for misinterpretation. You’ll start receiving approaches from interested women within hours."

"How do you want to handle that?" Jorghan asked.

"I’ll examine initial inquiries and eliminate anyone whose motivations are purely opportunistic or who lack the qualities you should be looking for in partners. Then I’ll arrange private meetings with the remaining candidates. You make the final decisions, but I’ll provide context about their backgrounds, abilities, and what they’d bring to the arrangement."