Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 224: Mother, kneel before me

"No," Grace said immediately.

"You did what was necessary. Jamie would never have let me go peacefully. Luke would never have stopped trying to use me as leverage or control. Destroying that structure was the only way forward, even though the cost was terrible."

She looked back toward the quarters where Luke sat in his traumatized silence.

"But now I’m watching you prepare to build something new. Multiple partnerships, strategic alliances, and children born from calculation rather than affection. And I’m worried you’re about to create a different kind of lie—a family structure that looks functional but lacks the genuine connection that makes family meaningful."

Jorghan leaned against the railing, considering her words.

"Elven clans function differently than human families. Multiple partnerships are normal. Children are raised communally. Bloodline and clan loyalty matter more than individual parent-child bonds. What you’re describing as concerning is just standard practice here."

"I know that intellectually," Grace replied.

"Sigora explained it to me. But knowing something is culturally normal doesn’t make it emotionally healthy. You’re young, Jorghan. You’re planning to father children with multiple women you’ve selected for strategic reasons. Those children will grow up knowing their father chose their mothers based on genetics and politics rather than love. How do you think that will affect them?"

"The same way it affects every heir born into the major clans," Jorghan said.

"They’ll understand their purpose, their role, and their responsibility to the bloodline. That’s not trauma—it’s clarity about expectations."

"Or it’s growing up feeling like you only matter for what you can contribute to clan ambitions," Grace countered.

"Like your value is tied to your abilities rather than your existence as a person. That creates children who become high-functioning but emotionally stunted adults. Like Luke."

She gestured back toward the quarters.

"My son was raised in wealth and privilege. He had everything material comfort could provide. But he also grew up knowing his value to Jamie was contingent on his usefulness. When threatened with death, he offered to trade me to save himself because that’s what he’d been taught—people are assets to be leveraged for survival. That’s the legacy of being raised in a transactional family structure."

Jorghan was quiet, processing the comparison.

"What are you asking me to do? Abandon the partnerships? Ignore clan necessity for some idealized notion of family that doesn’t align with elven culture?"

"I’m asking you to consider that necessity and genuine connection aren’t mutually exclusive," Grace replied.

"I know I don’t have the right to preach about the familial values, but just hear my words."

"You can choose partners for strategic reasons while also treating them as people you’re building something with. You can father children who serve clan purposes while also making sure they know they’re valued beyond their utility.

It’s not either/or—it’s both/and."

She moved closer, her hand reaching toward his face with maternal tenderness she was still learning to express.

"You were born here again, and I didn’t get to raise you. I missed your entire childhood, all the moments that create normal parent-child bonds. But you’re still my son. And watching you prepare to create a family structure that might damage the children you father the way Jamie’s structure damaged Luke... I have to say something. Like your father did.

Even if you ignore it. Even if I’m wrong about how elven families work. I have to try."

Jorghan looked at her—this woman who’d given birth to him but raised Luke instead, who’d lived on Earth while he grew up in Sigora’s care, who was now trying to offer maternal guidance despite having no authority or experience in his life.

"I will keep what you said in mind."

He sighed, "What’s with all the people trying to teach me about fatherhood?"

"God, am I that much of a terrible person?"

"No, son. You are not. You will be a great father."

Grace stood there, her heart pounding in the moonlit silence, her fingers lingering on Jorghan’s sleeve. The words had tumbled out of her—about choice, about wanting him not for strategy but for the raw pull between them.

"And..." she looked hesitant as she said, "there is one more thing I want to talk to you about."

But as she looked into his eyes, something shifted.

The air grew thicker, charged with an undercurrent she’d felt simmering since the day he’d pulled her from that crumbling life on Earth.

Jorghan, her son, though he looked nothing like the son she had given birth to, the one she’d betrayed in a haze of fear and manipulation, only for him to die and claw his way back through reincarnation.

Now he stood before her, a young elven lord, but with the soul of the boy who’d once idolized her, twisted now into something darker, more consuming.

He’d never let her forget it.

In quiet moments, he’d whisper reminders of their shared past—how she’d been his mother, how her betrayal had shattered him, and how death had only fueled his obsession.

And yet, here she was, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, her body betraying her mind’s protests. She’d decided, in the depths of her relief and guilt, to dedicate herself wholly to him.

Not as a slave in chains, but in surrender, offering everything to atone, to feed the perverse hunger she saw in his gaze. She wouldn’t call him master; that was too formal, too detached.

No, this was intimate, familial in the most degenerate way, a mother’s twisted devotion to her reincarnated son, and his possessive claim on her.

Jorghan’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile, his eyes darkening with that familiar madness. "What is that?"

"It’s about us. The choice I made."

"You chose me," he echoed, his voice low and rough, laced with the obsession that had defined him since his rebirth.

He stepped even closer, eliminating the respectful distance he’d maintained earlier. His hand lifted, fingers tracing the line of her jaw, possessive, like he was reclaiming a lost possession. "But choice implies freedom, Mom. And you know, deep down, you’re already mine. From the moment I pulled you from that pathetic human life, you’ve been bound to me. Mother or not, in this life or the last—you belong to me."

Grace felt her chest felt lighter and swelled up at the same time, hearing him calling her that. It felt new and old at the same time. A complete mix of emotions, she was going through.

She swallowed, her throat dry, but she didn’t pull away.

Instead, a shiver ran through her, a mix of shame and illicit thrill.

"I... I want to be yours," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Completely. I’ll do anything you ask, Jorghan, my son. To make up for what I did. To give you what you need."

His amusement deepened, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. He tilted his head, studying her like a predator sizing up prey.

"Anything? That’s a dangerous promise, Mom. Especially from you."

His fingers slid down her neck, lingering at the pulse point where her heart raced.

"What can you do for me, then? Show me this dedication. Prove it’s not just words born from guilt."

She looked down, her cheeks flushing hot under the moonlight. The stone railing pressed against her back as she felt the weight of his gaze. Her mind flashed to memories—fragments of their past life, where she’d been the nurturing figure, and he’d been the adoring son.

And then to him growing into a strong young man, only to be killed by her and Jamie.

Now, twisted by reincarnation and betrayal, it had morphed into this: his mother complex fueling an obsessive love, a need to possess her body and soul, to erase the boundaries that society screamed were sacred.

And she, in her warped atonement, welcomed it.

"I... I can give you my body," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My loyalty. My everything. Use me however you want, Jorghan. I’m yours to command."

He laughed softly, the sound sending a jolt through her core.

"Command?

Oh, my mother, this isn’t about commands. It’s about ownership."

He moved closer, his body pressing against hers, the heat of him seeping through her thin dress. She could feel the hard lines of his frame, the subtle strength that belied his youth. His hand dropped lower, fingers brushing the swell of her breast through the fabric, teasing, testing.

"Come closer," he said, his tone shifting to something more commanding yet intimate—like a son demanding affection from his mother, but laced with perversion.

She obeyed, stepping into him, her breasts brushing his chest. Her breath hitched as his hand slipped inside the neckline of her dress, the cool night air contrasting with the warmth of his palm as he cupped her breast fully. He molded her flesh, squeezing gently at first, then firmer, his thumb circling the hardening nipple.

Arrgghhh!!!

A low groan escaped her lips, unbidden, as pleasure spiked through her shame.

"Jorghan..." she breathed, her hands clutching at his arms for support.

"Shh," he murmured, his other hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back slightly to expose her neck. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.

"You feel that? How your body respond to me? It’s always been this way, hasn’t it? Even in the old life, before the betrayal. You were mine then, too—in my dreams, in my fantasies."

His fingers pinched her nipple, rolling it between them, sending sparks of degenerate delight down her spine. She arched into his touch, her thighs pressing together instinctively to quell the growing ache between them.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked on hers, burning with that obsessive fire.

"You’ll live in my room from now on," he declared, his voice possessive, like he was staking a claim no one could challenge.

"No more separate quarters. You’ll sleep in my bed, wake to my touch. I’ll have my way with you whenever I desire—morning, night, or in the midst of council meetings if the mood strikes. You’ll be my secret indulgence, my perverse obsession. No one else touches you. Ever."

Her mind reeled at the words, the taboo of it all crashing over her.

He was her son, reincarnated, and yet here she was, offering herself like a willing vessel for his twisted love.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice husky with arousal.

"I’ll be there for you. Only for you."

Jorghan’s hand delved deeper, pushing the fabric aside to expose her breast to the night air. He lowered his head, his mouth closing over the sensitive peak, sucking greedily.

AHH!

Grace gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure coursed through her. His tongue flicked and swirled, teeth grazing just enough to send a sharp edge to the bliss. She felt herself growing wet, her body betraying any lingering resistance.

This was wrong—degenerate, perverse—but in her dedication, it felt right.

A way to heal the wounds she’d inflicted.

He released her with a wet pop, his lips glistening as he looked up at her.

When he was about to bury himself in her bosom, there was a thud sound from the quarters.

Grace quickly went in and saw Luke was lying on the floor.

Jorghan came later and saw them.

Luke seemed to lost his consciousness.

He clicked his tongue and walked out of the quarters, telling her to deal with him.