Purple surrounded him.
Ian's consciousness drifted through the color like he was swimming in liquid lavender, thick and suffocating. He couldn't tell if it was mist or smoke or something else entirely—just purple stretching in every direction as far as his eyes could see. No ground beneath his feet, no sky overhead, just endless violet haze that pressed against his skin with phantom weight.
His body felt strange. Light. Like gravity had stopped applying its usual rules. He tried moving his arms but couldn't tell if they actually responded or if the purple just absorbed the motion without registering it.
Where was he?
The question formed sluggishly in his mind, his thoughts moving through molasses. The last thing he remembered was... Lunaria. The kiss. Her violet eyes too close to his face, her tongue in his mouth, the overwhelming scent of flowers making his head swim. Then darkness.
This had to be a dream. Had to be. Nothing else made sense.
The purple shifted.
Movement caught his attention—or what passed for attention in this strange state. The color rippled like water disturbed by something moving beneath the surface. Shapes formed in the haze, dark silhouettes that solidified with each passing second.
Then she appeared.
Ian's breath caught—or would have if he could actually feel himself breathing. The woman materialized from the purple mist like she'd been there all along and he'd just been too blind to see her. She walked toward him with fluid grace, each step purposeful despite the lack of visible ground.
She was... fuck.
His brain struggled to process what his eyes were seeing. The woman was human—fully human, not half-horse or insect or any of the other impossible combinations this world had thrown at him. But calling her simply "human" felt like an insult to whatever divine force had crafted her form.
Her body was obscene. That was the only word his lust-addled mind could supply. Curves that defied physics, that made his exhausted brain short-circuit trying to reconcile how someone could actually be shaped like that. Her hips flared wide from a waist so narrow his hands could probably span it, the ratio so extreme it looked like something from an artist's fantasy rather than reality.
And her breasts—Christ, her breasts. Massive didn't begin to cover it. They strained against the sheer purple fabric draped across her body, the material so thin it might as well not exist. The garment clung to every curve, every valley, leaving absolutely nothing to imagination while still technically covering her. Each step made them bounce with hypnotic rhythm, the weight of them swaying in ways that made his mouth go dry.
Her hair flowed like liquid midnight down her back, so dark it seemed to absorb the purple light surrounding them. The color was wrong—too blue, too deep, like someone had taken the concept of "black" and added an extra dimension to it. It cascaded past her shoulders, past her waist, the ends disappearing into the purple mist at her feet.
But her face. Fuck, her face.
Pale skin that seemed to glow from within, flawless and smooth as polished marble. High cheekbones that caught the strange light, full lips painted deep purple to match the surrounding haze. And her eyes—large and expressive, framed by lashes so thick they cast shadows on her cheeks. The color was violet, but darker than Lunaria's. Deeper. Like galaxies spinning in miniature, holding entire universes within their depths.
She smiled as she approached, the expression predatory and knowing. Her hips swayed with each step, the motion exaggerated and deliberate. The sheer fabric shifted across her body, revealing glimpses of skin beneath that made heat flood through Ian's chest despite not being entirely sure he actually had a body in this place.
"Hello, Ian." Her voice rolled through the purple haze like honey mixed with smoke, low and sultry. The sound wrapped around him, sinking into his consciousness with physical weight.
His throat felt too tight to respond. His tongue had apparently forgotten how to form words, his brain too busy cataloguing the impossible perfection walking toward him to spare processing power for speech.
She stopped maybe two feet away. Her violet eyes tracked across his face with lazy confidence, like she was reading every thought he'd ever had and finding them amusing.
"Nekomata got your tongue?" She tilted her head, the motion making her midnight hair shift across her shoulders. "That's alright. I prefer my men speechless anyway."
Before he could process what that meant, her hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled. His body moved without resistance—because of course it did in whatever dream logic governed this place—and suddenly his face was pressed between her breasts.
The sensation hit him like a physical blow. Soft. Warm. Overwhelming. The sheer fabric did nothing to diminish the feeling of her skin against his face, her flesh yielding around him like he was drowning in the most pleasant suffocation imaginable. Her scent filled his nose—that lavender mixed with something sweeter, headier, making his thoughts scatter like leaves in wind.
"There we go," she purred, her voice vibrating through her chest into his face. Her arms wrapped around his head, holding him in place against her breasts. "Much better. This is where you belong, isn't it?"
Ian's hands moved without conscious direction, finding her waist. The skin beneath his palms was impossibly soft, warm through the thin fabric. His fingers pressed into her sides, feeling the give of flesh that seemed designed specifically to drive him insane.
She shifted her grip, tilting his head back just enough that his face left the valley of her cleavage. Her violet eyes met his, close enough that he could see flecks of lighter purple dancing in her irises. Her expression had gone serious, the playful edge replaced by something that made his chest tighten despite the unreality of this place.
"This is how it should be done. " she said, her tone sharp with conviction that cut through the purple haze. "Poor Lunaria. She didn't court you properly, to win your love by showing her skill as a warrior, hunter, mage, poet, or anything. Thats how she wants to do it. The proper way to show you why you should love her." Her lips curled into something between a sneer and a smile. "Instead she allowed her mother's warriors drag you from your bed like a common prize. Tied you up. Paraded you through her camp."
Ian's fingers tightened on her waist, his brain struggling to process the words through the fog of lust and confusion. The woman shifted her weight, her hips pressing forward against his in a way that made his breath catch.
"That makes you unclaimed," she continued, her voice dropping lower. "Fair game. Up for grabs to anyone who knows how to treat a man properly." Her hands moved from his head to his shoulders, nails dragging lightly across his skin through his threadbare shirt. "To someone who understands that courtship requires more than just kidnapping."
Her hips ground against his with deliberate pressure, the motion slow and rolling. The sheer fabric between them did nothing to diminish the sensation, her body moving against his in a rhythm that made his thoughts scatter completely. Heat flooded through his chest, spreading lower with each purposeful movement of her hips.
"Do you feel that?" Her voice had gone breathy, each word punctuated by another roll of her hips. "That's what you deserve. Not ropes and nets and being dragged across grasslands like cargo." Another grind, harder this time. "You deserve to be worshipped. Seduced. Claimed properly by someone who knows what the fuck they're doing. I am sorry Lunaria but if you won't go against your mother to do it the right way she should has no right to your heart."
Ian's hands moved higher on her waist without conscious direction, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath the thin fabric. His breathing had gone ragged, each inhale pulling her scent deeper into his lungs—that lavender mixed with something darker, muskier, making his head swim worse than the flowers in Lunaria's hair ever had.
The woman's hand found his chin, tilting his face up until their eyes met fully. Her violet irises seemed to glow in the purple haze, galaxies spinning faster now with something that looked like hunger mixed with determination.
"Listen to me carefully," she said, her tone losing the sultry edge and becoming almost businesslike despite their position. "I need you to wait. Just wait. A way out is going to show itself to you." Her thumb stroked across his jaw, the touch gentle despite the intensity in her gaze. "When it does, you take it. You run. You get away from that silver-haired bitch and her mother's camp as fast as your legs can carry you."
The words filtered through his lust-fogged brain slowly, trying to find purchase on something coherent. Wait for what? A way out? His throat worked but no sound came out, his tongue still refusing to cooperate with speech.
"After that," she continued, her expression shifting back into that predatory smile from before. Her hips resumed their grinding motion, slower now but no less deliberate. "After you're free and safe—that's when I'll find you. That's when I'll show you how a real woman courts her man."
Her face moved closer, her breath warm against his neck. The sensation made his entire body go rigid, his fingers digging deeper into her waist. Her lips brushed his throat, barely touching, the contact feather-light and teasing.
"I'm going to make you feel things Lunaria's sheltered ass could never imagine," she whispered against his skin, her voice low enough that he felt the vibrations more than heard the words. "I'm going to worship every inch of you until you forget your own name. Until the only word you remember is mine."
Her mouth opened against his neck. Ian registered the warmth of her breath, the wetness of her tongue as it dragged across his pulse point. Then her teeth found his skin and bit down.
The sensation was electric. Sharp pressure mixed with pleasure that shot through his nervous system like lightning, making his back arch involuntarily. She bit harder, her teeth sinking into his flesh with force that should have hurt but instead sent waves of heat cascading through his chest, his stomach, pooling lower until his entire body felt like it was burning.
A sound burst from his throat—half gasp, half moan—his hands gripping her waist hard enough that his fingers would probably leave marks if this were real. The purple haze around them pulsed brighter, the color intensifying until it hurt to look at. Her teeth stayed locked on his neck, sucking and biting and marking him in ways that made rational thought impossible.
Then everything shattered.
The purple exploded into white light so bright it seared through his closed eyelids. The woman's body vanished from his grip, her warmth disappearing so abruptly it felt like falling into ice water. The sensation of her teeth on his neck remained for one impossible moment before that too dissolved into nothing.
Ian's consciousness clawed its way back toward wakefulness through layers of fog that clung to his thoughts like cobwebs. His body felt heavy, disconnected, limbs weighted down by exhaustion that went deeper than just physical fatigue. The purple haze from his dream still lingered at the edges of his awareness, that woman's voice echoing in his skull with words he couldn't quite grasp anymore.
His eyes stayed closed. Something about opening them felt like too much effort, like crossing a threshold he wasn't ready for yet. The darkness behind his eyelids was comfortable, safe, a barrier between him and whatever reality waited on the other side.
Warmth pressed against his back. Solid and alive, radiating heat through his threadbare shirt. The realization filtered through his sluggish thoughts slowly—he was lying on his side, his body curled against something large. The scent of lavender and jasmine filled his nose with each shallow breath, mixing with another smell underneath that his exhausted brain couldn't quite identify.
Lunaria. He was pressed against Lunaria's equine flank, her silver-white coat soft beneath his cheek where his head had shifted during sleep. The blanket she'd covered them with still draped across his shoulders, trapping warmth between their bodies that made sweat bead along his hairline despite the cool air he could feel on his exposed face.
Voices filtered through the fog in his head. Quiet, controlled, coming from somewhere nearby. His consciousness tried to pull back toward sleep, toward that comfortable darkness where thinking wasn't required, but the voices persisted with enough presence that his awareness couldn't fully retreat.
"...shouldn't have used them." Lunaria's voice, soft but carrying an edge of distress that cut through the lavender-scented haze. "Mother, we've never—our herd has never resorted to such methods. Not in all our history."
Ian's fingers twitched against the cushions beneath him, his body wanting to tense at the sound of conversation happening while he lay trapped and vulnerable. But whatever those flowers had done to his system kept his muscles relaxed despite the alarm trying to spike through his chest.
"I am aware of our traditions, daughter." The older unicorn's voice. Cool and measured, carrying authority that made even unconscious observation feel intrusive. "But our traditions were formed in times when humans sought us out willingly. When our beauty and grace were enough to attract suitable mates without... additional persuasion."
A pause stretched between them, long enough that Ian's consciousness started drifting again toward the comfortable darkness. Then Lunaria spoke, her voice quieter now, carrying something raw beneath the refined tones.
"The Alraune flowers." The words came out tight, like they hurt to say. "I didn't want to use them, Mother. I wanted—" She stopped, and Ian felt her equine body shift beneath him, muscles tensing with agitation. "I wanted to court him properly. To prove I could seduce him on my own merit."
Ian's exhausted brain struggled to parse what that meant. Alraune flowers? The blooms woven into her silver hair? His thoughts felt sluggish, disconnected, but something about the admission made his stomach twist despite the fog still clinging to his consciousness.
"You speak as though the flowers robbed you of agency," The other voice replied, her tone carrying that same clinical precision from when she'd examined him. "They were insurance, Lunaria. Nothing more."
"Insurance against what?" Lunaria's voice pitched higher, distress bleeding through the careful control. "Against him rejecting me? Against not being desirable enough on my own?" The cushions shifted as she moved, the motion transmitting through her flank into Ian's shoulder. "It makes me feel like—like I couldn't have won him without magical assistance. Like everything that happened was manufactured rather than genuine."
"Daughter." Her voice softened fractionally, losing some of its authoritative edge. "The flowers were there in case he became violent. In case the shock of capture made him dangerous to you or the others." A pause, then quieter: "Males can be unpredictable when frightened. The Alraune flowers simply... eased him into accepting his situation. Made him more receptive to comfort."
"But I wanted him to want me," Lunaria said, and the vulnerability in her voice made Ian's chest tighten despite everything. "Not because flowers made him compliant, but because he chose to. Because I was skilled enough, beautiful enough, worthy enough to attract him without—" She stopped, her breath hitching. "How can I know if anything that happened was real?"
The cushions shifted more dramatically now. Ian felt Lunaria's humanoid torso moving, her weight redistributing as she adjusted position. Her hand found his hair again, fingers threading through the tangled strands with that same gentle attention from before. The touch made his scalp prickle despite the exhaustion keeping his muscles relaxed.
"With time," Her mother said said, her tone taking on something that might have been reassurance beneath the clinical delivery, "the flowers' influence fades. You'll have opportunities to court him properly once he's settled. Once he understands his place here and accepts what's being offered." The sound of hoofbeats, soft against carpet, suggested she was moving closer. "The Alraune merely opened the door, Lunaria. What you build beyond that threshold is entirely dependent on your own skill."
"I could have done it without them," Lunaria said, her voice carrying fierce conviction mixed with desperation. "Given time, given the chance to show him who I truly am—I could have won his affections genuinely."
"Perhaps." The older unicorns tone suggested she didn't actually believe that. "But time is a luxury we cannot afford. The other factions know of his location now. The ant colony is mobilizing. The Midnight Court has likely caught wind of his presence." Her voice dropped lower, more urgent. "If we had waited for traditional courtship, he would have been forcefully claimed claimed by someone else long before you could prove your worth."
The words settled heavy in the space between them. Ian's consciousness tried to retreat again, tried to sink back into comfortable darkness where these implications couldn't touch him. But Lunaria's fingers had resumed their movement through his hair, the gentle stroking keeping some part of his awareness tethered to the present.
"I know you're right," Lunaria admitted, the words coming out small and defeated. "Logically, I understand the necessity. But it doesn't change how it makes me feel." Her hand pressed slightly firmer against his scalp, her fingers curling into his hair with something that felt like possession mixed with uncertainty. "What if he wakes up and hates me? What if once the flowers fade, he realizes everything was manufactured and refuses to give me a genuine chance?"
"Then you remind him of his alternatives," Her mother said said, her tone going cold enough to make even Ian's drugged system register threat. "The ant colony that would keep him in underground chambers, never seeing sunlight. The Midnight Court that would drain him dry. The elves would keep him as a pet. The beasts of Nemea's pack would tear him apart. You are going to give him the best life out of anyone else."
Lunaria's fingers stilled in Ian's hair. The silence stretched between her and her mother, heavy with implications that made Ian's stomach twist despite the fog still clinging to his thoughts. He kept his breathing steady, shallow, trying to maintain the illusion of sleep while his mind raced to process what he'd just heard.
"I don't want to keep him locked up like a prisoner," Lunaria said finally, her voice carrying quiet determination beneath the vulnerability. "If I'm going to earn his genuine affection, he needs to feel like this is a home, not a cage. He needs freedom to explore, to see that life here can be good."
"No." The word came sharp and immediate, cutting through whatever hope had been building in Lunaria's tone. Her mother's hoofbeats moved closer, the sound transmitted through the cushions into Ian's body. "Absolutely not. You will not allow him to roam freely."
"But Mother—"
"You are a unicorn, Lunaria." The older woman's voice dropped lower, taking on an edge that made the hair on Ian's neck stand up despite his best efforts to remain still. "That comes with great power, yes, but also great risks. Risks you seem determined to ignore in your romantic idealism."
The cushions shifted as Lunaria's body tensed beneath him. Her hand had stopped moving through his hair completely, fingers frozen against his scalp. "I understand the risks. But keeping him confined will only breed resentment. How can I build genuine connection if he feels like a captive?"
"You can build connection during your wedding night." Her mother's tone had gone clinical again, matter-of-fact in a way that made Ian's chest tighten. "Until then, the risks far outweigh your desire for authenticity."
"What risks?" Lunaria's voice pitched higher with frustration bleeding through the careful control. "The camp is secure. The guards are loyal. Where exactly do you think he could go that would—"
"The risk isn't him escaping." The interruption was sharp enough to make even Ian's drugged body want to flinch. "The risk is what happens if another monster girl gets to him first."
Silence. Ian felt Lunaria's breathing change beneath him, becoming shallower, faster. Her fingers resumed their movement through his hair but the touch had lost its gentleness, become more agitated.
"You mean infection," Lunaria said quietly. The word carried weight that Ian's exhausted brain struggled to parse through the fog.
"But he's inside the camp," Lunaria said, her voice carrying desperate reasoning. "Surrounded by our warriors. How would another monster girl even reach him?"
"The same way the ant girl found him in his clearing." Her mother's tone had gone cold, clinical. "Through determination and opportunity. Do you truly believe our perimeter is impenetrable? That no other faction has scouts watching, waiting for exactly this kind of lapse in judgment?"
Another pause. Longer this time. Ian felt Lunaria's entire body sag slightly, the fight draining from her posture in a way he could sense even through the exhaustion keeping his muscles relaxed.
"I know you don't want to hear this," her mother continued, her voice softening fractionally. "I know you want to believe that love conquers all, that genuine connection matters more than precaution." The hoofbeats resumed, moving closer until Ian could sense her presence looming over where he lay against Lunaria's flank. "But if another monster mates with him first, if he becomes infected or bound or altered—you will lose him. Permanently. And not just him."
"Unicorns who mate with infected males become corrupted themselves." The words landed with brutal finality. "The purity of our essence cannot survive contact with tainted seed. You would transform, Lunaria. Become something other than what you are. You would become… that." Her voice went small.
"I know," Lunaria whispered finally. Her hand had stopped moving in his hair again, just resting there with gentle weight. "I know the risks, Mother. I'm not naive enough to think—" She stopped, her breath hitching. "I don't want to transform. Don't want to lose what I am."
"Then you understand why he must remain secured even after the ceremony." Her mother's tone had shifted back toward that clinical precision, the brief softness disappearing. "Tomorrow is the Great Mounting. The entire herd will witness your union. Once you've consummated the bond properly, once his seed has claimed you as much as you've claimed him, then you can spend all the time you need to win his love."
Her mother's hoofbeats moved toward the entrance, the sound transmitted through the cushions beneath Ian's body. "Be patient, daughter. Everything will turn out exactly as it should. Trust in our traditions, trust in your own worthiness, and trust that tomorrow will secure what you desire."
The purple fabric rustled as she passed through, the sound fading as her presence retreated from the tent. Silence settled heavy in the space she left behind, broken only by the soft whisper of Lunaria's breathing and the distant murmur of camp activity outside.
Ian kept his body relaxed, his breathing steady and shallow. His mind raced beneath the fog still clinging to his thoughts, trying to process everything he'd just heard. The flowers in her hair had drugged him. Actually drugged him. Made him compliant, receptive, willing to accept being positioned against her body like some kind of pet. And tomorrow—fuck, tomorrow there was apparently going to be some kind of ceremony. The Great Mounting, her mother had called it. The words made his stomach twist with implications he really didn't want to examine.
Lunaria shifted beneath him, her equine body adjusting position with careful movements that suggested she was trying not to disturb his sleep. Her hand resumed its gentle stroking through his hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands with that same tender attention from before. The touch should have made him tense, should have triggered every alarm his exhausted system could muster. But the Alraune flowers' influence still kept his muscles loose despite the panic churning in his gut.
"I'm going to make this right," she whispered, so quiet he almost didn't catch it. Her fingers curled slightly in his hair, her voice carrying fierce determination mixed with something that sounded like desperation. "I don't care what Mother says about keeping you confined. Once we're bonded, once you're truly mine, I'll prove that I can give you freedom. That I can be worthy of genuine affection."
The words settled over him like a weight. Ian forced his breathing to remain steady, his body to stay relaxed against her warmth despite wanting to bolt. Her hand kept moving through his hair with rhythmic precision, the motion almost hypnotic in its consistency.
Time stretched. Minutes bleeding into each other without clear boundaries. Lunaria's breathing gradually evened out, becoming deeper, slower. Her hand's movement through his hair became less purposeful, more automatic. The tension in her equine body beneath him eased fractionally, her muscles relaxing as whatever stress her mother's visit had caused began to fade.
Ian waited. Counted his breaths, kept them shallow and steady, maintained the illusion of sleep while his mind catalogued every detail he could gather without moving. The tent's layout from what little he'd seen before the drowsiness had taken him. The guards outside. The camp beyond. All of it useless information without some kind of opening, some opportunity to—
His eyes opened slowly. Not a sudden snap into wakefulness that would give away he'd been faking, but a gradual flutter of lids that suggested natural emergence from deep sleep. The tent's interior came into focus—rich tapestries still hanging from the walls, expensive cushions surrounding him, filtered light suggesting afternoon had arrived while he'd been unconscious.
"Ian?" Lunaria's voice came immediately, her hand stilling in his hair. The tone carried such warmth, such genuine pleasure at his waking that his chest tightened uncomfortably. "You're awake. How do you feel?"
He pushed himself upright slowly, his body protesting the movement with aches that went deeper than just sleeping in an awkward position. His shoulders screamed from where the ropes had dug in during the sled ride. His back felt bruised from the constant jarring impacts.
"Like I got dragged through a forest," he managed, his voice coming out rough and hoarse. Not entirely a lie. His throat felt raw, his mouth dry enough that swallowing hurt.
Her expression shifted immediately, concern flooding her features. "Oh no—I'm so sorry about that. The journey must have been awful." Her hands moved toward him, hovering uncertainly like she wanted to touch but wasn't sure if she should. "Are you injured? I know some basic healing if you like?"
Ian's brain scrambled for the right response. The dream woman's words echoed in his skull—wait for an opportunity, play along, get free. But how the fuck was he supposed to play along when every instinct screamed to put distance between himself and the centaur who'd drugged him?
His eyes found hers. Those violet irises tracked across his face with such open concern, such genuine worry that something in his chest twisted despite knowing what the flowers had done. She looked... young. Not in age exactly, but in the vulnerability bleeding through her refined features. Like she was desperate for him to not hate her.
"I'm okay," he said, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat. "Just sore. Nothing serious."
Relief flooded her expression so intensely her entire body seemed to sag. "Thank the stars. I was so worried—you slept for hours and I kept checking to make sure you were still breathing properly and—" She stopped herself, her face flushing slightly. "I'm rambling. Sorry. I just... I'm glad you're alright."
The vulnerability in her voice made something twist uncomfortably in his gut. She sounded genuinely distressed, genuinely concerned for his wellbeing despite having orchestrated his kidnapping. The cognitive dissonance made his head hurt worse than the lingering effects of the flowers.
Ian's jaw worked, trying to formulate something that wouldn't immediately reveal he'd heard everything her mother had said. The Alraune flowers still sat heavy in his system, making his thoughts feel like they were moving through mud, but enough clarity had returned that he could at least attempt deception.
"Could I get some water?" The request came out rougher than intended, his throat protesting each word. Not strategic exactly, but his mouth genuinely felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton while he slept.
"Of course!" Lunaria's entire demeanor shifted, relief and purpose flooding her features. She moved with surprising grace for someone with an equine lower half, her body rising from the cushions without disturbing him. "I should have offered immediately—you must be parched after everything."
Her hooves made soft sounds against the layered carpets as she crossed to a low table Ian hadn't noticed before. An ornate pitcher sat there, condensation beading on its surface. She poured it into a goblet then returned back to him.
"Here." She offered the goblet, her fingers brushing his as he accepted it. The touch sent heat through his palm that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the flowers still working their way through his system. "It's fresh from the spring. Cold and clean."
Ian brought the goblet to his lips, the crystal cool against his mouth. The water hit his tongue and he nearly moaned at how good it tasted—crisp and pure, nothing like the river water he'd been drinking for two weeks. He forced himself to sip slowly despite wanting to gulp it down, his throat protesting each swallow but demanding more.
Lunaria settled back onto the cushions beside him, close enough that her warmth radiated through his threadbare shirt. Her violet eyes tracked his face with that same open concern from before, watching him drink like she was cataloguing every detail.
"Better?" she asked when he lowered the goblet, her voice soft.
"Yeah." Ian's fingers tightened on the crystal, using it as something concrete to focus on while his brain scrambled for the right approach. The dream woman's words echoed—wait for an opportunity. But opportunities required information, required understanding what the fuck was actually happening here. "Thanks."
Lunaria's expression brightened at the simple gratitude, her entire face transforming in a way that made his chest tighten uncomfortably. "I'm glad." Her hands settled in her lap, fingers twisting together with nervous energy that contradicted the refined poise she'd displayed earlier. "I know this morning was... traumatic. Being taken from your home like that." Her gaze dropped to where her fingers worked against each other. "If I could have done things differently, I would have. I wanted to meet you properly, to—" She stopped herself, her throat working. "But circumstances didn't allow for traditional courtship."
Play along. The thought crystallized through the fog. Get information, get supplies, wait for whatever opening the dream woman promised. His fingers loosened slightly on the goblet, his shoulders dropping in what he hoped looked like acceptance.
Ian's eyes tracked toward the entrance, toward the purple fabric blocking his view of whatever camp lay beyond. The memory surfaced through the fog still clinging to his thoughts—before he'd passed out, before the kiss, she'd mentioned something. Bath. Clothes. The words felt distant, like they belonged to a different conversation, but they were there.
"You said something earlier," he started, his voice still rough despite the water. "About getting cleaned up? Fresh clothes?"
Lunaria's expression transformed immediately, relief and purpose flooding her features. "Yes! Of course—I can't believe I didn't bring it up immediately." Her hands moved from where they'd been twisting in her lap, gesturing with renewed energy. "You must feel absolutely awful in those." Her violet eyes tracked down his body, taking in the threadbare shirt with its tears and stains, the ruined jeans that barely held together. "The bath is already prepared—has been since this morning. I wanted everything ready for when you woke."
"That sounds good," Ian managed, forcing his shoulders to relax further. His fingers released the goblet, setting it aside on the cushions. "Really good, actually. I haven't had a proper bath since..." He stopped, his brain refusing to calculate how long. Two weeks? More? The river's cold water barely counted.
"Then let's get you cleaned up." Lunaria rose with that same fluid grace, her equine body moving toward the tent's far side. Ian's eyes tracked her movement, cataloguing the space he hadn't properly seen before. The tent was massive—easily forty feet across at its widest point. Tapestries divided sections, creating smaller areas within the larger structure.
She pushed aside a heavy purple curtain, revealing what lay beyond. Steam rose from a large wooden tub positioned on more of those expensive carpets. The water's surface caught the filtered light, steam curling up in lazy spirals that carried the scent of herbs he couldn't identify. Beside it sat a low table laden with what looked like soaps, oils, towels folded in neat stacks.
"I'll be just outside," Lunaria said, her voice carrying that same gentle quality from before. "Call if you need anything—soap, more hot water, whatever you require." Her violet eyes met his, and something in her expression made his chest tighten. "Take your time. There's no rush."
Ian pushed himself upright, his body protesting the movement with aches that went deeper than just the sled ride. His bare feet found the carpet, the expensive fabric soft against his soles. The absence of shoes hit him suddenly—he'd been barefoot for awhile now, his feet developing calluses from two weeks of rough terrain. Shoes. Fuck, he missed shoes. Missed the simple protection of something between his skin and the forest floor.
He moved toward the divided section, each step reminding him how much his body hurt. His shoulders screamed from the rope burns, his back ached from the constant impacts during transport. The steam from the bath hit his face as he passed through the curtain, warm and herb-scented, making his eyes water.
Ian's fingers found the hem of his threadbare shirt, pulling it over his head with movements that made his shoulders protest. The fabric was disgusting—two weeks of sweat and dirt and fish guts creating a smell that made his nose wrinkle. He dropped it on the carpet beside the tub, watching steam rise from the water's surface with something that felt dangerously close to longing.
The jeans followed, the ruined denim stiff with dried river water and dirt. His fingers worked the button and zipper, shoving the material down his legs until it pooled at his ankles. He stepped out of them, leaving the pile of filthy clothes beside the shirt.
The water called to him. Ian gripped the tub's edge, testing the temperature with one hand. Hot. Actually hot, not the lukewarm river water he'd been washing in. Heat radiated up his arm, making his exhausted muscles scream with anticipation.
He climbed in slowly, his body protesting each movement until the water closed over his skin. The sensation hit him like a physical blow—heat sinking into muscles that had been tight for weeks, washing away layers of grime and sweat and fear he hadn't fully acknowledged carrying. His throat made a sound that might have been a groan, his body sinking deeper into the tub until water lapped at his collarbone.
The herbs in the water released their scent stronger now—lavender again, but mixed with something else. Something that made his head feel light, his thoughts scattering like leaves in wind. Not as strong as the flowers in Lunaria's hair, but present enough that his fingers gripped the tub's edge with renewed awareness.
But the water felt so fucking good. Ian's grip on the tub loosened despite his best efforts to maintain tension. His shoulders dropped, his neck rolling back until his head rested against the wooden edge. The heat worked its way deeper, finding knots in his back that had been screaming.
The water cooled gradually, losing its heat as Ian scrubbed away weeks of accumulated filth. His fingers worked soap through his hair—actual soap that smelled like pine and something clean, not the river water that barely counted as washing. The suds ran gray down his shoulders, carrying dirt and sweat into water that had gone murky from his body's grime.
He stayed longer than necessary, his muscles reluctant to leave the warmth even as it faded. But eventually the water went lukewarm, then cool, and his skin had pruned enough that continuing felt pointless. Ian gripped the tub's edge and pulled himself upright, water cascading off his body in sheets that splashed back into the bath.
A towel waited on the low table—thick, soft, nothing like the rough deer hide he'd been using. He grabbed it and dried himself with movements that made his shoulders protest. The rope burns stood out angry and red on his wrists and ankles, the skin raw where the bindings had dug in during his struggles. His fingers pressed against one experimentally, testing the damage. It hurt, but not as badly as it could have. Nothing felt broken or permanently damaged, just bruised and abraded.
The clothes sat folded beside where the towel had been. Ian picked up the shirt first—linen, he thought, though his knowledge of fabrics was limited. The material was soft against his palms, clean and undamaged, a far cry from the threadbare thing he'd been wearing. He pulled it over his head, the fabric settling against his skin with unfamiliar comfort.
The pants followed—similar material, fitted but not tight. His fingers found the waist, pulling them up and fastening whatever closure system they used. No zipper, just ties that he worked through with clumsy efficiency. They fit well enough, though the length was slightly long. Probably made for someone taller. Or maybe just made generically for whatever male they expected to capture.
His bare feet pressed against the carpet as he moved back toward the curtain dividing the bathing area. No shoes. They hadn't provided shoes. The absence felt deliberate somehow, like keeping him barefoot would make running harder if he tried. His jaw clenched at the thought, but he forced his expression neutral as he pushed through the purple fabric.
Lunaria waited in the main area, her equine body positioned on the cushions where he'd woken. Her violet eyes found him immediately as he emerged, and her expression transformed—surprise bleeding into something that looked like appreciation before she caught herself.
"You look so much better!" The words burst out before she seemed to process them, her entire face brightening. Then her expression shifted, horror flooding her features as she realized what she'd said. "I mean—not that you looked bad before! Just that you look—oh stars, that came out wrong."
Her hands moved in agitated gestures, her refined poise cracking under obvious distress. "You looked fine before, I just meant that now you're clean and in proper clothes you look more comfortable, not that your appearance was—" She stopped herself, her face flushing deep enough that color spread down her neck. "I'm making this worse, aren't I?"
Something about her genuine mortification cut through the fog still clinging to Ian's thoughts. She looked so distressed, so worried that she'd insulted him, that his jaw unclenched slightly despite every reason to maintain hostility.
"It's fine," he managed, his voice still rough despite the bath. "I know what you meant. I agree with you—I probably looked like shit before." The admission felt strange leaving his mouth, acknowledging something so mundane when everything else was chaos. "Two weeks in the forest doesn't do much for personal hygiene."
Relief flooded her features so intensely her entire body seemed to sag. "Oh thank the stars. I thought—I was so worried I'd offended you right when things were starting to feel less..." She trailed off, her violet eyes tracking across his face with that same open concern from before. "Would you like to sit? You must still be tired."
Her hand moved to her flank, patting the silver-white coat with gentle invitation. The gesture was so casual, so practiced, that Ian's brain took a moment to register what she was offering. She wanted him to lay against her again. To position himself like he had while sleeping, pressed against her warmth.
Every instinct screamed to refuse. To maintain distance, to keep whatever boundaries still existed between captor and captive. But he needed to get information from her and getting information required keeping Lunaria comfortable enough to talk.
His feet carried him toward her before his brain fully approved the decision. The carpet was soft beneath his bare soles, the expensive fabric nothing like the rough earth of his cabin floor. Lunaria's expression brightened as he approached, her violet eyes tracking his movement with poorly concealed pleasure.
Ian settled onto the cushions beside her, his body angling until his shoulder pressed against her equine flank. The warmth hit him immediately—her coat soft against his skin through the linen shirt, heat radiating from her body with intensity that made the herbs from the bath seem weak by comparison. Her scent filled his nose as he positioned himself—lavender and jasmine mixing with something sweeter underneath that made his head feel light.
Her arm wrapped around his shoulders without hesitation, pulling him closer against her side. The motion was possessive but gentle, her fingers settling against his upper arm with pressure that suggested she had no intention of letting him move away. Ian forced his muscles to relax despite wanting to tense, forced his breathing to stay even as her warmth seeped through his clothes.
"There," she murmured, her voice soft and pleased. Her free hand moved to his hair again, fingers threading through the still-damp strands. "Comfortable?"
"Yeah." The word came out more honest than he'd intended. The cushions beneath him were ridiculously soft, her body radiating enough heat to make him drowsy despite having just woken from hours of sleep. The fingers in his hair moved with rhythmic precision, the motion hypnotic in ways that had nothing to do with flowers and everything to do with simple physical contact after weeks of isolation.
Ian let himself sink deeper into the position, his weight settling more fully against her flank. His muscles loosened fractionally, exhaustion and warmth combining to override the part of his brain still screaming about captivity and kidnapping. He needed information. Needed to understand what the fuck was happening here, what this ceremony tomorrow actually meant beyond the horrifying implications her mother had laid out.
Play along. The dream woman's voice echoed in his skull. Wait for the opportunity.
His throat felt tight as he formed the words, trying to make them sound casual instead of calculated. "So... tell me about yourself."
Lunaria's fingers stilled in his hair for just a moment, surprise evident in the sudden tension that traveled through her frame. Then her entire body seemed to light up, the shift so dramatic he felt it through where they pressed together. Her hand resumed its movement through his damp strands with renewed enthusiasm.
"You want to know about me?" The words came out breathless, carrying such genuine delight that something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. "Really? You're actually interested?"
Ian forced himself to nod against her warmth, his jaw working past the tightness there. "Yeah. I mean—" He stopped, trying to find words that wouldn't immediately reveal how much he'd overheard. "I don't really know anything about you beyond your name. Seems like I should at least understand who..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished because completing it felt like acknowledging too much.
"Who captured you," Lunaria finished quietly, her voice losing some of its brightness. Her fingers kept moving through his hair but the motion had become more careful, more tentative. "I know how this must look, Ian. How it must feel. But I—" She stopped, her breath hitching. "I've been preparing for this my entire life."
The admission hung in the air between them. Ian's chest tightened with implications he didn't want to examine, but he forced himself to stay relaxed against her warmth. His throat worked, swallowing past the discomfort there. "Preparing how?"
"Unicorns don't take mates lightly." Her voice had shifted into something more formal, almost instructional, like she was reciting lessons learned long ago. "We're taught from childhood about the sacred bond between unicorn and male. How rare it is. How precious." Her fingers curled slightly in his hair, the motion unconscious. "My mother has been training me since I was old enough to understand—teaching me how to be a proper bride, how to care for a mate, how to maintain our bloodline's purity."
The words settled heavy in Ian's gut. Bloodline purity. The phrase made his jaw clench despite his best efforts to stay neutral. "That sounds... intense."
"It is." Lunaria's hand moved from his hair to his shoulder, her touch gentle but possessive. "Most of the herd thought I'd never actually find someone. That pure human males had become too rare, too scattered. That I'd spend my life unmated like so many others." Her voice dropped lower, carrying something raw beneath the refined tones. "Do you know what that's like? Growing up knowing your entire purpose is to bond with someone who probably doesn't exist?"
Ian's throat felt too tight to respond properly. Before all of this he never had a goal let alone a life's purpose. "Sounds lonely."
"It was." The admission slipped from her lips, a fragile whisper that echoed with loneliness, stirring a conflicting urge within him to either retreat or draw nearer. "I was the only unicorn in the herd besides my mother. So unlike some of the lucky centaurs I had to wait for a virgin male and there never was one. So I simply... waited. Hoped. Prepared for a bond that felt more like a distant dream, slipping further away with each passing season."
Her arm around his shoulders tightened fractionally, pulling him closer against her warmth. The motion should have felt threatening but somehow just felt desperate. "Then the scouts brought word of a human living alone in the convergence territory. An unclaimed male building a homestead in the forest." Her voice pitched higher with poorly concealed excitement. "Mother said it was a sign. That the stars had finally answered my prayers."
Ian's jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache. Prayers. She'd been praying for someone to capture while he'd had prayed for something to help him survive. The cosmic irony made something bitter rise in his throat, but he forced it down. Information. He needed information, not to get lost in how fucked up this entire situation was and that apparently the gods of this world played favorites.
"What about before all this?" The words came out rougher than intended. "Like—hobbies? Things you do for fun?"
Lunaria's entire demeanor shifted, surprise bleeding through the vulnerability. "You want to know about my hobbies?" She sounded genuinely bewildered, like the question had never occurred to her as something worth discussing. "I... well, I study healing magic. Not as extensively as our herd's dedicated healers, but enough to be useful. It comes pretty easy since I am a unicorn" Her fingers resumed their movement through his hair, the motion becoming more animated as she spoke. "And I practice archery. Not for hunting exactly—I don't need to hunt when the herd provides—but for the discipline. The focus it requires."
"That's actually pretty cool." Ian forced the words past the tightness in his throat, trying to sound genuinely interested rather than just gathering intelligence. "I've never tried archery. Always seemed like it would be hard."
"It is!" The enthusiasm in her voice made his chest tighten uncomfortably. "The first year I could barely hit anything larger than a tree trunk. But Mother insisted I continue—said that mastering difficult skills builds character." She shifted slightly beneath him.
Her equine body adjusted position, the motion making her coat shift against his shoulder. "What about you? What did you do before... before all this?"
The question hung in the air between them. Ian's fingers found the edge of a cushion beneath him, gripping the expensive fabric while his brain scrambled for an answer. What had he done? Worked jobs that barely paid rent. Came home to an empty apartment. Ate microwaved meals alone while scrolling through his phone. The memory felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else's life.
"Nothing much." He admitted. "Its just always been about surviving for me. I never really got the chance to think of what comes after that."
"You were doing remarkably well for someone alone." Lunaria's voice carried genuine admiration that made his chest tighten. "The scouts said your cabin had proper walls, a roof, even a fish trap in the river. That takes real skill."
Ian's jaw clenched at the mention of scouts. How long had they been watching him? How many days had he spent thinking he was alone while eyes tracked his every movement? The thought made his skin crawl despite the warmth radiating from Lunaria's body.
"Thanks," he managed, forcing the word past the bitterness rising in his throat. "It wasn't much. Just trying to survive."
"It was more than most could manage." Her fingers pressed slightly firmer against his shoulder, the touch possessive but gentle. "You should be proud of what you accomplished with so little."
The praise felt wrong somehow. After all it was the poles work more than his. Ian's fingers dug deeper into the cushion, using the physical sensation to ground himself. He miss having the pole with him, he would have had so many more options id he didn't drop it back at the cabin. But he needed to shift this conversation, needed to understand what was coming without revealing he'd overheard everything her mother had said.
"So what happens next?" The question came out more abrupt than intended, lacking the casual tone he'd been aiming for. "I mean—you said circumstances didn't allow for traditional courtship. So what's the plan now?"
Lunaria's entire body went tense beneath him. Her hand stilled on his shoulder, her breathing changing in a way he felt through where they pressed together. The silence stretched long enough that Ian's chest started to tighten with renewed panic.
"Tomorrow," she said finally, her voice gone quiet and careful. "Tomorrow there's a ceremony. A... bonding ritual that the herd performs when a one of the herd takes a mate."
Ian forced his body to stay relaxed despite every instinct screaming to bolt. His breathing remained steady, shallow, like this was just casual conversation instead of confirmation of everything he'd feared. "What kind of ceremony?"
"It's called the Great Mounting." The words came out rushed, like she was trying to get through them quickly. "The entire herd gathers to witness the union. To bless the bond between them and the mate." Her fingers resumed their movement on his shoulder but the touch had lost its earlier confidence, become almost hesitant. "It's... it's how we've done things for generations. How we ensure the blessing of our ancestors."
The name alone made Ian's stomach twist. Great Mounting. Nothing about that phrase suggested anything good. His throat felt too tight as he formed the next question, trying to keep his voice neutral. "And what exactly does this ceremony involve?"
Lunaria shifted beneath him, her equine body adjusting position in a way that felt like avoidance. "First you get on my back and you will ride me to where the ceremony takes place. We only let our husband on our back." She stated. "Then we… we consummate the bond. Publicly." The admission came out small, almost apologetic. "I know that probably sounds barbaric to you. But it's tradition. It's how the herd knows the union is legitimate."
Ian's fingers had gone white-knuckled on the cushion beneath him. Publicly. She'd said publicly. His brain tried to parse what that meant, tried to reconcile the casual way she'd delivered the information with the horrifying implications. "You mean in front of everyone?"
"Yes." Her voice had gone even quieter, carrying shame beneath the careful control. "The herd needs to witness. To verify that the bond is pure, that no deception occurred." Her hand moved from his shoulder to his hair again, fingers threading through the damp strands with agitated movements. "I know it's not ideal. I know you probably wanted your first time to be private, intimate, something special between just—"
"My first time?" The words burst out before Ian's brain could stop them. Heat flooded his face, mortification crashing through the panic. "How did you—"
"Mother verified it when you arrived." Lunaria's voice carried something that might have been embarrassment mixing with the shame. "Her horn can sense purity. It's one of her gifts as an elder unicorn." Her fingers curled in his hair, the motion unconscious. "I'm sorry. I know that's invasive. But it's necessary to ensure the bond will be legitimate."
Ian's jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache. That fucking horn examination. The older unicorn announcing his status to the entire camp like it was weather information. The humiliation burned through him fresh and sharp, mixing with mounting panic about what tomorrow apparently held.
"So let me get this straight." His voice came out tight, hostile despite his best efforts to maintain the casual facade. "Tomorrow you're going to—we're going to—in front of your entire herd?"
"Yes." The word was barely audible. "I know how that sounds. I know it's not what you would have chosen. But once it's done, once we're bonded—" Her arm around his shoulders tightened, pulling him closer against her warmth. "Once we're bonded, everything will be different. Better. You'll be part of the herd, protected, cared for. You'll have status as my mate."
Ian's body moved before his brain fully processed the decision. His hands pressed against Lunaria's flank, pushing himself away from her warmth with enough force that she made a startled sound. The cushions shifted beneath him as he stood, his bare feet finding carpet that suddenly felt too soft, too expensive, too much like a gilded cage.
He needed to move. Needed space. His legs carried him away from where she sat, toward the tent's far side where tapestries hung from the walls. Three steps. Five. His hands found his hair, fingers digging into the damp strands hard enough that his scalp protested.
"Ian?" Lunaria's voice came from behind him, tentative and confused. "What's wrong?"
What's wrong? The question rattled around his skull without finding purchase anywhere useful. His chest felt too tight, each breath scraping past constriction that had nothing to do with ropes or flowers and everything to do with the crushing awareness that tomorrow he was expected to—
His feet kept moving. Back toward the cushions, then away again. Pacing. He was pacing like a caged animal, his body unable to stay still while his thoughts spiraled. The tent's interior blurred at the edges, expensive fabrics and rich colors bleeding together into meaningless shapes.
"Ian, please talk to me." Lunaria shifted on the cushions, her equine body adjusting position. "You're frightening me."
He forced himself to stop. His bare feet pressed against carpet that cost more than anything he'd ever owned, his hands dropping from his hair to hang uselessly at his sides. The breath he pulled in didn't reach his lungs properly, just caught somewhere in his throat and stayed there.
"This is—" His voice cracked. He tried again, forcing words past the tightness. "This is really fast, don't you think?"
Silence stretched between them. Ian's fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to ground him. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't turn around and face those violet eyes that had been so open, so genuine moments before.
"I know it's quick." Her voice came soft, careful, like she was approaching a spooked horse. "Faster than traditional courtship would allow. But Ian—"
"We just met." The words burst out harsher than intended. His jaw clenched, trying to rein in the panic bleeding through. Getting angry wouldn't help. Wouldn't give him the opening he needed. He forced his voice lower, more controlled. "Like, today. A few hours ago I was unconscious in my cabin and now you're talking about ceremonies and bonds and—"
"I understand this isn't ideal." Lunaria's hoofbeats moved closer, transmitted through the carpet beneath his feet. "Believe me, I wish we had more time. Wish I could have courted you properly, the way you deserve."
Ian's hands unclenched fractionally. He turned partway, enough to see her in his peripheral vision. She'd moved off the cushions, her silver-white coat catching the filtered light as she approached with careful steps. Her expression carried genuine distress, her violet eyes tracking across his face with concern that looked too real to be manufactured.
"Then why not wait?" His throat felt raw as he formed the question. "Why rush into something this... permanent?"
"Because I don't have the luxury of time." Her voice had gone quiet, almost defeated. "If I don't claim you tomorrow, my mother is worried that someone else will."
Ian's legs gave out. The strength just drained from his body like someone had pulled a plug, exhaustion and panic and the crushing weight of tomorrow crashing through him all at once. His knees hit the cushions first, then his hands, his body folding forward until his chest pressed against expensive fabric that smelled like lavender.
A groan scraped out of his throat—raw and defeated. His fingers dug into the silk beneath him, gripping it like that would somehow anchor him to something solid when everything else was spinning out of control. The tent's ceiling blurred overhead, purple fabric swaying in whatever breeze managed to penetrate the structure.
Hoofbeats moved closer. Soft sounds against carpet, careful and hesitant. Then warmth pressed against his side as Lunaria lowered herself onto the cushions beside him. Her equine body settled with practiced grace, her humanoid torso angling toward where he lay face-down in the pillows.
Her hand found his back. The touch was gentle, tentative, her palm pressing through the linen shirt with barely any pressure. Then her fingers started moving—small circles between his shoulder blades, the motion rhythmic and soothing.
"Everything will be alright," she murmured, her voice soft and close. "I promise, Ian. I know it seems overwhelming right now, but tomorrow—once we're bonded—everything will make sense."
The words filtered through his consciousness without landing anywhere meaningful. His face stayed pressed into the cushions, breathing in lavender and expensive fabric while her hand continued its gentle movement across his back. Everything will be alright. The phrase felt hollow, meaningless, like trying to reassure someone drowning that water was actually quite pleasant once you got used to it.
His fingers tightened on the silk beneath him. The dream woman's face surfaced in his thoughts—those violet eyes darker than Lunaria's, that predatory smile, the promise she'd made about showing him a way out. He really hoped she'd come through. Really hoped that whatever opening she'd promised would materialize before tomorrow's ceremony turned him into someone's husband in front of an entire herd of witnesses.
Because if the dream woman didn't deliver, if no opportunity presented itself between now and whatever the fuck the Great Mounting actually entailed—then the worst fate would befall him.
He'd be married.