nownovels Chapter 501 - 500- Recognized a Target
Chapter 501 - 500- Recognized a Target
A man inside tapped his cock against Eliantra’s face again—once, twice—the heavy flesh making soft, wet sounds against her skin. Eliantra made a broken noise, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed with shame and something far worse.Elena’s mouth opened, but no sound came except that wounded girl saw it.
’Viktor...?’
"Three months," Viktor continued, staring straight into the mirror—straight at her. "And I will give her a sibling."
"No—" Eliantra’s voice cracked. "She’ll see—she can’t—"
He turned her mother’s face toward him. For one suspended second Elena watched the older woman’s lips part, trembling, before Viktor pushed forward. The thick head of his cock slid between her mother’s lips with a wet pop. Eliantra’s eyes widened, then rolled back helplessly as her cheeks hollowed.
"Slurr... Mmhnn~~..."
The obscene sound carried perfectly. Elena watched her proud, composed, terrifyingly competent mother begin to suck—slow, reluctant pulls at first, then deeper as Viktor’s hips rolled. His hand stayed fisted in Eliantra’s hair, guiding her, using her mouth with lazy confidence while he kept his gaze locked on the mirror.
"Good," he praised, voice dark with satisfaction. "Pay attention as I tame your mother into a loyal breed... I mean Bride."
Elena staggered back a step, colliding with the edge of her bed. The broken-horned girl on the floor had gone utterly silent, staring in horrified fascination at the mirror.
On the other side, Viktor picked up rhythm. The wet, rhythmic sounds of Eliantra’s mouth—gluck... gluck... gluck—filled Elena’s room like a sick symphony. Drool already glistened on her mother’s chin, dripping onto those heavy breasts that swayed with every thrust of Viktor’s hips. Eliantra’s hands had fallen to her sides, no longer trying to cover herself. Her thighs pressed together tightly, shamefully.
Elena’s pulse hammered in her ears. Heat crawled up her neck—rage, disbelief, and a treacherous, unwanted flicker of something else she refused to name.
"Stop—" she whispered at the glass, voice cracking. "Mother, stop—"
But Eliantra couldn’t hear her. The spell transmitted one way for vision and sound from the capital; Viktor had made sure of that. He wanted Elena to watch, not interfere.
Viktor pulled her mother off his cock with a lewd pop. A thick string of saliva connected Eliantra’s swollen lips to the glistening head. The older woman gasped for air, eyes dazed, pupils blown wide.
"Look at the mirror, Mistress," Viktor ordered softly. "Look at your daughter while I ruin you."
He forced Eliantra’s head back toward the glass. Their eyes met—mother and daughter—across the impossible distance. Eliantra’s face burned with humiliation, yet her tongue unconsciously darted out to lick her lower lip.
Viktor didn’t wait. He shoved back in, deeper this time, until Eliantra gagged and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. He held her there, buried to the hilt in her throat, while he spoke directly to Elena again.
"Every time you hurt someone who belongs to me," he said, voice steady despite the wet heat wrapped around him, "I’ll hurt your mother more. And she’ll thank me for it. Won’t you, Eliantra?"
A muffled, broken moan was the only answer. Eliantra’s throat worked visibly around him.
Elena’s hands clenched into fists so tight her nails drew fresh blood from her own palms. The young woman on her floor had curled into a tighter ball, trying to disappear.
Viktor smiled at the mirror—cold, victorious, and already planning the next three months.
"Enjoy the show, Elena. It’s only the first night."
The sound arrived first.
Gluck. Gluck. Gluck.
The wet, rhythmic, honest sound of a throat being used — not the careful, controlled sound of a woman choosing to do something but the comprehensive, produced sound of a woman whose throat has been claimed and is now performing its function whether the owner of the throat has opinions about it or not.
Elena stared at the mirror.
Her mother’s face.
The face she had known her entire life — the composed, county-managing, always-in-control face of Eliantra Westing — currently arranged around another man’s cock with the involuntary, foundation-gone expression of a woman who has stopped being composed and is simply receiving.
The drool on her chin.
The tears on her cheeks.
The way her mother’s hands had dropped to her sides — not fighting, not holding, just there, the boneless surrender of a woman whose body had made its decisions without consulting the person living in it.
The heavy, full, swaying breasts — the breasts that Elena had, as a child, associated with warmth and safety and the domestic comfort of a parent who exists at the center of things — currently moving with every push of Viktor’s hips, swinging in the loose, undeniable jiggle of a body that is being thoroughly occupied.
Gluck. Gluck.
"You—"
Elena’s voice came out wrong.
Thin. The thin, cracked-at-the-top quality of a voice that has been preparing a specific temperature of fury and has arrived at the mirror to find something that bypassed the prepared temperature entirely and went somewhere else.
"You bastard."
Viktor looked at her through the glass.
The purple eyes. The I have been waiting for this exact moment quality of them — patient, warm, entirely-in-control, the look of a man who set a trap and has been sitting beside it while it worked and is now watching it close.
"I will kill you," Elena said.
Her hand was already moving.
The magic was already forming at her fingertips — the concentrated, personal heat of Elena’s ability, the combat mage training that she had been doing since she was eight years old crystallizing into the focused, weaponized intention of a woman who means what she says.
She spread it across the hologram.
The full, flat, get out of my room blast of it —
"Master Victor!"
Rihana’s voice from the other side. Alarmed. The compressed alarm of a woman who has just seen someone try to attack the person she serves through a magic mirror.
Viktor didn’t move.
His hand stayed in Eliantra’s hair.
His hips didn’t stop.
He looked at Elena’s spread magic the way you look at weather — acknowledged, noted, not concerning.
"Elena," he said.
His voice arriving through the connection with the same, unhurried, this is simply how I sound quality.
"If I remember correctly—"
He pulled Eliantra back by the hair.
Let the string of drool hang between the cockhead and her lips.
Let Elena look at it.
"How does it feel," he said, "to see your mother getting stuffed."
A pause.
"Rather than showing others about theirs."
Sofia flinched.
On the floor. Blood drying on her face. Her horns dim and her hands on the stone and her whole internal architecture in the demolished state of something that has been comprehensively dismantled.
She flinched.
Because the words arrived in her chest with the targeted precision of someone who knew exactly what had happened in this room tonight and had aimed accordingly.
She looked at the mirror.
At Viktor.
Who was looking back at her.
Past Elena. Past the magic dissipating at Elena’s fingertips. Past the dormitory and the distance and the mirror’s glass — his purple eyes finding Sofia on the floor with the registering, cataloguing, noting quality of a man who does not miss things and has not missed this.
The Count’s daughter.
He’d said it. She’d heard him say it through the glass — aren’t you the daughter of Count Ravenon — and the specific way he’d said it, the warm, knowing, I know more about you than you know I know quality of it —
He knew.
She didn’t know how. But he knew.
Her horns flickered.
"VICTOR—"