Dominion Academy 1: To Defy Her Mates

EXECERPT

SEPHYRA DORNE

"How would you like for all three of us to pleasure you at the same time? Eating your cunt, sucking your boobs and fvcking you… all at the same time?"

Three masculine men stood in front of her, twice as large as any normal human man. They were supernaturals. In front of her, all she could see was their erect cocks. She wanted them. She needed them inside her badly. This was the only way to them her feral beast.

Sephyra laid flat naked on the bed, her legs spread apart, her left hand squeezing her boobs hard and the three middle fingers of her right hand digging in and out of her wet core with a pace so fast as though her life depended on it.

Painful pleasure coursed through her in form of sobs and yells. "Fu-fuck me, please, fuck me!"

It may have looked like she was enjoying herself but the truth was that her clit was already getting sore from the constant rubbing. She was hurting but her beats didn't care. She couldn't stop, she needed an orgasm. She needed to satisfy the beastly hunger.

"Please… help me. Fuck me already," she pleaded, widening her legs further while rubbing herself harder. "I can't hold it on for much longer. Helpppp. My beast is hungry."

Their satisfying scents drove her crazy. One smelled of frost and pine, another of smoke and old blood, the last of rain-soaked earth. These were scents she had never encountered, yet somehow recognized.

The air around them shimmered with strange power. Frost crept across one side of the bed while the candles on the opposite wall burned with black flames. Between them, invisible currents tugged at her skin like unseen hands.

"Tell us what you want and how you want it," one whispered.

"I need you to get me to fuck me hard," her chest heaved up and down, while she continued struggling to see their faces. "Make me cum."

"Accept the bond."

"Stop fighting it, we can only satisfy your beast if you let us mark you!"

"You belong to us!"

CHAPTER 1

Lucinda dropped a copper bowl onto the table with a sharp bang, splashing water over the rim.

"Clean the hearth, mend the linens, and don't touch the bread on the counter," she instructed, her voice dry and clipped. "Mariselle needs her sleep. If you wake her before the bells ring, you'll spend the night in the washhouse."

Sephyra kept her head down, her hands tucked into the deep pockets of her apron. "Yes, stepmother."

"Don't call me that," Lucinda snapped, glancing at Sephyra’s linen hood, pulled low over her brow as always. "And fix that cloth. Every time I look at you, I am reminded of how little you belong here."

Sephyra said nothing. She waited until the latch on Lucinda’s bedroom door clicked shut before moving toward the narrow hallway leading to her own small, windowless quarters beneath the stairs.

Once inside, she pulled the bolt, reached into her bodice and pulled out a small, faded square of parchment. The edges were soft and grayed from years of folding and unfolding. It was the only item she had left of her mother.

The handwriting was neat, slanted, and dark.

When the time for the selection comes, make sure you get into the academy. You will find out more about me and your destiny. Never let anyone know of this.

There was no signature, no date, and no explanation of what the letter meant. Sephyra traced the faded ink with her thumb as though trying to remember the woman who had written it. Then she folded the parchment carefully and slipped it into the hidden pocket sewn inside her apron.

By mid-morning, the town square was filled with soldiers wearing the uniform of the Dominion Academy.

Every year, twenty human girls were chosen from the border villages. It was called a Selection, but everyone knew what it really was: a draft of servants and low-ranking workers meant to clean the dormitories and carry weapons for the high-born cadets.

Lucinda dragged Sephyra into the center of the crowd by her arm, pushing her toward the enrollment table where a guard was checking names against a leather ledger. Mariselle stood behind them, wrapped in a fur-trimmed coat, her chin held high.

"Put her on the roster," Lucinda told the clerk.

The clerk looked up, squinting at Sephyra’s oversized hood. "She is small. I doubt she is fit for this."

"The Dominion Lords need slaves too. The girl is strong enough to carry buckets," Lucinda said, her lips tightening. "Besides, no one will miss her. If she never comes back, it’ll save me the trouble of feeding another useless mouth."

Sephyra looked at Lucinda. "I—I thought Mariselle was supposed to go."

"Did I say otherwise?" Lucinda said coldly. "I’m sending you with her as her slave. I don’t want you under my roof anymore."

The words landed harder than any slap. She had expected cruelty from Lucinda but not to be thrown away as though she had never belonged here at all.

The clerk dipped his quill and wrote Sephyra’s name down. "Line up with the rest behind the fence."

The twenty girls were led out of the village square toward the edge of the Whispering Woods, a dense stretch of forest that separated the border towns from the inner territories. The head proctor, a tall man with a scarred neck and iron cloak pin, stood on a flat stone facing them.

"The test is simple," the proctor said, his voice flat. "You walk through the trees to the gate on the other side. The forest reflects your minds. If you panic, you fail. If you drop, you stay."

The wooden gate swung open. The path inside was narrow, covered in dark damp leaves.

Sephyra rubbed her damp palms against her skirt. Her mother’s letter had brought her this far, but for the first time, she wondered if faith alone would be enough. She drew one slow breath and stepped through the gate.

The other girls moved in clusters, whispering nervously, but within ten paces, the fog rolled in fast, thick and white as milk, separating everyone.

Sephyra tightened her fingers around the strap of her bag until the leather bit into her palm.

She refused to look back.

Looking back meant admitting she was afraid.

The air grew cold. Shadows shifted between the trunks. Suddenly, the fog took the shape of a burning house—her house. She could hear Lucinda’s voice screaming from inside, telling her it was all her fault, alongside images of black flames consuming the roof.

Her pulse quickened for a heartbeat. For one terrifying heartbeat, the screams sounded real enough to make her turn back. She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. No. Fear was exactly what the forest wanted. She stepped forward.

Then she looked closer. The flames gave off no heat, and the smoke neither stung her eyes nor carried any scent. “You’re not real.”

She walked straight through the burning doorway and at once the illusion broke into fragments before dissolving into drifting mist.

A few yards further, another vision rose: a huge shadow with glowing yellow eyes, looming over the path, making a sound like grinding stones. The girl in front of Sephyra screamed, dropped to her knees, and covered her face, paralyzed with fear.

Sephyra stepped past her, staring at the creature.

Something about it felt wrong. It wasn’t the size or its glowing eyes.

Real monsters didn’t roar to frighten their prey. They simply killed them.

She stepped closer and the creature roared, but the sound trembled at the edges like a broken song.

“You aren’t real,” she whispered, before reaching out and swinging her bare hand through the monster's chest. Cold air rushed through her fingers, and the creature dissolved into a thin grey mist.

She kept walking.

At the edge of the tree line stood three high officials wearing white robes lined with silver thread. They held long wooden ledgers, recording each contestant as she crossed the finish line.

Behind Sephyra, screams echoed back through the forest as other girls collapsed or turned back in terror.

Sephyra walked out of the shadow of the trees and stepped onto the open grass.

The proctors stared at her. None of the other girls had emerged yet. Her apron was dirty, but her heart rate was steady, her hands weren't shaking, and her hood was still pulled tightly down over her brows.

"Name?" the central official asked, his voice low.

"Sephyra," she said.

The official looked down at his parchment. "You didn't run."

"There was nothing to run from."

The three men exchanged a quick look. The man on the right pulled out a small leather case, selected a black wax seal, and stamped a red mark beside her name on a separate, hidden parchment.

"Wait by the transport carriage," the official said, his face unreadable. "You are contestant number one."

Within two hours, only seven of the twenty girls had made it through the forest. The rest were sent back to the village. The seven survivors were packed into an iron-reinforced carriage pulled by six heavy grey horses.

As the carriage bounced along the rough mountain road toward the inner ring of the territory, the other girls wept or sat in silence, holding their bruised knees. Sephyra leaned her head against the wooden wall of the coach and closed her eyes.

Sleep came fast, but it brought no rest.

In her dream, she stood in the center of an empty stone amphitheater under a dark sky. The wind was howling, carrying voices from three different directions.

From the darkness ahead, a cold voice whispered: "At last… I found you."

There was no threat in the words.

To her right, a deep voice cut through the air: "You’ve lived among the wrong people for far too long."

From directly behind her, a smooth voice whispered close to her ear: "No more hiding. Let me see who you truly are."

She turned around, but there were no faces, only three tall figures standing in shadow, their eyes faint pinpricks of light in the dark.

Sephyra snapped awake, gasping for breath, her hand flying to her chest. The carriage had ground to a halt.

"Out," the driver yelled, knocking his rod against the door. "We're at the main gate."

The door swung open, revealing the towering black-stone courtyard of Dominion Academy. High walls of black granite stretched up into the sky, lined with balconies where hundreds of senior students and nobles gathered, looking down at the new batch of human servants.

Sephyra stepped down from the step onto the cobblestones. The chatter from the balconies was loud, filled with laughter, insults, and the clinking of wine goblets.

"Look at them," someone called down from a high ledge. "They brought us another batch of mice."

Sephyra kept her head down, walking in line with the six other girls.

A sudden, violent draft of wind swept down from the upper towers. It caught the fabric of Sephyra’s cloak.

Before she could reach up to catch it, the wind yanked her hood, tearing the laces free.

It flew free and a cascade of silver-white hair tumbled over her shoulders, catching the afternoon light like freshly fallen snow.

Suddenly all eyes turned to her and the noise cut off instantly.

Every noble, every servant, every guard stared at the girl standing below.

Then someone whispered, “White hair…”

Another voice answered in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”