Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 130: The Patriarch’s Displeasure

She tilted her head, her eyes fixing on him with that knowing maternal warmth.

”Jorghan? You’ve gone quiet again. Are you even listening to your mother?”

He forced his eyes up to meet hers, but the damage was done; a flush crept up his neck, hot as the springs themselves.

Under the water, his cock had been stirring for the last half-hour, thickening with each accidental glimpse of her body.

Now, it throbbed insistently, straining against the current, demanding attention he couldn’t give without revealing his shame.

”Of course I am, Mother,” he replied, his voice rougher than he intended, laced with the strain of holding back. He shifted slightly, trying to angle his hips away, but the movement only sent a fresh wave of water sloshing toward her, making her breasts bob enticingly.

Sigora chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine unrelated to the heat. She leaned forward a bit, the water parting around her like a curtain, exposing more of her thick torso—the way her sides curved in soft rolls that begged to be gripped.

”You say that, but your eyes tell a different story, my strong boy. They’ve been wandering.”

There was no accusation in her tone, only a gentle teasing, the kind she had always used to coax truths from him. But today, it felt charged, electric, as if she sensed the undercurrent of his thoughts.

Jorghan swallowed hard, his mouth dry despite the humid air. He could smell her now, over the sulfurous tang of the springs—a warm, musky scent of sun-baked skin and wild herbs she favored, mingled with the faint, feminine salt of her arousal?

No, that was his imagination, twisted by the perverted hunger gnawing at him. He was shameless with others and bold in his conquests, but with her... with Sigora... it was different.

She was the anchor of his world, the one who had raised him when his true parents faltered, and yet here he was, stealing glances at the very body that had nurtured him, imagining what it would feel like to bury himself in those dangerous curves.

”I... it’s hard not to,” he admitted finally, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. Honesty had always been their bond, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

”You’re beautiful, Mother. Always have been. The water... it shows things it shouldn’t.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away or scold him. Instead, a slow, intrigued smile curved her full lips, revealing the tips of her sharp canines. She straightened a little, the motion causing her breasts to lift and settle with a soft splash, water cascading down the deep valley between them.

”Flattery from my grown son? Or is it more than that?”

She reached out, her hand breaking the surface to trail her fingers along the water toward him, not touching, but close enough that he felt the warmth of her skin through the liquid barrier.

Her thighs parted just a fraction under the water—intentional or not?—and Jorghan’s breath caught as he glimpsed the dark thatch of curls guarding her most intimate place.

”But...it is the conversation for another time.”

Then she stood up, showing him all of her glory and her treasures. She told him to come out as she turned.

Sigora wrapped herself in practical robes while Jorghan redressed. The conversation had shifted to lighter topics—Swana’s recovery, Sik’ra’s continued training, and the various dramas of settlement life.

As they entered the main house, they were greeted by the rest of Sigora’s immediate family.

Korreth stood near the central table, his massive frame somehow making the spacious room feel smaller.

He was large even for a brown elf, his build powerful from two centuries of warrior training and clan leadership. His face was stern, all hard angles and uncompromising lines, with eyes that assessed everything as either an asset or a threat.

He wore traditional patriarch’s robes in deep brown trimmed with gold, the ceremonial garb that marked him as leader of the Nor’vack clan. His hair was pulled back in warrior’s braids, dark brown with streaks of white, and his presence radiated authority that came from decades of unquestioned command.

Beside him stood the twins—Lira and Morden, Sigora’s other children.

”Korreth,” Sigora greeted Korreth formally.

”Sigora,” Korreth said, his deep voice carrying disapproval.

”Perhaps he should have visited at a more appropriate time, rather than intruding on private family moments.”

”I didn’t intrude,” Jorghan said mildly.

”Mother?” Korreth’s eyebrows rose slightly.

”You presume familiarity with my wife.”

”He’s my son; I raised him,” Sigora said before Jorghan could respond.

”You consider him family,” Korreth emphasized.

”The clan has not made that determination.”

”The clan follows your leadership, Korreth,” Sigora replied, her tone remaining respectful but firm. ”As do I in all matters of governance. But who I choose to adopt into my personal family—that is my choice to make.”

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

Lira and Morden watched the exchange with carefully neutral expressions, though Jorghan caught Lira’s eyes flicking between him and his father with something like disapproval.

Korreth was silent for a moment, then turned his full attention to Jorghan.

”You have made quite an impact on the settlements, half-blood. In only a few months, you have become central to discussions about our future. You command respect from warriors who have trained for decades. You speak in councils as if you have authority equal to clan leaders.”

”I speak when I have something worth saying,” Jorghan replied.

”And people listen because what I say makes sense, not because of any authority I claim.”

”You killed thousands of human soldiers in the Whisperingtris,” Korreth continued.

”A massacre that will bring consequences down on all of us. Did you consider that before unleashing your bloodline’s power?”

”They had captured and were torturing your daughter and my friend,” Jorghan said, his voice hardening.

”I considered that very carefully. And I decided that anyone who hurts my family doesn’t get to live. The consequences can sort themselves out.”

”Your family?” Korreth’s tone carried a dangerous edge.

”Swana is my daughter. Not yours. You are an outsider who has inserted himself into clan affairs that do not concern you.”

”They concern me now,” Jorghan replied flatly.

”I’m part of this whether you like it or not.”

”Jorghan,” Sigora said warningly.

But Jorghan was done being diplomatic.

He’d tried, for Sigora’s sake, but Korreth’s attitude was grating against every instinct he had.

”Look, Patriarch Korreth,” he said, putting emphasis on the title that was more mocking than respectful.

”I get that you don’t like me. You think I’m too young, too arrogant, and too outside your traditional power structures. Fine. You’re entitled to your opinion.”

He stepped forward, his smaller frame somehow not diminished by Korreth’s greater size.

”But here’s the reality. The Empire is coming. They’re hunting the clans systematically, and you don’t have the power to stop them. Neither do the Nuwe’rak nor the Nue’roka. Alone, you’re all going to die.”

”And you think you can save us?” Korreth demanded.

”One half-blood child with dangerous powers and no understanding of our culture or our ways?”

”I think I’m the best chance you have,” Jorghan replied.

”Because I’m willing to do what you’re not—fight back with everything I have, no matter how ugly it gets. You want to maintain clan dignity and traditional honor while the Empire burns you down. I want to keep people alive.”

”By becoming a monster,” Korreth said.

”By embracing the bloodline that made your ancestors into butchers.”

”If being a monster keeps my family safe, then yes,” Jorghan said without hesitation.

”I’ll be whatever I need to be.”

Lira spoke up for the first time, his voice carrying unexpected strength.

”Father, perhaps—”

”Silence,” Korreth said without looking at him.

”This does not concern you.”

Something flashed in Lira’s eyes—hurt, anger, frustration—but he fell silent, deferring to patriarchal authority.

Morden remained quiet.

But Jorghan noticed his jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides. The younger warrior wasn’t comfortable with this confrontation but wasn’t willing to speak against his father either.

”You think yourself so powerful,” Korreth continued, his attention back on Jorghan.

”You defeated human soldiers with their machines and weapons. Impressive. But the Empire’s forces are different. The abominations they’ve created—they possess elven strength and abilities. And the commanders leading them are enhanced beyond anything you’ve faced.”

”Then they’ll die harder than the humans did,” Jorghan said simply.

”I don’t care how enhanced they are. They come after my people; they pay the price.”

”Your people,” Korreth repeated, his voice cold.

”You presume much, half-blood.”

”Korreth, enough,” Sigora said, her tone carrying command despite her position as wife rather than leader.

”We have a meeting to attend. This argument accomplishes nothing.”

”This argument clarifies positions,” Korreth countered.

”I want it understood—the Nor’vack clan does not recognize this outsider’s authority. He may have your affection, wife, and our daughter’s misguided loyalty, but he is not clan, and his voice carries no weight in our decisions.”