Into the Light

29 | A TITAN'S KISS

Tyrande dreamed of Illidan. The sphere was gone. In a dark, cavernous room, she hung suspended in the air before him, held in a lover's embrace. But gone was the Illidan of the Nether--the Illidan she had known and loved in the past--once more he was a demon hunter. He hung spread-eagled in front of her, straining against the fel tethers holding his arms and legs in place. The fel runes emblazoned on his chest and arms glowed the colour of fire. His eyes, no longer blindfolded, blazed orange-hot, like the molten heat of burning worlds. His lips curved into a smile, possessive.

My love.

Tendrils of light shot out of his chest and touched her face, tender, worshipful. He lifted her up, wrapped within his warm, fiery light, and brought her face to his. Tendrils tilted her head back, catching her chin, so her mouth waited for his. Her heart pounded. She couldn't move, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She was powerless. His lips touched hers, and the tethers tightened, surrounding her, pulsing with longing, and desire. His kiss burned through her. She tasted fire and heat, passion and destruction. And power. Such power. She groaned, willing him to carry on, now she had tasted his power, she could not live without it. Nothing could compare, not even Elune's Light. Tyrande was finally where she was meant to be. All this time she had forced herself to do what was right, to be with his brother, who loved her, but never enough. In her most secret moments, she had returned to the memory of the one night Illidan had shared with her in the wooded glade, when his passion had taken her to heights she had never known existed.

Tendrils touched her lips, parting them. He kissed her deep, letting her taste him, his tendrils of light sliding around her, enclosing her, caressing her. She sighed as he whispered to her, kissing her face, her eyes, her throat until her whole body ached for him. Though she had tried to hide it from herself, she had always known ever since that stolen night she had belonged to Illidan. Her whole life with Malfurion had been a lie, born out of duty, and of a need to reassure herself she could not love someone like Illidan. But all her running had come to nothing. Illidan was her master, she was his slave. It was over, no more would she fight him. He had won, and now, together they would cleanse Azeroth with fire.

Tyrande woke with a start. She spun around in the sphere, frantic, clawing at its sides, searching for a way out.

"Tyrande?"

Illidan--the old Illidan--floated beside her, once more in the Nether, his hands pressed against the sphere, his expression betraying his rising alarm. She pushed herself to the other side of the sphere, as far as she could get from him and stared at him. How could this be happening? Her dream had been so real. Somehow she could still feel the other Illidan's mouth on hers, even now. She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth, filled with fear and shame. Why hadn't she resisted?

Illidan moved around the sphere trying to get closer to her. She moved away from him, panting. He cursed. "Tyrande! Talk to me, tell me what is wrong."

She could feel tendrils sliding up the inside of her legs. She recoiled, gibbering, beating at her legs, trying to get rid of them. There was nothing there.

She met Illidan's eyes, and saw her confusion and fear mirrored in his eyes.

"I had a dream, but the dream continues. I can feel it touching me." The tendrils wrapped around her legs again. She screamed and tucked her legs tight against her torso, defensive.

"Illidan! Make it stop. Elune! I cannot bear it. Please, help me. Somebody help me."

It ended, abrupt, as though it could hear her cries. She curled up into a ball, sobbing, her thoughts in tatters. Illidan intended to possess her as his own and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She stared into the chaos of eternity, despair filling her. Why had she been so willing? She had welcomed him, wanted him, even. It was true they had shared a passionate night together, one she had desperately tried to forget. But the man she had slept with had looked like the Illidan in front of her, not the creature he became. She had never desired Illidan once he became a demon hunter, and couldn't understand how she could have wanted him in her dream. It felt as though her will had not been her own. Her thoughts skidded to a halt, as the last memory of her transition into the Nether replayed in her mind. No, that thing wasn't Illidan the night elf, or Illidan the demon hunter. It was another Illidan, tainted, powerful, mixed with something else. That creature's fel runes had not blazed with fel, but with fire. She choked.

Illidan was becoming Sargeras. And now . . . he had her.