|
Scene #66
“I wonder...” the soft female voice curled out of the darkness,
sounding like a promise of flesh-bound pleasure, “do you fuck as
fiercely as you fight?” Her husky lilt fought through the
excruciating pound-pound that reverberated in Arrik's skull. He
forced himself to remain still, even as every muscle, every nerve
screamed with limb-numbing pain. Simultaneously, he realized two
things: he was lying on a comfortable bed in a dark room, and his
arms stretched taut above his head, tethered to the bedposts with
velvet-lined rope. Shackled. Fury welled in the pit of his
stomach, only to be dashed by a fresh wave of agony piercing the
sensitive nerves in his brain. He steeled himself for the
onslaught and forced a regulatory breath from his lips. Seer
willpower, do not fail me. Concentration beaded a thick
band of sweat across his forehead. Pain is matter over mind.
Reverse the order and conquer your failing. He repeated his
father's healing chant over and over until, in the cool dead
silence of the bedchamber, the throbbing ache at his temple began
to slowly recede. For Helver's eyes, where was he? The
sound of movement close by captured his senses. He felt the warm
vibrant life force of a woman enter his space, knowing without
seeing that she had edged closer. Arrik dragged in a shallow
breath, waiting while he sorted through his jumbled memory.
“Stamina. Brute force. Concentration. A steady hand,” she
breathed to herself. “Perfect.” In one swift movement, the
bunched sheet at his waist was plucked away, and a cold blast of
air rushed in to settle around his groin. His eyes shot open.
“Touch me and you die.” She gasped, pulled away. “You're
awake!” Arrik blinked, struggling to shake the impending
darkness that always came after a Vanquish. Normally he welcomed
the oblivion but this time he sensed it was smarter to use his mind
skills than to let nature take its laborious course. He swallowed
a thick groan. “Who are you? Why am I here?” She remained in
statue-like silence, a white figure just beyond the edges of light
the small candle on the bedside table afforded her. Arrik blinked,
straining through the darkness. The candle barely flickered over
her diminutive figure, teasing him with her hooded outline,
irritatingly revealing nothing. Arrik squeezed his eyes shut and
focused on what was left of his shot concentration. The
sinful yet authoritative command in her voice denoted she was in
charge of someone or something. Her stance indicated regal
bearing, a declaration backed up by the obvious quality of her
robe. Exhausted, he frowned. Authority and command. Dracor
allowed no female under his rule either luxury, which meant she had
to be- “Have you finished looking, warrior?” He growled
low, the threat coming from deep in his throat. “Release me,
Exile.” Gentle waves of surprise swirled around her for one
brief second. She swiftly covered her brief loss of composure by
clucking her tongue. “Is that the proper way to thank your
rescuer? My guards tell me you killed five of Dracor's men before
one managed to bring you down.” Arrik snorted then grunted as a
white-hot cramp hit behind the eyes. “You are hardly big enough to
hold a wood axe.” “My guards stumbled across your party under
siege at the edge of As'ash Forest. If not for your heavy losses,
I daresay victory would have been yours. Instead-” she moved
across the room like a ghostly shadow, twitching her robe into
place with what seemed like teasing delight, “I saved your life.
Which means you are indebted to me.” “Bonding is Old Rule.
Dracor's court does not recognize it, therefore nor do I.” He
pulled at the ropes, testing their strength, more than aware of his
complete nakedness, of his total exposure to her eyes. She seemed
to care not. “Dracor does not rule here,” came the calm reply.
“A life saved means yours is now mine for three moons.” Arrik
had neither the patience nor strength to argue. “Where are my
men?” “Being tended to. There are three – a black-haired giant
and two young men who look alike.” Mase, his bodyguard. The
twins, Corris and Mallik. That meant Marron and Falk were dead.
Arrik squeezed his eyes shut as flooding loss threatened to drag
him under. “You are of heavy heart,” she stated, her voice
softening. “Be thankful to Jaynar you didn't lose your own
life.” The maniacal laugh hovered on his lips before he choked
it back. “The Goddess of Fate is a whore. She has never been with
me and I will not befriend her now.” Her hesitation spoke
volumes, belying her regal manner. Why, when she was so obviously
afraid of no-one? So used to being obeyed and followed? She
finally inched closer, until he could make out the curve of a
cheek, the luscious tilt of full ruby-painted lips past the
down-tilted hood. “You are without faith. You are suspicious.
That is to be expected. But you will learn.” Arrik tensed, his
bare arms straining at the shackles that bound him spread eagled.
If he weren't so weak he would have let her touch him and read her
thoughts directly. As it was, he was like a newborn, unable to use
his powers to any good effect until he slept. Fury threatened
to send his aching head into a bone-crushing pound again, but he
quickly managed to get it under control, to use his Seer power to
shove the useless emotion aside. He needed his wits, not the
consummation of anger forcing his senses into meltdown. “You
saved my life and that of my men,” he finally ground out. “And
this is how you honor a life debt?”
| 
