by Cebelius
Terry mulled it over, then said, "The odds are all in your favor, and the rewards are also weighted in your favor. What on earth makes you think I'd be dumb enough to accept this kind of bet?"
"Do you trust me?"
He quirked a brow as his lips compressed. "Duh."
She smiled indulgently. "Do you love me?"
He nodded, then shook his head and closed his eyes in resignation. "God help me. Yes, I do."
"Then you should accept my wager to make me happy."
Their eyes met, and he asked, "I can do everything in my power to win?"
"But of course, I would expect nothing less. In fact, I demand nothing less."
Terry nodded as a smile grew on his face. He focused his mind as he prepared to cast a spell. Something about being on Celestine altered what he said and heard most of the time, so that while he understood everyone as speaking English, in fact they were using an entirely different language, something they called simply, 'the common tongue.' Usually, that was what they heard him speak as well. Now however, he made the effort to bypass that, and spoke true English, which — as it turned out — was a language of magic on this world.
"By the power in my veins, I demand my speed and strength be increased to the limits of my physical endurance. By the power in my veins, I demand my perception be enhanced to the limits of my mental acuity."
Terry was accustomed to feeling something like a time dilation while he was in combat. Everything seemed to slow down a bit whenever he slipped into the zone. Here on Celestine though, he was a theurge, and his blood thrummed with power he could use to enhance himself.
As his spell took effect, his perception of the world around him sharpened even more than usual. His brain went into overdrive, and his smile turned feral as he lifted his fists and put on his game face.
"All right, Prada," he said as she brought her own guard up, her eyes still twinkling. "I accept your terms."
"Come on then, Husband," she purred. "Hit me with your best shot."
He extended his fist to her, she tapped it with her own, and they went at it.
2
Mila's Invitation
Mila descended a narrow set of gray steps. It looked like blank gray stone, but wasn't. She had asked Prada, and been told that Terry didn't have any real understanding of how it was made, but that it was essentially a peculiar mixture of crushed rock poured into a mold and allowed to dry.
This place truly brings home how different Terry's world is from ours. Even the methods they use to build are strange and wonderful.
Terry had been very much on Mila's mind this past week. She had spoken to him at least briefly each day, for he solicited her advice when working with the Rod of the Heart. Yet each time it had seemed clear to her that he was being reserved. They did not speak of their encounter in the jungle, and — at least for her — the tension between them had gotten uncomfortable.
He had exchanged vows with Laina, and Mila had been both happy for the minotress and jealous of her. Laina Lowe had everything Mila had never wanted, yet she had looked so deliriously happy as she stared into Terry's eyes, then kissed him, that it made Mila question what it was she was doing with her life.
Growing up, she had been apprenticed to become a mage after it became clear how gifted she was in the use of magic. Her master's physical use of her in payment for the skills he taught was simply something that happened, a sacrifice she had been expected to make. Everything had a price, and she had paid.
In the years since, she had never looked twice at a man save in the depths of her heat, and even then she had quelled those desires as artificial and self-destructive. Beyond the bounds of her apprenticeship, her life had been dedicated to helping first her uncle, and then her brother. Vlad needed to be dealt with. His 'wisdom' caused only misery and unnecessary suffering. She had always identified her own wants in terms of the greater good, yet now she wondered if perhaps there was something she had missed.
She had always known familial love, but now she yearned for something more. Terry might give her that. She knew he was fond of her, but just as with everything else, there was a catch.
Terry Mack was a template, and any woman who had sex with a template became one of his bonded women. Power was given and granted in the context of that bond, but the form that power would take was an open question. Some of the women Terry had bonded with had been outright transformed, and at least one of those had been driven mad. More than one had died, if not as a direct consequence of the change, then simply by proximity to Terry himself.
Calamity followed in his wake, and it would always be so. Eldritch races needed a template's seed to breed, and the bond gifts they offered were powerful incentives even for mortals. Terry would, therefore, always be a locus of conflict, for those who could not take the template's seed might try at least to deny it to others. He and anyone in his retinue would always be in mortal danger.
He knew this even better than she did, and it was obvious to her that the knowledge weighed heavily on him. She had overheard Shy and Laina talking about the fact that he insisted on sleeping alone, and that he never slept peacefully. Not even Prada was allowed to remain with him in his bedroom at night.
Perhaps that is the real reason he hesitates to leave this place, she mused as she came to the door at the bottom of the stairwell and opened it to enter the training room Asturial had brought into being.
Here at least, he is safe, as are those around him. Here he causes no destruction. Here, no one can find him.
Her thoughts were disrupted as she stepped inside and saw Terry in the midst of a furious exchange of blows.
Prada, in her guise as a template female — was attacking with preternatural speed, her fists and feet a flurry of motion. The two were circling, engaging and slipping from each other, moving with such practiced precision that it looked to Mila like they were dancing.
Only the blood streaming from a cut above Terry's swollen left eye and seeping through the wraps around his fists gave the lie to that impression. Prada also looked a bit the worse for wear. She had an angry red weal on the left side of her face, blood was dribbling from her nose, and she had a nasty cut on her lower lip.
As Mila looked on in amazement, Prada dodged Terry's fist as she stepped in and rocked his head back with a quick jab, then caught his arm and twisted in a move that pulled Terry over her hip and off the mats.
He tumbled through the air, but instead of landing flat on his back, he managed to get his feet under him and as Prada sought to lock his arm out he twisted and slammed a fist into her gut, reversed her hold on his arm, and threw her just as she'd done seconds earlier.
Just like him, she landed with what seemed to Mila to be supernatural grace and spun to keep her arm from being used against her, slamming a foot into the side of his knee as he stepped in. The move staggered Terry and he let her go. By the time he recovered, Prada was already on her feet and the two closed in for another exchange.
Mila didn't move. She almost didn't breathe. In front of her were two masters at war, both fighting at the very limits of their ability. Interrupting their duel never crossed her mind.
When the end came, it was so quick that if she'd blinked, Mila might have missed it.
Prada slapped aside one of Terry's jabs as her foot whipped up and caught him on the temple. The kick was like nothing Mila had ever seen. It moved almost straight up and down, and yet at the high end Prada's lower leg seemed to roll and snap toward Terry's head like a striking snake.
It was lightning quick, and Mila would have sworn there was no way it could have real force behind it, yet Terry was clearly dazed as his guard dropped.
Prada took half a step back as she leapt into the air, spinning with amazing agility into an aerial kick that caught Terry just below the temple.
Blood flew from the open cut above his eye as his head jerked sideways and his body followed. Prada's kick had been so powerful that Terry spun completely around as he fell gracelessly
to the mats where he lay unmoving, either unconscious ... or dead.
Prada landed, reached out, and touched him with her foot. Terry's head jerked, and in the silence Mila heard bones grinding. She didn't notice that Prada was looking her way until the blonde said, "Ah! Mila! Your timing is impeccable. I was going to fix him, but I think your healing will be better. His neck is no longer broken; he will live. Shall I leave the rest to you?"
"You broke his neck?!"
Mila was horrified as she moved to Terry and crouched to examine him. She did not have her staff, but she could still cast spells. They just wouldn't be as efficient. As Mila began to chant, Prada shrugged. "Unless I tore his head completely off his body, there is really nothing I could do to him with just my hands and feet that I could not fix. Do not waste too much energy on this, just bring him back to consciousness and a bottle of Laina's milk will take care of the rest. He and Yuri keep several down here so they can be more aggressive in their training."
As she spoke, Prada moved to a shelf along one wall and brought one of the bottles in question back as Mila's magic sank into Terry. The bones of his neck were soon the least of Mila's worries though. As per usual, the first spell she cast told her the extent of the damage so that she knew where to focus her energy.
Terry had several broken ribs, his kneecap was fractured along with a few of the bones in his left foot, and he had three broken fingers, to say nothing of the cuts on his hands and face and the bruising throughout his body.
His eyes fluttered open, focused on Mila, and he took a shaky breath. "Oh ... hi. I guess seeing you here means I lost the bet."
Mila looked up and took the bottle from Prada as she passed it down, then eased Terry's head up and proffered it to his lips. He drank it without question, then sighed as she laid his head gently down again.
While Terry recovered, Mila asked, "What bet?"
Prada quickly said, "The terms of our wager are unimportant, Mila Kolenko. Suffice it to say it hinged on the outcome of our duel and yes, Husband, you lost. You did last quite a bit longer than I expected you to though. End your enhancements."
Terry's eyes focused into the middle distance, and he spoke words of magic Mila didn't understand. A shiver ran through his body, and then he sat up and met her gaze as he smiled and said, "What brings you down here? I've never seen you in the gym."
Then he looked again and said, "Wow ... Mila, nice suit!"
Mila smiled softly, careful to keep her lips closed so as not to show her teeth. Her swimsuit was the same color green as her eyes, and had been made in two pieces after the template fashion. Prada had called it a bikini. She also wore a gauzy silk sarong with an ornate floral pattern that was principally green and orange. She had liked the look, and was pleased that Terry did as well.
"Marcus has been practicing with the crown and created a sizable pond. I was wondering if you would like to go for a swim with me?" Mila asked, remembering the whole reason she'd come down in the first place. "You have been training every waking hour for a week. Surely you understand that rest is just as important?"
"In fact I do understand that, and I would not be pushing nearly as hard as I have been if I didn't have this stuff," Terry said as he reached out for the now empty bottle and waggled it. "Time, however, is not on my side."
Prada folded her arms as she cocked a hip, looking down at him with an expression of vague disgust as she said, "I love you, Husband, but you are an idiot. Go swim with the pretty woman who did not put on a swimsuit she had to have asked Marcus to make for her just so that she could be turned down for a date."
Mila exchanged glances with Terry, who then narrowed his eyes and made a show of sniffing at the air a moment before he said, "I smell bullshit. That swimsuit is made of modern materials. The only people who could have given Marcus the right memory to work off of are you and me, and I know it wasn't me."
In fact, Mila had talked to Terry's bonds three days ago, asking for advice. They had confirmed for her that they had no problems if she chose to pursue a relationship with him, and had variously offered their advice on how to go about it. The consensus had been for Mila to make the next move. Terry was not comfortable with the idea of a harem, and they all knew he wouldn't be voluntarily adding new members.
Mila had struggled coming up with any ideas. She didn't know the first thing about how to pursue a romantic relationship. In the end, Shy had suggested a swim, and Prada had delightedly suggested the swimsuit. Not only that, she had promised to get it for her from Marcus, seeing as how there was no way in hell Mila would be able to ask him to make it for herself. Marcus was practically a second father to her, and it would have been far too embarrassing.
She'd had the suit since the day before yesterday. It had taken that long to work up the courage to make her invitation.
"I may have had something to do with the swimsuit, but the fact you figured that out just tells me your mind is going in entirely the wrong direction. Unless, of course, you genuinely do not want to go swimming with Mila?"
"Jesus. Way to put me on the spot, Prada."
Prada didn't even bother concealing her smug satisfaction, and Mila had to hide her smile behind her hand as her tail wove contentedly behind her. As promised, Prada was putting her full support behind Mila, and that made everything easier.
"So," she asked, reaching out to gently turn Terry's face back toward her. "Are you coming?"
"Sure. Prada's going to get me the suit she had made for me, given this was obviously planned, and it had better not be speedos."
"Hm-hmm, I did not have a swimsuit made for you, Husband," Prada said, her voice dripping with amusement. "I am your swimsuit. Do you honestly think I would miss out on this?"
"Yeah, right. Not happening," Terry said with a chuckle as he got spryly to his feet. For a man as grievously injured as he had been only moments before to move like that ... Laina's milk really did work miracles for him. She rose from her crouch and stood near him, tasting his scent on her tongue as he spoke to Prada.
"I let you come with us and you'll spend the whole time messing with me. If I've been set up to go on a date with Mila, fine. I like her and I'm going to have a good time ... but it'll be just us."
"Oh no, you don't get away from me that easily. I promise I won't do or say anything unless I'm asked."
Prada's expression lost its smugness and became pleading as she looked at Mila and said, "Please tell him I can come?"
Mila looked at Terry. He raised his eyebrows at her as he folded his arms across his chest, clearly giving her the choice. She considered, then said, "Very well, you may come along ... I welcome your presence in fact. You will help me keep things friendly."
Terry's lips twisted as he caught on and tried to hide a smile. Prada obviously caught it too because her tone was incredulous as she asked, "Friendly?"
Nodding with all the gravity and sincerity she could muster, Mila said, "Completely friendly. I would not want to make things awkward for you, seeing as he is your husband."
By now Terry's face was darkening as he struggled mightily to hold his laughter in, managing to keep it to a few strangled sounds.
"Oh shut up, Husband!" Prada snapped, throwing her hands up as she stalked past them both. "Go wash the blood off while I get your suit."
"I knew you had one made!" he called after her.
Prada didn't bother to answer or look back, but she did lift her fist, showing them both her middle finger in a gesture Mila didn't recognize, but was certain did not mean anything nice.
With her gone, Terry didn't bother to try holding it in anymore and burst out laughing as he said, "Aaaah! That was brilliant! Hahahaha, two points!"
"I was not aware you kept score on such things," Mila said, not bothering to hide her smug smile.
"Oh, I don't," Terry said, still chuckling. "It's just an expression. That really was awesome though. I don't think I've ever seen someone handle Prada so well."
"At least where she is concerned, it is p
ainfully obvious what she wants," Mila said as she stepped in close and looked up at him. She could smell his blood, and underneath that the scent of his exertion. It was pungent, but not unpleasant. She leaned in and took a deep breath. She didn't bother to hide what she was doing, and noted that Terry had gone very still.
"After a while, you smell bad, but with the sweat fresh on your body, I find your scent to be very appealing. The blood should go though, so I have to agree with Prada at least in that. Go wash."
He smiled, and the expression reached his gray-green eyes in a way that made her heart beat just a little faster.
"Yes Ma'am."
She turned her head to watch him as he left, then followed him. He moved with surety, and here — in this safe place — there were no traces of the prey animal fear she and her brother had so often lamented early on.
He stepped into one of the bathrooms and she leaned against the wall nearby, thinking about what she was doing.
Can so much have changed in only a month?
She remembered the conversation she had with Terry the day after he and Yuri had fought in the pits. He had told her the truth, had hid nothing but his face from her, and that only through necessity and a dryad's mask.
Come to think of it, I can see his face! When did he take his mask off? I suppose there is no harm in that, with only his friends and companions surrounding him. Perhaps he gave it back to Shy to hold until Euryale returns.
Mila knew that the mask did not keep him from eating, or breathing, or even kissing, though she had never thought to ask how that could be. She had certainly seen him do that often enough, mask or not. As she thought back on it, she realized that she remembered seeing his face when he had been ... engaged, with Sphinx. And she had seen it when they had finished the ritual she, Shy, and Asturial had cast in an effort to protect themselves in the jungle. The only time she remembered seeing his mask in place was when she had appeared to watch him speak with Ariadne. That day ... he'd had it on.
