by Cebelius
"Your participation is not required. Only your consent."
She stared at him, then quietly said, "I would be a fool to refuse, but I ... would have your reason."
"I have a few reasons, but the one I'll give you is that you've put your life on the line for me several times now. You helped save Yuri ... all for me."
"Not true," Asturial said, hating herself for having to admit it. At this point though, she couldn't afford to tell him lies, or allow him to accept one. "Isthil saved me, earning my gratitude. She no doubt wanted to save Yuri to curry favor with you but I ... respect Yuri. He is a master swordsman and a competent leader. It would not have been good for anyone if he were to fall to madness. I did not save him for you."
She watched with growing wonder as he smiled. The expression was soft, warm, and unlike any he had ever had, looking at her. He reached up and gently cupped her cheek. The feel of his fingers was strange. There was a component to his touch that went beyond the physical, and Asturial tried and failed to quantify it. It made her, aware of him in a new way, and her breath hitched in her throat.
He leaned in, pressed his lips gently to hers. For a moment she lay paralyzed, her lips unresisting but unresponsive, eyes wide. He murmured, "That, is the sexiest thing you've ever said to me."
"You are a strange man, Terrence Mack," she whispered.
"Are you willing?"
"Yes. Take me in whatever fashion pleases you."
His grin was easy and genuine. "I will, but for now we'll just have to work around your restraints."
She turned her head to follow him as he walked around behind her table, and a moment later she heard the rasp of metal and the sound of a latch. Then the table she was on rotated until it was flat, and the latch sounded again. He stood up, crossed his arms, and pulled his tunic off. A moment later his belt and trousers were gone, and he got up on the table with her, just as naked as she.
She had seen him without his shirt before, but never completely naked. Now her breath caught as he knelt next to her. His physique was impressive, but what caught her attention more than the muscle playing under his skin were the scars. His chest and arms had been clawed, and there was a vertical scar just left of center on his abdomen that cut across three long diagonal slashes.
Asturial asked, "Did you get all those here?"
His eyebrows lifted, then he glanced down at himself, noting his own scars. "Most of them. That cut on my thigh is old, and the bullet hole here," he tapped the blaze of scar tissue on his forehead, "are from before. But most everything else, yeah."
He chuckled ruefully and said, "Love hurts."
She blinked, her eyes tracking his hands as he laid one on her belly, the other at her throat. His fingers began to play over her scales as she said, "I don't understand."
He grinned. With one hand tracing over her throat, he lifted the other to tap a set of scars on his chest. "These are from a zone beast ... and these are from Euryale." His fingers dropped to his abdomen and tracing the slashes he said, "Audiofreak." The vertical cut. "Theseus." A slight twist of his body revealed circular cuts across his sides that seemed to go around his back. "Cecaelia." His shoulders and upper arms. "Mila."
She chuckled, the sound somewhat nervous, as she said, "I wager you're glad Laina annnd Shy ... don't have claws."
Her voice hitched as his fingers traced over her collarbone and touched the bundle of nerves in the notch, and his head tilted a bit. His smile had a touch of mischief in it as he said, "I wouldn't mind if they did, but I'm certainly not going to complain that they don't."
"Th-that's a senNn ... sensitive spot for me," she stammered as his fingertip traced over her notch again, and his grin widened.
He shifted and then straddled her, setting his hands to either side of her head as he leaned down. This time when he kissed her, she kissed him back.
His tongue was shorter and thicker than hers, but he played a good game, and she found herself smiling faintly into the kiss even as her arms twitched with the instinctive desire to wrap him up. Being unable to move, at his mercy, added a new, unexpected thrill to what he was doing.
Eventually, Terrence broke the kiss and shifted, tracing her jawline, then her throat with his lips. The whispers of sensation were pleasant, but her eyes widened as she noticed the direction of his attention.
"Terrence, no, wait, youuUUu ... uh, please be ... gentle."
Her eyes rolled back in her head and she closed them and arched against the table, unable to keep her body from yearning. Her nerves were efficiently gathered and hidden in a place that, if pierced, would have meant her end in any case. How he had found the sensitive notch of her collarbone so quickly was beyond her, but the liquid heat of his tongue made it impossible to care.
Arousal coursed through Asturial and her hips shifted, bucking under his as heat suffused her core. Her legs twitched in their bindings and she bit her lower lip to keep from making the lewd sounds instinct demanded.
She barely felt his hand cup her breast, squeeze it with firm insistence. She hardly noticed when he shifted his knees, setting one next to her tail between her legs.
She definitely felt his shaft when it pressed against her sex, and her eyes widened. Her lips parted and she let out a long, broken moan as she felt him press, felt her hymen give with a fiery bloom of momentary pain, then felt him inside her.
His hardness was insistent, strong, unyielding. He lay still within her, and she recognized after a moment that his lack of movement was not indecision, but courtesy for her pain.
It was unwanted, and Asturial had no problems saying as much.
"Terrence. Please. That's no new thing for me. The pain is gone. Don't ... hah, don't make me wait!"
Without a word, or letting up on his sensual torture of her notch, Terrence began to stroke.
One of his hands slid under her head, cupping her to keep her from the hard wood, and she grunted as he picked up his pace, his body hitting hers just right, beginning to light up another bundle of nerves placed for the very purpose it now served.
His rhythm was intense, insistent, unwavering. He built steadily on the pleasure he inspired, and though with her manacles there was nothing she could do to further it, she found to her secret delight that she didn't have to.
Her voice was strained with both pleasure and surprise as she gasped, "Don't ... slow down, please! I'm so close ... so-"
She ran out of breath before she could finish, and lost track of the thought, gasping in the throes of a quickening agony of pleasure that heightened past all endurance, then exploded, tightening her to her limits and rippling through her.
Dimly she felt his own release, felt the heat coiling and surging within her, and it brought a delighted cry from her lips. "Yes! Finally! Yesss ..."
Asturial felt Terrence slip from her, lift himself away. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, willing to show him in that moment every ounce of her gratitude. She knew that if his first effort did not quicken, there would be other chances. She would protect him, see to him, keep him safe.
As she gazed up at him with what even she did not yet understand to be a loving smile, he said, "I won't ever forget what you've done, Asturial. For now, this is the best I can do for you. You should be safe now, but I'll wish you luck, just in case. Tell the others I love them, and that I'll be back soon."
Her brow furrowed as confusion wormed its way through her happiness and she asked, "What do you mean? I'm-"
Terrence, the torture chamber, her bonds, even the table on which she lay. All of it vanished.
Terry sighed and climbed off the now empty table and turned his attention to Baba Yaga.
Her almond eyes seemed to glimmer in the torchlight, and she unabashedly squirmed her hips as she said, "That was well done, T-Mack."
Grinning lasciviously, she added, "You fuck like a man on a mission."
"There was no way I was going to make her watch while yet another woman who earned none of my love gets it while she goes without," he said qui
etly.
"I know well your reasons. You were foolish to do it this way though. Now she cannot help you with Koschei."
"I don't need any help with Koschei."
"Bold words, having never laid eyes on the man."
He glanced around. She was a bit high on the wall, but he found a stool the appropriate height. He toed it into place under her, then stood upon it, filling himself with thoughts of the lovers he wished were here in Baba Yaga's place.
Gripping his still slick shaft, he stroked his erection back to life and then opened his eyes, looking into hers as he said, "I'll manage."
She blinked, then glanced down at his working fist.
"You're wasting that," she said, looking back up at him.
"You're getting your freedom. That's all you were promised. If you want pleasure from me, you'll have to earn that another way."
Baba Yaga frowned, and Terry couldn't be sure but thought he saw just a trace of regret in her eyes before she glanced away and sighed.
"That's fair," she murmured. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for this. My plans could not take you personally into account. If I had been given to know who my rescuer might be, and the nature of that man ..."
She looked back up at him, eyes pleading. "I might have done things differently."
Terry nodded, his voice soft, but otherwise unyielding. By now he knew her curious twists of phrase. "You might have. Anything is possible."
"You didn't believe that, not so long ago," she said, her eyes still on his.
"No, I didn't. How will I contact you when it is time to call in my favors?"
She didn't smile. Perhaps she realized that right now, the last thing he wanted to see on her face was joy, or happiness. "I will be waiting with your other women. I will see Asturial safely to them ... no charge."
"I doubt she'll need the help, but thanks all the same."
She glanced down at his working fist and the shaft it described, then grimaced and murmured, "You're welcome, though you torture me so. Do you have any idea how long it's been for me?"
"Euryale waited longer, and you'll have other chances with other men."
"Yes, I suppose I will."
Now she did venture a small, hopeful smile. "Perhaps one day I can earn your gratitude, and with it a proper lay."
Terry lifted one of her legs into the crook of his elbow, pressed himself into her, and stroked swiftly for no more than a few moments before grunting softly as his orgasm washed through him, a pale imitation of true pleasure.
Baba Yaga shivered as she received it, and he met her gaze as he said again, "Anything is possible ... but the scales are not in your favor."
Her eyes closed. She nodded once, and said, "Two favors earned, T-Mack. One to go. Don't forget Asturial's sword. She's quite fond of it."
Seconds later, Baba Yaga vanished, and Terry was alone in the torture chamber of Koschei the Deathless.
28
Murderer
For long seconds, Terry stood in silence. Within him, a tingling had begun, as though a limb that had fallen asleep had begun to wake. Suspecting that what was about to happen to him would not be pleasant, he went to the door, checked to ensure there was no latch, then closed it. The people taken to this room were never free from their chains, so the door had no need of a lock.
He sat against the wall and took deep breaths as the tingling spread through him and became more intense every moment, until all he could feel was the static haze of pins and needles. His hands spasmed and trembled. His legs shivered and quaked. It was as though he suffered all the agony of those lonely days in Florence at once, and he was forced to scramble for his shirt.
Cramming the fabric into his mouth, he bit down as hard as he could and began to scream. The pain was unbearable, unstoppable, insurmountable.
His body contorted as his muscles jerked him in odd directions, and had he been the man who first arrived on Celestine less than two months ago, the pain would almost certainly have killed him.
Time had lost all meaning before it was over, and though he had never truly lost consciousness, his ability to think returned in fits and starts, preceded by animal emotion.
He hated Baba Yaga. He loved his women. Despised Thomas. Cherished his friends. Regretted the past.
Eventually, the shivering eased.
Terry sat up, then stood. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and searched himself. The feeling of solidity he hadn't ever recognized until it was taken from him was back. Many of his gifts though were of a sort that he couldn't immediately recognize. He could only assume his link with Shy was back, because she was surely out of range. Likewise, his increased health from Laina would only be apparent if he got hurt. He wasn't a giant, so the curse must not have interfered with his ongoing spell involving Prada.
He tried expanding his senses and stomped. He received a wave of sensory information, proving he once again had access to tremor sense. That accounted for Prada's gift.
As far as he knew, he hadn't gotten anything at all from Euryale except Euryale, which was more than enough.
He opened his eyes again and searched the room. The manacles on the wall and table glowed with enchantment, gray with a swirl of dull red and shadows. That accounted for Sphinx's gift.
Okay, so Laina and Shy I can't confirm, Euryale is ... Euryale, Prada's tremor sense is back, the power and strength from Cecaelia is back, Sphinx's magic sight is here, Halla's gift is still with Prada, which leaves ...
He blinked. Technically it left Mila, Asturial, Kaltes-Ekwa ... and Baba Yaga.
Terry theoretically had four new bond gifts and he had no idea what they were, not to mention some unspecified power from Koschei himself. Unless Baba Yaga had lied to him, he now possessed Koschei's soul ... somehow.
As he thought about that, utterly frustrated, he felt a tingling in his fingers unlike the pins and needles from earlier.
He looked at them, concentrating on the sensation as the tingling got stronger, and the tops of each finger began to ache. He arched his palms and flexed, then jerked as his fingernails were torn off and claws slid into view.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he murmured, staring at his hands. The claws were ivory, each the length of his last knuckle, and slightly curved.
He cupped his hands, then tentatively made fists. The claws slid back into his fingers. He looked at the door and stepped to it, dreading what he had to do next.
He jabbed, and his fist smashed into the door, but the claws did not impale his palm. They didn't even prick him.
He breathed a sigh of relief and opened his hands again. Now that they'd been unsheathed, the pain and ache was gone ... as were his fingernails. He pressed at each finger, and could see a subtle slit in the center of the top of each digit. There was a bit of blood from the cuticles of his lost nails, but otherwise he was fine.
"Okay then, I guess that's Mila's gift accounted for," he murmured, reaching for the door again as he flexed the claws out and experimentally ran them across the grain of the wood.
They sank easily in to three-quarters of their length and left serious gouges. As soon as he felt pressure, his fingers locked up, and he wasn't able to bend them again until his claws were free.
He opened and closed his hands several times, but unless he flexed his fingers just so, the claws stayed hidden. Once out, they would only retract when he clenched his fists.
"That only leaves the dragon, the goddess, and the witch," he said with a wry chuckle. "Fuckin' perfect."
The gifts he'd gotten seemed to depend on some aspect of the gifter, but he knew next to nothing about Kaltes-Ekwa, and had no idea what kind of gift a dragon would give.
He thought of fire and tried to breathe it, then felt silly when nothing happened.
As for the witch ...
Not sure I even want to know.
For reasons he didn't fully understand, he crouched and picked up his discarded nails, pocketing them before he moved to the wall and took the
hilt of Asturial's massive sword in a two-handed grip before attempting to lift it.
It came up easily in his hands, and he huffed in amazement at the way it felt. He could sense its weight, but it felt more like he was holding a solid metal bat than a massive, six and a half foot long, three quarter's of a foot wide slab of steel.
He felt a little like Superman as he held the sword parallel to the floor at arm's length with one hand.
Memories of his initial conversations with Shy about bond gifts came back to him and he grinned as he acknowledged that he did indeed now have some seriously bad ass 'witchy' powers.
The hilt of the sword was long enough for him to grip it near the pommel and balance it on his shoulder, and he did so as he considered what to do next.
Despite what Baba Yaga wanted, it might be possible for him to escape the castle and get cleanly away. There were three problems with that idea though.
The first was that killing Koschei had been part of his deal with the Hellequin to get him in here in the first place. The second was that if he didn't kill Koschei, Baba Yaga might have sufficient reason to renege, and right now she was his best bet to deal permanently with Stheno. The third reason, and the one that meant the most to him, was that everything he had heard and seen of Koschei, what he was doing here and his methods, practically begged Terry to find him and wreck his shit.
Despite all this though, he didn't like it. The idea that he had agreed to kill a man he'd never met and didn't know made him feel like a hitman.
Then again ... didn't I make the same agreement for Theseus? What about Thomas? The very first promise I made on Celestine amounted to me becoming a hitman.
He frowned and put the thought from his mind. Killing Thomas would end the destruction of the Twilight Zone. Killing Koschei would free the Carnival of the Soul and give him the leverage he needed to save the lives of people who didn't live off the suffering of others.
I've already killed so many, can I really quit now?
He knew he couldn't, but the thought made him melancholy as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
