by Aimee Moore
“Oh stop it,” she muttered, grabbing at my wrist. “Obviously he's mating with you; I'm not nearly as rough as he was, you foolish creature. Though I don't know what he sees in you.” She lifted my arm out as she spoke, frowning with distaste.
“Frail as a fish bone, pale as ice, and fearful as a beaten dog.” She began spreading the paste on my wounds as she shook her head. “I'd doubt my sanity if I didn't see the bruises,” the old woman said with a scowl.
She frowned and worked for a time, before pulling my hair aside to reveal the bites on my neck. “Completely taken with you. Bruises the like I've never seen.” The old woman sighed and turned away for more paste, returning to me. I softened to her as she continued to chatter to herself.
“Never been mated so well in all my life, and here you are, fragile twig of a creature, given a man that any Kraw woman would give her sword arm for.” Deep brown eyes met mine for a moment, and I searched her for meaning before she returned to her work. “A waste. Complete waste.”
She worked in silence then, with a scowl set on her face and a deep crease between her brows. The silence prodded at my tongue.
“Please tell me where he is,” I said in her tongue.
Silver lashes raised to me, as she paused, then returned to her work with the hint of a smile playing across her face.
“Chatska, was it?”
“Mmm,” she hummed, working at my wounds, hurting me with her rough care.
“Please.” I brought my hands to her working wrist, and both of them together did not wrap around the old woman's arm.
She stilled, frowning at me. “And why should you care where he is?” She removed her arm from my grasp. “It's because of you and your kind that he's going to die. You should bow your head in sorrow and let him be.”
The scolding was not lost on me. “I love him,” I whispered.
Chatska slammed the bowl of paste on the little desk. “Hah. You served your purpose to him, now you'll serve your purpose to this world and go on your way.”
“Chatska. Listen to me. Dal has chosen me. Ask him. Look at the evidence before you. Please, I must see him. I beg you.”
The healer turned her back to me with a disgusted grunt.
I let my hands fall.
She began mixing new pastes. “Patroma would have me flayed alive if I let you wander freely.”
“Then take me to see Patroma.”
The old woman cackled, turning to me with one orange finger. “You don't understand, human. Your frail life hangs by a thread. Patroma keeps you alive at the request of Dal. Dal only lives so long as he gives Patroma what she wants, and Patroma only gets what she wants so long as you live. This whole mess is set to crash into itself with all the force of falling mountains.” Chatska returned to her mixing, and a new sense of dread suffused into me.
“What does Patroma want from him?”
“Never you mind.”
“Chatska,” I said in a pleading voice.
Her hands stilled in the small bowls, and her body seemed to slump a little. “Why couldn't you be stupid,” she muttered. Chatska turned to me with an orange paste now, and scraping the dried yellow off my wounds, she began to rub the orange in with harsh strokes. “Patroma is the Warlord's Eyes and Ears. She gets what she wants.”
My heart fell into my stomach, impaling itself on adrenaline.
Chatska grabbed my arm, shaking it a little. “Loosen up, human. I need to work this in.”
I yanked my arm out of her grasp. “Take me to him.”
She grabbed my arm again with a scowl. “No.” She rubbed more paste into my wounds.
“I will burn this place to the ground if you do not.”
Chatska's old hands stilled, and she raised silver lashes to meet my gaze. With a sigh, she gave up her task of caring for my throbbing wounds. “I will take you to see Patroma. Then I'll be free of you,” the old woman said. She slammed the bowl back on the desk, and it shattered.
“Where are my clothes?”
“Gone.”
“Where's my bag?”
“Gone.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Am I to prance around naked?”
“You have your fur. And you have your life. Do not complain.” And with that, Chatska headed for the flap that hung over the door.
I hopped down from the cot, wincing at the pain it caused me, and pulled the fur cloak tight around myself.
Chatska's strong fingers found my arm through the fur, and she held tight to me as she steered me through the camp. Glittering Kraw eyes met me from all corners, bright and dark. I pulled the large fur tighter around myself, grateful for its fluffy cover. A cacophony of sounds met my ears; grunts and splats and stone on stone and steel on steel and laughter and growling. Children shrieking, flesh being pounded, clay pottery clinking, people groaning, people breathing fast, dogs barking. It was overwhelming.
After marching us through the maze of huts, Chatska stopped in front of the tallest and grandest tent of all. She hauled me roughly to get my attention, and I looked up into the brown eyes. I was surprised to see kindness in them.
“Do not blame him,” she whispered. And before I could open my mouth to respond, she pulled the tent flaps aside and trudged me into Patroma's den.
✽✽✽
The fire in the middle of the tent was large and well kept, just as before, miles away in the snow. The elaborate bone and hide throne, tall above the dirt I stood on, was empty, but still I was intimidated by it.
Another Kraw approached Chatska. “Why do you bring this here.”
“It wished to see Patroma.”
“Patroma is busy.”
“It was... insistent.”
“She will not be happy at this interruption.”
“Blame the creature at my side, I've done my duties. It's yours now.” And with a slight pitying look, Chatska looked at me once more, then disappeared out of the tent.
I looked up at the imposing male Kraw, hugging my furs tighter around myself.
With a groan of annoyance, he grabbed my arm – indifferent to my wounds – and hauled me over to the front of Patroma's throne. “Stay,” he said in his most commanding tone, pointing to the floor as if I were a disobedient dog.
I nodded.
The Kraw disappeared through the back of the tent, into Patroma's quarters. I waited for a time, listening to the sounds of the war camp all around me. The minutes dragged on at a torturous pace.
Dizziness overtook me again, and my stomach cramped so hard with hunger that it hurt. I pulled my cloak tight and sat, finding relief on the ground. After several more agonizing minutes, Patroma appeared, the other Kraw following behind. She was tall and radiant, war braids flung about her in a careless state, skin glowing, war clothing just disheveled enough to make her appear ready for battle. She strode to her throne without looking at me, sat upon it, and grinned down at me like a cat that cornered a mouse.
“It would seem that fate desires you be in my possession, human. Fate, however, is not your friend. Tell me why I should not have you beaten for this intrusion.” She spoke in my tongue, which I was grateful for.
I stood, giving a slight curtsy, and Patroma gave a bored blink. “Patroma. You are aware that we have returned to you with a purpose, are you not?”
“The purpose other than mending you?”
“Yes. We have information that will serve the Kraw.”
“That purpose is the only reason you still live.”
“Please, let me see Dal.”
A slow grin spread over her bored face. “No.”
I let a crease form in my brow. “Are we prisoners?”
“That is obvious.”
“Why? We come to you with help in your war, a way to win with ease so that you can return to your world.”
“He is still a traitor, human. A fact that you confirm every time you plead for his presence.”
“And what have I done to deserve being imprisoned? I am betraying my entire species
for you.”
Patroma sat back in her throne with an amused grin. “You think your dishonesty buys my trust?”
“I think that you and I having the same goal buys your trust. And I'll continue to share your goal so long as I can see Dal.”
Patroma tilted her head toward the other Kraw in a bored manner and spoke in their tongue. “As I said, I pick the best toys.”
The other Kraw laughed, and Patroma turned to me with a superior smile, switching back to my language. “No. You will go back to your hut until you are useful to me.”
The other Kraw came to take me, and I brought my hands out of the cloak and lit them, fire licking its way into the air. “No. I've ended an entire camp of Kraw, and I'll do it again if you do not take me to see him,” I said in a dangerous voice.
The male Kraw near me stopped and looked up at Patroma. She tapped her finger on her chin, considering me for a moment.
“You risk your precious Dal's life if you do so.”
“He alone will be safe from my flame,” I said. I hoped to everything that made me human that Patroma wouldn't call my bluff.
She watched me for a time, and I could see the indecision in her eyes. If her mind was anything like Dal's, then she was considering every angle of my request, and which end result was most satisfactory to her. Finally, her cat-like smile appeared again.
“You wish to see your precious guard? Come then, see your guard, and know that his purpose in this life has been found,” she said with a laugh. Patroma stood then, descended her throne, and swept by me with her tall, powerful strides. I glanced at the male Kraw and he only stood as stone while Patroma muttered “she follows” to him in Kraw language.
I glanced about me once more, then trotted to keep up with Patroma. My heart raced as we went through the back of the tent, through another ante room with tactical maps, strange items I didn't recognize, and two war mutts asleep on pilfered sheep's wool.
I imagined the worst possible fate for Dal so that I could be prepared. Whatever horrible way she was hurting him or whatever demeaning task she was making him perform, I would help. Even if he was being made to scrub hound pens with his teeth, I would help.
But I wasn't prepared when Patroma thrust aside a tent flap, revealing her quarters. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
“You have but a few moments, human, spend them wisely.”
And I was shoved into the room, the tent flap closing behind me. My mouth went dry.
Dal was on his knees, chained with his hands behind him, on Patroma's massive bed. Another chain went around his neck, holding him suspended in the most uncomfortable position I had ever seen. An intricate working of sturdy wooden poles were laid out around and over the bed, and Dal's chains were worked through them in ways that I didn't understand. He was naked, smeared in blood, obvious claw and teeth marks on his skin.
Rage and fear threatened to explode out of me, and my fire licked its way up my feet. “Oh, Dal,” I whispered.
“Leave, Sera,” said Dal, refusing to look at me.
I would have rather he backhanded me. “You can't mean that.”
“I do. Leave. Go back to the safety of your hut, do as the Warlord wishes when he arrives, and it will all end soon.”
I swallowed hard, looking at the evidence all around me of what transpired here. I approached Dal with careful steps, recognizing in his nakedness the fresh marks of recent lovemaking. I wanted to wail in anguish. I hated him. I loved him. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to comfort him with my touch. I wanted kill Patroma. I wanted to die on the spot.
“How could you?” I asked.
Still he did not look at me.
“Was this why you were so anxious to come back? To be her play thing? Was this what you wanted all along?” My tone was becoming irate, panicked, scared.
“Leave!” Dal roared at me.
“No!”
We stared each other down, both breathing heavy.
I calmed myself, pulled in my fire, and got closer; as if approaching a wounded animal. Dal did not make any attempt to move toward me, only watched me with an angry scowl. The fight fled me when I beheld the extent of the abuse he had suffered. The piercings in his nipples had been ripped out, raw nubs of ripped flesh left where the dark skin used to be.
Puncture wounds twisted their way up Dal's left thigh, getting ever closer to the very male part of him. His bottom lip had been pierced recently, a large fang protruding from the new hole, and blood smeared down his chin.
Tears blurred my vision. My Dal. Patroma was doing awful, sick things to my Dal.
“Do not weep,” Dal murmured.
I stepped up onto the low bed, approaching Dal. Strange, violently opposing emotions ran through me as a sob escaped. I knelt in front of him.
“Is this what Kraw enjoy? Is this what you want from me?”
Dal let a long breath out of his nose, turning his face away. “Her tastes are not mine.”
“But you're giving her what she wants,” I whispered. I wanted to strike him. I wanted to die.
Dal's hazel eyes met mine, the spring bloom of them clouded by cold brown frost. “I did not want you to see this because I knew I would see that hatred in your eyes, Seraphine. But know that you cannot hate me more than I hate myself.”
After a long moment, he turned away again, and I looked upon his abused body. Every claw and bite mark was a violation of what was mine. Every wound, every drop of blood was spilling a piece of me onto the bed.
“Do you find pleasure here?” I asked on a whisper.
Dal let out a sigh of frustration. “Your innocence, at the cost of mine, Sera. Pleasure can be extracted from even the most unwilling participants under skilled hands.” Sadness touched Dal's voice at these words, and another sob choked out of me as he continued.
“Do not make waste of my sacrifice. I came here to have you mended, and now you are. You must keep yourself safe above all else.”
She was taking from him. It was rape. A man this strong, this capable and sure, it could happen even to him. Suddenly my horrors paled in comparison to this. “Look what she's done to you,” I said, running a hand over the smooth skin of his arm, dried blood flaking off.
At my touch his gaze warmed. “I will recover.”
I edged closer, fingering his bottom lip where the fang piercing made it fatter. A soft growl escaped his lips, the very same one that I had exacted from him on multiple occasions of intimacy, and I lifted my lashes to Dal's eyes. “You like that,” I said, unsure of what answer he could give that would make the pain in my chest go away.
“When you touch it, yes. But only you.”
I looked back at the crude piercing, unsure of the sea of emotions raging inside me. All at once my heart had expanded to take up far too much space for my body, and sorrow overwhelmed me. I had blamed the victim, and it was small of me, the worst kind of low. And he didn't hate me for it. I didn't deserve this man. “I'm so sorry, Dal,” I whispered into the space between us.
“Do not be.”
I rose up on my knees to be level with him. “But I am. So, so sorry.” I touched the smooth skin of his handsome face with careful hands and placed a feather light kiss on his lip, marveling at how my body flared to life with so simple a thing. A sigh of pleasure escaped Dal's lips, reverent, as if drinking water through parched lips, and I kissed him some more, giving his top lip a gentle nibble. The chains rattled, and I glanced down to see the muscles in Dal's arms straining to be free of his binding. To touch me.
“I’m going to free you,” I said.
“No. You must not try. Play your part in the destruction of the leyline, and then stay hidden.”
I let go of him, my warrior, and stepped back. “You can't stop me, Dal,” I whispered. “And I can't sit idly by while Patroma does this to you.”
Dal strained against his bindings again, panic etched on his face. “Seraphine,” he began.
The tent flap was flung open, and Patroma strode in, her
evil smile lighting the room with as much strength as her commanding presence. “Your time with my toy has ended, human. I trust you like what I've done with your guard.”
I turned to her. “Free him.”
Patroma advanced on me with a snarl. “Remember who you speak to, frail creature.”
“You said yourself that he is not worthy for the Warlord to look upon. What would your Warlord think of you sharing a bed with a traitor? Please, return him to me, there must be Kraw in this camp who share your tastes, who give as equally as they take.”
Patroma backhanded me, and I staggered.
Dal roared. “Patroma! Your business is with me, not her. Leave her be, keep your bargain to me or lose your pet.”
I pushed the curtain of red hair out of my face to look up at Patroma, towering over me with imposing strength. My face throbbed white hot as I rose to watch her turn and approach Dal. Already hunger flashed in her eyes. She grabbed the fang in Dal's lip and pulled his face toward hers.
“I do not make bargains with maggots. Your purpose is to please me. Your words are only for pleasing me, nothing else in your life matters anymore. Your mouth, nothing may come of it that does not bring me pleasure. And if I am not pleased, she dies.”
Dal glared ice at Patroma. I had never seen such hatred spill out of him before, and a thrill of fear pooled in my belly at the blatant hostility radiating out of the powerful Kraw before me.
Patroma smiled a nasty smile, giving Dal's lip a harsh yank, and said in Kraw tongue, “your little beast will serve us in any capacity I see fit. And when she's filled her purpose, she'll serve the Warlord in any capacity he sees fit. And he will not care if she lives to speak of his passions.”
Patroma slapped the most sensitive part of Dal, hanging limp with disinterest in her attentions, and shoved him away, chains rattling. I was distracted by the way his muscles bunched and coiled with rage as he regained his balance. I should have pushed emotions aside and melted the chains away from him without question. I should have freed him and trusted that he would never betray me.
