by Martha Woods
Again I was forced to look away for her. I grimaced. Shook my head. “There is no atoning for what I did. There's no way to erase my past. No excuse for it. My father was one of those men. One of the ones who stood for something. Who lived what he believed. Who died for it... He was a great man, my father. When Ryl came to power, he was one of the first to resist him, one of the last true Protectors for a generation. He and a few other men tried to stand up against Ryl and the Dark Ones. To fight back, and attempt to reclaim the throne. But Ryl was too powerful. Too mighty to be stopped...
“My father was defeated. Captured. Tortured for weeks, and then executed like a dog for his disobedience. Leaving me alone in the world, still a child. Leaving me a choice, which I told myself was no choice at all. Stand up to Ryl, as my father had done. Give my life for what I knew to be a just cause, but a lost one. Or else surrender. Give myself away, to the man who killed my father.
“I chose wrong...”
The shame burned like hellfire. It felt like the judgment I had awaited for so long, being heaped upon my head, each new syllable I spoke causing my tongue to burn, my skin to prickle with shame.
“But you were just a child!” insisted Keya, as though she'd forgotten whose side she was on. “You didn't make that choice! It was made for you!”
I shook my head. “You're wrong. I've tried so hard to see it that way. But it isn't true. It just isn't true.”
“No,” Keya insisted, with an adamance so severe that I looked up at her in surprise. “You're wrong. I know you're wrong. Because I did have a choice, once upon a time, and I chose wrong. I know exactly what the difference looks like.”
I'm not sure she'd been expecting to confide this much to me. She seemed as stunned as I was, standing in silence for a moment as her words resonated. I saw something familiar in her. A need to confess, hindered by a reticence to do so. I wasn't going to prod her. To urge her to discuss matters that would upset her to discuss. But I listened with rapt attention, hoping to let her know I was all ears, should she feel the need to confide in me.
After a few moments, she let her head fall, casting down her eyes as I had done. And then she continued, her voice numb.
“If you had told me, when I was a little girl, that I would have become what I am today... Well, there wouldn't even have been any question. I would have tried to fight you for even suggesting it. Even if you were four times bigger than me. I can see my scrawny little teenage self leaping at you, trying to pound her fists into whatever fleshy part of you she could get at for even suggesting I would one day become a Dark One...”
“I can only imagine how intimidating you were back then,” I teased, hoping that this would ease her pain just a little bit. She smiled feebly at the remark, through what I suddenly realized had become a tear streaked face.
“My sister... Maura... She was my whole world in those days. She was so brave. So strong. So noble. Hell, she would have kicked my ass for me if she'd known what I would eventually turn into...” A weird expression came over her face at this recollection, a nostalgic smile, crossed with a look of deep disappointment in herself– a look which struck me as entirely too familiar.
“It's ironic, really. Stupid and ironic. That it was because of her, of all people, that I turned into what I did. Except... It's not because of her at all. I don't want to make it sound– “
“No, I understand what you– “
“It was in spite of her, not because of her, that I changed. If the situation had been reversed, I know she would never have succumbed to her hatred. Her need to get even. Maura... She was always looking for the best in everyone. Even when it didn't seem like there was anything good in them to be found. She'd always taught me to be kind to humans. To love them, like one of our own, as badly as they might have treated us. Her compassion, her need to love the world and to make it a better place knew no bounds. But neither, unfortunately, did her foolishness. Except– “
She paused for a moment. Then she shook her head vigorously, chastising herself for the choice of words.
“No. No, she was no fool. Never a fool. It was the world that was foolish. The human world, as well as our own. For not understanding what it had in her. For how much we could all learn from her, if we only listened...”
Another long, pregnant pause ensued. This one seeming especially significant, like she couldn't quite figure out how to continue. Then she cast down her eyes again, staring at her feet, and pressed on with tears streaming liberally down her face.
“She was attacked, by my sister. In the woods one day. She ran into two humans. Men. Foresters. Drunk, or high, or just fucked up. I don't know exactly what happened. They harassed her. They abused her. They started hurting her, just– just because they could. And she could have stopped them. Those fucks had no idea who they were messing with. What she was. That people like us even existed.
“But Maura– she didn't transform. She tried to outrun them at first. Didn't want to resort to violence. Didn't want to give our kind away, maybe. She considered everyone's needs, except her own. And by the time she realized that she didn't have any choice but to fight back, it was too late. She was too weak by then. She couldn't transform. And they killed her. The bastards, those fucking animals killed her. They destroyed her. The way they destroy every goddamn thing that's good in the world.”
I didn't know what to say to this. What could I say?
Any lines of distinction between us, between the roles of captor and prisoner, seemed to disappear, to fade into oblivion. I wanted to take her into my arms in that moment. To hold her close, and make the pain go away. But I knew that she wouldn't let me. And I knew that the pain wasn't about to go away.
“Keya, I'm... I'm so sorry.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, and shook her head.
“I'm the one who should be sorry,” she said. “I've never been as good as Maura. I've never been able to forgive like she could. Her death, her murder, solidified to hatred inside me. I wanted them dead. All of them. And not just the ones who'd attacked her. All of them were guilty, I told myself. All of them deserved to pay for what had happened to Maura. And I was determined to make sure that they did. That they all suffered, just as much as Maura had done before she died.
“And then Ryl came to power. He changed everything. All the darkness I'd had in my heart, the thirst for revenge, it was like that suddenly became the whole of reality. Like all that I'd been keeping on the inside, letting it fester, was now suddenly on the outside. And it was exhilarating, but it was frightening. I wasn't sure I liked it, now that I was able to see it clearly. The hatred of humankind had become my new truth, my only truth. But confronted by it up close, I was forced to stop and reflect. To remember everything Maura had tried to instill in me. The virtues of love and tolerance, that had been so overshadowed by the pain of her loss.
“But then I met Mordeos. Ryl's faithful servant. Strong. Confident. Dedicated to the warped ideals that I told myself were right. Speaking eloquently, extolling their virtues, so that I began to stop doubting my reservations. He told me what I wanted to hear, and I clung desperately to that. I'm not sure whether I ever really loved him, so much as I loved that reassurance. Having someone there to tell me that I was right to hate mankind like I did. That animosity toward another race could make up anything resembling a way of life.
“And for a while, it worked. Ryl was in command. Mordeos was by my side, with his arms around me, to tell me that what I believed was true. His ideology kept me warm at night. And the best part was, it didn't matter that I wasn't yet lifting a finger to try and avenge my sister's death. The Dark Ones taking over was revenge enough. The shared belief that dragons were the superior race, and that we should keep to ourselves and build up our numbers until the time was right, made it seem like we were actually accomplishing something, without ever having to lift a finger.
“I got by on my hatred for so many years. Conspiring against the humans, but never actually making a move against
them. Telling myself that it was just a matter of time, just a matter of time...
“And then Ryl fell from power. The Dark Ones scattered, and got desperate. There was no plan, anymore. No more restraint. No more waiting for the right moment. With Ynder and the Protectors back in charge, there may not ever be a right moment. There might not even be a tomorrow. We could end up captured at any time, our revenge left unfulfilled.
“It awakened a hunger in the Dark Ones. A need to put their radical ideology into action, before it's too late. They started attacking people at random. Humans, they happened across in the woods. People on the outskirts of town. Anyone they can find really. Hurting them. Torturing them. Killing them... And for no reason. Without provocation. Not with any goal in mind, like they might actually accomplish something by doing it. It's just meanness. Cruelty for cruelty's sake. Mordeos does it. All of them do it. And every time it happens, it's like– like seeing Maura being attacked all over again.
“I see her sometimes, when they do it. Like she's looking down on me. Asking, why are you with these people? Why aren't you stopping them? And I try to tell them that I'm doing it for her. Because of her. But I know that's not true. It was never for her. It was for me. For my pain. For my grief. And then I realize, it... It's all just an excuse for that. And that really, it's no excuse at all.”
Here, she was silent again. I stared at her. Amazed. Heartbroken. I'd seen it in her. From the very beginning. A trace of resistance to Mordeos and the others. To their putrid ideas. But up until this very moment, I might have been imagining it.
I tried to think of what to say to her. Her situation so familiar to me. And yet, I had never managed to find my own forgiveness, my own absolution for the sins I'd committed. So how could I now possibly think of extending either to her?
I had my mouth half open again, more for the sake of occupying this silence, than because I knew what I was going to say. But before I could speak, she looked up at me, her eyes ablaze with sincerity, the tears still flowing in abundance.
“And that's the difference,” she said. “That's the difference. Between not having a choice, and choosing it yourself. It might seem the same to you. To someone who actually has a moral compass. Who sees the difference between what's right and wrong, and who chooses what's right in the end...”
“In the end,” I emphasized, interrupting her. “Eventually. But not when it mattered. Not when Ryl was rising to power. Not when there was still a chance of turning things around, if only any of us had been brave enough to do what was right when it needed to be done, instead of waiting around until it was convenient for us!”
“But you still did what was right!” she insisted, and it was like the burden of the conversation was shifting between us, without either of us realizing as it happened. “You still made that choice, no matter when you made it! You're here, aren't you? Fighting for the Protectors! Fighting to make up for your mistakes, to make it right again! You can pretend like that's nothing all you want to, but it's one step further than I've ever been able to make it!”
“The only reason I'm here is because the Dark Ones fell from power!” I countered. “I would still be right back where I was, serving under Ryl, if the Protectors hadn't been there to turn things around... To tell me it was okay for me to do what was right! To do what I already knew I should have been doing all along!”
And here, suddenly, my thoughts ground to a halt.
There was a significance to what I'd just said... It meant something.
It was a perspective I had never considered before. That I probably never would have considered, were it not for the woman I now addressed here before me. The beautiful, indefinable woman. Stirring emotions from the depths of my soul that I thought I might never have experienced. Redefining who I was, and the very narrative of my life up to the present moment.
It was a while still before the idea fully took shape. I looked down slowly at the key in my hand. Then slowly back up at Keya again. Her beautiful blue eyes shining.
“But maybe that's what it takes...” I said softly.
“What?” she asked staring intently at me.
“Maybe... Maybe people just mess up in life. Maybe we make mistakes. However big they might be. Maybe we spend years, telling ourselves we can do better. But never really believing that. Never believing we can ever be more than what we once were. Maybe what it takes, for us to be able to change, is for someone to tell us that it's possible. That we can make that change. That as much as we might regret the mistakes we've made, the past is already written. There's nothing we can do about it. But the future... Where we go from here... That's all we've got. And all we can do is make the best of that. To learn from our mistakes, and do better.”
I stepped closer to her. She stood there in the dappled sunlight, looking absolutely beautiful to me. My words seemed to have calmed her. Her face still glistened with tears, but her breathing grew steadier as I approached. As though my words had touched her to the very depth of her soul.
“That's how I feel,” she said gently, “whenever I look at you... Like the door isn't closed. Like the story isn't over. And... And, if I'm honest with myself... That scares me.”
I drew so close to her that I could feel the heat of her body against me. My heart raced at her proximity. Sensations rushed through my body, making me lightheaded, and I thought I might fall into the oceans of those great blue eyes, and get lost in them forever.
“It should scare you,” I said. “It scared me at first. Sometimes it still does. It will never not be scary. But that's how you know. That's how you know the change is real. And to be honest... I think things get a whole lot easier, when you aren't still trying to do it on your own.”
“I've been doing it on my own for so long,” she whispered, shuddering as she spoke. “Show me... Please...”
I gazed into her very soul. At that moment, I experienced a level of connection I had never before known with any other. The feeling permeated all of me. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I felt a hardening at my center, unable to contain it. But I didn't think that containing it was something either of us really wanted at that moment.
Slowly I reached for her. Slid my arms around her. Drew so near that the tip of my erection pressed against her flat, heaving stomach. She didn't seem to mind this, but held her breath nervously at my heat. Making my shaft leap, and burn hungrily up against her. Her skin was so soft. Her eyes were so pure, and they stared so expectantly up at me.
I brought my hands slowly down along each of her arms, savoring each inch of her. I brought the key slowly down to her wrist, and very carefully inserted it into the lock. I turned it. It clicked. The first cuff fell from her arm. Then the other.
I drew back again, slowly, already missing her heat.
I stepped back, giving her space. Newly freed, I wanted her to be sure. I needed to know that this was what she truly wanted. That this was truly real, and not just a product of her circumstances.
But just a single look into those eyes, and there could be no doubt.
She took one step toward me– not even a step, but a movement–and I knew. I threw myself at her, and she at me. We pressed all of ourselves, every possible inch of our burning, desperate bodies up against one another. I held her closely, a treasure I had sought for so long, without even realizing it, and which, now found, I vowed never to let from my sight again.
Our lips met, just as a cloud passed over the sun. The forest darkened, and we fell into one another, as hungry for our bodies as we were for our redemption, and ready to satisfy each beyond our wildest imaginations.
Keya
His hands glided over me, seeming to sculpt and reshape me. Taking what I once was, and turning it into what I always knew I could be. Into what I would, at last, be.
He gripped my breasts, pressing his palms up against me. His fingers rolled along my sides, sending shivers along my spine, making me dizzy with pleasure and anticipation. He kissed me deep, drinking me in,
as I stood with my arms wrapped around him. I loved the writhing, twisting muscles of his back as he took me. The pressure, the tension, the beading and rolling of sweat along his tattooed flesh. I gripped his hair, pulling almost ferociously back as his lips fell along my neck, absolutely thrilling me with the sensation. I let my hands fall slowly down along his spine as he consumed me, grabbing him by his sculpted buttocks, pulling that hard body into me, his rock-solid cock burying itself deeper and deeper against my stomach, the cool drip of his fluids mimicking my own growing wetness down below.
I felt him drip down along my body, along my stomach, across the clean-shaven mound of my pubic triangle. Heat and cool mingled unbearably, making me want so much more of him, even as he brought his face to my chest, sliding my left nipple into his lips, and sinking his teeth down. Sucking on me, licking, teasing me, making me wonder how I might ever have gone on for so very long without the hope of a redemption so sweet.
He pressed himself into me, backing me up through the forest, and I would gladly have followed him to the ends of the Earth in that moment, to anywhere at all he might choose to lead me. I was prompted by the firm caress of his hands, still exploring me so greedily. Tracing out my curves, shimmying down along the sides of my body. Grabbing me by the ass and squeezing, savoring each warm, soft inch of me. Then, suddenly, sliding his hand up between my legs, running his fingers through my lips, and pushing them inside me, so that my entire body seemed to erupt with the sweet, sweet brilliance of sensation.
A powerful moan escaped my lips, and I could not have stopped it at that moment for the life of me, even had I wanted to. I allowed myself to be swept up in him. Let him know and explore every part of me. I savored the wild plunge of my insides as his capable hands chanced upon some new realm of me to explore. I shrieked as he inhaled some new part of me into his sweet lips. I gasped, and held him closer, as he manipulated me in ways that even I didn't think capable of giving me such pleasure– and I knew that it was only because of him, his touch, his hands, that they were indeed capable of doing so.
