The Fraying Thread (closed for Apollo Wilde)

[maybenotacreep]

“The Prefect will see you now.” Said the simply dressed man, opening the solid oak door before returning to his desk.

The four of them filed through the doorway to the large office beyond. Its lavish furnishings and intricately carved woodwork were a sharp contrast to the painfully plain exterior of the square stone building it resided in. Dalen reached toward one of the small chairs at the back of the room. A polite reflex, to steady the chair before Sapphire took her seat, but Grayson's voice stopped him short.

“Sit!” The word was almost a bark, directed at Grayson’s Companion. How had he introduced her at the city gate? Prudence? No doubt Grayson found the name an amusing joke.

She dipped her head slightly as she moved quickly to comply. To all appearances, Prudence was a slight blonde woman of fair complexion, bright hazel eyes with flecks of gold, and wearing a simple blue dress that clung to her figure. She was stunning, but that was a given.

Dalen let his hand hover in the air. Now a simple gesture of command pointing Sapphire to her place.

He watched as Grayson moved to one of the high-backed chairs directly across from the Prefect's desk without so much as glancing over his shoulder to his Companion. The Companions had been put in their place and would be given no more thought now than a cloak which had been hung on its peg, forgotten until its owner was ready to leave again.

Dalen crossed the room to take the chair next to the older Warden. The man was ten years his senior. At 22, Dalen was quite young to have earned the title of Warden. His youthful face lacked the weathered look of the older man’s, and instead of the wiry beard, Dalen’s face had no more than a few days' growth. Where the older man’s carefully combed black hair was already thinning and going grey at the temples, Dalen’s thick brown locks tumbled haphazardly down to just above his shoulders.

Both wore the same tunic. Fine grey wool with the emblem of the Builders embroidered just above their hearts in gold colored thread. To the uninitiated, it was merely a stylized, blazing sun: a simple circle embraced by eight triangular rays. But Dalen had learned the grim geometry of the truth during his training. It was a blueprint of containment. A massive summoning circle at the center, ringed by eight triangular stations where the Builders’ founders once anchored their protective wards. But they’d also been taught that the inner workings of the Builders were not their concern.

Dalen’s immediate concern was the frail looking old man that sat across from them, his elbows resting on the leather blotter protecting the surface of the massive desk made of some exotic wood that he could not even identify. His liver spotted skin hung loosely on his bony fingers that were currently steepled in front of his face as he stared at the Wardens with something bordering on contempt. It was not a look Dalen was unfamiliar with. While the Prefect was technically their superior, he was a man who spent his days putting quill to parchment. There was always a measure of jealousy directed toward the Wardens who were out in the world, working for the Builders through direct action.

The Prefect did not speak until both Wardens were settled in their chairs, starting with a perfunctory greeting that lacked any warmth.

“Gentlemen. I hope your travel was without incident.”

He turned his gaze to Grayson first.

“Warden Grayson.” The formal title came out with an almost audible sigh. “Your task is simple. The city of Hearthstone is swearing in a new Mayor. The Builders have put their support behind him, and it is important this be obvious to a number of players within the city. The presence of a Warden will serve to reassure any doubters as to that relationship.”

His tone took a slightly sharper edge. “You are there to be seen. Shake the man’s hand. Stand behind him as he gives his speech of acceptance. Promise him nothing. You are not there to negotiate. You are a clothes horse Warden.”

The old man’s eyes flick over Grayson's shoulder to look briefly at his Companion.

“Essentially you are there to look pretty and show that the Builders cared enough to send a Warden. A task that should mesh quite well with your extensive skill set.”

Dalen sat a bit straighter when the yellowed eyes turned to him.

“Your task is a bit more involved, Warden Dalen. You will be travelling to Fairharbor.” He leaned back in his chair.

“For some weeks the Builders have been negotiating with Harlen Grimes, the Guild Master of the Salt Skins. The largest of the port workers guilds. He has proved uncooperative in our efforts to secure warehouse space and to facilitate the timely movement of our goods. Unfortunately he has considerable influence, and his unwarranted hindrance of our efforts is proving to be a significant thorn in our side.

The Builders have decided that if Mr. Grimes cannot be convinced to treat us fairly, then perhaps it is time that we make way for someone else to take his position.”

An immediate feeling of unease washed over Dalen who was careful to keep his face neutral. The implication was clear. If Grimes was not going to play along, then his life was forfeit to the greater needs of the Builders.

In his youth, he had viewed the Builders with respect and admiration. Their influence was felt from coast to coast. Building schools. Repairing infrastructure. An outwardly benevolent organization that seemed to work for the betterment of society at large.

His grandfather had been a Warden, and Dalen’s older brother Cord had attempted to follow in his footsteps. He had not survived the process. This was not unheard of. Dalen had always assumed that his father’s ultimately unsuccessful attempts to steer his boys away from the Builders was borne of fear that they would choose to follow their grandfather’s path and suffer the exact fate Cord had suffered.

Dalen had a brief flash of memory. The first time he had laid eyes on Sapphire. The day they had been coupled. He drove it out of his mind immediately. He wondered now what fraction of the knowledge he now knew his father might have managed to squeeze from his own father before he passed. How much had his father known about what the Builders were really capable of.

“Are we clear, Warden Dalen?”

The old man’s question pulled him back to the moment.

“Crystal.” Dalen replied simply.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The air inside was sweetly stale, despite the sunlight that filtered through the numerous windows. Here and there, a dancing dust mote caught her attention, and beyond that, the knife like shards of light. There was a whole world out there. It wasn’t the first time that she noticed it. Having the reminder simply be to her left or her right was a comforting caress. If there was a bigger world out there, it meant that there was still a place for her to go. Places to see.

She shouldn’t think these things. Rather, she shouldn’t have the capability to think these things. Outside, thinking - hard things for her to do. Wading through near frozen waist deep mud; hard, but not impossible. If she did it for too long, the strain would show on her face, either a furrowing of her brows or the small beads of sweat around her temples. She had enough presence of self not to allow that.

A quick look outside, a quick reminder. Like the strain of holding a heavy door open, when she let her thoughts lapse, it was enough of a relief to almost make her drop her shoulders. It was easy to just…let the young man in front of her do everything. Think everything. Maybe her life would hold more promise if she stopped fighting, stopped digging at the little cracks that appeared here and there in her mind. But like a loose tooth that a child would worry at with his tongue, so she kept digging. Used whatever opportunity she could to push just that bit more.

Swift enough, undetectable by human standards, she knew that much, before she presented a placid facade, her eyes fixed on a point at the top of the room. Not making eye contact, but seemingly at attention. A form of respect - further fueled by how unnerving many found her eyes. Even among the higher ranks; they’d become something of a rumor, something that was discussed with low chuckles and tongue-clucks of pride to Dalen, when they thought she couldn’t hear.

Even the sharpness of Grayson’s voice hadn’t been enough to shake that focus, though she could hear the commotion of the blonde trying to take her seat. It was when Dalen moved his hand that she obeyed, with a grace that would’ve been more at home on a princess than her low class. She would take her seat silently, head lowered only slightly so that she could focus on her task.

To the blonde, she was a collection of opposites. Where the blonde was fair-haired and skinned, she was dark-skinned, a deep coffee that almost seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Yet, “coffee” wasn’t quite appropriate either; it would suggest a flat color, and she was far from. Her skin, when the light did manage to win against it, would reflect a rich copper, lightening to a deeper gold at sharp points: cheekbones, elbows, collarbones. Caught in that perpetual sun shower flecking, it would come and go, appearing a trick of the light, even moreso as there was even a hint of that iridescence in her dark hair. Hair, again, that appeared black, but under the proper light, was a kaleidoscope of purples, blues, and greens, the plumage of a bird caught and pinned to a mortal form. It could all be excused away, frantically, as a trick of the light, for those who were so caught off guard by the instant and fatal stab of her beauty.

She too, was clad in a simple dress - rather than blue, hers was of a pale green linen, a color that should’ve been unflattering. Instead, it seemed that the dress was now a living thing, a vine twined round the sturdy and sinuous human within it. The only flesh that was bared was half the long column of her neck, the rest hidden behind the high neck of the dress. Her arms were from the elbow down. The hem was past her ankles, threatening to drag on the ground, was it not for the well-worn kid-skin boots she wore beneath. Appropriate for a traveler, but not for a well-turned lady. One would get the impression that the plainness of the dress, and its high buttoned fashion, somewhat out of style, was a cage. There for the protection of others. Her hair was pulled back into thick braids and piled on top of her head with a faded blue bandana, wound through and aiding in the pinning, with another blue cloth wrapped around the back of her head, furthering holding up the braids and hiding more of her hair. As much as an anachronism as her dress.

Her face was an anomaly. It seemed….to never sit still. To one man, she would appear cherub-cheeked and charming, to another, angular and fox-like. Her lips would be thin to one, full to another; mindlessly filling the gap of what he thought was attractive. Again, a trick of the light, one could say, only held by the vivid and unnatural blue of her eyes. A constant in the churning nature of her face. Even the blue shifted; stormy water, ice pale, but always with the same humming illumination behind them, as if she would light a dark room with them.

Come to think of it, her body was as much as an anomaly as her face. Though the clothing, the style, did not change, her figure did. Thin and willowy to one, deeply curvy to another. The novelty of how her appearance changed had long lost its charm to her. One less thing to think of, at least.

His thoughts are wandering.

It was simple enough to tell through their bond; she didn’t have to reach, or try to, to read him. In many ways, Dalen was as open as a book. Her gaze didn’t change; she hadn’t been bidden to ‘release’, or to change position. The meaning of the Prefect’s words weren’t lost on her, however.

 

[maybenotacreep]

The meeting wrapped up quickly. Dalen and Grayson were both handed a small satchel, containing coin and several pieces of parchment. Requisitions and miscellaneous logistical details.


Once they stepped outside, Grayson turned to face the younger Warden. “Dalen. I figured it was you.”


Had the older man been paying any attention when they had all crossed paths at the main gate he would have known this already. The older took his time looking at him. Sizing him up. Dalen had not met Grayson until today, but he knew that look. An older, more experienced Warden that felt somehow slighted. His ego was bruised and he felt the need to even the tally.


“I've heard about you. What have they been telling you? You're a quick study? Some sort of prodigy?” Grayson did his best attempt at a sympathetic laugh, but it sounded forced. “Don't think you're going to Fairharbor because the Prefect thinks you're better than me.”


Grayson glanced over Dalen's shoulder at Sapphire. He seemed to lose his grip on whatever it was he was saying for a moment. After a pause that was just long enough to be awkward, Grayson snapped his eyes back to Dalen's and placed a finger on his chest.


“They don't give two shits about you kid. You got Fairharbor cause they linked you up with a killer.”


The older Warden turned and strided away, his pride partially restored. Dalen tugged at the bottom of his tunic, pulling it straight. “Arrogant prick.” He muttered.


“Come on.” He said to Sapphire as he set off toward the stables. He didn't look at her immediately, slightly embarrassed at having been dressed down by the senior Warden. What the fuck had he been on about. Killer? Weren't they all? Potentially? Perhaps it was just the same tired sage advice from a “veteran" Warden. That without their Companions, the Wardens were little more than moderately skilled wizards.


He dug into the satchel, pulling out the crude map and noting the distances involved in their upcoming journey. They were going to need to make at least one stop along the way. Maybe two.


He finally turned to Sapphire. “A carriage is not likely to make the journey in two days. There are a number of small towns along the route, so I don't imagine lodging will be a problem. But if we stick to horses it will be faster.”


He realizes the moment he finishes that it isn't customary to seek the opinion of his Companion. It was all rather strange. This so called bond linking them irrevocably, but it was almost like he was still expected to live a solitary life.


He looked into the liquid pools of sparkling blue in her eyes, doing his best not to lose himself in them. He wasn't sure what to make of what he saw there. Kindness? Loyalty? Affection? Did it matter? It wasn't real was it?


It was not likely anyone was paying attention but he quickly turned his query into a more direct question. “Do you ride?”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

At the corners of her mind, the confrontation outside wasn’t entirely unexpected. She’d picked up on the annoyance of Grayson. How could she not? It bled into the air, an unrestrained stink. Still, she watched it through lowered eyelashes, not making a sound, not showing a hint of emotion. Even when Grayson’s eyes were on her, she made no move.

She was ready when he addressed her, and trailed behind him, silently as always. The twinge of Dalen’s self-consciousness flicked at the tip of her nose. Her mind was suddenly, violently, torn in two directions:

He should not feel ashamed -

I can use that.

She blinked, hoping to clear the striking headache from her mind. To him, through their bond, it would have the sharp pain of an ice cream headache. Sharp, splitting, eye-watering, but gone in a moment. Deliberately driven away by her as she tried her best to slip back into the river of his word. To let that current render her along, until the time…

He wasn’t asking her opinion on how to travel, but if she could. When she looked up at him, it was with a whisper of a quizzical quirk of the lips, as if he’d said a joke. “I do.” She had been trained in most…everything, really, that someone of her position would need to know. Certain things were innate, truly, but the small things, the simple things, they had taken pains to show her.

A useful Companion is one who knows how to let the world wash over her. The words were a distant bell from the past. Said lovingly, warmly. But my little minnow, I will show you everything I know. Power is not just about brute force or sex. It is knowledge, and how to use it.

As she’d gotten older, she learned that some Companions were so inept that they did not know how to cook, or even read. Frightening thought, that.

His eyes caught hers. She held his gaze - a bit too boldly for a Companion. If it had been anyone else, a rebuke would’ve been in order. But Dalen, she knew, would never raise a hand to her. It was something she knew as innately as how to breathe. Strange, all things considered. In the light of the day, her eyes were brilliant blue, candlelight through stained glass. Not as cold as before, and the glow about them was less chill.

She saw and felt his struggle, felt the urge that pulled at the pit of her stomach. I want to feed. A singular thought, one that made her teeth itch. Just a small touch, just a little stroke, a little kiss, a lick of cream from the top of the milk jug. Tamped it down with a barely visible swallow. He’d feel it, she’d know it, through the link. That part of them hadn’t changed. The prey drive, magnified by him in a way she’d never felt before. How he would choose to react, she would have to wait and see.

 

[maybenotacreep]

“Good. That's, good.” Something about the way she looked at him. Had he detected the hint of a smile? Or was it simply his mind trying to apply some thin veneer of normalcy to their pairing.


He put it out of his head again. This was his first real assignment as a Warden. He was expected to be in control. Be decisive. Have a plan.


Shit. A plan? That was something he didn't have. He needed time to think. He glanced to the sky. The sun, blazing in a clear sky, was almost directly overhead.


“It's late in the day. Best to set out in the morning. We'll make our arrangements, and find lodging for the evening. Then we'll set out at first light. If we make good time we should be in Newhome before sunset. It's a small town, but should be big enough to have a suitable inn for travellers.”


He looked at her for recognition. In control. Decisive.


“Are you hungry?”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Yes.”

A Companion was to never volunteer more than what was asked, unless prompted. Again, it felt as if being split in two - two answers, two definitive people within her.

He had not asked her specifically what it was that she was hungry for - perhaps he was still too shy, too afraid. The fear, she liked. The fear, she wanted to keep. Like those of her kind, she could be nourished by both ‘normal’ food and essence, though essence was, on the whole, a bit more filling, lasted longer, filled her veins with muted fire and let that other voice be louder.

She could do with both - the flicker of his self doubt still lingering on her tongue.

___


The town was large enough to be easily traversed by foot. Citizens were automatically inclined to want to help a Warden, knowing that they always meant well. The stunningly beautiful woman by his side didn’t hurt, either. She was a non-entity, unflappably polite when spoken to, the kind of woman that made older men think of past loves and older women want to baby and comfort, call pet names and dote on.

It would only be a bit later that those they encountered realized they couldn’t really remember a thing about the woman; a vague feeling of having been fond of her, but that was it. No distinct features, other than a beauty that was disquieting. Like being touched by a beautiful ghost, only to realize that if those hands had lingered, life would’ve followed.

Lodging, likewise, was easily found. A mid-range place, offered at a smiling discount in deference to the Warden, with market fresh food that, while plain, was filling. Dinner was pleasant enough, her providing conversation when prompted, but little more than that. In the midst of her glamour, the world had a softer edge, rose-tinted glasses viewing. Words were gentler, things that were grim seemed to be turning up. The effect would radiate from her, though Dalen would be in the center of this “bubble,” the gentle magic splashing and fading against him, waves on the rocky shore.

Dalen did most, if not all of the talking, and surely enough, transport for the next morning, directions, were given and procured. Suggestions, even, about where to stay in the much smaller town of Newhome, suggestions of what to eat. All very neighborly, all very kind.

She was never sure how much of that was…true, of people being genuinely gentle and wonderful in a small time way, or how much of it was her. She had never been anything else other than herself, so, there was no way of really telling. It was bizarre, seeing people like this. Men and women being kind. Helpful. A dream - a world she’d heard of, but could not directly touch.
____

They bathed in shifts. Though she was at his command, he still didn’t trust her (more himself) to be allowed in a more intimate setting than need be. His caution was…well placed.

Something about water always allowed that smaller voice to get louder. To speak freely, to remind her who she actually was, beneath all of the magical entanglements. The water washed away all pretenses, all glamours, and she was left as she was, her true face reflected in the various pools.

Warm water was a luxury that she never took for granted; her bathing times were so long that they would be cause for concern, had it not been for the one time that Dalen had watched. It had been at the beginning of their joining, and he had to know what she was doing. It was also a rare time in which she was so thrilled by what was in front of her that she scarcely recalled that he was there. Her bathing was…deceptively normal. What padded out her time was how she was content to sit in the warm water, almost dozing within it. The most at ease she would be.

All the same, when she emerged, she was dressed in a matronly gown, high necked, sleeves down to her wrists, the hem reaching to her ankles. Flimsy linen cage.

The small room had a single bed, a single desk and chair. A threadbare but clean rug. It was on this rug that she stood, waiting for Dalen. Waiting for a command that would or would not come.

 

[maybenotacreep]

Dalen lay on the bed pinching the bridge of his nose as he waited for her to finish bathing. He himself had bathed quickly, wanting her to not feel any need to rush. Now he stretched out in a thigh length night shirt. Might as well enjoy the comfort of the bed while he could.


Nothing was the way he had expected it. He still didn't have a plan for the guild master. The Prefect had said he needed to be removed if he wouldn't cooperate. So what if Dalen could convince him? Surely there was some version of this story that didn't end with him simply ordering Sapphire to kill him.


Did he even deserve it? The Prefect hadn't bothered trying to convince him he was a bad man. Was not bowing to the whim of the Builders his only crime?


Dalen shivered. He had little doubt Sapphire would do it. Would she care? Would she feel remorse? It wasn't supposed to matter right? The bond. That was all that mattered. The fact that Dalen asked it of her was supposed to be all that mattered.


It made his stomach tighten. Everyone looked up to the Wardens and their Companions. How romantic to be bonded for life. How content and loyal the Companions were. Dalen was one of those kids. Hanging on his grandfather's every word on the rare occasions he visited. But the truth was not so attractive.


Did she hate him? She was compelled to please him. Like some kind of loyal dog. The smiles. The small gestures of affection. What did they mean if they weren't real.


She wasn't dumb. Shit, she might be smarter than him. He could sense it under the layers of deference and obedience. Did the bond make her think she enjoyed it? Or was the real Sapphire trapped in there somewhere? Resenting every moment.


This ridiculous room was the icing on the cake. He hadn't thought to ask for two beds and he wasn't about to go back and look like an idiot. He could survive one night sleeping in a chair.


He could make her sleep on the floor, or tell her to share his bed. It wasn't like she would say no. Another piece of kindling, on the sputtering fire of his aggravation. He had learned from the other Wardens how he was expected to treat his Companion. But he couldn't understand it. If you already had compliance, why be indifferent? What purpose was served by being unkind or even cruel?


Sapphire finally entered. All grace and poise. Her attire covered her nearly head to toe, but she was still a vision. A slight smile pulled at the corners of Dalen’s mouth despite his foul mood.


She smiled at him as she stood there. Silent. Obedient. Waiting for her next fucking instruction. He heaved himself off the bed, turning away from her angrily.


“By the gods! Would you Stop doing that!” He stepped to the small window and looked out at the glittering lights of the city. Dammit, he thought to himself.


It took several deep breaths before he could reign in his own shame enough to address her again. He continued to look out the window.


“I'm sorry Sapphire. There is no one less deserving of my anger than you. That was uncalled for.” He struggled to find the words that would make his outburst make any sense. That would in any way excuse his behavior.


“I… you.” He saw the reflection of her eyes in the window. “Look. It's just you and me now. You can…talk to me. Express an opinion! Speak without being spoken to!” He looked down embarrassed. “You can call me an ass for yelling at you.”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

In the dark, her eyes were blue-white, illuminated from within. Not a reflection of the light like the eyes of an animal, but circles of moonlight. They idly traced the lines of his legs through his nightshirt.

He is not unattractive.

It wasn’t the first time that she’d thought such a thing. Under the new circumstances, it was much easier to allow herself to look. Was he wearing anything beneath it? The fabric seemed flimsy, but she suspected that he would enjoy her toying with it, not destroying it. Lifting it, touching through it.

He was troubled; she could sense it, had it blatantly confirmed when he snapped at her - and, instantly, he looked contrite. Went to the window. And she took the opportunity to watch the way his muscles bunched under his skin. The light from the window brought out the highlights of his form.

Torn between comfort and desire, she slipped behind him, quiet as always. Her hands on his shoulders, the ghost of her cheek against the back of his neck. The programming said comfort. Had to. Must. The other voice was what made her hands travel from his shoulders down his back, whispering soft, ghosting over his buttocks to rest on his thighs. The touches would only last a moment, as he was moving again, and she parted, allowing him to do so. She was to comfort, not to suffocate, unless asked -

“You are frustrated,” soft, placid empty smile. “It would make sense that your temper would be short.” Unlike the spirit of pleasantness that coated her words when they were in public, now they were steeped in sinister. Not enough to be a threat, but not enough to be comfortable, either. “Now,” she was moving closer again, “you asked what my opinion is. You will have to be more specific. My opinion on this room? It is small but passable. My opinion on this mission? We shall see what happens. My opinion of the name that you have given me? It is terrible and I cannot stand it. My opinion on you?”

She was close enough now that her breath tickled his lips, and the light from her eyes reflected off of his face. “I have none. Save that I am hungry, and I would like to feed.” Her hands slipped round to the back of him, grasping lightly at his thighs again. “If you would be so kind as to indulge me. I do not need much - little more than a sip,” lips moved from his, to beneath his ear, the tender flesh of his neck, “hardly a trifle, really, and it would be good for you. For your skill,” the latter said without a hint of mockery, “And for me, as…” she stopped, almost choked.

She was going to be too honest. To tell him that she craved it, not just because of the Coupling, but because she was trying to figure something out. She had many before him - they all blended together. Filling, but not…satisfying. There was no particular joy in the hunt, or in the consummation. They were there and she needed it and so it was.

He had bid her to speak without being spoken to. He did not say that she had to be honest.

It was hard going, fighting it, but this bit, she had to keep to herself. More than anything. And so she smiled through the stabbing pain in her head, through the sweat that started on her forehead, and simply kissed the line of his throat. “As for me, it will help me think a bit more clearly. Am I wrong to assume that you, perhaps, would seek my opinion in this matter moving forward?”

 

[maybenotacreep]

Standing at the window, staring at his hands, he had not been sure what reaction he had expected. He only prayed she would speak to him at all. Really speak. Not just acknowledge a request, or play at being polite. He had not been cruel by any measure, but he should not have waited this long to acknowledge his own failure in perpetuating this cycle of her submission.

The touch of her hands shocked him out of his reverie and he drew in a sharp breath and couldn’t remember how to release it. He stood frozen. Two brilliant circles of blue light reflected in the window. Her eyes, glowing with an unnatural brightness. Beautiful, but for reasons Dalen did not completely understand, they triggered a sense of terrifying fear deep in his chest.

His pulse quickened as her cheek met the back of his neck. He normally took care to limit skin to skin contact, and when it was warranted, he always took a moment to center himself. Now he had been caught off guard. Her skin was not just warm. It tingled and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the small patch of warmth spread.

He was suddenly, painfully aware of the lack of anything beneath his sleeping gown. He felt exposed, vulnerable. A shudder ran through him as her hands slid slowly down his back.
The breath he hadn’t realized he was holding rushed out all at once as her fingers slid across his backside.

A wave of desire immediately clouded his mind. He wanted more. Wanted to be touched. Would give anything for her not to stop.

No! This was the nature of a halfblood. He was losing himself, to the burning inferno of his desires.

He stepped to the side, placing his back against the wall. Squeezing his eyes shut he purged his mind. An early skill learned by the Wardens that washed over his brain like a wave washing away all of his racing thoughts and emotions. It wouldn’t last long.

As she stepped toward him again, he muttered a brief incantation. It was meant to be repeated over time. A gradual suppression of the senses. But the sound of her voice broke his concentration almost immediately. It did little more than take the edge off.

Her voice had an edge that seemed to slice through his surface thoughts and settle deep in his chest. Her eyes glowing with a look that bordered on predatory. He listened as she came ever closer. Her proximity was like a weight enveloping him that managed to feel both dangerous and controlled.

Her words are dismissive. Cutting. The irony was not lost on Dalen. But none of it was wrong.

Her lips met the skin below his ear and a surge of pleasure shot from the point of contact straight to his core. She spoke of him as a meal. Another small rush, lower on his neck. Easily cutting through his hastily dulled senses. His hands reached out to push her away, but by the time they landed, high on her waist on either side, his will had already faltered, and they remained there, feeling the strength and power radiating from her slight frame.

He could map the trail of every finger as her hands moved to the back of his thighs, leaving a fiery trail in their wake. There was no hiding his arousal. His member seemed to reach for her of its own accord as it pressed against the thin fabric covering his naked body. The fear in the pit of his stomach did not go away, but it was losing ground to his driving need for her.

“What do you mean to do to me?” His voice is shaky. Clearly fearful. But it was not a plea for her to stop. “The Bond!” He said a bit more loudly. “You are compelled not to harm me.”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Not for the first time, she imagined him as a helpless chick, peeping from within the safety of her hands. Her fingers swirled round the firm columns of his thighs, savoring. He was not a muscle-bound man, but a lifetime of walking and some training gave him a firmness that didn’t inherently suggest a scholar.

She didn’t have long to savor before he was slipping away, movement that triggered the small voice inside. He fled, she pursued. This was instinctive, past anything else that she could lose herself in. Only when he muttered the small spell did she hesitate. It was a yank on an invisible tether - enough to remind her who was supposedly in control, but, alas, not strong enough to stop what she felt was the inevitable.

All he need do is relax. The smallest bit…

His hands on her waist were an admission that his mouth had not yet conceded. She smiled then, truly, showing oddly sharper canines that, in a strange twist of genetic humor, seemed to be heart-shaped.

It was only natural, then, that she pressed up against his erection, giving the firm flesh a soft place to rest on the cushion of her thighs, a pillow to block him from the rest of the world. From the door.

“I mean you no harm,” came her voice, a soft caress in and out of itself. She kept her touch on his thighs feather light. He was not her prisoner; he could break free whenever he wanted. The fun would be in lowering his guard so that he didn’t, couldn’t, get away, even if everything in his training, in his mind, was screaming for him to do so.

His voice was unnaturally loud, still shaking. She would laugh then, high bells ringing in a distant alcove. “Yes, yes, the Bond. Yes, I cannot, nor do I, mean you any harm,” her right hand drifted from his right thigh to trace the lines of his lips, stopping to press against the middle of his lower lip. “What I intend to do, Warden Dalen, is to make you feel good. That is how I feed. As I said,” her left hand now moved to slip between them, run along the length of him still hidden beneath his sleeping gown, “It is but a trifle for you. A small, small thing to be given for my power. Power in which you have taken from me.” Was that a sharp turn in her voice? A hint of anger? It was gone as quickly as it’d come.

They’d tied her down.

Reinforcement upon reinforcement. Her rage at her captivity had turned now to tears; each layer of her defiant self stripped away as easily as they’d removed her clothes. There was no shocked awe there; just a strong sense of ridicule. They grabbed her face between their hands, forced her -

When the others came, it was to mummified corpses, shattered remnants of magic not quite strong enough to hold back the feral creature. There was fear then, but it wasn’t hers -

“Did you not feel good at the Coupling?” It was a loaded question and she knew it. Could feel it in his hesitation. With each slow, tantalizing stroke she gave him through his gown, she moved her lips closer to his earlobe. It would be like peeling an orange for her - removing one rind, then the next, until his essence, already starting to peek out, was fully exposed.

He’d cum inside of her, nearly sobbing - no, he had cried - as the release finally came, as the bound magic burst inside her and coated her own orgasm with a tenderness she’d never felt. There had to be more.

“This will not be as intense….I can be gentle. Soft. You do not have to do anything, save enjoy…” The cold light of her eyes reflected off of his skin, they were so close.

 

[maybenotacreep]

The low groan came unbidden, beyond his control as she pressed against him. His hands slid down to her hips. Pulled her tighter against him. A deep shuddering breath.

Then the question. The Coupling.

His head snapped to one side as his body instinctually tried to recoil but there was nowhere for him to go.

“I don't!...I don't remember!”

He had never admitted it. Only to his mentor. The Coupling was nothing more than a sparse few fractured bits of memory. He remembered the preparation. The leather bracers to protect his wrists. The stiff leather collar to cover his jugular veins. The hours spent muttering the ritual to dull his senses until by the time he entered the pens his entire body felt numb. Voices were muffled echoes, and the world looked like he was viewing it through a pane of glass coated with bacon grease.

He was told what he would face, but he was not prepared for the surreal nature of the reality. Two young apprentices struggled with long ropes, their eyes and ears bound, and stretched between them, her. But it wasn't really the woman he had eventually named Sapphire, not yet.

Her arms were stretched wide, the ropes around her wrists pulled taunt by the blinded apprentices. A leather bit was lodged between her teeth. Dalen knew at its core was a shard of meteorite. Imbued with magic to suppress the natural powers of the halfblood. Powers that were multiplied several fold at the height of “the rut” as the brood master haf called it.

The rest, was gone. Hidden by some impenetrable fog that he had never attempted to breach save once. Fear that turned his stomach had discouraged him from further attempts.

Her fingers wrapped around him. He could feel his pulse throbbing against the pressure of her fingers. A wave of pleasure blowing away the knot in the pit of his stomach like a shearing wind. Something in his mind began to fracture.

***
“Don't just stand there! Control her!” A muffled voice shouted from far away. Rushing forward, he dodged a kick to seize her about the waist.
***

He snapped back to the moment. Sapphire's voice was honey in his ears. Promising no harm would come to him. He moaned again as she continued to stroke. Then he tensed again with a sharp intake of breath.

***
He wrapped his fingers around her throat, squeezing. She growled, the sound muffled by the restriction. He didn't want to hurt her. As soon as he eased the pressure, her forehead crashed into his nose, forcing him to see stars, and causing a small crack in his concentration.

Her eyes were wide with anger, but he also felt the overwhelming need radiating off of her. He squeezed her throat harder this time, but instead of a growl, a groan of pleasure escaped around the bit held in her gritting teeth.
***

No. He shook his head. He didn't want to remember. His cock ached in her hand. Her body pressed against his filled him with an aching need, but was also the catalyst for a memory that had somehow been taken from him.

***
His hand moved between her thighs. The heat was almost enough to burn his fingers, and the wetness ran between his fingers. He fought back the surge of his own lust. He was feeling too much. Concentrate. He had to control.

He focused his mind while his fingers made small circles, the sounds coming from her were a strange mix of pleasure and rage. She jerked when he'd isolated that most sensitive button. His fingers pressed and he focused his energy, sending it in a powerful pulse to his fingertips.

Chaos. Her body contracted so powerfully one of the apprentices was pulled toward her and her head lashed out striking him in the temple, knocking him out cold.
***

Another wave of pleasure pulled him back. His brain was a tangled mess. Whiplashing between the pleasure of the present and the horror of the memory. What had they done to her?

Her voice was calm and gentle. Hard to weigh against the confusion and guilt.

***
His head was spinning, ears ringing, but his mind was cleared of any suppressing magic. He was pinned to the sand floor. Sapphire hovered over him, hands pressing on his shoulders with a strength beyond her size. She bore a wild satisfied grin, the bit intended to stunt her powers now gone.

An intense wave that was equal parts pleasure and pain washed over him as her searing heat enveloped him, her hips lowering to meet his own.
***

She promised to be gentle?
He was pulled out of the memory a final time. His eyes were wet with tears, and his pulse raced. He moved his hands to cup either side of her face. His voice was unsteady.

“By the gods Sapph…” he stopped mid sentence. Somehow remembering she hated that name. “I'm...Sorry” He said no more in words, but his body spoke only of surrender.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

As he struggled, she let go. He had to come to her. And she ensured that the last thing he felt as he pulled away was her hand tracing the line of his member.

He didn’t remember?

The laugh that came from her was sharp and bitter. Perhaps a sliver of sorrow beneath it all. “I remember, Warden Dalen. I remember it all.”

The small voice inside of her refused to let her forget.

To make sure she was as compliant as she could get, they had starved her. It was a process they trickled to her. Food portions grew smaller, till all that was readily available was water. It was timed perfectly to heighten not only her human hunger, but the demonic hunger, that which was new. That to which no amount of food or water could begin to quench.

Half mad with starvation was when they lead her out the first time. To another apprentice, his name inconsequential. She’d fought against her bonds then, but she was weak. Much too weak to do more than thrash about. She remembered their laughter at her sad display. Remembered their comments about how she was a strange one, even for a half-breed, but could be subdued all the same.

The room was warm, the bit hard and unpleasant between her teeth. Touches filled her with panic, fear, and that…curling in her stomach. The fluttering in her sex. Dampness ran between her legs, thick and viscous. Her nipples were so erect they pained her.

Someone made a joke about her open mouth drooling.

He’d come back to her, pulling her closer now. His touch was timid, but it was there. As was the instinctive little grind against the pillow of her thighs. She reached down between their bodies and grasped him lightly again. A thumb rubbed over the fluted head of his cock, coaxing the smallest bead of precum from him. The stress of the day, the orders, the travel - all had served to weaken him physically. She had not intentionally planned this, but was content to have it handed to her.

She’d lost track of how many Wardens (that was what she heard them called) were brought to her. The first time she’d been starved, scared.

She was starved again, poked, prodded, and the fear, the weakness, that had been there before was squashed tighter and tighter by her rage. It was the rage that fueled her movements now, rage that pressed down the burning that she needed. She could ignore how her nipples ached for fingers, for a mouth, she could ignore the way her cunt throbbed and needed to be filled.

The restraints, the bit - all familiar by this point. Old friends, really. She could feel the fear of the others, fear mingled with desire, fear that the desire would overcome them. It could, she was certain, should she turn her full attention to them. The satisfaction made her smile, made her see who and how she could lure in, not to drain, no, but to make hurt -

This one, the now familiar face, he had better training. More determination. But moved as if he was lost in a dream. More deeply sleepwalking than those before him. He was good enough to touch her, and her stupid, stupid body betrayed her. The flame of her hunger beneath the desire was enough to cut through the rage, leave it in tatters. And he knew where to touch precisely, as if she were channeling her deepest thoughts to him. Lips on her nipples, nursing as tender as a newborn, hand rubbing lovingly - what? - at her stomach, caressing her, before coursing lower to tease at her plump and sodden lips.

Under that tender touch, the hand on her stomach, her rage was quelled. For a moment, everything was blown away and the slip of her true self was left exposed, sobbing in fear and in comfort in finally getting what she wanted, what she needed, but beyond that, the illusion of tenderness…

So it was that small self that had kept her from draining him as her desire chipped harder and harder away at the anger. The need to feed overcame everything, the little she’d saved up from previous encounters mingling perfectly into a surge of power that allowed her to break through. His scent, his taste, filled her senses. Pressure against her back, pain, then freedom, as it felt like she had finally broken through the skin holding her in place.

To him, she would be a glowing eyed, fanged, winged creature of the night, a tail lashing out, knocking out the last standing apprentice, the one who was still blinded and untethered, frozen by his fear in what he could hear happening. When she mounted Dalen, she threw her head back and keened, self-satisfied, beginning to finally, finally, feed -

He was rich and sweet, barely fighting back against her now. Like biting into a tube of marzipan; his richness was overwhelming. Too sweet. Too rich. Too much for to take all in at once, not when she was this weak. That was new…not supposed to happen. She was supposed to drain him, like those before, but she couldn’t. The tenderness from before echoed now, a limp hand on the side of her face, down the side of her body. Still trying to caress, still trying to cast the illusion of affection, of something deeper -

He was….crying?

Now it was her turn to put space between them - too slow, for his hands were on her face. Her eyes widened, and her hunger dwindled, a flame extinguished. He’d done it again. Why? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Through the bond, she could feel the churning emotions, the regret, the sadness, the way he threw away his own safety around her like he knew she wouldn’t hurt him, even without the Bond.

Without fully realizing it, she turned him loose, her right hand going to his face, her thumb swiping away the tracks of his tears. The small touch was redolent of that marzipan. A memory pulled into the present, the sweetness of him that made her want to swallow all of him and spare him, that made her want to snuggle close and wrap him in her arms and stay there, buried within that softness, to explore its depths. It wasn’t enough to be like this. Not just touching, not when there was more she could get.

The hunger flickered back, not as loud as before. She couldn’t fight it. Not her nature, no matter how deeply they buried it.

“…You do not need to apologize.” Her voice was scrubbed raw, tremulous, scared to be louder than a whisper. “It was not…you. Is not you.” That she could speak with confidence. He hadn’t been as willing a participant as the others. He had not mocked her when he could’ve. He didn’t revel in violence against her. He had tried to be…nice, like she’d heard about from her mother. How her father had been. How she remembered him, always treating her mother, and her, like they were the most precious things.

“You are different. In a way I do not fully understand,” she was pushing him now, gently as possible, until the backs of his knees hit the bed. “You have always been different. You have been…soft with me.” It didn’t, wasn’t the right word. However, what the right one was, she was unsure.

It would be no small matter to take this gown from him. Small voice, no real anger there. Pointing out a fact as if mentioning the sky was blue. You will need just a bit.

I don’t want to scare him.

“…You are confusing me.” The thought was spoken out loud, and she wrinkled her nose in annoyance. How could she have let that slip? “I want to feed. Your desire is unlike any I have had before. But I do not want to cause you harm. I feel as if feeding from you now…will not be good." She would force herself free, letting go of his face, slipping away and out of his grasp to turn her back to him.

 

[maybenotacreep]

Her hand on his face was gentle. Did she really not hate him? His mind was still racing. Trying to process the new memories.


When she stepped away he felt a profound sense of loss. “No. please." He whispered, barely audible, but he let her step away. He could not bring himself to ask anything more from her right now.


He took a moment to center himself. Reaching deep into his own mind. It was part of a Warden's training. Learning to organize thoughts and memories. Cataloging them to be retrieved in the future. Dalen's personal mental construct resembled a massive library. Its maze-like corridors lined with shelves filled with trivial memories and then larger alcoves containing hundreds of interrelated moments in his history which shared a common thread.


Spiraling staircases led to progressively lower levels where the more unpleasant memories resided. He moved to one of the stairways. Scattered upon the steps were the shards of his most recent recollections about the Coupling. Out of place. They did not belong here.


It was as if something deep below had shattered, scattering the bits and pieces throughout his mind. He followed them down, the stairs ending on a landing that was an intersection of four corridors. These passages were dimly lit, the ceilings so low he had to stoop to continue.


The books here were faded and tattered. He brushed the spine of the memory of his grandfather's funeral. Knew that if he opened it he'd feel the sense of loss and sadness like it was yesterday. Knew that a small segment near the end recounted his confusion meeting his grandfather’s “lady friend". How she had not aged nearly as much as he had over the years, and how she had been under the constant supervision of two men bearing the emblem of the burning sun. The same emblem his grandfather had often worn. He had known nothing of the Builders then.


More slivers were scattered about the floor. More visions of the Coupling. He stooped to touch several of them. Moments of attempted tenderness. How each had weakened the protective magic that was supposed to keep him from feeling.


He reached another intersection and turned to take the path on the right. He walked a short distance before stopping in utter confusion. He pulled a dusty book from the shelf. Opened it briefly to confirm. His grandfather, laid out in an open casket, while his older brother stood next to it whispering heartfelt promises of legacy and family honor.


He stepped quickly back, looking where he had just been. He took the other branch of the path, the corridor following a gentle curve for a short distance before opening into an intersection of four divergent paths, the spiral staircase in the center. He was back where he began. Again. An Impossibility.


She stood with her back to him. He wondered exactly what she meant when she said feeding from him would not be good? But she had qualified the statement. ‘Right now’. What would it actually mean for her to feed from him? He forced his mind to go back to the last of his memories. His complete surrender. His final thought that he was about to breathe his last breath.


He stood slowly. Walked to stand behind her, his hand hovering in the air just above her shoulder. He was afraid to touch her. Not because he feared the contact, but because he was unsure if she wanted him to.


“I do.”


His hand finally dropped to lay lightly on her shoulder.


“Need to apologize, I mean.” He let his fingers trace a slow path to the back of her neck and slowly down her spine. The touch was a near instinctive need to be connected. A physical manifestation of his regret and attrition. “I am not without fault, and my inability to remember everything that happened does not absolve my part in whatever else was done to you.”


He gently stroked her back. “Something in my mind is…broken?” He replayed the last few moments in his mind. His brow furrowing as realization slowly sunk in. “I think my memory has been altered. Or perhaps hidden, or buried, is more accurate. I sense my memories are still there. Somewhere. But they have been put just out of my grasp.”


He put his hand on her waist, turning her to face him. His face was hopeful.


“But something shattered just now. And I think you were the catalyst. It's still only bits and pieces, but I'm starting to remember. Part of me still doesn't want to. But I have to. I need to remember. I owe you at least that much. But I need your help.”


He reached for her wrists. Placed her hands on his neck. A gesture of trusting vulnerability. “That last shard of memory. I remember letting go. I was done. I could sense it.” He looked deeply into her eyes.


“You could have killed me. Probably should have. But you didn't. Why? So whatever you need of me. I trust you Sapphire.”


A hint of an awkward grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Sorrry again. I'll not use that name again if you wish it.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

If he meant to further confuse her, he was well on his way.

Through the thin fabric of her own gown, his touch was a firebrand. Sweat beaded on her forehead again as she fought back the low growl of the second voice, the one that was screaming at her to feed until she was sated. None of the tiptoeing measures she’d done before. No, he was ripe for the entire feast, with his emotions -

No. The tenderness wasn’t false. She couldn’t. It was unlike anything else she had encountered. Not since her parents had she felt such a sliver of something…Her parents had loved her. That she knew. That was a wonderful feeling. She was full all of the time around them, smiling up at them, seeing their hands grasped in hers.

His next touch was soft. There was no mistaking this for misplaced sexual aggression. It was…comforting. Meant to be. Still too new, too raw, to be entirely trusted. He could not remember the Coupling. There was no horror as immense for him as there was for her. He had no idea. He was tricking her - this was part of some long game -

No.

Came the second voice. Came the trained voice, speaking as one. The second voice never agreed with the trained one. Had only moments ago commanded her to feed, only with the faintest hint of hesitation there.

Hand on her waist, him turning her. Following his guidance. She knew nothing of what the apprentices went through. Hadn’t cared; they’d filled her belly all the same, showed her how contemptuous they really were. Their minds, even at the end, filled with delusions of grandeur and how they would use their power. How they would use her. Like she was nothing.

Her hands around his throat. A quick glance to her fingers. Her nails, normal. Soft pink against the brown of her skin. Not claws, as she was fighting that back. The sweat was cooling on her forehead, subsiding, with the two voices in unison.

“You should have died.” She spoke softly, not soothingly, not trying to wheedle him in closer. Even with the slight distance between them, ending him would be no small matter. It might even be a kindness. He wouldn’t know what happened. It would be soft. More than what she would’ve gotten. “You were kind.” It was said very matter of factly, but with an air of disbelief. Was that what it was? He was looking to her for answers, answers that she didn’t entirely have. “You touched me.” Again, matter of fact. “Not to own, but to…” Pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. What was it that she was trying to say?

The second voice was prodding, pushing at the limits. Part of the Coupling…was supposed to strip intelligence. Free thought. Being commanded to speak like this, clinging to the second voice…was difficult. A balancing act that he did not know she was doing.

“You were kind,” she repeated. “Like my parents.” She winced; feeling that sharp gouge into her mind as she spoke past what was traditionally allowed. Like walking on a foot that had fallen asleep; pins and needles until full use was restored. “I do not like that name,” a small frown, “It is not my name. My name is Ocean,” and the light in her eyes brightened, a door of her own unlocked, pushed open. “My mother named me. She said it was after the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Ocean,” tried again, dead leaves on a forest floor. How long had it been since she said her own name, heard it in the world?

 

[maybenotacreep]

Ocean.

What had been explained to him as a gift; a great honor to be bestowed upon a newly bonded companion; was yet another unimaginable injustice. A final stripping away of any individuality. To steal away that most fundamental aspect of one's identity. A name.

He had done his best to pick something beautiful. Sapphire. Like the deep blue of her eyes. But she'd hated it. She'd hated it and suffered in silence.

“Ocean” he repeated. “It suits you. One can look upon it for hours and never dream of the secrets and mysteries that lie beneath the surface. And it is deceptively dangerous. Deadly the moment one fails to respect her power.”

He reached down, lifting her chin with his fingers. His thumb tracing a slow line down her cheek. Looking deeply into her eyes. “But most of all. It is heart wrenchingly beautiful.”

Then his brow furrowed. Something was not right. Well, you could fill volumes with everything that was not right between them right now. But he sensed an unnatural tension within her. Something beyond the pain of the memories. He pulled his hand away slowly.

“This is, difficult for you.” The quizzical look on his face made the statement more of a question. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.” He took the span of a long breath to arrange his thoughts.

“Listen. I know what happened between us just a few moments ago, Your…advances. Were likely born of some sense of obligation. Some compulsion driven by the bond. There is no use in my trying to minimize the effect it had on me. My own body has already well betrayed the depth of the desires it awakened in me, as you yourself felt pulsing within your own grasp.”

The admission embarrassed him and he blushed. “But you needn't worry. You have my assurance I would not force myself upon you.” He then added quickly as if it had just occurred to him. “Nor would I take advantage of the bond to compel you into my bed against your will.”

He said the last quickly. As if he needed to speak it aloud before he lost the will to heed his own words. The loss of her touch still had him aching. And the thought that a firmly worded request might have her back in his grasp was pecking at the primal depths of his brain like an agitated crow.

“I am happy to sleep in the chair. The bed is yours to do with as you please.”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She wrinkled her nose at the compliment, unsure of how to truly take it. It was as earnest as he always was with her, but…it didn’t seem quite right. On the same hand, it didn’t feel that he was mocking her, or that she should not have revealed her name at all.

Curious, she blinked, and started, “Did you not think that I had a name?” Everything in this world has a name, even things that do not feel. The thought that he’d simply assumed her nameless, personless, caused a deep line to cut between her eyebrows. The touch of his fingers on her face wasn’t enough to dissuade her from this train of thought. “What are you lead to believe of my kind?”

Her kind. There had been more like her; Prudence, had she been, she was a half-breed. And she had her own name, buried deep down. Surely she did? There was that sharp pain in her brow again. She couldn’t think past it. It wasn’t that there were gaps in her memory - everything was there. Just…parts she couldn’t readily access. It was caged, not disappeared. Fighting a river going upstream; if just given the time, the energy, the power…

The power.

She might have enough if she fed. Just a bit, as she’d promised, skimming off the top of him, just enough to continue chipping away…

“I gain power from feeding on you,” said as simply as describing the weather. “That was part of the Coupling, yes. And my nature.” There was no need to be coy; he knew what she was. “Sexual congress is how I feed,” said a bit gentler, in case he needed the reminder. “And I was, I am, I could feed. But now it does not feel like it is the accurate thing to do.” She watched him after a languid blink of those illuminated eyes. “It would make no sense for you to retire to the chair. If you do not rest well, there is a chance that we will not succeed in the task laid before us, and I believe that the consequences would be dire, more for myself than for you. If it pleases you,” a bit of that deference again, a kick-back of the conditioning, “I will remain in the chair, or, if you seek my touch, I will bed with you. But not…sexually.” The last part added with a bit of a raised eyebrow, wondering if he would find the humor in her frankness.

 

[maybenotacreep]

What did he know of her kind? Really know? Their schooling on the companions had been almost entirely, functional. The nature of their ability to drain life. Their unnatural powers of seduction and influence. Very little of their history, and certainly nothing about them having a life before the servitude of the Coupling.


“I am ashamed to admit, I don't really know much about your kind at all. Had you asked me before? I would tell you how much I know about your abilities. Your capabilities. I'd have thought myself well educated. We were only taught about how you could be most useful.”


“Any further curiosity was discouraged, and I was so consumed by my own determination not to fail, it never occurred to me to think about it further. Not until I met you. I mean really met…*you*. After the Coupling. And nothing has felt right since.”


He stepped away, needing the space for a moment. “You will not sleep on the floor, or in the chair. I will not heap yet another indignity on you. If you insist. We can share the bed.”


The thought made him uncomfortable. He knew being that close was going to be a distraction. A test of his will. But it was nothing compared to what Ocean had endured.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She blinked at him, startled into silence - before she started laughing merrily.

“They tether you to the likes of me, of my kind, and they do not educate you?” Shaking her head, she wiped tears from collecting in her bottom eyelashes. “We…or perhaps I, was informed entirely too well as to what my task is to be with you. I am a problem.” Pointing to her temple, she grimaced a bit. “I think too much. Was not the right kind.”

She’d laughed at him a moment ago, but as she began to speak, she realized that….she too, did not know much more than him. And perhaps she had said too much, about the ‘thinking too much’ part. He could not, should not, know, directly, of what her struggle was. His warmth, his kindness….perhaps he did not know the true depths of it. They had made a connection through the Coupling, that much was true, but that had been more of a dream, and now they were both awake. Could she truly say that she was moving under her own power?

“I…I was bound, and bound again. Starved, to be more compliant.” Where had she been, before that? She had parents. She remembered them well; remembered their faces and smiles and then their blood -

“I was born. I was happy.” She trailed off, pacing towards the bed. Sitting down on the edge of it, she grasped the mattress on either side of her hips. Looked down at her bare feet. They, too, were human. Slender ankles, five toes on each. Faint lighter rings of skin around her ankles from where the shackles had dug in too deeply. She could see them, of course; she could see herself as she actually was. The scars, the raised marks, where her magic was not strong enough to heal.

Reaching down, she traced the line of the one around her right ankle. They had started off with a small cuff, little more than a bracelet. That had snapped, her second night. Then it was a thicker cuff. And a thicker one. Thicker still, and then enchanted. Those had been the ones that burned. The burn had dwindled, based on her own accelerated healing - but perhaps there was something in her mind that kept it from vanishing entirely.

 

[maybenotacreep]

The thought, when it struck him, was odd. Almost comical. He had never seen her bare feet before. He watched as her hands played across her ankles. Tracing the lines of…


He stared intently. Then began to move toward her. Stopped. Stepped back to grab the chair, and carried it over to the side of the bed. He lowered himself into the chair.


“May I?” He asked quietly. When she didn't protest, he reached down and took her foot in both of his hands. He turned it slightly from side to side, a growing look of sadness overtaking his face.


“Ocean", not much more than a whisper. He meant to say more but the words would not come. He couldn't help tracing the lines with his own fingers. The ridges of scar tissue a blemish on her otherwise perfect skin.


The halfbloods were well known for their incredible ability to heal. “Shackles.” It was a statement not a question. An acknowledgement of something that defied any other explanation.


“Normal shackles would not leave these. Not on one of your kind. This was binding magic.” The thought caused a knot in the pit of his stomach.


He looked back into her eyes again, though it pained him to do so. His hand was gently stroking her ankle without even realizing it. “Oh Ocean. What have they done to you?” Then his brow furrowed and he corrected his words. “What have we done to you?”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Due to her unpredictable nature, once captured (and ‘allowed’) clothing, the Builders were exceedingly cautious in how she was presented. When not being punished for existing, or starved, or generally trying to break her, she was often clothed, sometimes even hooded, to ward off any suggestion of temptation. It had been overkill - and yet, still hadn’t prevented the errant touch, the ‘helping himself’ that would come from some aggrieved apprentice that felt it was his due. Not that any man who had dared would escaped unscathed - if she was unable to act at that moment, she learned to bide her time. That had been one of the most dangerous effects of her entrapment: teaching her patience.

So when he went for her foot, she didn’t stop him. This was an experiment; he befuddled her, and she him, and still, there was no malice in his heart. None that she could tell. None that her blood screamed at her to beware of. She watched, curious. Then -

Wait.

He could…see?

Her muted expression melted into shock, and her mouth echoed her thoughts: “You can see the scars? You’re not supposed to,” she finished, tempted to jerk her foot away. These were supposed to be hers. A part of her body, untouched by the glamours that naturally clouded the eyes of those who saw her. They saw what they wanted to; what they thought was the most beautiful woman that their imagination could come up with. Parts of her might filter through - her eyes, she could not change (if not only blunt their luminance), the general shape of her features. Skin color, figure; mutable. To see anything unblemished…

“You’re not supposed to,” echoed softer now, partially in awe, partially in fear. Was her power dropping that much? She had not fed since the Coupling - at that point, she had almost been full, after being practically starved, but yanked away by what could be called her moral compass before she felt she was entirely sated. He was, after all, still alive, though his memory was shattered.

Feeling entirely too naked and too exposed, she now pulled her foot from his grasp, moving to fold her legs beneath her. Hiding - though she was grateful that her gown did cover so much. There was nothing on her hands or her face that he would be able to see.

His plaintive ask - she’d heard it. The rolling ache in her chest, her stomach, stilled her tongue. Before it seemed a cudgel to beat him with; to further bow him to her power by using his guilt. However, that’s what she was feeling: guilt. It was a foul taste in her mouth, one that made her look away.

 

[maybenotacreep]

Dalen was not sure what to make of her revelation. The glamour was one of those things they learned about during their training. One of a Companion's more useful skills. But it wasn’t something they were expected to be able to see through. Bond or no.

“This is something.” he paused thinking. “Unique. At least as far as I am aware. Seeing through the glamour is not something we are trained to do.”

What did this new piece of information mean? What did it tell him about the bond? Not the normal bond, but that between him and Ocean. It had already failed to comply with a number of the rules he had been taught. They had been warned during training that a Companion could often sense your feelings. Certainly your desires. But it was only supposed to work one way.

It was not supposed to allow him to see through her glamour. It wasn’t supposed to give him any insight into her mind, but he wondered now at the little twinges he would get at times. Surely he was projecting now.

She pulled her foot away. Hiding it under her gown. “Sorry” he muttered quietly. There was no intuition needed here. Her body language was clear. He stood and moved the chair back to its corner, giving her space.

“I feel like I have upset you again.” He suddenly thought of the bond. Would this trigger some false sympathetic response? A glance in her direction seemed to indicate she did not feel the immediate need to capitulate.

“Which is fine.” He scrunched his face in frustration. “I don’t mean it's fine. I mean it is fine you are upset. Or rather it is fine for you to be upset.”

He was getting aggravated trying to find the right words. And he didn’t even know if they would matter anyway. “It is ok for you to be upset with me. It is fine for you to not base your decisions on my needs. It is okay for you to disagree with me when you feel the need.. I don’t know if there is even any point to my making this statement. I am not sure how much of the bond is magic and how much instinct. But for what it’s worth, you have my permission to be yourself.”

He walked about the room extinguishing the lanterns. “We have both had more than our share of shocking revelations. Perhaps it would be best if we got some sleep.” He stepped to the bed and made sure to nudge the covers towards her side so she would have ample coverage. Satisfied, he lay on the bed on top of the covers, licked his fingers and pinched the candle on his side of the bed. Extinguishing it with quite his. Leaving only the lone candle on Ocean’s side of the bed.

He had stepped into a quagmire. HIs instincts were to comfort and be kind. But understandably, any attempt to act upon those instincts only led to making her more uncomfortable.
“I am still happy to sleep on the floor if you prefer.”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Ocean was unsure of how to feel as well. The one place of solace, within her own mind, her own body, was suddenly breached. She was unsure how much he could sense; how much of her flowed back into him. She could read him easily -

Or could she?

She had been half-crazed, certainly not in her full mind, when the Coupling happened. It was a distant, unpleasant dream, tides within herself crashing back and forth on one another, undulating, swallowing each other whole and spitting out new waves of doubt.

His voice was muffled by the roaring of her own thoughts - until he began to stumble over his words. Glancing back to him, the glow of her eyes was dim, but by no means scared or shy. “You…have not upset me,” softly, as she forced herself to loosen her posture. To lean back into her folded legs so it was more a position of comfort than one of hiding away. “I was just surprised. Surprised.” She said it again, before saying it a third time. “ ‘Surprised.’ When…I can think clearly, this word, this feeling, comes quite often with you. I am not sure how I am supposed to handle these feelings. The magic, the ritual…binds me to you, bids me to follow your command, but I too have thoughts and desires. I think I am not supposed to. But somehow I do. And you said that you felt like you were going to die - but I did not kill you. So this is all…surprising.”

The smallest slip of a smile. Candlelight of optimism in a darkened room. But as quick as it’d come, she allowed it to slip away. She could feel that he was sincere. If there was any shadow, she could’ve, would’ve, seen it, felt it, by now.

“It is a new thing. Unexpected, I suspect, on both of our parts. But perhaps this journey will give us more time in which to explore.” Following his lead, she snuffed out the candle on her side as well.

Laying side by side, him on top of the covers, her beneath them, she was faced with a new feeling. It wasn’t the discomfort of physical pain or starvation, and it wasn’t quite excitement or anticipation. It felt…like the ground beneath her could give way, if she took one wrong step.

Awkward.

She did not have the word for it, but she realized that the stiffness between the two of them was awkward. And so, staring up at the ceiling, she drummed her fingers against the well-worn sheets. Then, “You do not feel comfortable like that. Why are you not under the blanket with me? I told you I would not harm you. You do not have to fear me in the night.”

 

[maybenotacreep]

‘Not comfortable’ she had said. The bed was soft enough, but he did feel oddly exposed. Not so much discomfort, but a sense of wrongness. It would pass in time. But the room was cool. He had underestimated how quickly the temperature would drop.


But still, he could endure it. He was determined to show her the respect she deserved. But was this the way to do it? He had not missed that she was drumming her fingers. And she had said she was not upset. This was all such a mess.


“You needn't worry. I am perfectly…”, he paused. This was stupid. “...freezing.” he finally finished with a weak laugh. He quickly scrambled under the covers, pulling them up to his chin with a slight shiver. This was fine. He was a Warden of the Builders. Self control was supposed to be one of his strengths.


Carefully he turned onto his side to face her. It was a mistake. In the darkness the luminous blue of her eyes was mesmerizing, and he suddenly had the sensation of falling. A lump formed in his throat. For the first time he wondered if others saw her eyes the same way he did.


“You are absolutely correct. This has been confusing for both of us. But I did not seek separation out of fear. My newly uncovered memories of the coupling, fractured as they are, have me convinced I owe you my life. And more importantly, tonight. Surely you recognize that I was helpless to resist you. And yet you did me no harm.”


“I am simply trying to respect your wishes. But I have failed miserably, and frequently, to sense exactly what your wishes are.” He gave her a smile.


He wanted to run his thumb down her cheek. To brush that stray lock of hair off of her forehead and tuck it behind her perfect ear. He wanted to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't about what he wanted right now.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

He would be aided in shuffling under the blanket by her lifting the corner up, releasing a puff of warm, sweet scented air. Once he was settled, that weird feeling, that tip-toeing, faded. Almost like someone had lifted a heavy pack from her shoulders. It became easier for her to sink further into the mattress, and, shuffling down, she found herself face to face with him.

There was the space of a hand between the two of them. With the candles out, the room was illuminated by moonlight and her eyes, blue-white combining. “You are you.”

It didn’t make sense - not out in the air, but in her heart, it made perfect sense, and was the answer to his question. She spared him because he was simply him - even now, he was not short with her. The fear from him was slowly ebbing away - and with it, that small part of her, the second voice, that snarled at perceived obstacles to her freedom. It seemed that even deep within that second voice there was a recognition. The idea that there was something there that needed to be preserved, something that would help her.

“Then do not try and sense what I may wish,” a soft smile, devoid of any predatory overtures. “Ask me - as it is well within your right. And our newfound understanding.”

A small rumble in the pit of her stomach. A familiar ache, but one that she could ignore. Perhaps she would venture a feed in the morning - breakfast, maybe. She could eat food as well as any other human; it was largely her magic tied to her essence consumption. He was attracted to her - she knew that as well as she knew the color of the sky - but almost as strong as she’d desired to take from him early, did she now feel that she could not. Not until he understood better, until there was no fear.

Without fear…would it be as sweet as she remembered? Or even better? Essence given willingly, and continuously?

 

[maybenotacreep]

“I am me.” He whispered in reply, managing a smile. He wasn't sure what to make of it honestly. But it was a free thought. Offered without any prompt. Not simply a reply.


He couldn't be sure, but it seemed that slowly she was coming into herself. Would he regret it? At what measure of freedom and autonomy might she decide she did not need him?


“I will strive from now on to inquire of your wishes. In fact you can choose breakfast tomorrow.”


Tomorrow. Tomorrow meant taking to the road, and starting the journey to fulfill a mission he did not believe in. He rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Letting the troubles of Tomorrow wash away the confusion of this evening.


He had two day’s travel to decide what to do. To decide if anything could be done. His already souring view of the Builders had taken quite a blow. But he doubted he, or Ocean, could simply walk away and live the rest of their lives in peace.


He had not joined the Builders to become an assassin. Or in reality, the caretaker for one. If the guild master's crime was non-compliance, perhaps he could be persuaded. If Dalen could strike a deal, perhaps the man's life could be spared.


His mind fell into a loop. Imagined conversations, played out with countless variations. Testing every angle and strategy which might give Dalen some foothold upon which a deal might be built.


It seemed an eternity before sleep finally came.