The first thing that Marron Glace
became aware of was the pain; his arms hurt terribly, and felt oddly....light somehow, as
though they were halfway numb. He tried to move them, but found that he couldn't--and
discovered that the attempt only sent further pain shooting through his shoulders, quickly
prompting him to cease the activity.
It was cold, and dark. He didn't know if it was
because there was no light in his current location, or because he had his eyes closed; he
couldn't seem to feel enough of his body to tell if his eyes were open or not--stranger
and stranger. It was as though he was floating in some black limbo, and the only anchor
that held him to reality was that single discernible point of pain. Confusion swam in dull
colors throughout his brain, making it nearly impossible for him to ascertain anything,
but from what he could tell he was suspended by his arms--that explained the excruciating
pain; no one could support their own weight, no matter how strong they were, without
straining their muscles severely.
Where was he? He tried to think, tried to
remember something, anything; faint flashes of memory burst, star-bright, before his eyes
before they vanished. He remembered making plans to attack the sorcerer Dalzien,
remembered skulking in the shadows outside of the Dark Tower, remembered his older brother
Carrot giving the order to split up, remembered sneaking away with Gateau and Tira--but
after that, everything was a blank. Had the mission failed? Where were the others? For
that matter, where was he? For the normally cool, collected Marron Glace, the
inability to control his own mind was frustrating....but his rising irritation was
momentarily forgotten as he was made aware of one other thing: a voice.
But not just any voice. This voice was a physical
sensation in and of itself, velvet slithering over steel and whispering across his skin,
bringing him to a sudden awareness of his body other than the pain in his arms--awareness
of the tingling rippling like caged electricity over his form, making him want to
shiver despite the fact that he seemed unable to move. Low, husky, compelling, the voice
made Marron's stomach tremble with dread and a terrible delight.
"So. My pet awakens."
So his eyes were closed--and there was
someone there, apparently his captor. Marron felt the fog over his brain lifting somewhat,
and he spared a moment to collect himself; there was no point in descending into
irrational panic. The important thing is not to lose control.
He tried to open his eyes; he couldn't. Annoyed,
he tried again, nearly commanding his lids to part with the force of years of
self-control....and slowly, unwillingly, heavy black lashes parted over glittering golden
orbs--and abruptly squeezed shut again as they were assaulted by the pain of flickering
torchlight.
Ignore the pain. Again Marron forced his
eyes open, and managed to keep them that way as he squinted through the errant strands of
his tumbling, raven-black hair at the black and orange blur before his eyes, trying to
focus--and most importantly, to find the source of that sultry, nerve-shivering voice. He
wanted answers, and he wanted them now. Gritting his teeth, he managed to focus
rigidly on a pale blur against the blackness--and then, suddenly, his vision clarified
sharply, and he gasped as his eyes fell upon the face of his captor.
A proud figure stood before him, impossibly tall,
so thin as to be aesthetic without appearing wasted; the torchlight flickered over his
face, seeming to reach for him, yearning to caress his pale, fragile skin with its hot
light and highlighting delicately sculpted features so sensual as to be almost lovely,
inhuman. A thin upper lip parted from its fully curving mate in a slow, easy smile, and as
he took a step towards Marron the young Sorcerer Hunter could only marvel at his languid
grace. A slender hand lifted to brush night-black hair over his shoulder, hair as thick
and lush as Marron's own but perhaps even longer, parted by delicately pointed ears and
falling artfully into that achingly beautiful face.
"It took you long enough to wake, " the
fey creature murmured, and Marron had to fight not to shiver again as the power of that
voice reached out to claim him again. Piercing eyes bored into his own, eyes that he
thought at first were grey but another look revealed to be silver, the color of moonlight
that has been captured, but never tamed. His gaze sparked with a strange, hypnotic light,
malevolent and cruel; whoever the man was, he was fascinating in his dark, finely made
clothing that was tailored to fit his slim frame perfectly, and the prisoner felt his
stomach jump inexplicably as the other took another step closer to him.
Closing his eyes to break the spell of that
mesmerizing stare, Marron took a deep breath and once more forced himself to relax. There
must be some bewitchment involved, he thought. His captor must have been attempting to
beguile him, lull him into a false sense of security for some reason. Marshalling every
last drop of his reserves of control, Marron opened his eyes again, fixing defiant golden
eyes on the beautiful man and stating calmly, "What do you want with me? Are you a
servant of Dalzien?"
"A servant?" A laugh, soft and
chilling, like the shattering of fine crystal, and another step closer--too close, in
Marron's opinion, and enough to make him shrink against the wall at his back in inherent
distaste. "You could say that. Allow me to introduce myself, my pet." The
stranger's lithe form folded in a graceful, sweeping bow that seemed to mock Marron in his
imprisonment, and he fought not to scowl in reply. "Dalzien d'Enthres, Lord of the
Dark Tower, at your service."
"A pleasure, " Marron answered
smoothly, his quiet tone betraying not the slightest hint of sarcasm or the sudden flash
of panic that had slammed through him and then disappeared. So this was Dalzien....which
meant that the mission had failed, although that still did not explain his inability to
remember the events that had led to his present situation.
A quick glance around at his surroundings
revealed that he was in the stereotypical dungeon--dark, dank, its confines lit only by a
single torch and the slight hint of moonlight that managed to force its way through a
barred slit of a window. A wooden slab scattered with moldy hay sat against the opposite
wall, obviously intended for use as a bed--but Marron doubted that he would be given
occasion to make use of it, considering that he was chained against the rough stone, his
arms held in place above his head by painfully chafing wrist cuffs and his ankles spread
wide and clamped to the wall as well. There was no doubt that his ofuda would have
been removed from his now tattered and dirty robes; there was no route of escape--he was
effectively captured, the graceful dove caged and at the hungry cat's mercy.
The "hungry cat" was, at the moment,
watching him with faint amusement, as though he knew Marron's thoughts and could almost
see the moment that the Sorcerer Hunter's rapidly calculating mind concluded the futility
of attempting to escape. Sighing, for the moment resigned to his current situation, Marron
slid carefully shielded golden eyes to meet their dark silver counterparts and once more
spoke calmly, refusing to release his cool serenity even in his rather bedraggled and
helpless state. "Where are my companions?"
"Somewhere." A nonchalant shrug, a
dismissive wave of wraithlike fingers. "No doubt plotting your rescue."
He was so smug. Marron felt an inexplicable rage
building in his chest, irrational, surprising, and was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to
simply reach out and slap him until that lazy smile melted away. Shocked at his own
thoughts, he frowned; what had come over him? He should be relieved that his brother and
the others were safely away from this place, and instead he was visualizing inflicting
bodily harm upon his captor; apparently his imprisonment was wearing at his nerves more
than he was willing to admit even to himself.
Still, other concerns nagged at the corner of his
ever-rational mind. "Tell me what you want with me. Why haven't you killed me
yet?"
"Curious little thing, aren't you?"
Another smile, lazy, taunting--and Marron was sure that he did not imagine the faint,
torchlit gleam of pristine white fangs. "So many questions, my pet....so many
questions. Don't worry, you'll know enough in time...have patience." Dalzien moved
even closer to him, and once more Marron had to fight not to shiver; the pale man seemed
to exude a chill that was nearly palpable, and tinted with a sickening darkness that
revolted the golden-eyed youth.
"So pretty..." came the whispered
words, cold breath washing over Marron's skin and making it crawl, but he would not
flinch, not even as icy fingertips trailed over his cheek, ivory caressing a lily's soft
petals. Instead, he only stared into those hard silver eyes defiantly, refusing to even
move or allow the snarl building in his throat to release; never would he let this
creature see him react, let him see how much he was disgusted by him even as he was
enthralled.
Still, he could not help but gasp as a sudden
sharp bite of pain blossomed just below his jawline as Dalzien's fingertips ventured
downwards; a single fingernail sliced the smooth, moon-pale skin of Marron's throat as it
was dragged slowly down the line of his jugular, leaving behind a thin, shimmering ribbon
of crimson against the pristine backdrop. He could only stare in wide-eyed horror as
Dalzien drew his finger away and slowly, lazily, snaked a pink tongue-tip out to lap the
scarlet liquid from his slender fingertip, savoring it with an almost sensual languor that
caused bile to well in the golden-eyed young man's throat.
"Mmm...." Something like a purr rumbled
in the silver-eyed man's throat as he licked at his finger, and Marron felt even more
revolted as he discovered that he could not tear his gaze away from the path of Dalzien's
roving tongue. "You are...sweeter than I had imagined...."
The indignity of it was too much to bear.
"Animal, " Marron hissed, his teeth gritting and golden eyes sparking with
bubbles of molten, angry amber.
To his growing anger, Dalzien only appeared
amused, meeting his rage-filled gaze with a calm, smoky one, quite obviously taking a
sadistic pleasure in his revulsion. "I do so love seeing you angry, " he
whispered--and then, to Marron's disgust, the cupid's bow of the Lord of the Dark Tower's
frosty lips touched his own in a soft, feather-light kiss. He tried to wrench away, making
a noise of disgust deep in his throat, but fingers that had seemed fragile clamped rigidly
down on his chin, holding him forcefully still as Dalzien continued to kiss him--only the
lightest touch, but still enough to make him wonder if he was about to vomit right then
and there.
After a moment, the dark sorcerer withdrew with a
parting flick of his tongue over Marron's lips, serpentine, light. "Feisty, " he
murmured with a soft chuckle, releasing the robe-clad youth's face and taking a step back.
Marron only glared at him in mute fury, hatred welling deep in his soul. How dare
this...this...thing take such liberties with him? He felt violated,
tainted--infinitely more so than anyone had ever made him feel; even Gateau's blatant
advances had only left him with a lingering sense of embarrassment, not this miasma of
overwhelming corruption.
Torchlight flickered in the silence, shining in
orange on nearly twin heads of glossy ebon locks, melting amber in golden eyes, reflecting
in broken shards from silver--and gleaming red from wet stains on cat-like white teeth
that were revealed as lips parted in yet another mocking smile. "I'll leave you be
for now, my pretty pet, " he said. "I have other business to attend to--but I'll
return for you later."
"I'll try to contain my enthusiasm and
anticipation, " Marron snarled through gritted teeth.
Dalzien only smiled again, infuriatingly
undaunted; his sinister amusement only served to irritate Marron further. "Of course,
" he murmured softly, and then turned away, his luxurious hair swirling behind him
like dark wings and the ends flicking at Marron's delicate nose and eliciting a small
scowl. "Until later, pet, " came his mocking reply, and then he was gone,
slipping past the heavy, iron-bound oak slab of a door and out of sight. The heavy
"chunk" of a lock sliding into place followed, and then Marron was left alone in
the chill, drafty silence.
Pet. Hmph. Marron Glace would never be
anyone's pet, no matter how many chains bound him--and he'd be damned if he would
surrender his dignity to that creature. How dare that monstrosity kiss him as though he
were some kind of captive pleasure sla--
Horrified, Marron drew up short, staring at the
cold stone floor with wide, panic-stricken eyes. Surely that couldn't be why Dalzien had
captured him; surely even someone as black-hearted as the dark sorcerer would not dare to
subject him to that. Oh gods above....If only he had his ofuda, something,
anything to enable him to escape; he couldn't imagine the horror of being abused as some
evil creature's sexual toy. But there had been no mistaking the hunger in Dalzien's eyes
as he had looked upon the beautiful young Sorcerer Hunter; inhuman, bestial, alien, but
the desire had been as familiar as the look in Gateau's eyes when he spoke to Marron.
Marron shivered. Rather that Dalzien kill him
than touch him with those icy fingers.....not again. That kiss...To his own
surprise, he flushed at the memory of the kiss; despite the brutal hold that the sorcerer
had had upon him, the kiss itself had been tender, Dalzien's lips soft, like satin....no
one had ever kissed him like that.
And no one ever will, he thought fiercely,
aghast at his own drifting thoughts. He would find a way to escape this place and rejoin
his companions, before Dalzien could carry out whatever he had planned for his prisoner.
And when he did.....
......he would take a much-needed bath. He didn't
know how long he had been in this dungeon, but it positively stank.
There is nothing that I can do right now, though.
He would have to wait until an opportunity presented itself, for his current situation
offered no options; for now, he would have to simply wait. Boredom set in quickly, as it
always did when he had nothing to occupy his mind--and within the course of half an hour,
he was sleeping, nervously and fitfully, his slim frame shivering slightly with each chill
draft that passed through the tiny window.
He would see what tomorrow would bring.
He's perfect. As he climbed the steps from
the dungeon, Dalzien couldn't seem to take his thoughts from his prisoner. When he had
first surprised the young man and his party and overwhelmed them, he had intended to kill
them all--much as they had intended to kill him; the female and the other man had escaped
to rejoin their companions, and he had found himself in possession of the beautiful
raven-haired youth. After looking at that angelic face, studying those liquid golden eyes,
he couldn't bring himself to destroy such loveliness. Instead...he wanted to own it.
He didn't truly know what he would do with his
prisoner. Ravishing him senseless came to mind, but somehow.....the thought disturbed
him--and then his own discomfort disturbed him. He had no qualms about killing anyone and
everyone, and acts of cruelty were his life's blood--literally. So what did it matter if
the boy in his dungeon was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen--as beautiful as
Dalzien himself, but warmer, more alive, burning with a hidden fire beneath his serenity
that captivated the dark sorcerer....made him want to touch that flame at the same time
that he wanted to crush and extinguish it.
Kissing him had been an impulse--a gratifying
one, but an impulse nonetheless. The taste of his lips had been sweeter than the
delightful taste of his blood, and his struggles had pleased Dalzien immensely. He wanted
to dominate him...but not forcefully. No...rather that gorgeous creature submit to him
willingly; he would take more pleasure from the boy's pliant surrender than from taking
him forcefully and against his will--and that in itself was strange.
A sigh escaped his lips as he stepped from the
dark, spiraling stairwell and padded on silent, boot-clad feet towards the door of his
chamber. He supposed that in the morning he might move him from the dungeon into a proper
room; if he planned to keep the youth for any length of time, the dank, moldy cell was not
the place for him. His health would suffer--and with his health, that perfect beauty. That
in itself would be a shame; he preferred to take care of his toys, rather than destroying
them through carelessness.
Now that he thought about it, he might want to
ask the young man his name as well.
As he stepped into his private chamber and closed
the door behind him, Dalzien wondered how long it would take to break him. Frankly, he
wondered if he even wanted to; there was a difference between listlessness and the
golden-eyed youth's current enigmatic serenity, and he rather preferred the latter. It was
interesting, in a world where there was little left to hold the Lord of the Dark Tower's
interest.
Silent, catlike, Dalzien paced across the cold
stones of the floor towards his bed, unbuttoning his doublet with nimble fingers and
flinging it carelessly onto the silken coverlet; moments later, the flowing white linen of
his shirt followed, and his bare chest gleamed sleek and white in the silver moonlight
spilling through the windows. Hello, my precious, he thought almost absently as he
strode on long, lean legs towards the pedestal-mounted orb of crystal that rested next to
his silk-draped bed; the smoky darkness that surged within seemed to shift in response to
his thought, swelling towards the wall of the orb facing him as though it might reach
through to touch the dark-haired man, and he smiled slightly. Brother, father, companion,
lover....the blackness within the orb was all of that and more to him. It was his creator,
in a way....it had accepted him, loved him, enfolded him and remade him in its image.
My Maelstrom, he thought, almost lovingly.
What resided within the orb was only a minute fraction of the Maelstrom's true essence;
the substance--or being--itself was infinite, and the space within the orb as well as the
fathomless pit beneath the tower were only outlets that allowed the Maelstrom to bleed
from the space between crossworlds rifts into this reality. It was the source of his
power, and his strength; it ran in his very veins, shifted behind his gaze, colored his
very thought processes with an ineffable darkness, cool and soothing.
Silver eyes gleamed like twin pinpoints of
obsidian surrounded by fields of cracked ice as he traced pale, slender fingers over the
surface of the crystalline orb; the murky substance within strained towards his touch
hungrily, longing to draw him within its depths once more, and his own body replied with
an answering stirring ache. Even from his chamber at the top of the tower, he could feel
the mass of the Maelstrom contained within the pit far below, and yearned to lose himself
within it once more; it was a call that was nearly impossible to resist, and only the
strength of his iron will kept him from returning to it whenever he had a free moment.
Irritatingly, Dalzien found his thoughts drifting
to the boy even as he sat gracefully upon the edge of his bed to comb the tumbling cascade
of his onyx locks, after kicking off his shoes with sharp, precise movements. He wondered
what the other would think of the Maelstrom--what he thought of Dalzien himself. No doubt
he perceived him as a monster, incapable of kindness, incapable of anything other than
evil and cruelty. He, like all others, would never understand what Dalzien saw when he
looked at everything.....from a summer dawn to sounds of the screams of the dying, there
was beauty in everything, fragile, crystalline, sometimes subtle....but nonetheless there.
Just as it was there in a pair of luminous golden
eyes.
Feh. Weakness. He would possess the boy,
yes. But in no way would Dalzien become bewitched by him. Such things were folly in the
extreme. As though to echo his thought, the Maelstrom-fragment surged violently within its
containment, and Dalzien reached out to caress the crystal of the orb once more. With
you I am never weak, my precious, he thought, extending the dark tendrils of his
thoughts to brush in a feather-light touch over the Stygian essence, reassured by the
familiar cool murkiness that stroked through his neural pathways like liquid.
He would deal with the boy in the morning, decide
if he had any purpose for him. He had to be useful in some way; he had discovered the
packet of charms, which meant that he was a magic-user as well and might have some sort of
knowledge to share with the dark one. If not....well, there was sure to be some other use
for him. And if not, well then he could always kill him.
Morning....already? It seemed that Marron had
hardly fallen asleep before he was awakened by the few bright shafts of gold that
penetrated the dungeon, their slight warmth falling upon his bedraggled form and chasing
away some small margin of the chill that had seeped into his bones over the course of the
night. Or perhaps it was not the morning that had awakened him, but the painful, twisting
knots in his stomach that signified several days without food. He wondered idly how long
he had been unconscious in the rank darkness of the dungeon, but immediately dismissed the
question as one he would never have know the answer to.
He had only been awake for a moment before he
heard the slightly familiar "chink" of the bolt sliding in the door's lock, and
then the creak of the door itself sliding open; moments later a pallid figure ducked its
towering height beneath the doorframe, and Dalzien slipped into his cell. Had he been
waiting for me to awaken?
The Lord of the Dark Tower was as immaculate now
as he had been the night before, dressed neatly in a flowing blouse of white silk tucked
into a pair of perfectly pressed black slacks. The glossy length of his hair was bound at
the nape of his neck; stray tendrils framed his elegantly chiseled features perfectly, and
the tail swept nearly to his hips with each lithe, leonine step as he strode smoothly
towards his prisoner.
"Good morning, pet, " he said calmly,
and paid no attention when Marron deigned not to reply--only continuing to mock him.
"I trust you slept well."
Silence was Marron's only reply, serene and
unbroken; he had hoped that it would break his captor's icy composure, perhaps annoy him,
but Dalzien only favored him with a chilling glance that promised dire consequences should
his ire be aroused.
His silence was broken when Dalzien withdrew an
iron collar, seemingly from thin air, and clamped it firmly around Marron's slender neck.
"What do you think you are doing?!" he
protested, struggling against his confinement and straining as though he might break free
from the bindings at his wrists and ankles. Now it was Dalzien's turn not to reply, only
bending to touch elegant fingers to the cuffs at Marron's ankles; at his light touch a
small spark of blue, like some chill flame, flew from his fingertips to the cold metal and
the iron circlets parted, falling away like dead leaves and leaving Marron's legs free. He
was sorely tempted to kick the silver-eyed man while he was thus unguarded, but common
sense and self-preservation smothered that impulse in the face of the punishment that he
would surely receive.
The cuff binding his left wrist followed, but
before his right was released Dalzien removed the chain that had held his sore arms
upright and hooked it to the large captive ring protruding from his collar. Moments later
his right wrist was released, and it was with an involuntary wince that Marron lowered his
arms, his sore, much abused muscles protesting the action vehemently and sending spasms of
pain shooting throughout his body.
Rubbing at his abraded wrists, Marron lifted his
eyes to look up at his captor, who towered nearly a foot above his own height--and
abruptly froze, his breath catching in his throat, as he met the full force of that
shifting silverstarshatter gaze. He felt his blood ice over as penetrating silver eyes
bored into him, seeming to read his very soul and exuding a mind-numbing darkness that
threatened to swallow him to feed the man's inhuman hunger. No desire colored Dalzien's
stare today; only hard, cold diamonds faced him now, glittering with a hint of some
strange, flickering violet flame beneath the mercurial surface that flared for a moment
before quickly extinguishing itself.
"You will behave, " came Dalzien's
whispered command, his voice raking over Marron's skin like fingernails and the words
bearing a power subtly woven beneath the soft tones that would brook no opposition.
"You will behave, or face the consequences." A light tug upon the collar's lead
chain emphasized the low utterance, and reminded Marron of his utter helplessness in the
face of this dark man's will even as he stumbled away from the wall involuntarily.
Still, he would not be cowed, and he only tilted
his chin upwards proudly, facing Dalzien's gleaming gaze with a calm golden stare and a
silent nod, as though acquiescing graciously to a request rather than submitting to a
command. Dalzien only turned and strode towards the door, disregarding the golden-eyed
boy's poise utterly as he tugged lightly but insistently on the chain, forcing him to
either follow as he was bidden or be dragged along.
Marron chose to follow rather than humiliate
himself, folding his hands neatly within the tattered sleeves of his robe and pacing
quietly after the slender gargantuan, easily keeping pace with the other's long
strides--willowy and graceful even in his captivity, his bare feet padding over cold, damp
stones. He was led from the cell down a hallway, past other cells whose interiors he could
barely see through the door-slits in the flickering torchlight; most were empty, but a few
were populated by wretched, filthy specimens of humanity that seemed nearly dead in the
swift glance that was all that he could spare before he was forced to sweep past.
The beast, he thought, feeling the hatred
well once more; Dalzien's kind of cruelty was the reason that Marron and his companions
hunted sorcerers. No living creature deserved to be kept in such a state for another's
pleasures; his gorge rose at the thought of what the sorcerer might use these poor beings
for, even as he was led from the dungeon onto an ill-lit stairwell that curved upwards
around the tower's main column. Light from sparsely scattered torches jittered over the
walls, casting living shadows that seemed to writhe and reach for the young Sorcerer
Hunter even as he mounted the first roughly cut stone step.
Silence blanketed the pair thickly for long
minutes as they climbed the seemingly endless ascent, and then suddenly the taller man's
voice shattered the echoing stillness like glass. "Tell me your name, pet, "
Dalzien ordered diffidently as he rounded yet another curve in the spiraling stairwell.
Once more Marron disdained to reply, holding his cool, aloof silence, but Dalzien only
countered by hardening his smooth tone and tugging sharply on the chain, causing him to
stumble dangerously on the steep steps. "A name, pet, or I will name you myself and
strike you should you choose not to respond to it."
"Marron." The two syllables were spoken
softly, arrogantly, as though Marron had volunteered his name to some lesser creature of
his own accord rather than surrendering it by force.
No reply. Only another tug on the chain, and
Dalzien continued to lead Marron up, up, ever up, past several closed doors--so many that
they began to blend into each other in the monotony of the climb. Marron took the
opportunity to study his captor, for lack of anything better to do; he wondered what he
was, with his elongated, pointed ears, delicate fangs, and inhuman height. He had thought
him Elven at first, but no Elf that Marron had ever seen bore teeth like that--pointed
like a vampire's, but neither was the man a vampire....at least, he didn't think so. He
was an enigmatic creature indeed, with his dark power that he made no display of but still
oozed in such quantities that it was almost tangible.
Marron could see the sleek muscles of his narrow
back shifting beneath the nearly transparent fabric of his blouse as the taller man moved
up the stairs ahead of him; he was thinner than Marron himself, but something warned the
young man that he was far stronger, stronger than the hard plates of muscle beneath the
velvet-smooth skin might lead one to believe. He was dangerous as well--that much was
obvious. He exuded malevolence, like a fiercely stalking jungle cat--lazy strength,
carefully controlled and predatory.
In truth, Dalzien was beautiful in an almost
frightening way. That much Marron had to admit; the taller man's every motion was nearly
impossibly graceful, like tendrils of spidersilk drifting in the wind, and his face made
him think of some dark angel borne from the pits of Hell and sent to seduce the unwary
into destruction....and even Marron envied his lush, thick black hair, longer than
Marron's own even when bound--the dark angel's wings.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Dalzien
came to an unannounced halt before him, pausing before the last doorway before the
stairwell terminated in a final archway leading somewhere that Marron could not discern in
the darkness. Hmph. A tower as black and dismal as its Master.
"You will stay on this floor, below my
private chambers, " Dalzien said quietly, just barely breaking the silence by his
mechanically stated words as he fixed that disconcerting gaze on Marron once more--but he
was not given time to reply as the door was opened and he was led through into the
darkness beyond. At least now I know what lies past that archway, he thought as he
followed Dalzien past several closed doorways to the single open one on the entire short
hallway.
He was greeted by a well-furnished
chamber--neither large nor small, but tastefully decorated in muted ivory and somber
greens and blues. It seemed to be a sitting room of some sorts, with a small writing desk
situated beneath one of two windows at one end, a small dining table against the back
wall, and two plush chairs situated before a crackling fireplace at the opposite end. An
open doorway to one side of the table gave him a glimpse of an equally luxurious bedroom,
this time decorated in ivory, black, and deepest crimson; the smoothly wooden paneling of
the walls of both rooms gleamed a warm, rich golden brown in the flickering firelight and
soft amber lamplight. All in all, a rather comfortable establishment, and starkly
contrasting his previous squalid dungeon quarters.
Marron turned to look at Dalzien after thoroughly
surveying what was visible of both rooms, lofting a questioning eyebrow; in response, the
taller man favored him with a cold glance. "These will be your quarters, for now,
" he said quietly, without any explanation of just why. "There is a
bathing chamber beyond the bedroom, and food will be delivered regularly. Everything that
you require will be brought to you; you will not leave this suite for any reason, and
should you attempt to escape you will be forcefully restrained. Do you understand,
Marron?"
"Quite well, yes, " Marron answered
tartly. "I should hope you will provide me with something to read to keep myself
entertained?" he dared to continue. "Since you have gone to so much trouble to
keep me in such luxury, surely you wouldn't want me to be bored."
He had hoped to irritate the man, at least
provoke him somehow. Once again, he had failed. Dalzien only nodded once. "If you
wish, books will be brought eventually. Should you require anything else, ask your guard
and it will be brought, if it is within reason."
"Why....?" he started to ask, but was
cut off as he was led further into the room. Before he could even blink, nimble fingers
had removed his collar, finding a seam in apparently seamless metal; this time he felt the
chill of the faint spark of flame before the ring parted and fell away from his neck,
numbing his skin and leaving behind an almost painful tingle.
"You will not attempt to leave, "
Dalzien repeated--and then he was gone, pivoting sharply on his heel and striding out the
door without a backwards glance. The door closed behind him, the faint "click"
of a lock followed, and the Lord of the Dark Tower was gone again, leaving Marron alone in
his prison--from a rusted cage to a gilded one, but still a cage.
He immediately attempted to open the door, and
found that it was, of course, securely locked; several long minutes were spent banging
upon the door, to no avail. Not even a sound came from without; if there was a guard out
there, he was not responding. Exasperated, Marron abandoned that particular effort and set
to investigating his new surroundings. To his relief, he found several pens, ink-pots, and
blank paper within the desk's multiple drawers; if anything, he could occupy himself by
writing should he find himself without anything to do. A swift glance outside of the two
tall windows removed any doubt about escaping through the portals; the drop the greeted
him down the sheer walls was dizzying, and he could not even see the ground through the
mist that the tower's column disappeared through.
He didn't bother to spend much time exploring the
bedroom; only the bed, a small vanity with a mirror and a few combs and brushes, and a
tall standing closet were there, and after sparing a quick moment to peek inside the
closet at the multiple and varied items of clothing within he moved on into the bathing
chamber. The room itself was rather small and square, tiled in black, and most of the
floor was taken up by a bathing pool roughly six or seven feet in diameter; the water
within steamed, seeming to invite him to enter, and a pile of lush towels waited next to
the edge, begging to be used.
Oh gods to be clean at last.....Marron
wasted little time in stripping out of his filthy, tattered clothes and plunging straight
into the soothing heat of the water; he could have cried with joy as he submerged fully
and then surfaced, his wet hair plastered to his head and sticking to his chest, back and
shoulders. He may have still been a prisoner, but at least he was a clean
prisoner--and comfortably situated. Sighing with pleasure, he reached for a towel and
began to scrub at the filth caking his skin, languishing in the warmth of the deep bathing
pool.
Not so very far away, Dalzien watching his
unwitting prisoner at his bathing through the scrying glass mounted against a wall in his
chambers, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched Marron lean against the side
wall of the circular pool and close his eyes, surrounded by the swirling tendrils of his
hair that floated on the surface of the water. Silver eyes flicked over the play of taut
muscles beneath pale, water-slick skin; for a passing, unguarded moment he wondered how
that skin would feel beneath his fingers, heated by the temperature of the water--and then
he dragged his mind back where it belonged, shaking his head with a small sigh.
I don't have time for this....he thought
irritably, even as he watched the golden-eyed youth pull himself from the pool with ease,
the musculature of his arms and back bunching and slithering like snakes beneath a
velveteen covering as he lifted himself to the edge and then stood, fully exposing his
smoothly chiseled body before wrapping a towel about his waist--almost as if he knew that
he was being observed. He truly is perfect....
Unconsciously, Dalzien nibbled on his lower lip,
fully captivated by the boy as he paced from the bathing chamber into the bedroom, moving
like some caged beast--slender but powerful, serpentine and lovely. He watched for a few
moments more as he wrung his dripping hair out over a basin and then twisted it into a
tight knot at the base of his neck before turning to the standing closet.
When Marron began rifling through the assorted
odds and ends of clothing, Dalzien turned away; an idle wave of his wraithlike hand
banished the vision in the glass, and the sorcerer paced to his bedside, sparing a
negligent touch for the Maelstrom orb before slipping into the chair at the bedside desk.
He had business to attend to; the Maelstrom was growing restless for human life, and he
would have to see to its needs soon lest it become disruptive. That, and he still had not
found the means for attaining the power he required to depose King Oberon and Queen
Tatania and resume his place among the Faerie court, and while he had plenty of time to
attain his goal he found himself growing rather impatient.
With a resigned sigh, he reached for one of the
worn, ancient scrolls piled upon the desk and opened it carefully, slender fingers sliding
over the fragile parchment with a delicate touch and baring the arcane text to his
questing sight--and, marshalling his infinite patience, he began to read. He would figure
out what he intended to do with Marron....later.
I suppose this will do....Marron plucked
fussily at the loose-fitting drawstring trousers of beige linen that encased his legs and
the calf-length, sleeveless white tunic that buttoned halfway up his neck and was slit up
the sides nearly to his waist. He felt strange without a sash binding his waist, but much
better after a bath--and these garments were the closest that he could find to the comfort
of his robes within the closet's confines. He supposed he could wash his sash in the pool
later, but at the moment he....well, he basically didn't feel like it at the moment.
Yawning delicately, he ventured from the bedroom
into the antechamber, idly twirling a loose strand of his damp hair around a finger and
his bare feet whispering over the thick rugs beneath the sweeping legs of his trousers
with every step--and was abruptly reminded of his excruciating hunger by the delicious
smells wafting from near the doorway. He hadn't heard anyone enter from within the bathing
chamber, but there before the door was the evidence that someone had indeed: a tray
resting upon the small table next to the door, with a small stack of books to one side and
a covered plate in the center, from whence the tantalizing aromas came.
Honey-glazed chicken on a bed of wild rice
disappeared within moments, its inevitable demise only delayed as Marron took a few
moments to transfer the tray and himself to the table, as was proper. Wild roots, steamed
and doused in some spiced sauce, followed quickly, washed down with what he thought might
be white grape juice. A light dessert of custard topped in crystallized, caramelized sugar
finished the meal, and it was with satisfaction that Marron leaned back in his chair, a
slender hand resting upon his full stomach as he closed his eyes to savor the feeling for
a few brief seconds.
Hm...from destitution to absolute comfort in
so short a time, he mused, wondering yet again at the sudden change in his
confinement. What could possibly be motivating Dalzien, that he treated his captive like
an honored guest? He almost felt as though he was sojourning on vacation--but there was no
doubt in his mind that he was still a prisoner, and would remain so until he escaped or
until Dalzien saw fit to dispatch him. He had no illusions about being released; he could
only wait until the opportunity for escape presented itself. Here he was not constrained
by irons and chains--but he was just as effectively bound, and his situation was just as
impossible.
For now.
Rather than linger on thoughts that were, for the
moment, utterly useless, Marron turned his attention to the pile of books as he stood,
snagging the first atop the stack and carrying it with him as he wandered back into the
bedroom, dropping lightly onto the edge of the black-covered bed and sliding back to prop
himself against the headboard. He thought that perhaps he would read before he slept;
removing his tunic and slipping underneath the coverlet, he flipped to the first page and
began to idly peruse the text of what appeared to be the history of a long-dead
civilization--but he had not even finished the first paragraph before he was asleep,
neatly wound hair loosing to spill across the satin-covered pillows behind him as he
drifted into slumber.
Six days passed in singular monotony; over that
time the abrasions on his abused wrists and ankles healed without leaving even the
faintest trace on his flawless, milky skin, and sore muscles melted away leaving only a
remaining hint of stiffness. Not once did he see any sign of his captor, or any other
living creature; food was always shoved through the door onto the smaller table, but never
while he was in the room to witness it, which effectively prevented him from attempting to
escape during the brief moments in which the door was open. Someone even emptied the
chamber pot nightly--but always while he was asleep. It was almost as though he were
attended by ghosts; he had even tried banging on the door to get the guard's attention,
but once more met with no reply. Any requests that he made, for more books or anything
else, were promptly delivered with his next meal, resting neatly on the tray next to his
food.
Frankly, he was growing rather bored and
irritable. He devoured the first stack of books, and the second delivered, and the third
voraciously, within minutes it seemed; after the fourth day he no longer even felt like
reading, and tried to occupy himself by writing--but even that wore on his nerves, and by
the time that the evening of the sixth day came he was pacing the floor of his chambers
like a caged beast, the linen of his trousers swirling about his leanly muscled calves
with every stalking step. If he did not talk to someone, anyone, soon....he just might
scream. Not to mention that he was dying for some kind of physical activity, a workout,
anything--and no, pacing did not count.
However, on the evening of the sixth day, his
dinner was brought by none other than Dalzien himself, who entered the room with the tray
balanced neatly on one arm but appearing nothing like anyone's servant. Marron felt a
strange jump in his stomach as he watched him from his seat before the fire; after so long
without another living presence, even the entrance of the tall, sinister man was a welcome
sight. What he did not welcome, however, were his almost unavoidable macabre thoughts
about just why he had come--was he finally through with stringing his prisoner along in
wary anticipation and had now finally come to take whatever it was that he wanted?
And yet it seemed that he did not intend to stay
long at all. "You are well, I trust, " Dalzien queried formally, his tone as
chilling as ever but oddly distracted as he idly deposited the tray with its covered plate
on the dining table and then straightened, fixing a hawklike, unblinking stare on
Marron--unnerving even normally, now doubly so after being without company for so long.
Still, Marron turned out a glib, serene reply
with ease--but there was no mistaking the sarcasm underlying his tone. "How could I
not be, when caged amidst such luxury?" he asked, gesturing with lightly curled
fingers around the chamber. "I feel less like a prisoner and more like royalty."
"I'm sure...." was Dalzien's only
murmured, diffident reply; as usual, Marron had failed in eliciting a response, any kind
of change in demeanor--but he was favored with a sharp look as well as a slight harshness
to the silver-eyed man's tone as he continued, "You are my prisoner. Never forget
that. I can return you to the dungeons easily if you displease me, or simply dispose of
you."
Without waiting for Marron's carefully worded
counter, the Lord of the Dark Tower turned on his heel and long legs took him towards the
door with swift, flowing strides. Marron pressed his lips together, watching him
thoughtfully--and then swallowed his pride with much difficulty, raising a hand as he did
the unthinkable.
He called him back.
"Wait...stay." When Dalzien turned to
look at him, surprise clearly written upon his elegant face for a moment before vanishing
smoothly behind the unruffled visage, Marron lowered his eyes demurely to his lap,
suddenly and annoyingly shy. "Please--I find myself wanting for company." He
cast a wry glance towards the books that were piled upon the desk. "Company that can
speak."
"I have things to attend to." The
harshness of Dalzien's tone made it clear to Marron that he was at the level of an
insect--or below--on the priority level of his precious time, and he nearly shrank into
himself from irritation at his affronted dignity.
"Yes, well, if you are going to keep me here
like a jewel inside a case you could at least talk to me!" he snapped, almost before
he realized that the words had left his mouth; aghast, he clamped his lips shut, mentally
berating himself for speaking without thinking of his current situation. How did he expect
to get out of here if he angered Dalzien enough for the man to kill him on impulse?
He managed not to allow his trepidation to show
on his face as Dalzien cocked his head to the side, studying him through narrowed eyes,
the shadow of heavy lashes only making the silver depths glitter even more strangely.
Sensual lips twitched ever-so-slightly, and slowly, like a stalking cat, Dalzien paced
towards him with deliberately measured steps. He was toying with Marron--making him feel
wary, nervous with anticipation, cruelly drawing out the time before he spoke by pausing
next to Marron's chair and staring down at him from his towering height in glacial
silence. The man had made an art out of unsettling others--and unfortunately, his mastery
of his craft was working rather well on the golden-eyed young man.
"You, " he said softly, his voice
deceptively mild, "want me....to talk....to you?"
Marron managed to swallow the lump in his throat
and keep his expression cool and calm as he nodded once before tilting his chin upwards
proudly. "It would be nice, rather than being left with nothing more than books to
entertain myself with." He might as well finish what he started; he was damned either
way, now.
Dalzien's expression never shifted from the
skin-shivering stare, nor did his voice lose that mild tone with its frightening
undercurrent of dangerous darkness. "Very well, " he said, and Marron
practically gaped in shock. "But not tonight. Tomorrow evening I will dine with you,
and we will....talk." He spoke the last word as though it were alien, some word in a
foreign tongue that he was molding his mouth around for the first time.
"I...." Snap out of it, Marron!
"That would be appreciated, " he continued smoothly after a moment's hesitation,
falling back into the comforting safety net of formality.
A curt, perfunctory nod was his only reply--and
then Dalzien was gone again, disappearing in a swirl of his bound hair and followed by the
usual "snick" of the door's lock sliding home....leaving Marron to slump against
his chair in stunned, wide-eyed silence. He must have been out of his mind to request the
dark sorcerer's company--but enforced solitude and boredom caused one to do strange
things, and there was no harm in simply talking....was there?
The next day passed with agonizing slowness. He
could find nothing to keep him occupied for even a few moments, and found himself pacing
once more; after what seemed like years, the sun slowly set and he was faced with only an
hour before the time that his dinner was usually delivered. To pass the time, Marron
disgusted himself by actually "dressing up" for dinner. The beige linen trousers
that had become a daily part of his ensemble remained, but the white tunic was discarded
for one of deep emerald silk of nearly identical design--but rather than buttons, it was
held closed by neatly knotted ribbons of a dark, rich yellow-gold. He had managed to find
a matching scarf of transparent silk in nearly the same color in the closet's cavernous
depths, and he wound this around his waist as sash, letting the ends trail and flutter to
one side; the gold complemented the dark green well, and accented his molten eyes
strikingly.
His hair he combed meticulously and bound into a
neat tail at the nape of his neck, much as the Lord of the Dark Tower preferred to do--and
as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, it struck him forcefully how much they
looked alike...especially with Marron's hair bound. Both had the same pale, flawless skin
and long, raven-black hair; both had delicate features, although Marron's face was more
rounded, and slender frames accented by wiry muscles despite Dalzien's superior height.
Marron's eyes were larger and gold, Dalzien's longer and silver--but both were
heavy-lidded and lazy beneath long, lush lashes, distinctly feline. Were it not for the
ears, Dalzien could more than likely pass for Marron's brother--certainly much more easily
than Carrot did.
His brother, or some demonic distortion of Marron
himself.
Shuddering, the young Sorcerer Hunter banished
the distasteful thought just in time to hear the door open and shut followed by the
telltale sound of the lock sliding home--from the outside. Silence followed, and for a
moment he thought that the Lord of the Dark Tower had reneged on his vow of the night
before and he would enter the room only to find his repast awaiting in solitary splendor
in its usual place--but to his surprise, Dalzien was there, easily balancing a large,
heavily laden tray on one arm as he bore it to the dining table. His every motion was
executed in perfect silence; no wonder Marron had thought that he was still alone.
Sickeningly perfect as always, he thought
as he studied the dark sorcerer from his vantage point at the doorway, ignoring the fact
that others had no doubt thought the same about himself on numerous occasions. Dalzien
wore his hair swept back as usual, although several stray tendrils persisted in escaping
to fall into his face or be tucked behind his ears; long, leanly muscled were encased in
snugly fitted breeches of black velvet that disappeared into black riding boots, and a
suede doublet richly dyed in almost the same green as Marron's own tunic hugged his
slender torso over its traditional accompaniment of a white linen blouse, complete with
billowing sleeves bound in place only by ruffled cuffs. It was almost as if they were
dressed to match, and made quite a pair set against the backdrop of golden wood accented
in green, blue, and ivory.
"Ahem." He coughed politely, if only to
make his presence known; Dalzien didn't even twitch, save to swivel one delicate ear in
his direction.
"Sit, " he only ordered quietly as he
placed two of the larger dome-covered plates before the seats at the opposite end of the
table, leaving the other assorted dishes and their contents a mystery for the moment.
Marron complied--but slowly, at his own pace,
refusing to give Dalzien the pleasure of seeing him scramble for his seat at a single
command. As he folded himself into the high-backed wooden chair, he placed his hands
neatly in his lap, suddenly wishing for the familiarity of his robes so that he could hide
his slender digits within the voluminous sleeves rather than worrying that the sorcerer
might see the nervous twitching of his fingers. He had to be mad, voluntarily requesting
the man's company--and yet here he was, sitting across from him in all of his elegant
splendor, and eyeing him coolly from the length of the table--which suddenly seemed far
too small for Marron's comfort.
Rather than meet the unnerving silver gaze,
Marron lifted the dome over his plate to reveal the main part evening's repast--salmon in
some kind of thick cream sauce, flecked with spices and smelling quite delicious. Another
glance towards Dalzien showed that he had removed the covering from his plate as well, but
seemed in no hurry to begin eating as he only continued to watch Marron through hooded,
snakelike eyes over steepled, tightly interlaced fingers.
I suppose I should go ahead and start, then, he
thought, reaching for his fork and taking a tentative bite, glancing once more towards his
dinner partner for any sign of disapproval--and was answered only by that same stony,
silent mask, beauty carved in elegant, unmoving ivory. He wondered if Dalzien even ate the
sort of food that most did--but he must, or he would not have among his staff whatever
cook prepared Marron's daily meals.
Uncomfortable silence fell across them like some
thick blanket; birdlike, predatory, Dalzien continued to watch his captive across the
table as he ate daintily, without touching his food himself. "You're not
hungry?" Marron paused in his repast to glance towards the silver-eyed Lord again,
politely inquiring--anything to break the choking stillness.
"Not at the moment, no, " came the only
nearly-whispered, dispassionate reply--and then all was quiet again.
So much for that, Marron thought,
continuing to pick at his food--but he suddenly found that he was no longer hungry, and
was beginning to wish that he had never requested this audience.
"I suppose you wish to talk." Dalzien's
low voice shattered the stillness once more, and a startled Marron nearly choked on his
current bite of salmon in surprise. Recovering smoothly, he dabbed at his mouth with a
linen napkin and lifted his gaze, golden eyes fixing on silver ones calmly as he laid his
fork aside.
"That would be nice, " he answered
archly, lofting a delicately sculpted brow.
One slim shoulder lifted in a minimal shrug,
barely shifting the doublet or the flowing fabric beneath it--but still no expression
altered that stony visage. "I am here, as you requested. Talk, then."
"Ahhh...." Oh dear; this was a
predicament. Just what was he to say? He could not exactly open a normal conversation with
this man; casual pleasantries were impossible, and anything else would more than likely be
folly--voluntarily treading on dangerous ground. There was only one route to follow that
might provide some avenue of safety: information. "May I ask you a few
questions?"
"If you wish." The man could irritate a
priest with his minimal replies, but for Marron it was all the encouragement that was
required.
"What are you?" he ventured
tentatively, daring to get straight to the point rather than dancing around with casual
conversation; he doubted that a prisoner had much to worry about in terms of impressing
his captor with his skills at small talk.
To his surprise, Dalzien answered him without
hesitation. "Fae." A soft sigh followed, and suddenly Dalzien's tone turned
strangely pensive, his gaze shifting distant as he focused it over Marron's shoulder and
out the window. "Or I was....a long time ago."
"What happened?" Marron could not
contain his curiosity, and waited almost eagerly for the Fae-born's reply, his food nearly
forgotten; knowledge was knowledge despite its source, and he devoured it
hungrily--especially anything that could cause this frozen man to display any sort of
expression. He was fascinated by the Lord of the Dark Tower and the mystery that he
presented; on the outside, he did not seem like a cruel man, simply a cold, distant
one--but Marron had heard the stories of his sadism, had witnessed some of it for himself,
and would not be deluded by his curiosity or by that pretty, elegant face.
Dalzien, however, seemed reluctant to discuss his
past with his prisoner, and several long moments of silence passed before his throaty
voice spilled forth again. "I was cast from my people for my crimes, " he said
quietly, and from his tone Marron knew better than to ask what those crimes were.
"Banished to the void between worlds. There is a civilization there, a crossworlds
city known as Limbo where the outcasts survive....as did I. I learned the forbidden magics
there....learned to overcome my Fae nature...and then the Maelstrom took me."
"Maelstrom?"
"Feh....it is not something that I can
explain quickly." A long-fingered, slender hand unlaced itself from its mate and
fluttered dismissively as he fixed glittering orbs of smoky quicksilver on Marron once
again, unblinking. "Suffice to say that it is the substance that glues the surface of
the different worlds to the surface of Limbo--it is the space between the space between,
alive but not. Dangerous, dark and powerful....it was the Maelstrom that allowed me to
escape from Limbo."
Now this was fascinating indeed; the scholar in
Marron hungered for more, and he listened with avid attention. "How, though? Where
does its power come from?"
The glimmering gaze, which had been hard and cold
before, iced over completely now, warning him that he was prying beyond his limits and the
boundaries of Dalzien's graciousness. A silent stare warned him to change the subject, and
Marron managed not to frown as he lowered his gaze to his plate yet again.
"I would like to know why you've kept me
here, " he dared to ask, keeping his voice soft--partially in a prudent effort to
keep from angering the Fae-born before him, and partially out of his own hesitation and
trepidation.
"I have my reasons, " was Dalzien's
enigmatic reply--as though Marron was not even worth the simple courtesy of a true answer.
Suddenly angry, the young man lifted narrowed,
furiously sparking golden eyes to shoot the other a glare, his voice rising slightly as he
snapped, "I am quite sure that you do, and I would like to know what they are rather
than being teased and taunted like some kind of child or...or....a worthless puppet!"
He knew the folly of his words even before he
left his mouth, but he could not stop them; his tension had been eating at him after his
days of inactivity and solitude within this velvet-lined prison cell, and he found tact
abandoning him to the vagaries of a flaring temper. Oh dear, I've done it now....Marron
silently cursed himself for a fool as the Lord of the Dark Tower rose swiftly to his feet
and closed the distance between them, splendid and terrifying in his sudden icy fury.
Golden eyes widened, luminous with apprehension as the shadow of the towering
man fell across him, and Marron caught his lower lip between his teeth as he stared
upwards into those crackling silver eyes.
"You are my prisoner, never forget
that, " he stated in a low, hissing tone, made all the more terrifying by its very
low, soft, note--and then slender fingers snaked around Marron's wrist in a movement so
swift that the young Sorcerer Hunter had barely seen it as more than a flash of whiteness
before he found himself effectively captured in a cruel grip.
"Let me go!" he snarled,
tugging at his wrist angrily--and was rewarded by a painful tightening of the already
uncomfortable grip, manicured nails digging into his flesh harshly as he was jerked
roughly from his seat and forced against his captor's slim frame.
He saw his death in liquid silver eyes that
somehow burned even as they froze the soul, flickering strangely with that undertone of
chill violet flame once more; he saw his death, and those of a thousand, a million others
as Dalzien pinned him with that terrible stare, his voice remaining low and even, his
fingers colder than ice around Marron's wrist. "I own you, " he hissed,
speaking the words with such calm certainty that they struck Marron to the core.
"I will do with you what I wish, when I wish, for whatever reasons that
I wish--and you will not question me. You are my slave, whelp; I choose to treat you
as an honored guest, but I can easily revert you to your true status. Never, ever
forget that."
"Beast, " Marron growled in defiant
return, his golden eyes burning a molten amber in fury that this creature dared to think
that he could ever, ever own Marron Glace. "I will never be your
slave, no matter what you do to me!"
"You think not?" That soft laugh
shivered over his spine, striking terror into his heart, but he refused to show it;
rather, Marron kept his expression locked in its fierce frown--and suddenly he found his
other wrist captured, locked in an identical grip, Dalzien's fingernails digging bloody
crescents in his moon-pale skin. He barely had time to gasp in surprise as he was
dragged away from the table with a brutal strength that should not have been possible for
such a thin, fragile-seeming man--and then he was slammed roughly against the wall, his
head striking the wooden paneling with a painful thump that elicited a soft grunt from his
throat. "Perhaps you would like me to demonstrate."
Marron struggled like a wild thing, straining
against his imprisonment, but it was like trying to escape from steel bindings; the taller
man did not even flinch as a carefully-aimed knee snapped into the flat planes of his
stomach. "Gods be damned, release me this instant!"
"No." Only that single low
utterance before Marron's wrists were forced over his head, and then together so that
Dalzien could capture them both in the long fingers of one elegant hand--and then his free
hand was at the neck of Marron's tunic, ripping it apart in a single savage movement
without a care for the fine fabric. Golden eyes widened in horror even as their
owner struggled not to cry out at the pain of the cloth biting into his neck, and he could
only writhe helplessly as the garment was torn open from neck to waist with another sharp
jerk, the ribbons holding it closed shredding with a harsh ripping sound.
Dalzien's fangs gleamed stark white in the golden
lamplight as he parted his lips in a feral smile, thoroughly enjoying his prisoner's acute
discomfort and reveling in Marron's near-palpable hatred of him. Pale fingertips
traced lightly over his exposed chest, and Marron shuddered in revulsion as the man
touched him as a lover might, claiming him with light caresses that he could do nothing
about. "Get your filthy hands off of me, " he spat--and he was rewarded by
trails of pain raking like fire down his chest, followed by lines of crimson velvet that
blossomed wetly on his skin.
"What was that, pet?" the Lord of the
Dark Tower queried gently, smiling almost sweetly--a shark's smile, a predator's slow
grin.
