Siren Salvation

AN: Aha, another chapter so soon (this is the exception not the rule, I promise.) Enjoy and Review, we're all suckers for it- don't lie. ^_^

Warnings: There will be an almost-rape scene in this chapter. If it offends you, avoid it. IT's easy to do so- and besides, nothing is graphic except the head-stuff.

She stood there, frozen. Raven just didn’t know what to say to him, to tell him everything she wanted to. She figured he wouldn’t listen anyway- so, why not just make it as simple as she could, right?

She handed over the little slip of paper reminding him that his tab would come due that evening. “I’m running errands…for Mike…. And, umm; I, I left my apartment key here last night; with, with my jacket.”

His eyes burned into her with the temper that the Irish are infamous for. Growling softly he turned and grabbed up the offending material and tossed it at her. “Go.”

Catching it automatically, her eyes widened in surprise. Raven had expected anger, frustration, even yelling- but not something as violent as that throw. It shook her up and her plan changed. “Connor… Connor I’m sorry! I thought… I thought there was no way it could not have been the glamour. I didn’t think you could… especially since I was so mean to you at first.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed again, the hazel dancing in individual flames. “Why thee ‘ell dae yah thin’ sae damn’d li’l o’ yahsel?!”

Raven froze in confusion and just looked up at him, eyes wide. “I… but….” She swallowed hard and her eyes dropped quickly. “You do not want me, Connor, I’m used goods.” Her voice was a mere whisper, but the pain in her voice vibrated through his entire body making him even more angry.

“Jus’ because sohm arse abuse’ yah doesn’ mehn yah need tae think less o’ yahsel’ lass!”

“Connor… I just. I can’t, okay? I’m never going to be well again. Especially not enough for you.” With tears catching on her lashes she looked up at him for a second, then turned and fled down the hall for the stairs.

With a small growl he took off after her, catching the door closed behind him. She was already a flight further down then he was, and when he hit the sidewalk, she was nowhere to be found. “Raven.”

He turned and started for the door to the stairwell, his hands clenching. In one of them was a crinkling sound and he looked down to find the bar tab notice a crumbled piece of recycling now. But it gave him an idea of where she was, thankfully. He turned back around and started for the “The King’s Head.”

Meanwhile, Raven’s accelerated pace had brought her crashing into the bar and into Mike’s stomach. He sighed as he touched her hair lightly and felt her tears leaking through his apron and shirt. “Nae, missie, dunna crie. ‘Tis nae fittin’ fer ye pretty face.”

“Mike, oh Mike!” She sobbed with every inhalation and gasped out the words. “I’ve ruined it, I’ve ruined it all!”

He sighed again and patted her back gently. “The bossman’s ‘ere. Ye betta gae back an’ fix up these tears, gel. Where’s me shoppin’?”

She gently handed over the satchel filled with goodies and dashed past him to the side door. Disappearing inside she went to the chest of drawers to clean her face up. As she got there and set fingertips to a handle, she was overwhelmed again with what a fuck-up she was, a mistake in the beauty of the world. She slid to her knees, fingers tremblingly clutching the cold metal as she buried her face into the sleeve of her other arm to cry.

A sound echoed behind her and she barely heard it over her sniffles. A presence moved in behind her and she lifted her eyes slightly to see a tissue box held out for her. She lifted her fingers from the brass and gently took one snuffling tears back. She barely managed to choke out words before another sob took her, “Thanks, Mike.”

“Mike’s busy.” The voice was deep, rough, and wonderful- and definitely not Mike’s. She whirled in a flurry of tears, tissues, and tresses.
There he stood behind her, holding the box out. He had come over in such a hurry he still hadn’t bothered to grab a shirt, which really, was just cruel. And why would he be there anyway, considering she had hurt him so badly.


~Two weeks previous~

Raven had really gotten sick of that Irishman following her every move. It was just frustrating, especially since she didn’t have anywhere to hide from him. And she had told him that, about two hours ago, which she regretted now. Regretted a lot as the circle of grungy looking blokes circled her in the narrow alley. She’d entered for some respite from the rain, the contents of her satchel too meager to do the job.

Now she regretted not stealing a heavy blanket from the house she was put out of too. If she had she wouldn’t be here, now, with these men leering at her as only men can. She stuttered a moment, and then came up with a few cheap shots to try and turn them off. She could be rude and crass on the outside, but more often than not she was completely submissive inside.

One of the men reached out and grabbed her by the neck, yanking back and dragging her to the ground. Inside of her head something clicked and she just fell limp. She’d played this game with her Master many times, all she needed to do now was serve.

She felt herself be picked up and thrown over one of the men’s shoulders, the idea to move her to a place where they wouldn’t be discovered. In the back of her mind she heard something out of place, a weird clashing sound that didn’t fit, but she couldn’t figure it out now, she’d been lost instantly in subspace.

It had been one of the things her Master had loved about playtime with her, her instant reactions with his domination. She had been the perfect pet after he’d broken her with almost two years of solitary confinement in a large dog cage. Some had said it was cruel, but she knew that she deserved it. After all, she had been spiteful, malicious, jealous, and rude before then; behavior completely improper for a pet, especially one of her standing.

She was tossed down on a hard, cold floor, a thin blanket breaking the dangerous fall. It was the first incident that would leave marks on her body, bruises and scrapes, and it pushed her even deeper into her head. The next was the feeling of her clothes being physically torn apart at the seams from around her.

Distantly the thought escaped that she didn’t have another complete outfit, nor the money to buy one, but it was quickly tamped down with forceful hands groping at her delicate skin. Shivers rode her spine and goose bumps broke out along her arms as a hot, wet mouth fell upon the sensitive areas of her skin. And then suddenly she was merely cold.
The chill from the breeze through the broken glass slid across her skin and brought her out of her head enough to open her eyes. When she did she blinked a few times until they cleared, and just gazed upwards in surprise. There he stood, covered in blood that wasn’t his. He had come to save her, and he had to see her like this- begging for the abuse without words or sounds.

Connor had saved her.

Then he took her home, dressed her in over-sized shirts, let her shower. Tucked her into bed and sat over her the entire night, watching her sleep fitfully. He calmed her whimpers, woke her nightmares, and soothed her cries throughout the darkness that bred such things. And the next morning, after making her a proper Irish breakfast, he left for work, promising to be back as soon as he could get free.

And she had left; without a note, without the clothes, without anything at all except the memories. And she had moved back to living on the streets, a pretty young woman in a dangerous neighborhood, sleeping on a park bench. And he had seen her, he’d seen her on his way to Sunday mass- and she had pretended he didn’t exist. She refused to even look up as he called her name, purposefully pushing him further away from her with the anger her actions were sure to cause. Little did she know that it wasn’t anger that was provoked, but pain.

~~

She looked up at him, and saw that same pain reflected in the recesses of his eyes, and couldn’t understand why he’d come after her- again.