Of Like Minds

The dark was filled with sounds. Ragged breaths, strangled moans, and flesh slapping against flesh. I huddled against a corner in my cell, listening for the telltale scrape of metal on metal that would be the key turning in the door, of rust screeching against rust that was the opening of the door. My chains were loose, but not enough. I listened to the screams and felt the wood planks vibrate as bodies hit the floor. The silence, once it came, was worse than the sounds.

Sure footsteps strode down the hall, each step getting closer and closer. I shrank back, not wishing to be seen. They paused, and I froze, barely breathing, praying that the guard would miss me. More silence, and it seemed as if, though I was trying to quiet the noise, my breathing filled the air. Then, a snapping of leather, and the horrible grating of metal, and the screeching of rust. I shook my head, vainly trying to rid myself of the blindfold, and strong hands grabbed my upper arms, forcing me to my feet on legs that burned with disuse, and my arms shook as they detached my chains from the walls.

I was led down the hall, up stairs, and down more halls. Each time my legs gave out, they dragged me back to my feet. I felt the floor go from dirt to rough wood to smooth wood, then to the cold that only polished marble possessed. It was then that my legs gave out and refused to carry me at all. They half dragged, half carted me the rest of the way, and I was left to wonder why they were taking me to the higher paying ones. It would do no good to ask, they did not know my language, and the gag prevented me from making any noise anyhow.

The sound of a door opening on well oiled hinges, the hush as it glided over the floor before silence meant the floor of the room was carpeted. They tossed me, and I managed a shriek as I landed (and bounced) on a bed. I flexed my toes and feet, twisting my legs this way and that, through the pain to keep them from cramping even worse. I did what I could with my arms, but the shackles were a hindrance. I heard the rough, common speech of the guards, and then the sound of coins in a bag being handed over. This puzzled me. The time purchase was paid to the owner, not to the guards. Then the door shut once more, and I heard naught else.

The bed dipped, and I scrambled away, but a strong hand grasped my ankle, and dragged me back. I froze and lay quiet, trying to relax, focused on the hand. It was a man’s; rough calluses said he worked with sword and bow, broad and the fingers strong. There was a jerk, and one shackle fell off my wrist, another tug and the other joined its twin. I reached back and scrabbled at the knot that tied the gag, only to have my hands caught, and gently led down. I pushed back my fear and realized the man was talking to me, in words I did not understand, but the tone was soothing, calming, quieting. I sat, and waited. I felt the warmth of him as he reached around my head to undo the knot. He was sitting face to face with me, then.

The knot refused to yield, and I heard a word many of the guards used when they were drunk or angry. There was the sound of steel leaving sheath, but I squashed down my panic. There was tugging, and then the gag fell. I reached up and massaged my cheeks and jaw, working muscles I hadn’t even known could hurt. Then the hands again, and the voice, in clumsy Argoth, said “Close your eyes.” I did, and the blindfold was unwound, slowly, and my eyes adjusted as the world grew brighter.

When the last slipped away, I waited a few more seconds, then slowly opened my eyes and blinked at the man in front of me. My first though was that the Angeles Ærath had walked from the blurred tapestries in my memory and sat before me. His hair was a golden black, with eyes of the ocean on a full moon’s night. He sat across me, and smiled. He reached up, and caressed my neck, then gently, ever so gently, he picked me up in the style of a husband, and carried my into his bath chamber. He set me down, and washed me.

Oh, I had almost forgotten that water could be warm and clean! I closed my eyes and sank into the bathing vessel, vanishing up to my chin. They had no clothes for us, and typically we were kept at a state where we were usable but not strong enough to fight, nor unattractive. We only had cursory washes to rid us of the worst of our cells, and even then that was only around our assets. He was kind, my Angeles, using a soft cloth to wash me, and caress. My head lolled to the side, and I felt a heat start to burn. A first for me, but I decided it might be the heat from the water. Strange that it was deep inside, around the center of my womanhood. The cloth moved from my arms to shoulder, then down my back. I felt my muscles, the ones I had built after years of training, the ones that had wasted away in the cell from malnutrition and disuse, I felt them awaken and stretched, my breasts leaving the water briefly, then relaxed. I heard him chuckle, and my Angeles sounded like a Kiernan for an instant. Then the cloth moved to my front, and the heat grew.

He washed my breasts in a manner that felt more like a lovers touch than a wash. The cloth slipped over the mounds, and roughed my peaks, and I squirmed slightly. The juncture between my legs, felt itchy, and I didn’t understand it. He moved from my breasts down, and I squeezed my thighs together, but he chuckled again, and I heard him say, “Open up, diaptha, else how am I supposed to cleanse?” The sound of my language, the word sweetheart, loosened me up more, and I let the cloth and his hand slip down. He roughed a spot, and I jerked up and back, gasping. My eyes flew open and caught his. The dark silver gleamed, and there was a slight dare in their depths.

I licked my lips, and then settled back down, not loosing his gaze. He hadn’t moved since I jerked back, so I slip right back into the cloth. He began again, and my hands came up to the edges of the vessel, gripping to keep myself from jerking back again. When he moved on to my legs, I tingled, and was even itchier than before. The heat had spread, making my limbs feel lighter, fuller, and I was more focused on him than before. He finished, and pulled me to my feet. I stood, and had to look up. Not many men, even the guards, topped me, and this man was a hand’s-breadth higher than my crown. He held out a towel, and I stepped out and into his embrace. He scooped me up again, and brought me into the bedroom once more.

Laying me down, he sat me up and began drying my hair. It was only to my shoulder, so it dried rather quickly, and then he got to the rest of my body. He was as thorough with the towel as he’s been with the cloth. I was quivering from the heat when he finally leaned back.

“Kerna des a riginav?” I blinked. He’d spoken in a different language than my Argoth, and different from the ones the guards used. I blinked at him, and then inclined my head to the side. His mouth twisted, and he let out another word, then his fingers slipped to my juncture. I gasped at the sudden heat, and my hands grabbed his shoulders. He wore a dark blue uniform of some officer status, and black pants. I noticed this, and then I smelled him. To one such as myself and my kinsmen, the scent is everything. He smelled of spices and musk and male need. I felt my mouth water, for he smelled good. He chuckled, and again the darkly desirable Kiernans once more rose to the imagination. Then he flicked the spot and it was as if I had taken a great leap off Dreyav’s Point. The world seemed sharper, and I keened, clutching him. I barely felt the prick at my neck, and then the sensation got stronger. It twisted inside me, as if I was too big for my skin, and then I broke.

He lay me back, and I shivered, seeing red lights dancing in his eyes. He stripped himself, and I saw how well his body was, how strong, how virile. His hair hung around him as he leaned in, creating a curtain to block the rest of the world from our view. All I could see was him, and that was enough. He grasped my wrists gently, and pulled them up to wrap around his neck. Bending, he caught a peak and suckled. The sudden flood of heat and sensation had my hands gripping his back, and my head tilting up.

I gasped, and his fingers once more found my sensitive spot, I writhed, wanting more, wanting something I couldn’t touch, and then there was something big pushing into me. Something I’d never had before. A feeling of something giving, and then it was filling me. Hot, large and blunt, I looked down and saw it was him. He filled me, he pleasured me, he was showing me paradise. When he began to move, I felt the moans come from me, and he looked up into my eyes, and caught my lips with his. He opened my mouth, and taught me what to do to please him, and when I needed air, he moved to my neck, and proceeded to nip and scrape. The sensation grew to be too much, and I felt myself falling once more, only this time it was as if I had wings, for I flew. He brought me down, then back up. I was overwhelmed, and needed him to do something, and he did. He bit down, then growled and hot spread from him into me, filling all the places inside. He stilled, and lapped at my throat, drinking my essence.

I awoke to him leaning over me, a smile on his face. “You can now understand me, yes? Good. You are now mine. I paid for you, and claimed you. Everything I wish, I shall take from you, my little diaptha, and you shall remain for as long as you can provide. I am Extrevlain Azes Kernon of the Adeles. I would have your name, Argothian.” I knew of the Adeles. They were a dark species, ones who fed from the red essences of others, and they flew with the Angeles. Extrevlains were of the highest rankings, close to emperors in the lower species. The Kernon clan was legendry, slayers of the Naight, and the Daemains, treading where no Angeles could ever go. I looked into his eyes, and found my long forgotten speech, and my voice came out.

“Adaela.”

Thus began my journey into fire and shadow.