This story contains many adult themes and is in no way meant for the faint of heart or not of age. I urge you to please read with an open mind and caution. You have been given fair warning. With that being said, Slayers, Slayers Next, and Slayers Try and all characters in this fiction are copyright to their respective owners. This is a work of fiction and no copyright infringement is intended and I am not making any kind of profit from this piece.

One: His Favorite Toy

Pain

It was all she could feel. The dragon priestess lay in her bed curled tightly in a ball. She clutched the tattered remains of her nightgown to herself as her large eyes scanned the wreckage that was her room. How long had she been laying there? She'd lost all sense of time since he left. She scoffed at herself. He hadn't left, she knew he was still there. Lurking somewhere in the shadows where she couldn't see him. He wasn't one to leave and miss the aftermath of one of his conquests. He'd stay and bask in her misery for as long as he could. He was a bastard like that.

"Violence is love, little dragon..." His words played over in her mind.

...Love...

What did he know about love? What did anyone of his kind know about love for that matter? They lived for chaos and destruction. They lived to make people's lives miserable. What could he, the worst of his kind, even remotely understand about love? She rolled those questions over and over in her head for what seemed like hours. Sneering as she pulled herself from the bed she decided it didn't matter. He did not, and would never understand or know what love truly was.

Her shattered pride attempted to pull itself back together as she limped pitifully to her closet. She pulled one of her many robes from it and wrapped herself in its warmth. Unconsciously she tied the sash tighter than normal to keep it from coming undone. She wasn't going to give him a free show; physically or emotionally.

"Violence is love…" His voice again. She shook her head, catching sight of herself in the cracked mirror of her closet door. Hair disheveled and bruises marred her almost perfect skin. She brought a hand up to her neck where she rubbed a large bruse forming on the crook of it unconsciously. That bastard. That evil, rotten, garbage bastard. Tears pricked at her eyes and it took every ounce of her will not shed them.

There was a point in time when she believed she loved him. Not long after Val was hatched he would show up to check on the boy. She had grown accustomed to his presence and even learned to tolerate him…but only in small doses. The times he would stay for a prolonged period she was prone to losing her ever famous temper. But she had gotten better. When he wasn't out right trying her patience one would think he was attempting to win her over.

Long after Val had been put to bed, and Jillias and Gavos had left to their rooms they'd sit up and talk. Their conversations would span everything and nothing at the same time. When he would leave there'd be a void in her nights that nothing was ever able to fill.

"There was a point where I thought I loved you…" Not anymore. Whatever flicker of love she had for him he'd personally extinguished. All he managed to do that night was rekindel her hate for him. A hate that was quite possibly stronger than when she first met him.

Tea.

Filia made her way down the stairs, clutching the railing tightly and voiding her face of all emotion. She focused only on getting to the kitchen. The mess in her room could wait until later. She must have been so lost in her own little world because just as soon as she had put the kettle on it was singing it's tune signaling it was finished. Fixing her cup she made her way to the sitting room where she sat gingerly in her chair, sipping the comforting liquid, her eyes locked on the fire. He had lit it before leaving, this she knew. She never left anything burning at night for fear of it raging out of control.

He knew what she would do. That sick bastard. He knew she'd come down from her room. She growled softly, glaring at the flames. He'd be back, that much she knew. If only because his blasted mistress had too much of an interest in Val. Or to gloat over his conquest. Either way, he would come back. With another growl Filia tore her eyes from the fire and set her now empty cup on the table next to her. She needed a bath. All she could smell was the scent of raw garbage on her skin.

Across the room, in a part not touched by the fire's light, a pair of amethyst eyes watched her every move. A smug, satisfied smirk played on his lips. What a precious thing she was. Though he'd never admit it openly, she was one of his favorite toys; One he was afraid he had broken merely hours ago. You see, he did have a tendency to play a little rough. He was glad he hadn't broken her too badly. It would be hard to replace such a treasure.

His smirk widened as he faded from the room only to appear on a tree branch high above the man-made, or rather wolf-made, hot spring in the yard. He reclined back on the branch, his back pressed against the tree's trunk as he watched his toy undress. With a wide smirk, he took in the sight of his handy work on her skin. Every scratch, ever bruise, every bite mark made his smirk grow. His amethyst eyes resumed their normal closed position, the vision of her naked form still clear in his mind, a satisfied look on his face.

Oh was she ever his favorite toy.