His nerves were on fire. He couldn't stop moving, clothing chafing on his skin like sandpaper, teasing, tantalizing and painful. He snarled, uselessly, the feeling of his tongue on too dry lips nearly too much. He clenched and unclenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. The feeling of the carpet on the soles of his feet as he paced was agony and he couldn't stop moving and his wings were half spread because folded they touched each-other and that sensation made him want to scream. He didn't want to scream, didn't want to make a sound. Making a sound might signal weakness and he would not be weak.

Lucivar hardly knew what he was doing here. He wanted to be back in the training camps, with Eyrien warriors. Even as an outsider there, it was safer, cleaner than here…here the very air made his skin shiver, and the witches…

He didn't like to think about the witches.

The cloth rubbing on his skin was unbearable, like countless pinpricks wherever it touched his body. He vanished his shirt, surprised by the sheen of sweat he noticed on his skin. He shuddered at the whisper of wind from another room, his glazed golden eyes closing with that half ecstasy half agony feeling. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, prickling. He kept moving, the idea of stopping impossible.

What was wrong with him? Something was wrong. It must have been the water – he'd tasted something odd, but no poison he'd recognized. Rational thought was getting more difficult. He shuddered, the shiver running down his spine, goosebumps standing out on his arms, still slick with a sheen of sweat.

The door handle turned slowly and his neck cracked as he turned, moving automatically into a stance to attack. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. He stared at her, lips curling into a snarl, her psychic scent teasing his nostrils as they flared wildly. He swallowed, hard, feeling every muscle in his body tense.

She crossed to him. Lust surged in his belly, added fire, as she lifted a hand, touching his face. He twitched away, automatically, with a snarl and she seized his wrist. The pressure of her fingers made him arch his back and shudder. He clamped down on his tongue, refusing to scream despite the protest of his too sensitive nerves. Lucivar tried to pull away and found her dragging his head down and kissing him fiercely – less a kiss than an attack, her lips too hard and her tongue forcing its way into his mouth.

Startled, he had a moment's still shock before pain kicked in and he felt the pressure of her hand on his chest, stroking, fire following her touch. He yanked away, his eyes widening even as arousal settled in a knot in his abdomen. He didn't want this. Sex wasn't – new to him, but –

Another breeze blew against him. He sucked breath in quickly through his teeth and clenched his jaw, and it gave her the moment he needed.

She pushed him down, her hands moving greedily over his bare chest, straddling him. His wings crumpled ungracefully beneath him, he tried to move, to push her away, trying to ask what the hell she thought she was doing –

She had him halfway free of his pants, stripping him methodically. His skin shivered at her touch; he wanted to scream with the agony it caused him. He tried to move, feeling anger ripple under his skin.

Finished with his clothing, she toyed with him. He snarled, trying to get free. "Get" – he said uselessly, trying to push her off, but she didn't move, vanishing first the clothing above her waist. She caressed herself and he tried again to get free, but then she vanished the rest of her clothing and shifted and he knew one moment of panic before she sheathed herself on him.

Lust maddened him as he arched his back, seeking release in her body for his desire as she moved, panting, moaning. Pressure built in his head and his groin, agony and lust grating together. He could taste blood where he'd bitten his tongue. He tried to struggle, but his body seemed beyond his control, lost, too distant. His heartbeat was too loud in his ears, anger surging in a red haze over his vision, feeling her use him like this, knowing as the desire and lust grew worse and worse that there would be no release, just pain, he barely kept from screaming. His wings rubbed together, the sounds of her moans and pants too loud, her hands clenching on his shoulders painful, feeling as though they would bruise –

The rushing in his ears deafened all sound. Fury filled his mouth like bile and burst out of him in a roar, his body returning to life as he called in his Jewels and smashed into the witch's mind as she rode him, mindless for anything but her own gratification.

She had a moment to scream before he jerked away, wings flaring, holding her mind captive, Eyrien war blade in one hand, lust still raging through his body like fire.

He remembered nothing for a long time.

He opened his eyes, cold, shivering. He looked around himself, an odd, rusty smell in his nostrils. There was red on his hands, sticky and cold. Familiar. Why was it familiar?

He lifted his head slowly, ragged strands of hair falling in his face. He could taste something sour in his mouth. He ached all over. More of the red was on his chest, his arms. On the floor. It took him a moment longer to remember what it was.

Blood.

He stood up, shaking, and walked over to the bed. He tried to feel guilt, but he couldn't, not for this. All he could feel was cold.

He walked to the bathroom, washed. An hour later, he walked out, fully clothed, free, and left for the Eyrien camp.

A day later he was called back to Pruul. Two days later, he wore the Ring of Obedience.