Chapter 7: Closer
"Creating chaos just to prove we're alive
Demolition of a delicate kind
Midnight confessions keep on blurring the line
Say you're here on my side
Want you here on my side
You keep my heart under the cover of night
Could be the devil in a clever disguise
Temptation leads us, it's too late for goodbye
Say you're here on my side
Want you here on my side
Come undone with me" -State of Seduction, Digital Daggers
Ilyrana
Ilyrana finished rubbing lotion into her skin and began throwing on whatever clothes she could find in her bag that were clean and warm. A long-sleeved linen shirt, that may have once belonged to Valygar or Keldorn before they had unknowingly lent them to her, and an old pair of frayed pajama pants, probably the last of her wardrobe that wasn't sweat, blood, and dirt infused. In the morning, if they didn't have to depart immediately due to the mercenary army getting too close, she needed to do laundry, else spend the foreseeable future smelling like a kobold. Or "borrow" some from her sister. Who probably also didn't have much left that was clean.
Throwing her things into her bag, she turned and looked toward the camp, on the far side of the hot springs. She needed sleep. Having had very little the night before, and with another grueling day of ranging ahead of her, it would be foolish not to try and get some rest, not to mention dangerous. The chance that she would dream again, though, kept her from joining the others in slumber. Especially now that she knew Sarevok could share her dreams, and as horrible as the one he had already seen was, there were other kinds of dreams she did not want him privy to. Which meant, maybe it would be better to sleep while he was on watch? To reduce the risk of just that scenario… and add even more strain to her already incredibly difficult task of falling, and staying, asleep on a semi-nightly basis.
After pulling on a pair of boots and slipping a knife into each one, more out of habit than because she felt she would need them, Ilyrana decided to take a walk around their little hideaway. Maybe she'd go see who was watching the trail, not having checked with Keldorn earlier, who normally handled doling out those duties for her. For now, though, she was content to wander between the pools, watching the steam rising from each one, and letting the wind dry her finger-combed hair.
Unable to put off thinking about it anymore, she sighed and began replaying her conversation with Imoen. The guilt, and uneasiness, came back immediately. Pushing that aside, she focused on the possible reasons Imoen might have had for all but throwing her into verbal quicksand.
Her half-sister didn't know about her and Sarevok's trip down memory lane last night, so that obviously hadn't sparked it. Most of her and her half-brother's talks, however they started and regardless of the topic, usually ended in snarled warnings and hands clenched around weapons. Neither of them had drawn steel on the other, yet, but the possibility for violence was there in each interaction. Ilyrana didn't think it would come to that, though. He wasn't stupid, and he kept his temper on a much tighter leash now that he didn't have the taint goading him. No, if he did force a confrontation, it would be when her companions weren't close by to help, and when she was physically too weak to release the Slayer without risking death in the process.
Ilyrana tried to remember the specifics of her and Sarevok's previous conversations. One had been about her complete and total lack of desire to become a goddess, should she be the last bhaalspawn standing when this was all over. She had understood why her dearth of ambition would infuriate him, had even sympathized up to a point, considering she shrugged at the idea of Ascension when he had died trying to achieve it. He had made no effort, though, in trying to see why godhood held no appeal for her, why the enormity of that kind of responsibility was daunting, not enticing. Not to mention the obvious fact that divinity didn't always equal all-powerful, Bhaal wasn't the only god to die during the Time of Troubles, after all, and many of the gods were locked in eternal conflicts with one another, which did not sound like an enjoyable way to spend eternity.
Even when they agreed on something, like strategy, martial technique, or even just what direction to travel in, he had to throw in a scathing comment or cruel remark that seemed to negate the fact they could agree on anything in the first place.
She tried to avoid antagonizing him, he did enough of that for the both of them, but there were times that his barbed words hooked deep in her skin and she couldn't stop her temper from snapping, which was what he wanted.
Pride and anger had been big contributors to his downfall. There was a lesson to be learned there. Whether he had learned it remained to be seen, but Ilyrana struggled to take the lesson to heart just as well, as she too allowed her rage to direct her actions far too often, and moreso as time went on. As the taint grew steadily stronger with each passing of another bhaalspawn.
So, Ilyrana couldn't figure out why Imoen was so convinced there was something there between them. She had been honest when she told her sister that she had traded a piece of her soul for what he knew of the prophecy.
In the deepest recesses of her heart, though, that hadn't been the only reason. Ilyrana could never admit to Imoen that a small part of her, the half-starved, feral little girl, who would have followed a lonely, bronze-skinned boy anywhere and to any end, had yearned to bring Sarevok back. Had wanted to know if anything of the boy she once loved so fiercely had survived inside the man he had become. Even if finding out, regardless of the answer, would hurt.
Gods, what did it matter how Imoen had begun drawing these conclusions? She wasn't wrong. That's what was eating away at Ilyrana. That her sister wasn't just being perceptive, but, by confronting her about the personal nature of the hostility between her and Sarevok, it was forcing Ilyrana to reevaluate everything. Every single memory of her and Sarevok as children. Every single time she had wanted to stop fighting with him now, even as she wanted to keep that wall up between them. Valygar, damn his soul, had been right. It was so much easier holding onto the hate, because, if she let it go, what then? Hate was the comforting hearthfire burning inside her, capable of keeping her warm through whatever storm raged against her, and igniting into an inferno when she needed it.
Ilyrana had to acknowledge that this had all been bound to happen eventually. If Sarevok hadn't seen her dream the night before, he still would have ended up finding out about her swift departure from Baldur's Gate while wounded. Just as she would have eventually asked him when he got the memories back. It always circled back to those memories. They were the driving force behind the animosity in every look, every harsh word spoken between them, and what kept pulling them back to each other.
He had thought that Gorion's spell had worn off at the exact same time for both of them. Which made sense. So he obviously thought the memories hadn't mattered to her. Just as she had thought his returned long before then. He was older, stronger, why wouldn't his have come back sooner? Why would he have cared about them, or her, at all compared to becoming a god?
They both knew the truth now, though. That what happened hadn't been their fault. The taint, Gorion, the prophecy, all of it had manipulated them into fighting one another, into one of them killing the other. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't pretend that these past revelation s hadn't shaken her, that they meant nothing. She could lie to everyone else, with varying degrees of success, but not to herself. Which begged the question… What now?
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Ilyrana began circling back towards the dead tree in front of the pool she had bathed in, still not sure if she should try to sleep, pester whoever was on lookout, or keep blazing a trail of insomnia around the pools.
When she was just about to pass the tree, Ilyrana saw a shadow move out of the corner of her eye. Reacting by instinct, she slid the knife out of her right boot and struck out. A strong, calloused hand snatched her wrist and squeezed with enough force that her fingers opened on their own and the blade fell to the ground. As her other hand blurred toward her second dagger, she was pushed into the tree, with both hands now secured behind her back in one of Sarevok's.
"What the fuck, Sarevok?" Ilyrana snarled, as she realized who had her trapped against the tree, eyes glinting yellow in the moonlight as her panic gave way to fury.
"I could ask you the same, girl, for very nearly gutting me!" He snapped back, face only inches from hers, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his dark skin.
"Well, if you hadn't snuck up on me, I wouldn't have reacted that way!"
"I was trying to figure out why your things were lying here yet you were nowhere to be found!"
"I was out walking, not that it's any of your damn business!"
"It is my business when I'm on watch and you disappear. Who do you think they'll blame if something happened to you?"
Ilyrana didn't have an immediate response to that one. Instead, she focused on the tingling numbness spreading through her forearms as his hold on her began cutting off the circulation.
"You can let go of me now," she growled while vainly trying to wrest her wrists out of his grip, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was with her arms pinned at the small of her back, his body towering over her own, reminding her twice now in as many nights of just how much larger he was than her. His damned scent making it hard to concentrate, some mix of soap, leather, and just so male that it made her turn her head to the side as she tried to shake the effect it had on her.
He didn't let her go, though.
Sarevok
He had her at his mercy, her companions were all asleep or drowsily keeping watch, and she hadn't even attempted to bring the Slayer forth. All it would take is his free hand wrapped around her throat, or his own knife slid across it. A few seconds and his vengeance could be complete with no one the wiser until dawn, when he would be miles away by then.
She turned her head, eyes closed, and took a deep breath through her mouth, arms flexing beneath his hand in a futile attempt to get him to release her. Her hair fell across her face, that distractingly familiar smell of jasmine and orchids saturating the night air.
It took him a moment to realize that his arm, the one pressed against her waist to hold her hands behind her, had tightened against her, forcing her to arch up to him, so that her breasts brushed his chest. He brought his other arm up, hand resting against the bark just next to her hip, effectively caging her in.
This was madness. He had her right where he wanted her, but damn her if he couldn't stop his eyes from trailing over the slender curve of her bared neck, wondering how her skin would feel beneath his lips. Or wondering how that silken hair of hers would feel wrapped around his fist.
"Sarevok?" Ilyrana whispered, her voice sounding uncertain, wary… husky.
Hearing his name spoken like that made him clutch her closer, so that his mouth was now hovering just above her neck.
Ilyrana swallowed, her breaths coming faster, her lithe little body trembling against him.
"Why should I let you go?" He asked, his own breathing becoming ragged.
"Because I doubt you want the Slayer playing with your insides," she hissed, the threat falling flat when she still had her eyes closed, and her words rang with false bravado.
"If you think you're in danger from me, why isn't it doing so right now?" He replied, then raised his free hand to brush her hair behind a pointed ear, his fingers sliding beneath her chin to make her look up at him.
He needed to know why she hadn't changed, yet. As if knowing would also answer why he had no desire to kill her... and why he felt like he was drowning beneath the thoughts of her body beneath his, her cries in his ears, her nails in his back, his teeth at her throat, and his hands gripping her hips as he-
"Am I in danger, Sarevok?" She asked, suddenly opening her eyes, amber flickering like candlelight.
His hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck, tangling in her mane of hair, preventing her from looking away. He pressed her into the tree, the line of his body hard against hers, both of them panting, both of them fighting the magnetic pull between them.
"Yes, Rana, you are," he rasped, and his control snapped. Tightening his hold on her, with his own hold on sanity loosening, his mouth just inches from hers, Sarevok almost didn't hear the muffled shouts coming from the camp.
They froze, staring into each other's eyes, breathing unevenly. For a moment, neither moved. He became intensely aware of the feel of her against him, her slender frame and soft curves, that damned scent, sable hair brushing against the arm at her waist. Her eyes slid closed, shutting out their soft, smoldering glow, as she visibly struggled to regain some kind of composure. He wasn't confident that he could do the same.
He had no idea what she had done to him, to make him want her like this. She had killed him. It didn't fucking matter if she hadn't remembered their childhood when she struck him down. Didn't matter that she had mourned him, and that doing so had resulted in her being too weak to prevent her brutal rape and torture. Didn't matter that she had split her soul with him, only months after fighting her way through Hell to retrieve it from her tormentor.
Gods help him, it couldn't matter.
He released her. Taking a step back, then another, he felt a brief moment of bitter relief that her pull on him lessened with each foot of space he put between them. She kept her back against the tree, eyes fixed on him, expression unreadable as her breathing returned to normal.
"Ilyrana!"
Anomen. Crimson rage flooded his vision as the cleric called for her. Damned if he knew why.
"Coming." Ilyrana called back, still watching him, her voice pitched just high enough to carry.
Leave. Now. He commanded himself. Not just walk away, but go entirely. Away from here. Away from her. Put as much distance between them as he could. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to stop next time. Next time? He was already planning on getting her alone again? On finishing what he had been a breath away from starting?
LEAVE. NOW.
"Ilyrana! Mercenaries coming up the path!"
Too late.
Ilyrana shoved off from the tree, retrieved her knife, and her bag beside the pool, before she disappeared into the shadows, heading towards the camp.
He followed. There was nothing else he could do, and those mercenaries lay between him and freedom from her. He relished the thought of a fight, needing to lose himself in the chaos of battle. When it was over, when his blood lust was sated, he would go. He would let her live, as recompense for the half of her soul she had given him. She was going to die eventually anyway. Her nine lives had to be almost spent.
Sarevok told himself that he was leaving before she could realize the power she wielded over him. A power he was only just now learning of. It was different from the sway she held over him when they were children. He had wanted to hold her, protect her, cherish her. Their bond had been powerful, but innocent.
There was nothing innocent about what he wanted to do to her now.
