A/N:

Dark Heresy has taught me that if you give a moose a cookie, it's going to hunt down a flamethrower to burn the neighbor's barn down. Seriously. I give my party a list of locations they can go to in this city to investigate a cartel. Option 3 is an office building. Their plan? Set the building on fire (with psychic), rush in, steal security uniforms, and kidnap the head of the cartel on the planet. And they were dead set on this plan for a full month (realtime), 4 game sessions. There may or may not have been an attempted raid on a gang's greenhouse to steal drugs in the process, in which a Perils of the Warp ruined all the drugs in said greenhouse, and the psychotic, body-snatching pryo-psyker multiple times at making a guard spontaneously combust. People these days...

On to the real reason y'all are here:

89- You've got me hooked on the idea of Eldar-meets-Astronomicon. Now I have to find a way to make it work. Grr. Expect eventual PM's about that.
Disciple of Ember- I promise you, there will be no Tyranids involved. As much as I enjoy the idea of Tyranids, I haven't found a single 40k 'nid book that I've really enjoyed. Because it all boils down to: there's a metric crapton of 'nids and they don't stop coming except for when they all magically disappear for plot development. On a different note, good luck with guessing my author's notes. Dark Heresy is like 40k on LSD, or so I am learning.
tomba- that review made me laugh really hard.
Roku- Shh... spoilers.

As I promised, the long-awaited "next step" in Louk's relationship with the Eldar. Be warned, this scene is a solid 'M' and not quite what y'all are expecting.


The Hound's Call

"What do you mean, she's all mine?"

"I mean exactly that," Mullison replied, not looking up from his datapad. "Her body has healed to the point where my tools are no longer needed. The remainder of her recovery is up to her. From now on, you will be the sole observer and medical advisor."

"Medical advisor, huh? So what the feck am I doing with that?"

"Mostly, I need you to report any sudden changes in her state." The medicae fished a scanner out of his pack and handed it over. "Check her every day with this to monitor her status. There should be little to note. Her fractures are knit, internal bruising and bleeding healed. As long as she takes it easy, she should be fine in a week."

"That's some pretty fast healing" Louk muttered, inspecting the scanner. "Not been nearly long enough to fix all of that naturally."

"Says that man who bounces back from wounds like he's made of rubber." Mullison shrugged. "Helsing's guess is that her own sorcery is accelerating her recovery. That being said, if there is sorcery involved, you should keep an extra careful eye on her."

Louk grimaced. He had considered advising Helsing of the witch's powers, but that small voice in his head had argued against it. Helsing knew she was a witch. It wasn't as if it was any surprise. Her holding cell was supposed to entirely suppress her powers, or so Helsing had told him. Maybe the Inquisitor had exaggerated a bit, or perhaps the witch was truly that powerful. Either way, he held that news close to the chest. Information was a precious commodity. He had learned that much from following Helsing.

"So I scan her with this then bring it to you?"

"Nothing that hard. I had a cogitator installed in her room. Scan her, then socket it into the cogitator. It will automatically upload the results to my lab."

"Easy as that?"

"I am sure you will find a way to screw it up. Just don't break my scanner."


The witch eyed the scanner warily, her disapproval showing. Louk had explained it all to her but she clearly did not like the idea. There was some measure of privacy allowed by the various machines Mullison had used. Those were impersonal. This was very personal. It did not surprise him that she found the idea of being body-scanned distasteful. Hell, if he told any human woman that, she'd probably slap him. Comparatively, the Eldar was taking it rather well.

He let her finish eating, watching in idle fascination as she picked at the meager portion of greens and protein that Helsing had ordered as their diet. Louk at first had been sure that Helsing had been mad when he saw their meals. No one could live off so little as he provided. To his immense surprise, the Eldar did not complain. They seemed to approve of the selection. The witch was no different. She ate precisely everything on the platter, leaving no leftovers but not asking for more either. Odd, that.

When she finished she set her platter down on the stand beside her bed and rose. Louk glanced away, feeling a hint of self-consciousness as her robe parted for a brief instant to reveal the smooth, scarred thigh of her leg. The witch spent a moment fussing with the belt, then looked up to him in disgruntled anticipation.

"It'll only take a minute" Louk assured her, rising from his chair. He approached her cautiously, not liking the scowl that played beneath her grimace. "Just a quick sweep and you'll be good to go."

He stopped at arm's length, waiting for her to give final approval. The last thing he wanted to do was move too quickly. She had that coiled posture of a predator ready to spring. One wrong move and they'd be wiping his guts off the bulkheads.

"Are you okay with this?"

She glanced at the scanner a final time, then looked into his eyes and nodded. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Louk hit the button to activate the scanner. He took the last step forward to close the gap between them…

And promptly jerked backwards as the witch shrugged out of her robe and let the garment fall to the ground. She stood nude before him, hands at her sides, waiting for him to begin. Louk froze, his mind screeching to a halt. He forgot about the scanner in his hand. He forgot about his charge to watch over the Eldar and ensure their security. He forgot about everything.

He remembered his first thoughts, when he had encountered this creature on the operating table in the basement of the bunker. He remembered the face of an Angel, wracked with pain and agony so fierce that it nearly broke his heart. He remembered the horrific cuts and wounds that covered her from head to toe.

It was all gone. The scars were nearly all vanished, those remaining being little more than soft pink lines tracing along her impossibly smooth skin. Her shattered arms, now encased in hardened casts, moved on their own accord. It was as if it had happened a dozen years ago, so far off in memory that he had to strain to recall it. The creature that stood before him now could not be the same one.

Good Throne above, what a creature she was. Her body was heavenly, a glimpse of perfection so alluring and haunting that Louk felt the blood rushing to his skull. From her muscular, elegantly curved, calves to her slim waist, there was not a true blemish on her. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, gleaming in the light like fire danced among her locks. Her forbidding, terrible scowl revealed the harsh beauty of her lips, the shadow of dimples teasing her cheeks. That was a face that Louk could never forget. It was fierce and terrible, but so inhumanly beautiful as well.

He realized that he was staring. His eyes were caressing her slim form, drinking in the delicate strength in her arms, the coiled power in her calves. Her hips were powerful, filled with untapped energy, a valley leading down to a hairless treasure. A pair of firm, pink-capped peaks overshadowed her womanhood, rising and falling to the tune of the witch's breath. The stone he had given her hung between her breasts, glittering far more brilliantly now than it had before. Her whole body glowed, radiating a liveliness and strength that weakened Louk's knees. A more beautiful fey had never existed before this creature in front of him.

Louk turned away, unable to muster the strength to tear his gaze back. He took a deep breath, eyes closed for fear he might be again ensnared by the witch's charm. An aching in his chest beat relentlessly, pounding so hard that it hurt. It took him several moments to realize that the painful throbbing was his heart beating so quickly that it hurt.

"You… I… you can leave the robe on" he said, his words straining through a thickened throat that resisted his thoughts. His palms tingled as the images of her body fluttered through his vision. Throne's Mercy, he had never been hit like this before. Not by any woman in his life, and there had been quite a few. He did not know what to think, or what to say. More than anything, he wanted to leave the room and find a quiet place to collect his thoughts. What the hell was wrong with him?

His ears burned as the faint rustle of silk scraping against skin reached his ears. He waited, giving her time, praying to the God-Emperor himself that she would be clothed when he turned around. He feared what would come over him if she was not. Damn it! A xenos. A xenos witch, he reminded himself. Xenos. Forbidden. Enemy. Enemy. ENEMY. ENEMY!

The witch regained her robe, and stood waiting for him with an expression that had hardly changed. There was a hint of less irritation, and he understood why she had been so disapproving in the first place. Louk grimaced. Of course. He had been so worried about explaining the scanner he had forgotten to tell her that it required little more than a quick pass over her body, nothing so thorough as what she had believed it to be. He could not meet her gaze. Her eyes held no accusation, but they were so terrifyingly righteous that Louk averted his eyes. For a heartbeat his attention lingered on the cut of her robe, how the hem pulled back enough to show a subtle hint of the beautiful flesh that hid underneath. All too aware that the witch was studying him, and that such thoughts were damnation, Louk chose to study the wall past her as he went on with the scan.

The silence between them was unbearable. He was used to the witch being silent; it came with having her tongue cut out after all. But something about the intensity of the moment made it much worse. He wished she would say something. He wished she could call him a mongrel. Her silence took his guilt and twisted it in his gut like a serrated knife.

The scanner beeped when it finished, and he retreated to the far side of the room. Setting the device in its holster, he mimicked the series of commands that Mullison had shown him to send off the information. When he finished, he stood facing the wall. He did not want to turn around. He did not want to face the witch again.

The quiet rap of knuckles on the room's small side hatch alerted him that she desired his attention. Louk turned slowly, his gaze clinging to the wall, dragging unwillingly towards the witch for fear of what he might see.

She stood by the hatch that led to the washroom. Lifting a hand, she let it fall along the length of her body, then tipped her head to the door. Louk understood, and he braced against the thoughts that sprang unbidden to his mind. Mullison had also made it clear that the witch was mobile enough to clean herself on her own. Louk had standing orders to assist as needed, of course. But she no longer needed to be scrubbed down by a medical servitor.

Slipping around the witch, keeping as much distance between them as he could, Louk keyed in the code to open the hatch. The witch nodded her gratitude and stepped inside, pausing to turn and see if he would accompany her. Louk wanted nothing more than to leave, but she gave him that expectant arched eyebrow that indicated she desired his aid. Swallowing the nervous tingling in his stomach, Louk stepped inside.

The washroom had not been used yet, but Mullison had made sure it was well-stocked. An ordered pile of towels beside the shower, changes of robes hanging from a bar beside them. Mullison had even prepared a scented liquid soap for her use, though Louk doubted the Eldar would use it. She inspected the supplies critically, betraying no hint of her thoughts. Approaching the towels, she ran her fingers over it, tested its texture. It met her approval, and she stepped into the shower. Louk half-expected her to bathe with her robe on. Then, with a sudden surge of alarm, he realized she was reaching for her belt again. He spun on his heel, closing his eyes, fighting against the unwelcome fire that simmered in his belly at the sight of her exposed skin. Her robe landed on his shoulder and the water in the shower turned on.

Her robe carried her scent. Louk took it and set it on the small counter that held a mirror. He risked a glance into the mirror, his baser desire overcoming his senses, grasping for even a glimpse of that beauty that had revealed itself just minutes ago. He was rewarded with the sight of her bare back, distorted by the glass of the shower and the water pouring over her. Here the scars were more visible, though they too had by and large faded away. She was regaining weight as well, he noted. He could still trace the outline of her ribs, but they were less pronounced than when he had first met her. A warmth seeped into his chest. He was glad that she was recovering. Xenos or not, she had not deserved to suffer as she had.

His gaze lingered, feeling secure in the knowledge that she was not aware of him and that he saw nothing to raise alarm. From behind, her beauty was not nearly so devastating. Truly, she was a wondrous creature. The grace of her form defied the most well-trained dancer. The musculature in her frame was unarguably feminine. The fire in her breathtakingly blue eyes held him surer than the most precious gem. She was so alien, so inhuman. There was nothing natural about her, and yet everything was so perfectly human. So different from Mouline. He could not help but compare their scars. Mouline had not been a beauty, not by anyone's standards. Her eyes were too wide apart, her face heavily freckled. Her body had developed poorly, plagued by sickness and malnourishment to the point where her entire frame was uneven. One arm slightly longer than the other, her waist painfully skinny whereas her hips were awkwardly wide. Less a few teeth from the rot and fights. Scarred from whips and beatings she had received at the hands of merciless men.

She had been beautiful to Louk. Only to Louk. Mouline had been Louk's savior, his protector and his best friend. Where others saw only a wretched street orphan, a ravaged half-corpse that begged for food and abased herself for the simplest aid, Louk saw the strength of her mind, the incorruptibility of her spirit. The unquenchable fire in her eyes.

Eyes. Oh shit, the witch was looking back at him. Louk averted his gaze so quickly that he slammed his hip into the counter. A violent curse tore out of his lungs, leaving him doubly embarrassed and ashamed. The water cut off. The shower door opened.

He heard the soft squelch of the witch's feet on the floor. He felt the growing heat as she stretched out her power and touched his mind. Afraid, he lifted the barriers that Helsing had trained him on. The witch's anger flared, she smashed into his defenses and cast them aside with enough force that he stumbled to his knees.

The sheer power of her displeasure made him weep. Her disgust shrivelled his soul and raised bile in his throat. A mind-numbing red clouded his thoughts, tore through his memory and collected the images of her body together. She ripped them out, wrenched them free of his mind with little regard for the pain it caused him. Her message did not need words to be conveyed.

How dare he look upon her. How dare a filthy, worthless, soulless Monkeigh hold her in his thoughts. He did not deserve to dwell upon her. She is Eldar, the Ancient Race. She walked the stars when he was without form and his ancestors had yet to meet. His insolence was unforgivable.

He was vaguely aware that he was sobbing, retching so hard that he could not breathe. The shattering pain in his mind. Drove out all other sensation. The witch was brutal, furious in her anger. She flayed the images from him without precision, without care, without mercy. One by one, she wiped them from his mind. Her anger only grew with each memory, each image of her naked form. He was certain that her fury was going to kill him.

The suffocating tide of red battered aside the feeble, desperate defense he tried to raise to protect himself. She flooded the corridors of his mind, unsatisfied. Helpless to stop her, he clung to the only memory that mattered. He summoned just enough energy to find Mouline and bury her as deep in his psyche as he could.

The witch sensed his pathetic attempt and charged in after him. A stinging pain lanced through his veins, accompanied by the awesome power of her mind as she caught him in a vice and pried his mind open. Her eagerness to discover what he hid made the red glow so bright that Louk could see it reflecting in the room around them. A bloody darkness pulsated around them, saturating the washroom in hellish colors.

Louk screamed impotently, unable to stop her as the witch closed around the memory of Mouline. Her power ensnared it, coiled around it, ready to snuff it from his mind like a man might snuff a spider on the floor. She summoned Mouline's face out of the miasma of his thoughts and-

She hesitated. The witch's anger froze, halted midflow like a flash-freeze storm on Valhalla. The witch studied Mouline's face, turned it this way and that, regarded it in puzzlement. A firm, grasping shadow delved into the mass of memory and drew out another picture, this one of Mouline winding a length of cable into a dirty tiara that she placed in her hair as she and Louk celebrated the arbitrary day they called her day of birth. Again, she reached into his memories and found a more recent image. The last image, the one that haunted Louk's dreams.

Mouline's beaten, bloodied face. The crack of the whip opening her tanned and cracked flesh. The agony in her eyes, the screams on her lips. The desperate cries for help from a savior that stood just a dozen feet away, but was unable to lift a hand in her defense.

The witch's anger faded, red seeping away into a melancholy blue. She turned the image around, looked into Mouline's eyes, saw Louk standing there, the terrible pain wracking his psyche, hidden from the naked eye but all too visible for a psyker to see. The witch reached out and touched that pain, opened it up like a blossoming flower. Louk whimpered beneath her, curling up into a ball as a torrent of agony washed through his emotions. He felt every second of that grief, every day of regret, every moment that he wished he had leapt down onto the floor of the Chophouse and cut her free of the bindings that held her. He would have been dead, then. He would not have had to live with this hell that followed him.

Her presence receded from his mind, releasing her hold on him. He did not remember what he had done that caused her so much anger. His mind ached in a way he had never felt before. Violation, and terrible emptiness echoed through his thoughts. He slowly became away that he was lying in a pool of his own vomit.

The witch stood over him, an unreadable expression on her face. Slowly, she lifted one hand and gazed at her own arm. Her eyes flicked across it, taking in the sight of the faded scars, and a glimmer of shock teased at the corners of her eyes. Stepping away, she gazed down at him. He flinched, terrified that she might do something else to him.

"Get… away from... me" he gasped, his vision blurring through his own tears. "You fecking… bitch."

Stumbling to his feet, he staggered out of the washroom and into her chamber. His throat burned and he felt like he was walking on a seaship's deck in the middle of a hurricane. Landing heavily against the outer hatch, he pressed his forehead against the cold metal and took several labored breaths. It was minutes before he stopped crying, before his body stopped shaking. The witch reentered the room at some point, clothed and dripping wet from the shower. She stood beside the hatch, watching him silently. Her arrogance was gone, replaced by an uncertainty that did not sit well with her. She appeared as if she wanted to speak. Of course, she couldn't. So she remained where she stood, waiting.

When he finally regained his composure, Louk left the room. He needed to have a talk with Helsing.