A/N: This was originally part of a longer Dark AU story that is destined to be unfinished. Trigger warnings for non-con/dub-con below. Read at your own risk.
A chill wind stirred the starless night, and Isis shivered. When the attack had come, she'd been wearing only her nightgown, and she wore it still, a simple sheath held up by thin straps and falling only a little past her knees. Usually, the way the fine, translucent linen clung softly to her body felt luxurious, but now, under the dark, devouring gaze of the thief who had brought the kingdom to its knees, she felt all but naked.
She shifted, but succeeded only in pulling the bonds around her wrists tighter. They felt like strips of linen, not rope, but they still bit when they dug into her flesh. There was no slack to give her a hope of getting loose. Not that she could escape with this man standing in front of her. She had no doubt that he would kill her first.
"Do you know who I am?" His first words to her, although she had heard his voice before. It was a little lower than she remembered, resonant with confidence and a touch of smug amusement. The battle was won now, after all.
She spat. "You are a thief, and a stealer of souls."
He smiled, a real one that went all the way to his eyes—albeit one so utterly joyless it left her chilled. "A stealer of thrones, you mean. I don't bother to keep the souls. Whatever would I do with them?"
A shiver ran down her spine. She would much rather picture this man—if he was truly human—sitting on the golden throne of the audience chamber than let her mind drift back to Karim's face as he let the last of his life energy pour into her. Her throat ached with unshed tears. She'd lost so many who had stood beside her… Shimon…Shada… the young Pharaoh… Mahad… So much death, so much loss. He'd taken them all from her, taken the peace and prosperity of the land she loved, taken her very freedom.
She swallowed. As she knew all too well, before the end, he would take even more.
"What do you want with me?" Her voice was surprisingly even.
His gaze lingered over her, as if considering. "They tell me that you can see the future."
She was aware of the cold weight of the Necklace against her throat. "That is the ability of my Millennium Item." There was no point in pretending he did not understand the source of her power. Her eyes strayed to the golden outline of the Ring, half-visible under the loose red-striped robes he wore over his linen kilt.
"And the Item answers to you." It was not a question, nor, did she think, it was particularly directed at her. His eyes had fallen to the Necklace, as if he was pondering whether or not to rip it from her throat and attempt to wield it himself.
"Yes, it answers to me."
A feral grin split his features. "And if I kill you?"
"Then you would be floundering in a sea of time, with no one to teach you to sail it," she replied calmly. "But you will not kill me."
His grin widened a fraction. "Won't I?" He stepped closer, his eyes locking on hers. "Tell me why not."
She did not flinch away from his gaze. "I have foreseen it."
He reached out a hand to touch the Necklace, fingers brushing her skin as he did so. "You have foreseen it?" He was too close for her to see his expression, but there was a mocking tone to his voice. "As you foresaw my defeat of your precious Pharaoh?"
She swallowed hard. This was painful to admit. "Yes." She closed her eyes, and the images swam before her again.
He dropped his hand and took a step back, regarding her speculatively. A question flickered uncertainly in his eyes for an instant, and then died. The answer was disbelief, drenched in contempt.
A smile curved his thin, cruel lips. "Tell me, priestess," he said, his voice dripping mockery, "did you foresee this?" His fingers tilted her chin up as his mouth descended on hers. It was a conqueror's kiss, hard and triumphant, a show of possession rather than passion. Still, the taste of him lingered on her lips as he lifted his head, and she found it unsettling.
"Yes," she whispered, because it was the truth. She had seen it, and much more, in the dreams that haunted her since the death of the old pharaoh.
The self-satisfied smirk slipped just a little from his lips, and now it was his turn to be unsettled. A white eyebrow quirked in wordless inquiry, but she said no more. This irritated him, she could tell. His fingers skimmed down the point of her chin along the column of her throat, pausing in the dip of her clavicle. "Really?" His tone still suggested amused skepticism, but there was an edge to it there hadn't been before. "And did you also foresee this?" His dark eyes dug into hers as his fingers moved lower, to the neckline of her gown, and pushed the thin fabric away.
She couldn't quite stop the sharp rush of breath when he bared her breast, but she made no other sound, even as he cupped her breast in his hand. His eyes fell from hers to devour the sight of her. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted blood as he lazily traced the dark circle of her areola with a fingertip. Then, he caught her nipple between two fingers, tugging at it to make it hard. She felt a flicker of pain, but it was overwhelmed by the dark surge of lust that might have knocked her off guard if she hadn't been prepared for it.
A slight frown creased his expression. He glanced up at her. "Did your visions show you how you are going to moan and scream for me?" The frown turned to an ugly leer. "How you are going to beg for my cock inside your body?"
She did not answer. He pinched her nipple, hard enough to draw a gasp of true pain. He smiled, then lowered his head. His hot, wet tongue lapped at her skin, and her whole body jerked. His tongue swirled around the base of her pebbled nipple and an unwilling moan forced its way out of her mouth.
He chuckled, his breath chilling her moistened flesh, and all she could think for a second was that he needed to be using his mouth for other things.
As if reading her thoughts, he licked her again, and again, receiving another moan as his reward. Then, he drew her nipple into his mouth, lightly pulling on it with his teeth. This time, her cry was mingled pain and pleasure, which seemed to please him even more. He swirled his tongue over the taut flesh once, as if to soothe it, then sucked hard. Pleasure shuddered through her. The bonds on her wrists dug into her skin as she jerked, and somehow the pain that immediately followed did not lessen the lust swirling at her core.
"Look at you," he laughed, "the Pharaoh's faithful priestess, so easily reduced to a cat in heat." She growled, because she wanted that mouth on her still, making her feel those wonderful and terrible sensations.
He reached out and cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to his. She thought he might kiss her again, but then, without warning, his other hand slid up her thigh through the slit in her gown. His fingers tightened on her face, gripping her into place so his eyes could drink in every detail of her expression as he touched her there, fingers teasing for only the briefest seconds before invading her.
Fierce jabs of pleasure shot through her core. She would have closed her eyes against the sensation, but his eyes dug into hers, and she could not look away. She struggled to keep her face as smooth and passionless as a statue, but it was not a struggle she could win. Her breath hitched as his fingers worked inside her. Harder. Faster. The pleasure was coming in waves, now, vibrating through her body as if she was a gong that had been struck. Harder. Faster.
Her vision was going a little blurry on the edges. The Necklace on her throat felt too heavy, too hot. It scorched her skin as the white light she knew too well blazed forth, swallowing her even as a last blow of pleasure throbbed through her.
The room is dark, save for a few flickering torches, but she recognizes the Pharaoh's private council room. It is the Thief who sits on the carved ebony chair that belongs to the Pharaoh, the royal cobra half-hidden by the waves of moon-white hair that fall over his forehead. He is not alone. A solidly-built man, dark-skinned with muscular arms, stands by his shoulder. His face strikes her as familiar, but she does not know his name. There are others, sitting in the chairs. She feels their presence, but their faces are shadowed to her. They are speaking on urgent matters, she knows this, but their words and voices are so much incomprehensible noise.
"And if we take this course," the Thief says, his words cutting through the noise and silencing the others, "then what will the future hold?"
A woman steps forward in the torchlight, and with the familiar shock of both recognition and disassociation, Isis knew her for herself. Her fine gown is low-cut, and the Necklace gleams around her throat. "What do you wish from me, my Pharaoh?"
The light faded as, slowly, she came back to the present. The Thief was staring at her. Both hatred and lust were gone from his face. He looked… disturbed, confused, and a little in awe.
Why was he staring? She hadn't seen this, didn't know what it was. Irritation prickled through her, mingling with exhaustion and shame. Hadn't she been through enough at his hands? Wouldn't she go through enough before this was all over? "What is it that you want from me?"
He startled, but recovered quickly, covering it with a smirk. "Perhaps I haven't decided yet, Priestess." With glistening fingers, he caressed her breast once more, then tugged the strap of her gown back into place, covering her once more. "But I think I will find uses enough for you."