At the Bottom of This Chapter:

Author's Note
Concerning the Chapter Title

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Author's Note: what can I say? I like angst, danger, and psychological torture. That's one of the reasons I like Heath Ledger's portrayal of the Joker. So this is a darker side of LA that most people don't see much anymore. It's still at the same sexual rating as the original Once, just so we're clear, and the violence level is the same. It's just that there's less "light at the end of the tunnel," as it were. Dylan's stuck with Eamonn... for at least a few days. And we know our favorite little psycho can come up with a lot of stuff to do to her in that time. But he's got a special plan in mind for her, so I hope you enjoy the chapter.

- LA

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Chapter Two
Red Under the Moon

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Nuada bit back a groan as a faint imitation of sleep slipped away, leaving him awash in red-hot pain that spilled over him in brutal waves. He pressed his face into his pillow for a moment, simply allowing the pain to come, allowing his body to grow accustomed to it again. After two days of magical healing in his underground sanctuary, the raw wounds across his back no longer screamed at the slightest movement. He'd finally slept for a few hours before being dragged back to wakefulness by his stripes.

"Still can't do much," Wink rumbled from his chair beside the fireplace. Nuada didn't acknowledge his vassal's words. This was an argument they'd been having since the Elven prince had managed to stagger out of the king's hall with blood dripping like rain down his back and shoulders three nights prior. It was early Saturday morning now, in the first hours of the day of Samhain, and the prince wanted to be up and about. Wanted to go check on Dylan.

Eamonn hadn't said a word about her at the trial. Nuada had expected taunts, threats. At least insults to Dylan's virtue. There'd been nothing. The Elven warrior didn't trust that. Instinct told him that Eamonn wasn't finished with whatever assault he meant to lay against the prince. Could that also mean hurting Dylan?

"You're no good to anyone half-dead," the troll added, as if reading Nuada's mind. "You can barely walk. You need to remain here until you've healed, my prince."

The prince finally spoke. "I could bring her here, where it is safe."

Wink sighed. "And put yourself in the exact same situation that led to your flogging in the first place? The mortal will be fine for a few days, Nuada. If you go to her, especially now, you could be walking right into a trap. Another chance for Eamonn to blackmail or entrap you."

Nuada sighed and shifted his weight. Sparks of pain nipped across his shoulders and waist, burned along his spine. Wink was right—he was in no shape to protect Dylan if Eamonn made a move for her. But Eamonn probably wouldn't unless Nuada showed renewed or unabated interest in the human woman. He would have to wait until he'd recovered more fully to check on the mortal to whom he owed a debt.

Stay out of danger, Dylan, Nuada thought, trying to relax into the pain so it could fade all the more quickly. Wait for me.

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Strong, careless fingers pulled sharply on her hair and Dylan gasped. Eamonn tightened his grip on the delicate human wrist until the bones ground together and tears welled up in her eyes. He crowded her against the entryway wall, pinning her with the weight of his body. He let go of her hair and grasped her chin.

"Well, now, sweetness. I'm actually starting to see the appeal." His thumb ran slowly across her bottom lip. She tried to bite him. Eamonn smirked. "Now, now. Bad girl." He slapped her hard enough to make her see stars. She tasted blood and spat in his face. Eamonn slapped her again. "Listen to me, little human whore. I can make this somewhat pleasant for you, or I can make you suffer pain like you've never dreamed of in your darkest nightmares. I know all sorts of interesting ways to hurt you. I even know a few ways to make you enjoy it. If you behave," he added with a snarl, "I'll let you live after I kill Silverlance. Behave."

"I would rather drop dead," Dylan hissed.

Eamonn jerked her chin up, forcing her head back against the stone wall. His thumb pressed hard against the top of her throat and she tried to gasp for air. Found she could barely manage it.

"You should take more careful with what you say," the Elf whispered. "I just might oblige you." He eased the pressure on Dylan's throat. She sucked in a breath that threatened to choke her. "Now, then. I suppose, being human, you wish to defy me. Run away? Fight back, perhaps." He smiled indulgently. "If it will make you more biddable in bed, then by all means, try to fight me now. Try to run." The silver-eyed Elf stepped back, freeing her completely. "Go on. I'll even give you a head-start."

Dylan stared at him. Was this a trick? A joke?

"Start running, sweetness," Eamonn murmured. "I promise I'll enjoy chasing y—"

She bolted for the kitchen. Her bad knee slowed her down, but she made it to the kitchen drawer that held her good cooking knives without Eamonn catching her. With shaking hands, she yanked the drawer open. The long butcher knife slid from its place in the knife-rack with the soft sigh of stainless steel against polished wood.

Dylan turned, the knife in one hand, and yelped in sick surprise when she nearly ran into Eamonn. Gripping the knife, she stabbed at him.

He caught her wrist easily and plucked the butcher knife from her fingers. "Hmmm. Your first thought was to kill me, not to beg or run. I am reluctantly impressed. Was that what Silverlance first saw in you? Your fighting spirit?"

The tip of the knife touched Dylan's collarbone where it pressed against her delicate skin just above the half-open lapel of her bathrobe. Moonlit blue eyes widened. "It seems such a shame to get blood on whatever you're wearing beneath this robe." The knife whispered across her skin to slip beneath the robe's lapel. A flick of Eamonn's wrist flipped the lapel open to reveal black silk covering one of Dylan's shoulders. "Oh, that's lovely." He drew the blade back across to the other lapel and flipped that back. Cool steel grazed more skin as the knife eased down to the swell of one breast, over the wide white scar above her heart. "Just how many scars do you have, human?"

"None of your business," she whispered.

Eamonn smiled. Dylan swallowed and tried to yank back from him. The knife scratched her, drawing a tiny line of blood. She half-flinched instinctively.

"Oh, dear," the Elf murmured. Dylan's eyes snapped to his face. That otherworldly silver gaze was fixed on the cut. Eamonn's nostrils flared. "You've gone and hurt yourself. Poor girl."

Before she could react, he leaned down and ran the tip of his tongue over the wound. Dylan jerked back with a sound of disgust. He tightened his grip on her wrist and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. Dylan immediately stomped on his foot. He grunted. Balling her hand into a fist, she punched him in the jaw. The impact dislocated one of her fingers. Pain flooded through her hand in a red-hot wave. She yelped and pulled her hand against her chest, sucking in a shuddering breath, biting back a whimper.

"Got it out of your system yet?" Eamonn asked in a voice that was mocking in its gentleness. "Or do you want to play some more?"

She tried to ram her knee into his groin. He let her go and she lost her balance, staggering back and tumbling to the cool tile floor of the kitchen. Her head cracked against the tile. Brilliant lights exploded across her vision. In an eye-blink, Eamonn straddled her waist, pinning her hands against the tile in a bruising grip. Dylan swallowed nausea as she realized the situation was exciting the dark Elf.

"I'm curious—how long do you plan to fight me?"

"Get off me!" She yelled. She didn't bother screaming for help; no one would hear her through the thick, stone walls of the cottage unless they happened to be on her property, and the psychiatrist doubted anyone would do that. She didn't often get visitors. So she simply bucked against Eamonn and cried, "Get off!"

He sighed. "If I attempt to kiss you, you're going to bite me, aren't you?" When she wriggled, trying to escape, he shackled both wrists with one hand and grabbed something off the floor by his knee. The dim lights of the kitchen turned the silvery blade of the butcher knife a dull orange when Eamonn touched it to the corner of Dylan's eye. She froze. Eamonn smiled. "That's a girl." He drew the point of the blade lovingly over the curve of her cheek, never breaking the skin. "I would imagine whoever cut up your face before left quite an impression on you. You're afraid of being cut like that again, aren't you?" Icy steel kissed the corner of Dylan's mouth. Cold sweat chilled her skin as those silver eyes studied her almost dispassionately. "You remember what it felt like…don't you? The burn of the knife cutting into your skin; the stinging scent of blood; the hot copper of it in your mouth; that animal fear in your belly; you remember it all."

Dylan squeezed her eyes shut as terror pulsed through her, sick and icy hot, strangling her. She wouldn't beg. She would not beg. She only clenched her teeth as Eamonn traced the shape of her mouth with the point of the knife.

"Not a whimper out of you," Eamonn whispered. The knife grazed the fullness of her bottom lip. "I am impressed. You're like one of Silverlance's thoroughbreds—strong, spirited, defiant. I've heard he refuses to break them of that fighting spirit. I should warn you, I have no such compunctions." He shifted his weight, and she felt the heat of his breath on her mouth, so at odds with the icy touch of the blade on her skin. Pain throbbed through her jaw as she gritted her teeth even harder. "But I must confess, you fascinate me. Why don't you beg? Attempt to bargain with me? Do you think Silverlance will come and save you? Is that it?"

She wouldn't speak, she vowed. Wouldn't give him anything. Nothing.

"He's not coming anytime soon," Eamonn said. "I made sure of that." Dylan's eyes flashed open. He chuckled at the frantic dread in the depths of her gaze. Relished the way the breath stuttered in her chest. "Oh, you sweet, innocent little thing. Do you honestly think I'd come here if I thought he could stop me? No, no, no."

Hating herself, she whispered brokenly, "Is he…is he dead? Did you kill him?"

Eamonn's laugh slid over her like a violating caress. "No. Where is the fun in simply killing him? No, he's merely wounded at the moment. He'll be well enough in a week or two, though I expect him sooner than that. He won't be able to resist coming here. But that still gives us plenty of time to become acquainted with each other. He'll come for you eventually, of course, and when he does…well. I'll have a problem: whether to kill him and keep you, or kill you in front of him before putting an end to him. I'll admit, the thought of his expression when Silverlance catches me using his whore pleases me greatly."

"You can't win in a fight against him," Dylan said. Every word vibrated with confidence and anger. "He'll kill you."

"No, sweetness. He'll be too distracted trying to save you. Now…" He lightly scraped the edge of her jaw with the knife, drawing a few drops of blood. She jerked and made a small, frightened sound. "Shall I take you here like a common kitchen slut, or would you prefer a bed?"

She swallowed back the scream trying to shove past her clenched teeth. "If you have sex with me, isn't that just as bad as what Nuada supposedly did?"

The Elf shook his head. "He made the mistake of falling in love with you. I was mildly annoyed with him when I found out he was rutting with a human, but a man has needs. If he truly couldn't find a suitable whore for his purposes, I could overlook turning to such a source for a bit of relief. I was simply going to kill you and have done with it; rid him of the distraction, as it were. But no. Instead he kills my servant for you. He's lost his heart to you. One of the enemy. That is something I never need to fear. You have your…qualities, but love?" Eamonn's smile was gentle and condescending as he said, "That would be like falling in love with an ill-bred dog."

Dylan spat in his face. He instinctively turned, and the gob of saliva struck his cheek. Eamonn closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He wiped the spit away with the back of the hand holding the knife. Gazed down at her.

"A stupid, ill-bred dog," he said, and backhanded her. The blow sent white light shooting across her eyes and left her dazed. Eamonn stood up. The clatter of metal on stone told Dylan the Elf had dropped the butcher knife in the sink. He knelt beside her and sighed. "I'd hoped we were past this by now, but it appears not."

His fist slammed deep into her stomach, driving the breath from her. Eamonn hit her in the belly again and she nearly retched. He left her shuddering and gasping on the floor, barely able to see past the spots floating across her vision, and went into the living room.

Fingers scrabbling pathetically at the tiles, head swimming, Dylan managed to get to her hands and knees just as the Elf returned holding a palm-sized piece of blue metal and plastic. Dylan's eyes widened. It was her phone.

As she watched, Eamonn crunched it into small shards in one fist before letting the pieces drop to the floor with an almost musical tinkling sound.

"In case you thought you'd somehow get your hands on it long enough to call for help," he said. He knelt down again. Brushed his knuckles against her cheek in a gentle caress. "Do you know what it does to me, seeing those brief sparks of hope and defiance in your eyes, knowing I'm going to snuff them out one by one?" Without waiting for an answer, he scooped her up and got to his feet. "Come along, now."

Even though it was useless, even though he would hurt her for it, Dylan kicked and flailed in his arms. Instead of trying to restrain the frantic human, Eamonn simply dropped her to the unforgiving floor. Pain flared through the arm she landed on. Blood burst from her lip when it split between the hard tile and her teeth. Flashes went off behind her eyelids when her forehead smacked the floor.

Instead of picking her up again, Eamonn twisted his fingers in her hair to get a good grip and began to drag her down the hall. He ignored her screams and her vain attempts to halt their progress. He didn't stop until they reached the door to her bedroom. One swift kick broke the lock and doorjamb. The door hit the wall with a crash.

Eamonn hefted Dylan by the hair and tossed her into the room. She sprawled across the carpet. Gritting her teeth and crying silently, blood trickling down her chin, she scrambled to her hands and knees and tried to crawl away from him. The Elf's boot, planted in her back, sent her to the floor again.

"Did Silverlance buy you this bed?" Eamonn asked as he drew off his tunic and tossed it on the floor beside a bed bigger than the mortal's kitchen. Dylan didn't answer. She merely struggled to get up, to get away from him. He grabbed the back of her fluffy, blue bathrobe. She twisted, slipping out of it, and managed to get her feet under her. Eamonn merely grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back. Spinning the mortal so she faced him, he jerked her head back, forcing her to look up at him. His gaze raked over the silky black nightgown that hugged the human woman's body. "Were you expecting him tonight?"

She didn't answer. Instead she dug her nails into his wrist, trying to force him to let go of her hair. Blood continued to drip down her chin from her split lip. She twisted, writhed, trying to loosen his grip. He yanked on her hair until tears sprang into her eyes.

"Gods, you're fun," Eamonn said. "Still trying to fight. It's useless, but you keep trying." He slid his free hand around her throat, his thumb brushing back and forth above her hammering pulse. He leaned in until a breath separated his mouth from hers. "Will you keep trying even while I'm hurting you?"

Dylan's furious scream came out half-strangled as she fought him harder. Eamonn simply grinned. His tongue snaked out and flicked against her split lip. Dylan tried to bite his tongue. Pain flashed across her scalp as Eamonn tightened his grip on her hair.

"Let me go," Dylan hissed. "Or I swear I'll kill you, do you hear me?"

To her utter shock, Eamonn let her go. He stepped back and held up his hands in the universal gesture of no-harm.

"I have something for you," the Elf murmured. Dylan scuttled back from him until she stood next to her dresser. Grabbing one of the heavy, silver-base snow-globes off the top of her dresser, she hefted it in warning. Eamonn smiled. "I suppose the next thing you're going to do is order me to leave your cottage."

"Get out," Dylan snapped. When he didn't move, she screamed, "Now!"

He sighed heavily. "Ah, sweetness. Surely you've realized by now that yelling and screaming will get you nowhere?"

Eamonn reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew two silver flasks, one etched with three stars surrounding a rayed sun. He set them on the nightstand. Next he withdrew something small and white, as opalescent as a pearl and as diminutive as a bean. Ice frosted the inside of Dylan's chest. She didn't know what that thing was, but she knew she couldn't let it near her.

The dark Elf smiled. Then he rushed her. Dylan hurled the snow-globe. It hit Eamonn in the shoulder with a meaty smack and bounced off, shattering on the floor. Eamonn grabbed her by the throat, his fingers biting deep into her flesh, and threw her to the floor on top of the glass shards. Dylan screamed as glass sliced deep and hot blood flowed. Eamonn's hand planted itself against the mortal's chest and he shoved her down, grinding the glass deeper. She arched, desperate to get away from the searing agony of the broken glass, and Eamonn grabbed her face and forced her mouth open. Her skin was slick with tears, sweat, and blood. He shoved the pearlescent thing into her mouth and then forced her mouth closed. He covered her mouth with one hand, cupping the back of her head with the other to prevent her from pulling away, and then planted one knee on her chest to keep her from getting up.

"Swallow it," he snarled while she clawed at his wrist. Flesh gathered under her nails and silver blood welled up, but he didn't let her go. "Swallow it!" He slammed her head against the floor. The shock made her gasp. She choked on the bean-like object in her mouth and coughed, swallowing it.

Suddenly Eamonn let her go and stood up. Dylan cried out and rolled off the shards of glass, sobbing as the new wounds on her back screamed at her. Glittering water and blood seeped into the back of her nightgown. Tears dripped down her cheeks. Gritting her teeth, she reached over with trembling fingers and grabbed a sliver of glass. The edges pressed against her skin and drew blood. Pain burned through her hand. She ignored it and waited for Eamonn to come closer. She'd drive the knife of glass right into his heart or…or something! She'd kill him.

Soft footsteps, muffled by the russet and emerald carpet, warned her. When Eamonn knelt beside her, she heaved up and swung with the glass shard—not aiming for his heart, but for his throat. She'd cut his throat and watch him bleed out on the rug. And she'd laugh, damn him. She would laugh while he bled out—

Eamonn intercepted the strike a mere couple of inches from his throat. One hand held Dylan's wrist. He curled his other hand around hers, the one that held the deadly glass shard, and he pressed her hand closed. Heat blazed across her palm and through her fingers. She cried out, jerked her arm, but he simply kept pressing until blood welled up between pale fingers, vibrant and crimson as mortality. The blood dripped onto the rug as her arm spasmed and pain raked through her hand. Eamonn watched her dispassionately as the glass bit deeper.

He let her go. Crying softly, hunched over, she had to force her fingers to open so she could attempt to pull the glass, wet with her blood, out of her flesh. Her fingers slipped and slid. Pain zinged through her hand and arm. The glass stayed embedded in Dylan's palm.

"What... what did you give me?" She whispered, fighting against the instinct to curl into a ball around her screaming hand. She fought to focus on the question so she could get up the nerve to try pulling out the glass again. "What was that? Poison?"

The Elf chuckled. "Not exactly. A highly concentrated form of Branwen's Tears." Her horrified gasp made him laugh again. "You'll start to feel the effects in a few hours. Doubtless, you won't be able to keep your hands off me." Eamonn gripped Dylan's chin hard enough that white spots stood out around his fingers. "And I shall be able to hurt you…and you will like it, you filthy little whore. But in the meantime, I have time to help clean you up and see to your wounds. Would you like some help?" Eamonn asked, suddenly gentle, and he released her. Stricken eyes stared at him. "I'll help you…in exchange for something I want."

Dylan immediately shook her head.

"Ah, ah, ah. You do not even know what it is. Don't be too hasty. It's something very small."

She swallowed salt and blood. Nauseous from the blistering fire raging through her hand and radiating up her forearm, she whispered, "What?" She'd deal with the gancanaugh poison in her system later. Right now she could barely think beyond the vicious pain in her hand.

"A kiss." He smiled when she flinched. "Just one kiss. No fighting me."

"I…I just have to let you kiss me? And then you'll pull the glass out?" He wasn't a prince or a king, she thought. He had to tell the truth.

His smile widened. "I will…but you have to kiss me back, sweetness."

Bile rose in her throat and she would've shaken her head, but she was afraid that if she did, she'd throw up. Blood continued to spill through her fingers onto the carpet. Dizziness swept through her. She knew what he was doing; or she thought she did. He was trying to manipulate her. Why, Dylan didn't know, but she knew he had some kind of sick plan that involved equal parts cruelty and tenderness.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Eamonn cupped her chin and leaned toward her.

"Don't fight me, sweetness," he whispered, and covered her mouth with his. His tongue forced her lips apart and thrust into her mouth, nearly choking her. He tangled his fingers in her hair and forced her head close, preventing her from pulling away. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the feel of his teeth biting and his tongue threatening to choke her.

Not a real kiss. Just another form of rape, full of savagery and blood and pain. Dylan forced herself to hold still and stay as un-tensed as possible. To let the twisted Elf kiss her.

The brutality eased the longer he kissed her, however. Once he realized she wasn't going to fight him—she'd do almost anything he asked if he just pulled out the glass and let her tend the savage wound—Eamonn became a little gentler. He dominated her, forcing her to accommodate his kisses, but the cruel grip on her hair relaxed and he contented himself with licking at the blood in her mouth instead of drawing fresh.

Kiss me back, he whispered in her mind. She whimpered. He nipped her bottom lip. Do it, or I'll take you with that glass still in your flesh. Kiss me. Pretend I'm your precious prince if it helps.

Dylan scrunched her eyes shut and tentatively kissed Eamonn back, even though she didn't know what she was doing and everything in her tried to recoil from him. Trembling, fighting not to be sick, she kissed the cruel Elf as blood spilled down her back and over her lacerated palm. She kissed him until pain and blood-loss left her dizzy and sick.

Eamonn pulled back and licked his lips, his expression almost dreamy. He reached out and caught a tear just as it began to spill down her cheek. The tear trembled like a fragile diamond on the tip of his finger. Smiling, he ate the tear.

Dylan made a small sound, half-confusion and half-terror. All fight gone, she cringed away from him when he touched her cheek. A vile taste lingered on her tongue.

Then the dark Elf took her palm and plucked the glass from the wound so quickly Dylan yelped. The glass had cut nearly to the bone. Hot blood flowed freely from the wound. She could feel blood still trickling down her back, as well. Without another word, Eamonn scooped her up and carried her into the master bathroom.

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Author's Note: what's going on with Eamonn? It's something I've read about in books and seen in movies. A lot of psychos will do it - a mixture of viciously cruel punishment and unexpected tenderness. It throws the victim off-balance and is also a great way to break down resistance. Why does he want to do this? Well, besides wanting to break Dylan's spirit, he…oh, wait. You guys should wait to read about that.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and I hope you guys keep reading as I update. Don't worry, the chaps are gonna stay relatively short (between 2-6,000 words) so it shouldn't inundate you with verbage. So... yeah. Love you guys!

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Concerning the Chapter Title: "Red Under the Moon" is a brilliant "Little Red Riding Hood" fanfic, only about 600 words, by the literary genius OceanFire9. Everyone should go read it 'cause she rocks my socks!