Author's Note: so one thing I'm trying to do here is explore Eamonn's character and his relationship to Nuada. So Nuada doesn't appear in this chapter, but Eamonn's whole motivation (at least his surface motive) against him is explained in this chapter.

.

Chapter Three
Dangerous Game

.

.

The fluorescents were harsh in the bathroom attached to Dylan's bedroom. Tremors wracked Dylan's body as Eamonn carefully plucked tiny slivers of glass from the various cuts on her back. Trickles of blood dribbled down her spine to catch on the neckline of her black nightgown. More blood dripped from her wounded hand to mingle with the crystalline gush of water from the sink faucet. The touch of the cold water seared in the deep wound. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached to keep from crying out.

"That's the last of it," the dark Elf murmured. A tiny piece of glass fell into the marble sink with a tiny tinking sound. "Let me see your hand." Wide, somewhat glassy blue eyes jerked up to stare the Elf. Dylan cradled her wrist as her injured hand shook. She bit her lip and shook her head. Eamonn sighed. "Give me your hand, you stupid mortal cow. I can't fix it if I cannot examine the wound." Without waiting for permission, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand toward him. She yelped as the merciless grip and sharp movements sent pain screaming through her hand and arm.

Eamonn gently probed the wound. Fresh scarlet welled up and smeared his fingertips. He took one of the black wash-rags from the rack by the sink and folded it around Dylan's hand, soaking up the blood. Pressing the rag against the wound with his fingers, he closed his eyes. A cool, prickling sensation shivered from the tips of Dylan's fingers up through her arm. She gasped.

"What are you doing?"

Pale lips curved into a smug half-smile. "Healing you, of course," he said. He forcibly guided her wrapped hand back beneath the icy water still spilling into the white marble sink. "Unless you want me to pierce your fragile, mortal flesh with such crude implements as needle and thread. Do you enjoy pain? Because I can oblige you if that's the case."

Dylan didn't reply. She merely sucked in a sharp breath as a wave of blistering heat swept up her arm from her hand, followed by a tingling like a thousand needles of ice stabbing deep into every nerve. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit her lip.

"Oh, cry out if you must, sweetness," Eamonn whispered. "I'll not protest, I assure you."

"Get bent," the mortal snapped.

A knife-thin black brow winged upward. "I'm unfamiliar with that term. Enlighten me."

She glared at him. "It means I'm not going to do anything for you that makes you happy. Ever."

Eamonn's smile was sharp as a knife blade and wicked as sin. "Oh, but sweetness—you've already made me very, very happy. I never thought a kiss from mortal lips could taste so sweet. Blood and chocolate." He slowly licked his lips. Bile rose in Dylan's throat and she quickly turned away. Eamonn's low laugh slid over her like a violating caress. "Let's see how this looks now."

He withdrew her hand from beneath the running water and unwrapped the sopping washcloth. Dylan's mouth fell open. Her palm was completely unmarked except for a thick, jagged line of silvery-white spilling across her skin. She flexed her fingers. No pain. No stiffness. Her hand was absolutely fine.

"How did you…how…"

"I have some healing ability," Eamonn said. "Silverlance does not."

She flicked him a dismissive glance. "Do you think that makes you better than him? Because it doesn't."

The Elf of Zwezda went very still. Dylan braced herself for his next assault. Would he strike her? Beat her? Or violate her as he'd threatened? But he didn't do any of those things. He drew a slow breath and let it out in a shuddering sort of sigh.

"No, innate magical ability does not make me a better man than Silverlance, nor does lack of it make him a better man than I. What makes me the better man is that I know how to keep my word. Which is why I'm here now, with you, and he is not." He suddenly reached up and grabbed her face with one hand. His fingers bit into her chin and cheeks. "Remember that when the agony of what I'm going to do to you is eating away at your frail mortal shell and you're choking on your own tears, and you've screamed yourself hoarse begging me to stop, begging Silverlance to come and save you. Remember that I always keep my promises, even when your precious prince does not. When he finally comes, it won't be to rescue you. It will be to see you die. He isn't going to save you."

Dylan didn't so much as bat an eyelash. She merely looked into Eamonn's quicksilver eyes and said, "I don't know whether he's going to rescue me or not, but I do know that he promised me his protection. So if he doesn't save me, then when he does come, he'll kill you."

Eamonn smiled bitterly. "So confident in your lover. I admire such loyalty. Such a shame that he isn't worthy of it."

"What would you know of loyalty?"

He swept her off the bathroom counter and slammed her into the wall with enough force to send the wounds on her back singing with pain. The back of her head hit the towel rack and stars exploded across her vision. Eamonn's hand clamped around her throat. Her nails dug into his wrist, drawing fresh silvery blood. The dark Elf ignored the pain and leaned in until his forehead touched hers. Hot breath practically scalded her face.

"What do I know of loyalty? You filthy human bitch. I'm not the one who betrayed my people! The fae are dying because of your race and one of our princes has given his heart to one of our enemy! He betrayed us all; he has to be punished! I'm still loyal to my race, to all the fae races. I haven't forgotten what the humans have done to us. He thinks he can go sniffing after a mortal slut like she's some bitch in heat and he will pay no consequences? No." Eamonn's eyes closed and he clenched his teeth. His grip on Dylan's throat loosened. "He is Bethmoora's crown prince. He's supposed to protect our kind; supposed to fight for our kind. And he betrayed us by falling in love with you. He must face the consequences of that betrayal."

Fear made her mouth dry as cotton; shock left her speechless. Dylan closed her eyes and tried to think—not like a frightened woman, but like a psychiatrist. Eamonn was playing some kind of mind-game with her, using tenderness and cruelty to manipulate her. But, Dylan thought, she was a mind-healer. She could do the same thing to him. She just had to think.

"I didn't know he'd done that," Dylan whispered. Her voice came out thick and raspy in the wake of Eamonn's bruising grip on her throat. "I never thought Nuada would ever do something like that. He seems so dedicated to protecting the fae."

Cat-slit silver eyes locked with hers. "He was," Eamonn said. A strange light burned in his gaze. Dylan knew that this, at least, wasn't a form of manipulation. It was simple, raw, half-mad honesty. "He was the last line of defense for Bethmoora. The king abandoned us long ago. The princess is weak, spineless. Silverlance was our last hope…and you stole him from us. Humans always steal what is most precious to the Fair Folk."

Dylan licked dry lips. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I had no idea." Putting a quaver into her voice—it wasn't difficult with the fear a shadowy animal clawing at her insides—she added, "I don't want to hurt the Kindly Ones. I want to help them. I didn't know being friends with Nuada would hurt them. I'm sorry."

He studied her. "'Friends?' Is that what mortals call it? You're his lover; don't you care for him?" Before she could reply, Eamonn added in a voice frosted with cold hate, "Or do you spread your legs for every fae male who comes to you?" His free hand found her hip and slid down past the lacey edge of her nightgown to find her lower thigh. His fingers bit into her flesh. "It's not even rape, is it? Not when the whore's willing. Is it fae flesh you crave, sweetness? You'll let any man have you, so long as he's one of the Hidden Ones?" He gripped her thigh. His skin burned against hers. "Is that why you let Silverlance take you?"

She shook her head frantically. "I didn't," she whispered. Eamonn's fingers flexed against her leg. "I'm not sleeping with Prince Nuada." Her eyes widened as an idea struck her. "I swear on the Darkness That Eats All Things, Prince Nuada and I haven't had sex."

Eamonn's eyes widened. "You…haven't." Something flickered in his eyes when Dylan shook her head. "Yet he came to you here, every night, for nearly two moons. He kept you in one of his lairs for the gods know how long; don't tell me he didn't." Another odd flicker in that mercurial gaze. "What did you do for him?"

"Nothing!"

"Do not lie to me," he hissed, his breath scorching against her mouth, "or I will cut out your tongue. Whether you love him or not, he loves you. If he hasn't bedded you, that merely proves it. Why else would he spend so much time with a human woman?" Suddenly Eamonn grinned. "I actually prefer it this way."

Confusion mingled with chilly panic and tried to grip her by the throat with sharp, little teeth. "What? Why?"

"It means I'll get to enjoy Silverlance's woman before he does." He shifted so that his lips were a breath from her cheek. They grazed her skin when he crooned, "How he will despise me for that. He'll know until his dying breath that I bedded you, that I took you in his place. That knowledge will eat at his guts like acid."

She closed her eyes. Whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

A sigh, warm as a lover's caress, against her cheek. "He must pay. I told you that. He needs to be punished to the fullest extent."

Desperately, she demanded, "How is raping, torturing, and killing me supposed to punish him to the fullest?"

Eamonn's mouth touched her skin. He brushed tiny kisses along her cheekbone to the corner of her eye. When she flinched, he chuckled. Dylan tried to jerk back from him and her head hit the towel rack again. Eamonn leaned in further. Flicked the tip of his tongue against a spot just beneath her ear. She jumped, then bit back a curse.

"You don't know much of Silverlance's history, do you?" Eamonn asked. "His mother, Queen Cethlenn, was raped to death by a band of humans when he was boy. Raped for sport. He bore witness to it. There are even rumors that he led the humans right to the Queen. Everyone knows he still bears the weight of his guilt for not being able to save her. The king blames him, as well.

"I want to drown him in guilt, in shame, before I kill him. So I intend to do to you what those mortals did to his precious mother. I will break him, break his spirit and his heart, and he will know that he couldn't save the woman he loves, just as he couldn't save the queen. Then, when he begs me for death, only then will I kill your precious prince." The dark Elf's teeth scraped lightly along her jaw and Dylan barely managed to bite back a whimper. "This has never been about you, you stupid girl. It has always been about him. You're merely my tool for breaking him to pieces."

"He's not in love with me," she protested softly. "He hates humans."

Cool lips curved into a smile against the vulnerable line of her throat. "And yet he killed one of my servants, an unarmed faerie woman, to save your life. Oh, yes, he loves you. And you love him. So I'm going to rip out both of your hearts."

Grasping at a straw, Dylan said, "I'm not in love with him. We're friends. That's it."

Eamonn jerked back to glare at her with steely eyes. "You can't be friends with the enemy!"

Shifting his grip, he twisted his fingers in Dylan's hair and dragged her to the bathroom counter. Slamming the mortal against it hard enough that she knew she'd have a band of blue bruising across her stomach later, he bent her forward and forced her face to within a couple inches of the mirror.

"Look. Open your eyes and actually look. You're human. Your kind is a plague on this planet. A sickness infecting the very heart of this world. You kill everything you touch. You carry darkness and pain and destruction with you wherever you go. The realms are dying because of you. Look at yourself; see what your own kind has done to you. Humans ruined that pretty face. They marred that lovely, lily-white skin with these brutal scars. All mankind has that sickness, that cruelty inside them. Nothing can stamp it out. It's how you were made. The only way to eradicate the taint is to kill those who carry it. That is the only way to save the fae!"

He's out of his mind, Dylan thought, and he considers himself a patriot. A savior of the Fair Folk. How can I use this? I have to use this somehow to get away from him. To escape. How do I turn this around?

Then something the Elf of Zwezda had said whispered through her skull.

Swallowing, Dylan asked in a falsely tremulous voice, "You really think I'm pretty?"

He went very still. His fingers convulsed in her hair. "What?"

"You said my face was pretty."

A reflection of silver eyes glittered in the mirror. "For a scarred human whore…I suppose. Does that please you? Will flattery make you stop fighting me?"

Dylan closed her eyes when tingles of pain sparked across her scalp. He still hadn't let go of her hair. She barely managed to brace herself against the marble counter with arms that shook. Her bad knee was already threatening to buckle. Sucking in a breath, she let it out slowly and took a gamble.

"You want me to stop fighting you when you intend to force yourself on me? You've drugged me, struck me, threatened to kill me…and you want me to just let you?"

"I've already said that if you behave, I may let you live instead."

"Then how would you punish Nuada?"

Eamonn let her go abruptly and her leg gave out. She half-tumbled, half-sank to the floor, clinging to the cupboards and counter to keep from dropping in a completely graceless heap. Her leg folded beneath her. She couldn't have gotten up if she'd wanted to. Instead she watched the remote Elf with wary eyes.

The Elven warrior swept his arm across the top of the toilet tank, sending decorative little porcelain dishes of fancy soaps smashing to the floor. Dylan flinched at the symphony of shattering ceramic. Then Eamonn perched on the tank, his black boots stark against the white porcelain lid. He propped his elbows on his knees and his chin on his folded hands, watching her with the gleaming eyes of a predator.

"Which would hurt him worse?" Eamonn asked abruptly. "For him to find your violated corpse and know that once again, he'd failed to save someone he loved from the worst fate imaginable to him…or for him to find you on my arm, in my bed, my willing plaything? Which is worse to a man in love—to lose his lover to death, or to a rival?"

She swallowed. This was just like that first night in Nuada's subterranean sanctuary, when the golden-eyed prince had asked her what she'd do if placed in the position he'd found himself in regarding owing her his life. Walking on eggshells. As if one wrong word would earn her a knife in the chest. Only this time, one wrong word just might get her killed…or worse. Dylan forced herself to think beyond the thundering of her heart in her chest and the icy panic spreading like winter's kiss through her veins. She couldn't panic. She wouldn't panic.

"It depends on what kind of man he is," the mortal replied softly. "Which matters more to him—his love, or his hate? Does he love me more than he hates you, or vice versa? And which form of vengeance would you prefer?"

The corners of his pale mouth quirked in a mocking smile. "Well, aren't you just as quick and clever as a courtier. Fae rarely love more than once, but he has lost the woman he loved before. No one knows how, only that he returned from abroad after her death a changed man. How much would he change after your death, I wonder?" Eamonn mused, rubbing a finger over his chin. "And yet…he's betrayed us. Betrayed me. Would a betrayal against him not be more fitting?" He fixed her with a suddenly bright gaze of palest silver. "To have the woman you love then fall in love with another… one who sought to destroy you…"

Before she could stop herself, Dylan snapped, "There's not a snowball's chance in Hades of me falling in love with you!"

To her utter shock, Eamonn threw his head back and laughed.

"Ah, there's that defiant spirit! I'd wondered where it had gone. Just a little pain, a little manhandling, and it disappears like a frightened rabbit into its hole. Yet here it is again." His smile was almost affectionate. "Shall we play some more games, then, you and I? To see if I can do all that I say I can do? The Tears won't begin to affect you for some time yet. Would you like to try to run away again? I'll give you another head-start."

"Why do you keep doing that?" Dylan demanded. "Why toy with me?"

His smile widened. "Because it's such fun, sweetness. I want to see you try to run, because you're a coward, and cowards always run. And I want to hunt you down, because that is what one does with cowards. I desperately want to hurt you, because I enjoy hurting my enemies."

She shook her head. "I'm not your enemy. I've never attacked you! Never hurt you until now! Why am I your enemy?"

"Because you're human."

Dylan cast about frantically for some retort, some sort of reply that could buy her some time. She could already feel the gancanaugh poison in her system beginning to simmer. Heat-prickles whispered across the back of her neck. The blood burned in her cheeks and across her chest. The seepage from the tiny wounds across her back soothed some of the odd itchiness beneath her skin, but only some. By the time the venom took full effect, her body would be on fire, muscles cramping and skin so sensitive that even just the touch of something light as silk would hurt. What would Eamonn do then?

"I…I propose a deal," she said. The Elf cocked his head. Though his face remained impassive, she knew she'd caught his interest. He was fae. The fae liked making deals. Some of them couldn't resist. "What would I have to do to get you to let me go?"

Argent eyes regarded her in utter silence for so long she began to count her heartbeats. Would this work? Would he fall for it?

Eamonn smiled.

"As I said, I like to hurt my enemies. I shall strike a bargain with you, my sweet. Have you an hourglass?" He asked. Dylan nodded. "Here is my bargain: I will hurt you. I will not permanently damage you, nor cripple you. I won't violate you…yet. But I will hurt you, in countless ways, for seven turns of the glass. You may cry out. You may scream. You may weep. But you may not ask me to stop. If you bear seven turns of the glass, seven hours of what I will do to you, without forfeiting to me, then I swear on the Darkness That Eats All Things that I will not only let you live and cease my tortures, but I will also give up my vendetta against Silverlance. Have we a bargain?"

Dylan squeezed her eyes shut. Felt the blood crusting her back and seeping from some of the deeper lacerations. Listened to the screaming thunder of her heart in her chest as she considered all the ways Eamonn might torture her.

Then she thought of Nuada. To save him from this madman...

She opened her eyes.

"Okay. Deal."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Author's Note: so that's chapter 3. I don't know how often I'm going to update this. It's more my dumping ground for frustration and angst at any negative aspects of my life so I can keep said angst out of the mainstream Once. So I don't know how that'll affect my writing schedule. But hopefully you guys are enjoying this so far. Love you all! Merry Christmas! Huggles!

- LA

PS - the word "argent" is a synonym for "silver."