COMPANION-Chapter 2

"Leave us." Klorel ordered the man lying on the floor at his feet. The physician stumbled up and, pulling the now semi-conscience Serpent Guard along with him, left out the door.

"Now" he said, turning his gaze back to the woman and indicating her bleeding temple, "Let us take care of that." He walked across the room and sat down in front of a small gilt table. When she did not move he gestured to a chair across from his, "Come here" he said simply.

He was surprised when she did not hesitate, but instead walked slowly towards him and sat down. Klorel reached out and carefully turned her head to better see the wound. "It is not deep" he told her "and the bleeding has almost stopped. There is nothing to concern yourself with."

"I was not concerned."

If he had been expecting a response to his words, that would not have been it. Her voice was pitched neither high nor low, loud nor soft; it was simple. But beautiful.

"Good." He answered, then rose and walked to a cabinet. Removing a basin and a piece of cloth, he filled the basin with water then returned. Placing the basin of water on the table, he sat again. Dipping the cloth into the water, he began to clean the blood from her face. Once that task was completed, he leaned closer and began gently cleaning her wound. In inhaled and caught the scent of her blood mingled with something else. Something completely different. Perfume. She had been wearing perfume before the attack that day. It was a heavy spicy scent. Nothing like the flowery perfumes that Goa'uld and Jaffa women wore. He breathed in again. The smell of blood and spices boiling through his body.

He had not been paying attention and pulled the cloth too roughly over the cut. She inhaled sharply as it started to bleed again. The fresh blood assaulted Klorel's senses. To his eyes it was the deepest, truest red he had ever seen, and he felt like he was swimming in the aroma of it. On his fingers, while he was wiping it away from her face, it was warm and slippery. Leaning in, he slowly licked the remaining drops of blood from her temple. That close to her, he could feel the heat radiating off her body, and hear her breathe. Shallow and fast. Fear. Or something completely different. Klorel's mouth burned with her. The taste of salt and metal fueling the arousal that had begun earlier that day on the streets of her city.

"Tell me," he said, leaning back in his chair and licking her blood from his fingers, "what is your name?"

"Orin."

"Orin." He repeated, rolling her name over his tongue. It tasted almost as good as her blood. "I am Klorel. You will call me 'My Lord' or 'My God'."

"You are not a god."

"Yes," he whispered, removing the final trace of blood from his hand, "I am."

"The fact that you have tricked and manipulated people into thinking that you are a god does not make you one." She was angry now, and had spun around to face him, her cheeks flushed.

"On the contrary" he stated calmly, "as long as they worship me and believe that I am their god, I am a god."

"But not my god."

"Very well. With you I do not plan on acting as a god. With you, I will act as a man."

Orin had been shaking with anger, but at his last words, she became still. "I am to be your whore then?" Her voice cool and steady and full of contempt.

"No," Klorel answered, "you are to be my Companion."