Disclaimers and crap: See previous posts.

"I will kill you for this." He wanted to lash out, to strike the drow behind him. He felt dizzy, ill. The strength of his memories was too hard to fight, it took all of his strength. He could feel the roughness of the bricks of that alley against his face, could hear the harsh laughter of the men as they traded spots behind him.

He remembered that he had stopped crying, screaming, just before the bite. He had retreated into the shelter of numbness. They broke him but he was no longer touched by it. And then sharp teeth sank into his skin, cutting, tearing. The new pain drew him back. He screamed as he was forced back into his body and all they had done to him was felt again.

Entreri's defenses against cruelty, intended or otherwise, were strong. There was no hurt the drow could have done him that would have cut through those defenses. Then like a poisoned needle slipping through chain-mail, gentle kisses fell upon the scar. He could have endured any violence, and this smallest act of affection was his undoing.

There is something wrong with the air... he struggled to breathe as Drizzt guided his head to the side. Sword-calloused fingers stroked his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He could not remember such a tender touch in all of his life. His eyes burned.

There is something wrong with the air... His hands were balled into fists so tight that his knuckles hurt. The ranger was saying something quiet behind him, whispering some encouragement, some reassurance, but he couldn't understand the words.

There is something wrong with the air...a sound that he didn't recognize slipped from his throat. He blinked his eyes, tried to focus. He wanted to pull away and hide his face, but Drizzt had his hair still held tight. He could not fight that grasp. Narrow tracks of wet heat ran down his cheeks. His chest ached, and his throat closed tight, trying to hold inside the next sound. One more and he would not be able to stop.

Drizzt wrapped his free arm around Entreri's shoulders, pulled him in close and safe against his chest. A hot tear fell against the scar on his shoulder and he felt the drow begin to weep; not from pity but from sorrow. For the assassin, for himself.

For the first time since he had named himself Artemis Entreri, the boy once known as Useless wept.