Chapter 3

Zarek was laying on the couch in the middle of the sitting room when Reses finally arrived from his midday meeting with the Atlantian. It was just past noon, and therefore an extremely unreasonable hour for any Dark-Hunters to be up. With his eyes half closed, he listened intently for the sounds of footsteps, carefully quiet footsteps, as the man crept along the wood floors, trying not wake him. Zarek, however, had been awake for hours, and was still awake, compelled, for some strange reason, to make sure the slave made it. He couldn't explain it, and certainly didn't want to look too closely at the protective urge, and he had even tried to suppress it, curling up on the sofa with his face pressed against the cushions, and his black anti-sunlight curtains drawn. Despite how tired he was, however, he had not found sleep, and could only be relieved when Reses entered his home. Gods, he didn't think he could go another sleepless day waiting on the spider god's slave, or rather, his companion. Whatever else Reses said he was to Morsus, there was no doubt in his mind that the slave was also his lover. He wondered if Acheron was aware of that.

He felt the man pause in front of him, and reach out a hand, placing it on his shoulder. It took all his will not to spring up, and shove him away, shouting. He hated to be touched, had always hated it. Even so, he stayed still, willing him to remove his hand, not wanting to hurt him for something he hadn't known. Added to his nightmares, and his memories, would be the knowledge that he had accidentally hurt, or worse, accidentally killed the attractive man for no reason.

What had Acheron been thinking?

He railed silently at Acheron as he squelched another wave of pain as his cells repaired themselves at an unnatural rate. Unlike most Dark-Hunters who needed to be asleep to heal, as that was the only time Dream-Hunters could mend their wounds, Zarek had no such problems. The Dream-Hunters always stayed away from him, and wisely, for when his fury was unleashed in his dreams, people there tended to be hurt. If the Dream-Hunters had had emotions, he would have said that they were scared of him. As it was, they were cautious enough to avoid him, and he depended on good ol' Acheron to make sure he didn't suffer heedlessly. Unfortunately, Acheron was busy trying to prevent the Daimon war from spilling out onto the streets at all hours of the day and night, so Zarek was left to heal the old-fashioned, mortal way: slowly. Lucky him, he would have his wounds for a week or two more.

He felt the man shake his shoulder again, and he couldn't stop his reaction this time. He sprang up, moving quickly to the other side of the couch, and glancing at Reses almost with amusement. Great gods, amusement. Maybe this wouldn't be such a terrible fate after all.

"It's alright. I'm awake."

Reses nodded, his still unbound hair moving with the motions. He was looking at Zarek intensely, perhaps too intensely, and he seemed to be lost in thought, his golden colored eyes half closed with consideration. When he opened them completely, and tilted his head, looking Zarek square in the eyes, he tried not to react in any way. Those eyes, like pools of liquid gold…he'd never seen such eyes.

"Acheron said that if I felt…uncomfortable staying with you, or, I'm assuming, if you feel uncomfortable with it, that he would find another place for me. I am sorry if you feel I'm invading your personal space," he said calmly, watching the Greek with careful eyes. Reses clearly had no problems with eye contact, some slave he was.

Zarek nearly laughed. Personal space? Zarek had never had any personal space worth mentioning, having shared a single room in the slaves' quarters with eight to ten others, and now that he was in Alaska, things weren't much better. The bigger house he had, the harder it was to stay warm, especially without the aid of sunlight. He would have smiled at him, except Zarek never smiled, having be loathe to show another his emotions. He had been weak all his life, the lowest of the low, and he certainly wasn't about to give in to that particular weakness.

"It is not that. I just…" he didn't know what to tell him. He certainly didn't want to say he was plagued by the nightmares that had been his life. God, if giving into a smile was pathetic, admitting that he screamed in his sleep would be worse. And Reses, who most likely feared nothing, would be disgusted with him. It was one way to get rid of the man, he supposed, but he had known too much disgust, in the form of a whip's lashes, to intentionally bring another's revulsion upon himself.

Reses nodded again, as though he understood perfectly. How could he possibly began to know… he thought, his usual distrust of kind people rising to the service, before he remembered who he was talking to. Reses had, undoubtedly, tasted the blow of a whip as well, suffered as well. If anyone could understand besides Acheron, it was him.

"I remember my past in my sleep, okay?" After all, he didn't have to say what his past had been, and he doubted Acheron had let that little tidbit slip. "People get hurt because I lose control of my powers. Sometimes," he added, looking at the silver-haired man.

"You remember your village?" he asked mildly, not seeming to think any less of Zarek for his admission.

"Sometimes," he said evasively, not wanting to go into the memories he had of his village. Laughter. Blood. The stare of an old, dying woman who blamed him for the deaths of her family, the destruction of her village. He was supposed to protect them…and he had murdered them.

"I see. Do you mind if I ask where I am staying in this giant of a house?"

Zarek heard the distaste in his voice at the size of the house, but none whatsoever for his confession. While he agreed with him about the house, he was suspicious of the lack of contempt about the weakness he had exposed. He knew better than to trust other people: every time he did, he paid for it, in more ways than one. This knowledge, combined with the assault of memories, caused his reply to come out harsher than he intended.

"Pick a room, any room. I could care less where you sleep." Slave, he was tempted to add, but his mouth tasted sour at the thought. No, not that word, never that word. Nobody deserved to be called that. Nobody deserved the pain it could cause, had caused for Zarek once. And still caused.

Reses rose one thin, silver eyebrow, looking at Zarek sharply.

"Very well. Which one is your room, Greek, so that I do not unintentionally invade your lair?" he asked mildly.

The way he said Greek and lair shamed Zarek, making him sound more animal than man, and for a brief moment, he was tempted to apologize. The thought stopped the words cold. Apologize. He was starting to sound weak, like a woman, and he realized that he had been treating the slave with more kindness than he usually treated even Acheron. Fuck that, he thought silently, and he glared fiercely at Reses again, causing him to raise that damn, haughty eyebrow again.

"The only one with a bag in it, genius. We leave to meet the others as soon as night falls," he all but snarled, and watched as the slender man stood with all the dignity of a noble, towering over him in his position on the futon.

"Very well. I will see you at nightfall, then. Master," he added, his voice cool with anger as he left the room, and Zarek winced, cursing his rash actions as he leaned back, and his superior hearing picked up the soft sound of a door clicking shut, barely audible, even for him. He closed his eyes tightly, g rolling back to face the couch again, guilt flooding him for the first time in nearly 900 years. Why didn't he slam the door? If someone had talked that way to Zarek, he would have slammed the door, would have thrown things, and made a horrible scene. In fact, he probably would have slammed his fist into the face of the man who had said it. But, oh no, not Reses. Where ever he had gone, whatever he had done, Reses had picked up a great deal more control than Zarek had. Or perhaps he simply feared the consequences of such an action. When Zarek had been a slave, he had feared everything, man or woman, and he was still trying to live that down. Now, he had probably added to the man's general opinion of the human race, and most especially his masters. God, he hated that word, and he knew it burned Reses to call him that as much as it did for him to hear it.

He sighed, and prepared himself for another restless day. He would apologize to Reses when he woke up.