Hello my pretties! This is the first time I have ever, or will ever, talk to you in the middle of my fanfic! So here is the BIG STATEMENT:I own nothing, know nothing, am nothing…you get the idea. Anything I ever write about is based on the work of somebody else.

Oh, and just for this, I realize that up until now Zarek had been acting fairly OOC…well, he has to. None of this would ever happen if I didn't change a few things and, hello, it is a fanfic! A lot of things I made up (including a couple of main characters, but, if you ask me, they really should exist.) On to the Dark-Hunter goodness!

Chapter 4

"Reses! Make them stop! Please Reses, please help me!" He vaguely heard the sound of his sister Maja, his beautiful silver-haired sister, screaming for his help over the sounds of the whips. Could smell the fear upon her as the scent of blood clouded the air, sickening him. He was not a warrior, even though his father wanted him to be. He hated the smell of blood. But worse, he hated that he couldn't help his sister, couldn't even break free of the repulsive men holding him. He heard her shrieks of terror, her yelps of pain, and he knew he had to try.

"Wait! Stop it! Leave her alone!" he yelled, throwing his young body against his captors with all his might. To his surprise, they gave a quick gasp of astonishment and fell to the ground, pulling him with them. He wasted no time, picking himself up from the ground of his homeland and running towards his sister, flying headfirst into the man holding her, while another brought his whip across his back. He felt none of it, not the sting of pain, nor did he hear the hiss of the whip. He thought only of getting his sister to freedom, even if it cost him his life. He watched with a hopeless kind of joy as she took off towards the hills, and away from the madness. He thought only of giving her enough time to escape, and flung himself into the forming fight with a vigor he had never expressed before. He didn't expect to win, only to stall them long enough for Maja to get far, far away.

When the brawl ended, he stood tall and proud with two men at each arm trying to push him to the ground. One of them backhanded him across his youthful face, and another held a knife at his throat as a man with thick hair, dark with dirt, approached them. He stopped a few feet in front of them, and, even then, he could smell the man's repulsive stench. But, he did not back away, did not shrink or cringe. The man smiled at his open defiance, and grabbed his chin in a huge, scarred hand.

"Strong, are you? And quite pretty, as well." He held up a hand, halting the man lifting his whip to strike him. Reses did not think for once that this was a rescue, and he was proven right moments later.

"Your sister has already been found, boy. All you did was cause the both of you a lot of pain for your insolence," he said with a sneer on his ugly face, scarred with the disfigurements of battle. But what caught his attention more than the man's hideous face, was his cruel smile, and the smell of evil coming from him in waves. He squirmed uselessly, trying to get away, to get to Maja, because he had the feeling that, if he didn't, he would never see her again. The man laughed meanly, and released his chin.

"Punish him severely, but do not mark his skin, or his face, then bring him to me. I believe I have found a way to appease our commander," he said, looking into Reses' golden orbs for a long moment before turning and walking away. The men holding him laughed as they pushed and pulled him towards the same circle of men his sister had stood inside, but he didn't feel any fear, until one of them, one of the cruel, heartless warriors, looked at him with pity. Whatever his fate, it must be far worse than he could ever imagine…

Reses jolted up from the bed, his eyes connecting with darkness and his mind filling with panic before he remembered where he was: at Zarek's not-so-humble abode. Not a few thousand years ago, awaiting a fate that even years of learning had not prepared him for. Eternal slavery. Gods, if he had known this was his fate, he would have killed himself years before he had received ambrosia. Gods knew he had had enough chances.

With a sigh, he rubbed his hands across his eyes, trying to adjust his eyes to the unfamiliar darkness. He never slept during the day, and it would take some adjustment to do so regularly, but exhaustion had compelled him to ignore the light that bathed him, and he had drifted into a restless, haunted sleep. He couldn't remember most of the dreams, but he remembered the last one. That particular dream, or memory, rather, disturbed him every night. He didn't know why, since he had many worse memories to haunt him, even though it had been the last time he saw Maja, as he had known it would be.

He sighed again, and pushed himself up from his bed, an obscenely soft mattress in a sturdy oak frame that had called to him, even though he rarely indulged in the pleasures of furniture of any kind. He was hesitant to become used to the comforts, as, if Morsus ever became angry enough at him, which he surely would, he would lose them. Things were easier to lose, he knew, if you didn't care too much for them.

He reached for his discarded shirt, then thought better of it, and reached for a fresh black one as the door was pushed open softly, and the Greek walked in. He seemed surprised that Reses was up, but he didn't sneer, as he had thought he would. Instead, he rose an eyebrow at Reses bare chest, the look on his face showing something between annoyance, and something that seemed like anxiety. That is ridiculous, he thought as he tugged the shirt over his head. He doubted the Greek had ever been anxious about anything.

"Reses," he said coolly once he had pulled his arms through his black coat.

"Master," he responded just as indifferently, even though it stung to say it. Whatever feelings of comradeship he had had before were long gone. While he was disappointed to see it, he accepted it as normal. It had to happen eventually.

To his surprise, Zarek flinched, and looked away, ashamed.

"I deserved that, I suppose. Reses, I…" It seemed to take all of his will power to finish that sentence.

"I am sorry. I lost my temper yesterday, and it really had nothing to do with you. I apologize. And I would like you to call me Zarek, if you don't mind."

Reses was speechless. Nobody, nobody, had ever apologized to him before. Ever. Especially not of their own free will. When he had still been mortal, even his own family had been reluctant to act apologetic. And this Greek, who's snapping remarks barely even registered when compared to the comments that were usually made about his station, or his person, had felt so guilty that he had brought himself to apologize to someone lower than him. Reses felt a smile tug at his lips. The man continued to surprise him.

"Apology accepted. And I don't mind calling you by your name."

Zarek let out a whoosh of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He didn't know why it was so important to him that Reses forgive him, considering that he was likely to piss him off again in a matter of minutes. But, for whatever reason, he didn't like the slave being angry with him, and saying "master" in that cold voice that made it sound like a curse. He couldn't explain it, and he pushed it aside, nodding shortly at Reses, who was almost smiling at him now.

"Thank you. Acheron wanted us to be in the rendezvous point at midnight to become acquainted with the others who will be fighting alongside us, and we will have to leave within the hour to be on time. I will meet you downstairs," he said, and he turned on his heel, sauntering down the stairs, thinking about…things. Mainly Reses, and the things his keen observation skills had picked up. His shirt, for one thing. While he didn't particularly want to think about how he had looked without one, with his porcelain pale chest and graceful build, he couldn't help but think about the man's mannerisms, and dressing happened to be one of them. He had pulled on his clothes quickly, but not in an embarrassed way. It seemed he simply didn't want Zarek to see him in a half-naked state, and, while he excepted that fact, he couldn't understand why. He had also picked the smallest room in the house, seeming to desire to be crammed into as little space as possible. A curious habit, but also acceptable. But what caught his attention the most, however, was the fact that the man had seemed hesitant to smile, and had worn a look of pure shock after he had apologized to him. Hadn't anyone ever apologized to him before?

He considered that as he continued down the steps. He paused on the bottom step, his hand resting on the polished wooden railing as that…odd feeling of unease came over him. He glanced at the oak under his hands. Such a fine thing, this house…and yet he wanted none of it, wanted desperately to be in his shack in Alaska, anywhere else but here. He couldn't shake the feeling that to continue to be anywhere near New Orleans at this time would be destructive to his well being, and he should be running for the hills right now. Of course, he couldn't leave: he had a job to do, people to protect, and, most of all, he had to make sure Reses helped Acheron. Since the man would only listen to him, however unfair that may seem, he had to be here.

Still, I wonder if I could get out of it. Maybe if I… He wondered idly, before he shook his head, laughing softly as he pulled on his jacket. He had never asked for time off from Acheron. NeverIt seemed ridiculous that he would do so now simply because he was feeling unstable, feeling a chill up his spine whenever he thought about the upcoming week. Almost as if he felt he'd never be the same afterwards.

That is so stupid, he thought harshly. If he was feeling any chills, it was probably due to the Daimon auras floating around. The only change that he would have anything to due with this week was causing a sudden shortage of soul-suckers in the world.

As far as everything else was concerned…he would keep his mouth shut and leave the damn politics to Acheron.