Screams filled her ears when she found herself standing atop a pool of blood. The soles of her feet were stained in red and a shiver ran up the hairs of her back. But only when a black hooded figure appeared with her mother limp in his bony hands did she know her nightmares were starting again. It was happening all over again. The details ran quick but she remembered them like scars. They never went away, they were never forgotten. And as Death began to carry her mother down to river Styx, where departed souls cry for mercy, Tomoyo could only stand on the sidelines and watch the gods whisper and jeer. And when the crowd dispersed and left one by one, when only she stood alone still staring far off into hell, only then did she notice the wetness of her cheek and the painful lurches of her chest.

And then, she screamed.
And awoke.

She shot up from her sleep and found herself in the arms of her captor. Her breathing was shallow and erratic. She did not notice the soothing caress that danced up her back, or the whispers of gentle concern. She only sought the warmth of his skin and the lullaby of the rise and fall of his bare chest. "Hold me," she told him quietly but fearfully, "Make them stop."

When the light came, she awoke with a towel to her forehead and the scent of warm food circling the air. "Good morning," she said, seeing Eriol watching her with an intensity that somewhat felt much like a penetrating force. When he did not return the greeting she gave an audible swallow and cleared her throat roughly. "I-I wanted to thank you," she told him, twisting her drabs as she had always done when she was nervous, "for last night, I mean. For taking care of me. I understand I haven't exactly been the most exemplary captive but---."

"Why are there scratches on your back, miss Tomoyo," Eriol asked, wanting to sound straightforward but his voice wavered when her name rolled down his lips. Tomoyo fell silent, opened and closed her mouth. It took a moment, then she replied with an indignant tone, "That is not your concern, my lord---."

"They say you are an angel," he continued, clasping his hands together and staring right at her as if to bore a hole through all her mysteries. She cast her eyes downward in attempt to hide the angry flush of her cheeks. "Is that what they say?" When Eriol nodded, she retorted that it must be true then.

The man wanted a front row seat into her freak show of a life, was that it? She had thought him different from that. She had thought him a man who could see her as she was—see her for her soul rather than what shallow gossip had portrayed her to be. That perhaps, he would come to like her for just her---.

"Are you going back to heaven," he quietly inquired, when really he wanted to ask, are you going to leave me? He told himself he only wanted to know such things for practical reasons: how long he was going to hunt for her, going to bring her food, going to be by her side to drive away her nightmares. That was his story and he was sticking right to it.

"I don't know." She really didn't know.

That night, when the men and him had gone hunting, she saw her final moment of escape Tomorrow they were going back to the kingdom. Tonight was her last chance for freedom. Picking the men's breeches and shirt she had altered to her size, she pulled it over her head and through her legs. "Give me luck," she prayed as she had always prayed despite the failures of the outcome.

That night, she escaped in the guise of a boy.

When the dark lord came back, he strode to the tent Tomoyo was designated, as he had always done. In the past, he had always come from a bountiful hunt, they had killed deer, rabbit, oxen, but today, he had not the chance to think properly. That morning, his squire had told the little he had found out about the supposed angel. That she was forced to cast herself in to solitude for sixteen years because his kind did not accept her. He did not doubt that it disturbed him a bit. There was an urge to beat sense into the people who did not want her. But what had come to be a problem was if she was going to leave him for heaven. Did heaven have the power to pry her out his hands? He hoped not. He hoped to god they couldn't.

"Little one," he tentatively said, peeling the tent flap slightly open. "I need to talk to--- Tomoyo?" He was stricken when he found her to be nowhere inside. His heart pounded faster than usual as he swerved his head and paced swiftly across the camp. "Tomoyo! Damnit." He stood atop a tree stump and looked for a black haired girl among the crowd. He needed a sign of her. Any sign of her.

Looking with fires banked in his eyes, he told his men to spread across the forest. "Find her," he demanded of Syaoran and Touya. "Find her but don't hurt her."

"She's only one captive, my lord."

"Find her."

When they dispersed, he walked back to the tent, looked at it intently and tried to imagine what scheme she had plotted. It would have something to do with sewing. Something with needle work---

He stared hard at the pile of clothes and needle, and then he cursed.

"She's in men's clothes!" he yelled across the forest as he rode swiftly on his stallion. "Look for a boy!" He trained himself to catch details within a few seconds. There had to be signs of her somewhere. He would not let himself believe she left for heaven without telling him.

Tomoyo did not stop running till the her legs felt like jelly and she had not the breath to continue. With a hand clutched closely to her bosom, she heaved in air heavily and let out a few coughs. She had hoped not to let her weaknesses interrupt her at such a careful moment, but at least she had it down to a minimum. She did not want to sputter blood like before.

The sound of hooves that crunched against dirt and rotten branches reached her ears. He was coming, and she would never outrun their horses. Crouching stealthily against a bush, she smudged her face in grime and soil, determined to conceal herself in the secrets of the night and its shadows.

Between hedges and leaves, she let herself be swallowed almost totally, but for some reason, she could not stop the uneven breathing of her chest. She was too frightened, too stressed and unable to relax. Her coughs began to increase, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in desperation.

Nearby, the foul-mouthed Arik turned his head sharply and grinned an abominable grin. "Come out, come out," he chanted lowly, letting out a crude laugh that made Tomoyo's skin shiver and crawl. She could only shut her eyes and press herself as close the to ground as possible. But in close distance he was, a slim ankle that stuck out the bush caught his eye. "I see you."

She tried her best not to gasp as his hand clamped hard onto her leg and wretched her from her hiding place. "No! Please!" she cried, writhing madly in his grasp. "Stop it!" But he would not listen. The world closed around her and all she saw was the maddening cruel twist of his upturned lips and felt the bruising grip on her left breast. Silent tears traveled down her cheeks as the numbness of her being settled on her body. "Stop it…"

Tomoyo didn't know what happened. She did not know when a man came to her rescue. She did not see his face or the punch he threw against Arik's jaw. All she knew was when she no longer felt the rough molestation on her skin, she fled like a doe. Beyond the trees, beyond the horizon.

"What the hell is the matter with you!" Syaoran demanded, grabbing the Arik's collar and lifting him off the ground. His fist felt sore but his anger was much worse than his fist. "The king will kill you for what you've done!"

Arik spit in his face and snarled. "It was you who let her go."

"Shut your mouth or cut your tongue," Syaoran hissed, throwing the man back down to the ground. "You tried to rape her! She's the king's property and you fucking violate her! He'll kill you. "

Eriol had heard yelling and had hoped of all hopes they had found her. His raced his horse fast and saw both Syaoran and Arik. "What happened? Have you seen a sign of her?" he asked in urgency. His face was overcome with worry and fear. "A scrap of her clothes, footprints, anything?"

Syaoran bowed his head. "She ran sire. West."

There was some relief to know she was still on earth. She had not left the ground to go to else where. But she tried to escaped him. Eriol got of his horse and stalked towards them, eyes narrowed and filled with banked ire. "You had her, and you let her go?"

Syaoran was wise not to respond with the same anger. Instead he kept his head down and replied, "She's terrified sire. Of men at the moment." Then he looked at Arik.

Terrified? Why was she terrified? When he had first met her, she had also just escaped. But it was not fright he saw in her eyes then. Instead, he saw defiance and pride. Why was she terrified now? Of men? What did this mean? "What do you mean?"

Syaoran breathed deeply and faced Eriol squarely. "He touched her sire," looking at Arik who did not respond in anyway, but simply furrowed look and gave an audible gulp. "Arik tried to rape her."

Eriol heaved first slowly then his breathing paced a great deal. His arms ran cold with the thought of someone touching Tomoyo's alabaster skin. Clenching his fists he struggled to stay put but he could only look at Arik with rage hammering hatefully. "Sire?---"

A fist connected to Arik's jaw and then a leg to Arik's stomach. Another came to his arm, then another to his cheek. Eriol did not stop the pounding till his fists were hurting, and even then he used his feet to stomp on Arik's crumpled figure. He could not imagine, could not even begin to imagine what Tomoyo felt. She needed him right now. She needed his comfort, as she did in the past.

At this thought, Eriol swiftly got back on his horse. He rode swiftly against the wind, but not before leaving a direct command to his squire. "Tie him, then take the army back to the castle. Set the dungeon guards on him. Tell them to pluck out his eyes, then slice his ears and tongue." His voice was menacing. But he was not through with the man. He turned to Arik with the most blazed anger shown in his glare. "Tomorrow morning, you will be walking through hell, deaf, blind and dumb."

When Eriol was no longer there, Syaoran placed a foot between Arik's legs and dug his heel hard down the crotch till the man begged for mercy. "And the next time you feel the need to throw spit on my face, just remember I can do more than fucking crush your penis, Arik." Holding a sword to the man's legs, he pressed the blade to it to emphasize meaning. Then Syaoran wiped his cheek of Arik's saliva and threw it back at him.

Tomoyo raced till she saw a lake in the far distance. Her mind was thoroughly shut down. Thinking was no longer something she wanted to do. Whenever she opened her mind, all that came to were images of low sadistic laughter and a feeling of vomit. Disgust crawled up her skin. She felt so utterly used.

Willing his horse to go faster, Eriol hit his heel to the belly of his horse. A mile away, he saw a figure on the horizon. "Tomoyo!" he yelled as loud as he could, but it did not reach her ears. "Faster, Khan," he whispered desperately to his horse. "faster."

When she could not run as fast anymore, she limped till the lake was at her feet. Had she a moment more, she would have plunged herself into the freezing water. But arms wrapped around her waist and seized her into a hug.

No longer thinking straight, she flailed her arms about and cried. "No more! I don't want anymore!" Her cries shot through Eriol, and for the nth time, he could not will himself to believe what exactly Arik had done to her. "Don't touch me!" Eriol wanted to kiss her. Soothe her with his touch. Perhaps then, she would come to forget the ordeal. But he knew better. She was not ready. She was a frightened lamb amongst what she had led herself to believe were wolves. All he could do was console her with words and the reassuring feeling of a hug.

"H-he touched me," she said, quiet but frightened. "I told him to stop, but he t-touched me. And it hurts."

"I'm sorry," he whispered in painful anguish to her ear when she stopped thrashing. For anything else, he wished to turn back time. "I'll protect you next time. I won't let anyone hurt you." A week ago, he had preferred she think of him as a murderer rather than a chivalrous knight, tonight all he wished to do was to shield her and save her from all of the ugliness the world had to offer. He wanted none of that for her.

When she had not the strength for anything more, she lain her head upon his powerful and familiar shoulders and cried. He stroked the ebony hair that fell on the curve of her back. "If you let me, Tomoyo," he murmured into her hair, "I'll be your knight." Anytime, any day, he would be a chivalrous knight for her.

That night, he cradled her sleeping figure in his arms and went home.

He had placed her atop his silken sheets beneath the silver curtains that enclosed his bed. To his squire just outside his room, he told him to summon the healer. Tonight, she had felt warm in his arms, and although she had shown to be a warm creature on a few occasions, she was warmer than usual this time. And more than that, her spurs of coughs disturbed him. She was sick.

Why did she leave the camp? She was sick and still she left camp. He cursed her for being too damned stubborn. Too stubborn and too proud.

Eriol looked at her and could not help but let his gaze travel her face then her body, then back to her lips. His heart pounded a bit faster and worry overcame his face. What did this mean?

When she awoke two days later, she found herself in a stone-walled bedchamber that was lit by torches of orange and red and a small pot, of concocted brew she supposed, by her bedside smothering her in steam.

"You're awake," a throaty chipper voice said, "That's good."

Tomoyo turned her head to the side and saw a feeble looking man coming towards her. He was bespectacled with half-moon glasses falling to the bridge of his nose. His white hair neatly combed to one side.

"I'm Yukito, m'dear," he introduced, taking her hand and kissing its back out of respect. "The healer," Eriol emphasized, trying his best to keep the irritation from his voice.

Tomoyo was not quite sure on what to do or why the odd man kissed her hand. She looked at him strangely. Blinking her eyes once, then twice, she imitated his gesture, taking his bony hand and kissing it. But he looked at her oddly then throatily laughed. What was wrong, she thought. Wasn't she doing it right?

"Enough," another voice sounded, more deep and cold. "Your job, Yuki," Eriol said coolly though looking at Tomoyo while he spoke.

He had spent a day watching over her, unable to sleep or to properly eat. When he did accidentally fall into the sandman's spell of slumber, it was because he had drunk himself to sleep. Right now, all he wanted to know was what was happening to her. And the last thing he wanted was to see his healer flirt with his captive.

It was the doctor's turn to blink. "Ah yes," he said, more chipper than before, "The lady's problem." He adjusted his glasses and smiled in amusement. "You have quite a weak body, lady… Tomoyo, is it?"

"Yes."

"Yes, well, from what his highness has informed me, you haven't been eating. The acids have slightly burned your stomach. But more than that, I am concerned," he said in all seriousness, "Your chest it very bruised inside. The coughing of blood—it has happened before hasn't it. It's not just the acids of your stomach. You had this problem even before you met Lord Eriol."

She said nothing, instead she forced her face down, looking at her clasped hands and pursing her lips. As of the moment, silence was her best option.

"Right. Well, my advise, stay away from dust. Try best to relax your self. No exerting of unnecessary actions," he said. "The very uneven breathing will close up your throat, which is why I gather you had problems breathing last night."

He turned to Eriol and motioned the pot the brewed liquid. Seriously he said, "if she has trouble breathing or coughing fits occur, let her breath the steam of this. Only breathe, mind you."

Tomoyo raised her hand, unsure if she was allowed to speak.

"Yes, m'dear?"

"What h-happens if you drink it?" she asked quietly.

"You'll have a sore stomach for weeks. Not to mention the numerous bathroom trips I am quite sure you'll have to take," he laughed, and his easy voice made her chuckle.

"Thank you, Yuki," Eriol stonily said, emphasizing on the 'thank you' as a signal for him to leave.

Tomoyo stood shakily to somewhat properly say her goodbye to the man. Dr. Yukito smiled at the thought, kissed her hand, and left the premises.

As she watched him leave, she could not shake the uneasiness of Eriol's stare. He was still looking at her in a way that was different to her. In the past, he played with her, tried his best to rile her, and his eyes ones of amusement. Now, he was different. His hooded gaze somehow frightened her. This was him. This was the Dark Lord the legends foretold.

"Don't look at me that way," she said in a commanding tone. She didn't like it. It made her feel insecure, vulnerable. But Eriol did not change. He was still before her, crossed arms and a grim line on his mouth. "So you'll play nice with the healer, but you won't let me so much as look at you."

He was angry. Why he was so, his understanding did not fully comprehend. She tried to run away from him, again. But he saw that coming. He saw it coming and at that time, it only intrigued him, at that time, he did not know she meant to leave him for heaven. The prospect of never seeing her again did things to him. That was not what he wanted. He wanted to have her here, if nothing else, atleast to see her everyday. It was important. Why it was important, he also did not know.

"Before you," he hissed. "I got through everyday without so much as a hitch. Before you, I was the Dark Lord. Now I am this person, this ordinary being, not even fit to be king, who is in constant worry over you! Why are you like this," he demanded, shutting his eyes and slamming a fist on a wooden table hard enough for it to shake and for her to jump. "Why are you making it so difficult to---." He did not continue but swallowed his next words instead. He would not let himself think too much of this. But he knew already, in the back of his head, there was so much more to this.

"I'm sorry," she quietly apologized, tried to weakly smile at him, but she saw his tired eyes. He was right. She was being difficult, and all he did was tolerate with unwavering calm and amusement. He treated her exceptionally well and she threw it back to his face. "I'm sorry for being difficult. I'll be better."

Tomoyo saw the redness of his eyes and was somewhat moved by the fact he had stayed up to watch over her. Gently she took his hand and pulled him to bed. The questioning look washed over his face, but she had persisted and already made room for him beside her. "Sleep," she said in a way that touched a something in him, and he did not let go of her hand. She reassured him in a voice that slowly drifted off to the pleasantries of dreams, "I'll be here in the morning." But what Eriol wanted from her was more than just one morning.

"It's not deer, promise," Eriol told her laughingly. After yesterday, they had both awoke to a virtually good day, making a silent bargain to start from scratch. He had before her a fruitful meal of chicken and salad, and she smiled a lot.

"So, why are you not married?" she asked one time, and he had told he hadn't the time for trivial things. "But you're different," he told her with utmost solemnity, when she had pointed out to him that the time he spent with her could have been used to spend time courting women. "You're not trivial, little one," was all he said. Firmly and sincerely.

This time, she chose not to mind his endearments towards her and the enthralling tone of his voice. Instead she opted to take things lightly and laugh. "You must have some women stashed away in your secrets," she insisted, shaking her head. And with the same insistence, he tilted to her and told her, "I have you, don't I."

Gracefully, she flushed and smiled. "That's not the same. If you have a problem wooing the women, you can always tell me you know," she said a matter-a-factly, causing Eriol to chuckle, "I may not be familiar with the ways of courtship, but I am woman after all. I must have some knowledge of use to you."

"I don't have a problem courting women." His brows furrowed with the thought that she thought him a man lacking in grace and poise when it came to women. He was very good with women. Women flocked to him begging for the warmth of his bed. All of them wanted his very approval. He was good with---.

But she only arched her brows and in a sing song voice, replied, "If you say so."

Silence fell over them for a minute and all they could do was look at each other, one with innocent eyes, and the other with insistent ones. When Tomoyo could no longer stand the deafening stillness, she leaned towards him in an almost conspiratorial manner. "Seriously though," she whispered in all graveness, "you can tell me. I won't tell a soul."

Eriol slapped his knee and laughed.

Every other day, the healer would come in to check up on Tomoyo. Nothing about that had been troubling for her, but everything about it had been troubling for the Dark Lord. He found himself to be moody whenever he saw the pleasantries between Tomoyo and Yukito take place before him. And when Yukito kissed her hand goodbye, Eriol glanced at Tomoyo. "They say he's having affair with another man, you know," he detachedly informed her, hoping to sound uncaring about the situation despite the squeezed feeling in his chest.

Tomoyo watched Yukito leave, then cocked her head at Eriol. "Why does he do that though?" she inquired amusingly.

"Do what? Have an affair with a man? I wouldn't know. I prefer woman---."

"No, no." She laughed a little and shook her head. "He kisses my hand," she said meaningfully, very curious. "Why does he do that?"

"That is because he sees you as a lady," he plainly put. "A gentleman is obliged to kiss the hand of a lady when they enter or leave the room."

Her brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead. "How about you?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I fear I am in no way female," he drawled, slightly taken back, thinking she meant to ask why men didn't kiss his hand.

Momentarily Tomoyo fell silent. Once, twice, thrice she blinked her violet-shaded eyes. "No, no," she chortled, breaking into bell-like laughter. "I meant to ask was if you would kiss my hand."

"Would you like me to?" he questioned, slowly being pulled into her spell of laughter.

She scratched her chin lightly and thoughtfully asked, "Is being a lady a good thing?"

"I believe so."

"Then yes, I would like you to," she said in finality, bobbing her head and smiling in pure gaiety.

Containing a grin, he watched her with amusement. Taking her pale hand into his own, he kissed it, lingering for seconds more than necessary. "How was that?"

Without realizing it, she thoughtfully said, "I think the legend plays you false."

He looked at her questioningly. "And why is that?"

"Well sir, it is because you deem yourself to be a gentleman."

He scornfully laughed. "The legend is true," he contradicted, as visions of countless bloody battles he fought paraded his mind in all their lurid ugliness, complete with battlefields littered with corpses of his men and his foes.

Tomoyo knew naught of his bleak memories and her gentle hear rejected his self-proclaimed guilt. She only knew him as the man who had protected her from his own lust-driven soldiers; who had saved her from death in the forest; who had proclaimed her lady and himself, gentleman by kissing her hand. "I don't believe it," she murmured.

"Most of it's true," he warned. Though he was willing to be her knight, he would not hide his ugly truths from her. He knew better than to lie. He knew better than to manipulate. But she only looked at him and his captured her gaze and held it for a moment. She didn't say it, but she loved the way the man's eyes became a shade darker from time to time.

"How do you do that?" she whispered without much thought, dimly aware she was reaching up for his face.

Before Tomoyo could touch his face, he took her feeble hands into his own. "Do what?"

"You're eyes," she breathed in a mesmerized manner. "They change color. They become darker."

He lowered his head. "It happens sometimes-- when I'm angry, enraged -- impassioned" he thickly said, descending his mouth as she looked up at his heavy-lidded, sensually black eyes, and some lambent protective instinct cried a warning she was getting in too deep. Panicked, Tomoyo turned her face away a scant instant before his lips touched hers. Undaunted, he trailed his warm lips to her cheek, pulling her nearer and brushing his lips to the sensitive column of her neck, while Tomoyo turned hot liquid inside. "Don't," she breathed shakily, turning her face into his tunic. "Please," she whispered, clinging to him in support as his tongue slid up her ear, sensuously, leisurely exploring every curve and crevice, making her shudder with longing as his arms tightened themselves around her lithe body. "Please stop," she said achingly. She didn't understand any of this. None at all, but it felt very sinful.

As if to respond, his hand slid lower, splaying on the small of her back and pressing her intimately and thoroughly in contact with the bulge between his unyielding thighs—and without the need for words, he told her to stop simply was not possible.

He stroked her nape sensuously, urging her to kiss him. Drawing a shattered breath, she buried her head much further into his tunic, denying his loving persuasion. At that, Eriol's hand tightened, and helpless to refuse him any longer she slowly lifted her head.

He took her lips into his own and molded them in tender urgency. He devoured her mouth and backed her against a wall. She was powerless to the insistent movement of his hips that grinded against hers, rubbing his full erection against her abdomen. Tomoyo let out a low moan of sinful wanting, unable to stop the instinctive arching of her own body.

Eriol fitted one hand behind her head and licked her swollen lips. "Open for me, sweetling," he said in rasped urgency. Parting her lips to welcome the thrusting invasion of his tongue, she felt him recoil and plunge again and again. She felt fire in his fingertips as he trailed his hands down her back and sides, breasts, waist, and cupping her buttocks, pulling her tightly against his rigid arousal.

She felt his hands tug her clothes off her and that made her panic in wild alarm. She tore his mouth off him and crossed her arms over her body. "What are you doing?" she asked with eyes that widened with evident fear, "I-i don't understand this."

"I want you," he said, quiet and without emphasis, though his eyes were stark-black.

"Enough to let me go?" she whispered, wanting to be free once more after all this.

"No."

His voice was extremely plain, flat, as if refusing a distasteful meal. For such a small word, it felt incredibly hurtful. She was ready to give him all of herself and her morals for the small price of her freedom. Apparently her virtue was not worth much, she thought bitterly, biting back the unshed tears. "Damn you."

Author Note: Can someone tell me if my pacing is too fast?