This is a joint venture of Kaana Moonshadow and myself. We had lots of fun writing it and hope you have as much fun reading.

We don't own Bishop, but we sure as hell wish we did.

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Bishop stood staring at the unconscious girl at his feet, feeling like his heart was being squeezed in a vice-like grip.

How could that be? How could she look so much like Riana?

And why? Why? He finally had gained at least some of his footing again, and now…

He went to his knees next to her, checking her pulse, finding it beating steadily. She was alive, and would in time come to. He hesitated, fighting the impulse, but then softly touched her hair with a trembling hand, letting it glide through the silky strands. He swallowed and let his fingers wander over the smooth skin of her cheek, to her mouth, following the curve of her lips with his fingertips. A small shiver went down his spine, and he felt like somehow, he could not get enough air.

He let his hands slide behind her shoulders and carefully lifted her up, so that her upper body leaned against his. Her head lolled back, and he steadied it with one hand in her neck. Her face was so close now, and he stared at her, drinking in her sight.

Then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her hair, inhaling deeply. She even smelled like Riana, sweet and enticing.

Without noticing it, his arms tightened around her as he pressed her closer, his heart accelerating. His lips touched the soft skin under her ear, and a tremor went through him.

Riana…

No! This was not Riana! This was his target. And his job was to throw her down the cliffs.

He inhaled once more, drawing in her scent, then he forced himself to lift his head, slowly opening his eyes. He would pick her up, carry her to the near cliffs and dump her over it. Assignment fulfilled. And then he could go back and collect the rest of his money.

And forget this had ever happened.

He let his gaze fall back down on her and hissed when the deep purple marks on her neck caught his eyes.

Bloody hells!

Make certain there are no marks whatsoever on her that indicate violence!

Damn, damn, damn!

Those bruises around her neck just screamed violence. If she died like this, no one would believe in an accident.

He had screwed up royally.

The sound of laughter drifting to him from the camp reminded him that he had to do something, and soon, before they came looking for her.

He cursed under his breath and stood up, lifting her into his arms. He could still salvage the situation. It would just take a little more time. He would take her back to the hut and wait until the marks round her neck had healed.

And throw her down the cliff in a couple of days.

No big deal, really.

Carrying her in his arms, he quickly wove through the trees and undergrowth, careful not to leave a trail. He doubted any of the city brats could track at all, but he had made enough of a mess of this job already. He was not taking any more risks.

He made his way back to the hut, forcing himself not to look down at the girl he carried. No need to see her face. She was dead already. That she still breathed was just a minor detail.

The way to the hut seemed very long indeed.

xxx

When he at last arrived at the hut, he entered, still carrying the girl, and placed her on the ground. The colour was returning to her cheeks slowly. She would wake soon.

He put some blankets on the ground where the chains were let into the wall. How very convenient this was. He should send a note of thanks to the builder of this hut.

After that, he went back and carried her to the blankets, laying her down. He inspected the chains closely. They were ankle rings with quite long chains attached to them, so that anyone shackled to the wall could move at least a bit. But they were made of iron, and they would chafe after a while. Bishop could not afford simply replacing the strangulation marks on her neck by chafe marks on her ankles.

Sighing, he went to his backpack and pulled out one of his spare shirts, the oldest he carried, and started to rip it into stripes. Those cloth stripes he wound around the metal of the ankle rings, to serve as padding. When he got paid, he could afford a dozen new shirts.

He checked his work and found the cloth thick enough to protect her skin from the metal. Then he started to remove her boots. Nice boots they were, soft blue suede, laced with blue ribbon, going up to the mid of her calves, with a moderate heel.

Pretty. And an incredibly stupid thing to wear in the woods. As was her equally pretty dress. Stupid, spoiled, mollycoddled city gal.

He took off the boots, staring down at the soft, milky skin of her calves peeking out under the long, flouncy skirt. Hesitatingly, he reached out, his fingers trembling, sliding slowly upwards from her ankle. He could hear his own blood pounding in his ears while his hand wandered upwards, nearing her knee.

No!

He tore back his hand and pressed his knuckles into his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to get a grip on himself.

It's not Riana! It is not Riana! She is no one! Just a girl that will die soon.

A soft moan from the girl made him flinch. Cursing, he hurried to fasten one of the ankle rings around her leg and pulled down her dress with a nearly forcible motion, so that only her toes showed under the cloth. One ankle ring would have to suffice. The key to the chains he slipped into the pocket of his breeches.

Should he gag her as well? His gaze travelled back to her face, lingering on the bruises on her neck. Not necessary. Her throat would be hardly in any condition to scream. If she was lucky, she would manage a hoarse whisper.

He could not keep his eyes from wandering farther up, to her face. Her eyes were still closed, but her eyelids had started to flutter slightly. She moaned again, her lips slightly parted. For a moment, he sat motionless while he stared at her mouth, then he cursed again and abruptly sprang to his feet.

He turned and left the hut, pulling up a bucket full of water from the well, his movements jerky. He splashed some of the cold water on his face, then groaned and dunked the whole thing over his head.

The sharp sensation of the cold water did much to clear his mind. He shook himself like a dog, running his fingers through his wet hair. His shirt was wet and clung to him, but at least his brain was working properly again.

He would have to stop this madness. It was unfortunate that the girl in the hut reminded him so much of things lost, but it could not be helped. He would just have to keep it together, stay focussed and not let himself be distracted. He could do this. He'd only have to remind himself that this was not her, and everything should be dandy.

And maybe he should not look at the girl more than absolutely necessary.

Steeling himself, Bishop went back into the hut. The first thing he saw was that the girl had drawn herself up to a sitting position, her hands clutching at her throat. Her eyes were wide as she watched him enter the small building.

He threw her a glance, but quickly averted his eyes and wordlessly went to his backpack, taking out his bedroll and some more blankets. Still silent, he started to build his berth by the wall opposite to her.

No use in chatting. Why, if he would kill her anyway in a couple of days?

He could hear her cough and moan afterwards as it hurt her sore throat. She croaked something as she tried to speak, then very carefully cleared her throat.

"Who…" she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible, "who are you?"

Bishop simply ignored her and continued his work, his back still turned to her.

"What do you want?" Her words were still slow and painful. "Gold? I don't have any gold."

Bishop turned to his backpack and started going through the contents until he found the bread and dried fruit he had taken with him as provisions. He sat back on his bedroll and took a bite out of the bread.

"Talk to me!", she croaked, anger starting to make her voice a bit stronger, if still hoarse. "What do you want?"

Bishop still did not look at her. "Shut up", he just said.

"Why should I?" She paused, only to address him in a haughty voice again. "You know of course that you are in a rather precarious situation right now, don't you?"

That made Bishop look up at her at last, his lips curling derisively. "That so?", he sneered.

She sat, rigidly upright, her back against the wall. There was quite a bit of colour in her cheeks, and her eyes flashed angrily.

"You know, my family will be looking for me soon. My father is a very influential man, and he and his associates will make you regret that you have ever laid a hand on me! And who knows - after you have been caught, my brother will probably want to challenge you himself. He's a very good swordsman!"

Bishop threw his head back and laughed.

"Good one", he then said, still grinning. "If he does challenge me, I'll take care not to ruffle his hair, I promise."

"I hope he runs you through with his sword!"

Bishop smirked at her, getting up from his bedroll and slowly, menacingly stalked over to her. He could see the defiance slowly die in her eyes with every step of his, while she tried to melt into the wall at her back.

Something in Bishop loved the fear on her face, loved seeing her shrink from him. Her long, silvery hair flowed in wild strands around her face, her deep violet eyes were huge and firmly fixed on him.

Completely at his mercy.

In his mind, she turned into another woman sitting before him, looking up at him.

He shook his head to get rid of the image and went to his knees in front of her, leaning forward into her, supporting his weight with one hand against the wall, deliberately invading her space.

She tried to shy away, but with the wall in her back, there was nowhere left to go. He could see her shiver. Gods, he loved it.

"Yes, little mouse", he purred. "Be afraid. Be very afraid. Your family is not here. But I am. We are deep in the woods. No one will find you here. Not in time."

She tried to curl up into herself as much as possible. "What do you want?", she asked again, in a very small voice this time. "A ransom? My father is very rich. He will pay anything you want. Anything!"

He sneered. "Oh, I will be paid, little mouse, don't worry. I am paid a royal sum to dispose of you."

"Wh… what?" Her voice shook just as much as her body.

He said back and smiled at her, cruelly. "Someone does not seem to like you, mousie. You will have a tragic accident. As soon as the bruises on your throat are healed."

"No! No, please…" Tears welled up in her eyes, and she tried to grab his hand.

Bishop swatted her hand away and leaned forward again, grabbing her hair, brutally pulling her head back.

"Shut up! Look at me!", he hissed.

She swallowed and blinked her eyes at him.

"Look closely! Do I look like I'd take pity?"

Tears slowly started to trickle down her cheeks while she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and her head shaking almost imperceptibly.

"Right. I don't. If you think I have a heart you can move, you're mistaken. I don't have a heart. And if you start grating on my nerves by whining all the time, you will be very, very sorry. And you will wish I had simply killed you. Are we clear?"

She swallowed and tried to nod this time, still crying silently.

Reluctantly, Bishop retracted his hand from her hair. It felt so good to see her cowering before him, to have all this power over her. He knew that these feelings in fact were not for her, but it was tempting, so very tempting…

He could have his way with her, could do anything he wanted… had wanted to do for so long… could just imagine it was her

No! No, he would not yield. Tempting it might be, but he would not let all those feelings he had fought so hard to kill rise again in him, would not let himself be weak again.

Alone for making him go through all this once more, the little mouse deserved to die. As she would in a couple of days. He'd just have to pull himself together until then.

He got up to his feet and went back to his sleeping place, picking up the bread and throwing her a piece.

"Eat", he said, putting the rest back into his pack.

Then he lay down on his blankets, staring up into the roof again.

He smiled grimly. So much had changed since the morning. But one thing he had proven again: He indeed was scum.

Well, what the hells. He'd be rich scum soon.

He turned his head and looked at the girl who had curled up into a foetal position. The bread lay untouched next to her.

"Eat!", he said again.

She did not react.

"Little mouse", he said, very calmly. "I thought I had made myself clear. Do what I tell you. You really don't want me to get up again and force-feed you, believe me."

She sobbed once, but took the bread and bit a small piece out of it.

Bishop closed his eyes, but her image seemed to be burned on his eyelids. Angry with himself, he turned on his side, facing the wall.

"Good", he said, without looking at her. "When I get up and I find anything left of the bread, you'll regret it."

He stared at the wall, trying to tone out the small sobs that escaped her from time to time.

The next couple of days were going to be hell.