A/N – In the last chapter, Vegeta just went vampire on Bulma. Now we join her.
.Disclaimer.
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.Chapter Four.
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Bulma sunk slowly to the floor, clutching her neck with both hands. Her breaths came out in strangled sobs as tears pushed at her eyes. Her mind was searing with white-hot pain, her neck throbbing with it. Her body trembled, trying to keep itself together and cope with the anguish.
Her heart was beating, literally beating against her ribcage. Like the organ was being slammed against a brick wall, becoming a disfigured bloody mass. Blood was rushing through her ears, pounding at her eardrums.
She couldn't think; she could only stare in horror at the space in front of her. She tried to scream, tried to push out all the excruciating pain with one throaty scream that would make her throat bleed. She couldn't. All that was heard was no more that high pitched hisses.
She didn't think it could get any worse. It did. The pain in her neck began to spread, like acidic poison under her skin. It burned her muscles like a slow fire and cut at her nerves like they were being scraped by a fine blade. The tears were falling freely now as pain shot down her arm and up her neck.
It spread down her chest. Her lungs felt as if they were suddenly wrapped in barbed wire. Each gasping breath and whimper making the barbs dig into the soft tissue, tearing it, ripping it. Her bones felt heavy, like it was a strain for her muscles to hold them. The strain was so big, she swore that the weight was ripping the bone from the muscles and her mind heard rips and tears, it was horrifically maddening.
Her left arm began to lock like it had a sudden severe cramp. When she tried to move it, the bone felt like it was being slowly carved with a serrated blade. Her neck tensed and she couldn't swallow, couldn't breath. Her eyes widen in panic. And she registered something besides the pain.
Fear. The fear an animal must get when it knows it's going to die.
She began to thrash and writhe as if she was trapped and held down. She clenched her teeth down on her lip and drew blood. With a shock her body stilled at the taste of it. Franticly, she focussed on it. Her life depended on it. She focused on the pain she had caused. She bit down harder, focusing on the pain she could control.
She didn't know how long she lay there. Laid curled up in a little ball on her side, her hands clamped down on her neck, her body trembling, trembling like every nerve in her body was shot. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared out across the floor vacantly, pain numbing and filling her mind.
The pain had subsided enough for her to begin to think rationally. Slowly, she pulled herself up, it was much more difficult then it should have been. Much more difficult. Whether it was because her muscles were tensed and cramped, or because she was fighting the harsh gravity of the planet, she wasn't sure.
She laid back against the wall, her legs folded on their side before her. She couldn't move them. She took deep breaths to calm herself. Her eyes slowly began to focus, distantly she heard water running. It didn't register. Dull shock began to fill her. The kind that one felt when they knew they should be enraged or in tears, but just didn't find the strength to be.
But her shock was slowly dissolving and Bulma felt the strength slowly ebbing out of her core, into her being. Her breathing began to quicken as she remember just what had happened. What had put her in such agonizing pain.
That bastard.
Her mind quickly ran through snippets of memory. His callous hands groping at her body, his weight against her as if he was made of iron, his tongue running over her like a slimy slug. Her breathing began to quicken in embarrassment and humiliation.
She blinked, and tried to clear her mind of that veil of shock. It wasn't letting what happen fully sink in. She felt the emotions only a fraction of what she rightly should of. She felt violated, but the righteous anger was slow in coming; Bulma could only shudder, a sorrowful grimace on her face.
Bulma tried to think, tried to see past that veil that fell over the events. In a daze, she remembered her mindset throughout the whole ordeal.
An animal. He had reduced her to lose almost all rational thought, and depend on instinct. Though half hooded eyes, she realized something: No one had ever done that before. No one had ever striped her of her intelligence, ingenuity, what defined her. At this thought, the veil of shock began to lift; her mind began to move faster.
In that situation, everything that had gone through her mind was just emotion, instinctual reaction to him. Bulma narrowed her eyes in growing ire. She was appalled and sickened at the realization. Her mindless behavior was shameful, and it scared her beyond belief, and her dazed shock was gone.
Never had she been in a situation she couldn't get herself out of. Whether with sweet words, authoritative demands, a shy smile, a down right tantrum, or her own clever manipulations, Bulma could get out of any trouble. But this...
She hadn't been able to do anything, she hadn't been able to think straight, she hadn't been able to devise any plan whatsoever. Her eyes narrowed, the thought absolutely infuriating. If that wasn't enough shame, he had humiliated her in a way she had never experienced before.
Her eyes twitched with repulsion as she remembered the first offense. His black eyes sweeping over her body, his gaze so heavy and focused it felt like a physical weight against her skin. Her had stomach rolled with disgust, anger and fear. No one had ever looked at her like that so openly. Like a piece of meat to be ruthlessly devoured. It made her skin crawl, made her feel so dirty and exposed.
Not to mention the way he literally mauled her shortly after that. Perhaps she would have dwelled over the revolting memory of his body crushing her against the wall, his hands clenching her wrist like iron shackles, his lips searing into her skin. Maybe she could of thought of that, let that fuel her rage (It was certainly enough). However, it was what he had done after that, that truly humiliated her and cultivated the odium that she held for the Saiyan Prince.
She didn't want to know how long she had laid, a puddle of weakness, ignominy, writhing in pain like a worm on the floor of his bedroom. She didn't want to remember the intensity of the physical pain he cause, how it had driven thought from her mind. How he had reduced her to act like a senseless animal twice. Anger filled her at her disgrace, at his transgression. Her jaw clenched and she bit back a cry. It felt like someone just sliced her neck open.
She let out ragged breaths. Her pride severely bruised. While this had been the most intense pain she had ever experienced in her life, her pride wouldn't let her succumb, she couldn't let it overpower her. She would fight it. She bit her lip, tasting the blood, concentrating on it. Though, the intensity of her anger, her humiliation gave her much more fuel to block out the severe ache on her neck.
In the way one would rip off a band-aid, Bulma quickly pushed herself up. She leaned on the wall for support, gasping as pain shot up her legs. She ignored it and didn't let it subside before she moved to walk. Each step felt as if she was stepping on a giant sword and it was cutting straight through the bone of her leg, up to her pelvic bone. With sheer force of will, she made it towards the middle of the right wall, where a sitting area was placed.
Briefly she remembered Eighteen's voice in her mind, tell her that her stubbornness would be the death of her. To combat the brutal pain, Bulma turned the little tease into a challenge and marched to a red armchair. No, this wouldn't kill her. She would not die yet. She vehemently refused to die before him.
She collapsed upon the armchair, hisses and whimpers escaping her mouth. Forcefully she moved her hands away from her neck. Instantly she felt the need to cover it again, as if her hands were doing anything to soothe it. The air hit the flesh wound, harshly like a bitter cold wind. She looked at her palm to see it smeared with her blood and his cold saliva. She wiped it on the armrest in absolute revulsion. Then she clenched her hands on the armrest, her nails digging in, imagining it was his flesh.
Never had she felt such an intense hate for anyone. Or such an extreme sense of betraya - Bulma forcibly shoved the word out of her mind. The Saiyan Prince was incapable of betraying her. Betrayal implied… Bulma shook her head, tossing those thoughts aside with practiced efficiency.
The Prince was simply a figure, a symbol of things she hated. He had been nothing more than the enemy, a name, nothing more than the Saiyan leader. Now, it was now, that he had personally and intimately wronged her. Striped her of what she was, turned her into a mindless animal, and caused her torturous pain.
Now she didn't just want to get even, she wanted him to feel twice as much pain as he caused her. Make every crime he committed against her look like mere child's play compared to what she would deal him. Make him truly regret ever meeting her.
There was a sudden swoosh of a sliding door. Bulma's eyes snapped to it, her head perfectly still. She was already unconsciously adjusting her expression and body language to prevent it from expressing pain. She narrowed her eyes on his form and everything she had been brooding over came in a sudden rush over her mind. All her feelings rushed though her again and she chose one to override them all.
With a sudden will, she wanted to control her anger into a cold ice to slice his flesh with, instead of the uncontrollable fire that threatened to consume her. No, she wouldn't let him know how much he had affected her, how much of her rationality he had destroyed. She roped her anger in with disturbing ease, ease she never knew she was capable off.
She watched as his gaze settle to where he had left her and to her sudden delight, he looked incredibly confused and taken back that she was not still there. However, instead of frantically looking around like she would of liked, his head lazy turned over to where she sat. She was laid back in the chair, slouched and looking as casual as she could, unaffected and indifferent. Nothing but icy contempt.
He smirked at her, and if she hadn't been so focused on her own expression, she might of saw the approval along with the barley concealed surprise.
Instead, his smirk set her off like it always seemed to do. Her icy anger heated, turning her tone deathly malicious. "You fucking bit me." She snarled, her eyes narrowed in a murderous glare. She realized it hurt immensely to talk, her neck not likening the slight movements. She completely ignored it.
His smirk slid off and he glared back of her. His voice irate. "Of course I did." He then leveled her with an intense glare, one she imagined he'd give to a soldier that disobeyed a direct order. "Your mine."
Bulma's eyes flew open at this. "Excuse me?" She hissed venomously cold. He did not just say that! Her blood was beginning to boil, heated by his audacity.
His eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed on her. His eyes laid over her like she had just insulted his mother. He advanced on her, his muscles tense and his fist clenched.
She stood up to meet him, ignoring the shock of agony and concentrating on her anger. He had shamed her. She had to salvage her dignity. For a fraction of a second, both surprise and intrigue was on his face, so quickly Bulma knew she had to have imagined it. Yes, now on his face was clear anger.
"You heard me, women. You are my property, I do with you what I will."
In an instant, Bulma lost all that icy control and her anger erupted like a volcano "You bastard!" She roared, "Where the hell do you get off-"
He was in front of her so fast, even with her superior eyesight, he was nothing but a blur. With stubborn determination she glared up at his face instead of falling back in the armchair. Torturous pain shot through her neck at the slight crane she had to make to look up at him.
"You lost the war, your people have no excuse to keep you from me now. You were owed to me." His eyes were so dark and blazingly furious. Someone in their right mind would of backed down by now.
At his words, it was Bulma's turn to be taken back, as if he had slugged her. How dare he have the nerve, to even fathom that he had any right to her! Blind ire began to build in her. She open her mouth to contradict him. However, he went on his voice husky, a little more than a dangerous growl
"Not only have we gone through the ceremony, I've marked you. Your mine." He barred his teeth at her in a feral snarl, his eyed glaring down at her with nothing but contempt, the last word said with such finality, anyone with preservation instincts would not have contradict.
As it was, Bulma was vehemently sick of running on instincts. Her eyes flashed and she barred her teeth, "You bastard, I am not owed to you! That ceremony did not bind me to you, this sick disgusting flesh wound dose not make me yours!"
His eye's flashed with such powerful anger, his muscles twitched, and to her shame, Bulma had the sudden fear that he would strike her. His jaw was clenched tightly, his fist at his sides, his knuckles bone-white. His red ki became faintly visible and Bulma couldn't hide her fear as her eye's widened and she shrunk away from him, her pride keeping her from falling into the chair behind her. At her slight motion though, his ki dissipated as suddenly as it had come.
"If you do not wish to acknowledge the agreement, then look at it this way," He bit out. Bulma hid her surprise at his calm voice well. Though, while his voice was not raised, it was laced with strain and undeniable anger. "You lost the war, you are then a prisoner, a captive. You belong to my empire, therefore are mine."
"No." Bulma said firmly, looking away from him and shaking her head, then immediately regretting it as she felt like she had just taken a saw to her own neck. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and concentrated on his lies. She refused that situation. She didn't belong to anyone! She couldn't- She couldn't be- "I'm not married to you! I-"
"You are!" He roared, "Get it through your head!"
"I didn't agree to this!"
His eyes widened again, as if she had just spit in his face. His brow dipped, and he, almost frantically, searched her face. Then he barred his teeth at what he found. He heaved quick breaths, and snared at her, no roared at her. His voice throaty and bestial, "You did!"
Bulma's eyes widened and narrowed in irrational anger, intensely painful emotion. What he referred to did not exist. She blatantly, vehemently, refused. However, since it was him, the Saiyan Prince, she knew he wouldn't accept that.
She needed to get away from him. Now. As quickly as she could she stepped aside him. And to her surprise, he let her. Bulma made a beeline to the bathroom and just before she entered, she hissed.
"I didn't."
She swore he turned towards her so fast, she heard the air swooshed around him. However, she slapped the touch pad and the door slid close behind her.
She stood there for a long moment. She was not retreating. She just…
Bulma slumped back against the door, whimpering softly at her body's protest of movement. She let the pain consume her mind; it was better than thinking about anything the Saiyan Prince had done. Now that she wasn't ignoring the agony though, she thought she was going to pass out.
It was unbearable. Absolutely unbearable. Her shouting match had burned at her nerves. The pain grew to be too much, and she tried to will it away. She tried to get up. This time, she didn't shoot up, but tentatively and agonizingly slow pushed herself up and walked over to the sink. She placed her palms on the counter. The fact the tiles were of Ningen design was completely lost on her. She looked up at the round silver framed mirror. Her mouth fell in horror and her eyes widened.
There on her neck was a massive bruise. Two black puncture marks that faded to the ugliest of purples as it spread out. It climbed up her neck and over her shoulder, like an outstretched spider. It was a shock against her pale skin and seeing what it looked like, made it hurt so much worse.
Tears began to drop down her cheeks and she suddenly felt so overwhelmingly tired. To tired to really think of what such a mark meant, or wallow in the pain and pity. Anger was a draining, exhausting emotion and Bulma didn't bother to wipe away her tears. She watched with a strange detachment as they fell into the sink and slide down the slope.
How did this happen?
How the hell did Bulma end up crying in Vegeta's bathroom, the Prince of Saiyans, her enemy? Everything that had happened in the last few hours seemed so surreal. Like it had happened to someone else. Or like waking up from a vivid dream and wondering what was real and what was part of the nightmare.
She glanced up at the mirror, that horrible bruise staring back at her. She looked away immediately. It had to be a nightmare... The bruise throbbed and felt sickeningly hot, pain spreading constantly from it like razors and needles. No, physical pain isn't felt in dreams. Only in reality.
Reality. This was her reality? She looked up at the mirror, her brows knit and her mouth in a grim line.
Her eyes were red, and she could see dark bags beginning to appear, like dirt under thin snow. Tears still ran down, silently. Her aqua tress hung limply, sticking in odd directions. Her shoulders were slumped, weighed with gravity and exhaustion. The bruise stood out like a fat giant leach on her neck. Draining her, and pushing in it's own poison. She looked very thin and small in the room. Never had Bulma looked so incredibly fragile.
Bulma looked at herself the way a scientist looks at a disappointing experiment. Never had she seen herself look that way. She was a shell of her former self, and briefly, she wondered if the people that loved her would recognize her. At the thought, her stomach tightened painfully and the tears quickened, beginning to pour now.
Yamcha.
How her heart called to him. She took shallow breaths, suddenly feeling like she was suffocating without him. She saw his face, his cocky grin when he caught her staring, or his sheepish smile when she caught him. Her mind went to the last time she was with him.
They were in her room, on the bearskin carpet. For the life of her she couldn't remember what they had been talking about. No, only Yamcha stood out in her mind; the warmth of his body against hers, the murmur of his lips, the puff of his breath on her skin.
But that was the last time. She hadn't heard anything of him. Maybe that was a good thing, if anything had happened, it would have been very big news and nothing would have kept it from her ears. Actually, if he were found on Tokoshimo, she most likely would have been questioned about it. As far as the Saiyans knew, there was no reason for him to be there.
Their engagement had been held tightly under wraps. However, whatever his father would of advised him to do, Yamcha would not have abandoned Tokoshimo the first chance he got. Her mind was suddenly stabbed with the image of Yamcha lying in the blood stained snow, his body contorted unnaturally, his eyes open wide and lifeless, surrounded by so many bodies and machines.
A strangled sob escaped her lips, sounding like shattered glass in the silence of the small room. She squeezed her eye's shut and shook her head, concentrating on the bolts of pain that shot up and down her neck. Anything was better than the thought that Yamcha was-
No, it couldn't be true! Her lips quivered with fear. She shook her head again, her knees buckling and she leaned on the counter for support. Her mind ran over her Father, over her friends. Images of their bodies broken and disfigured, lying in their own blood. Bulma just shook her head, her teeth clenched as violent sobs began to wrack through her body.
At her body's growing tenseness, her neck throbbed unbearably, and she was reminded. Reminded that she was stuck with the monster that had done all this to her. To her family, to her people. An incredible sense of shame and anguish shot through her and she gripped the edge of the counter as if it was the edge of a cliff and she was dangling like a shriveled leaf on a twig.
Bulma asked herself why this was all happening. What had she ever done? What had her people done? Her mind went over the invasion, over the last hours, the ceremony, his hands all over her. She had been so utterly and completely help... un-in-control…
Despite her situation, she still couldn't stand to say that word. She refused. However, the feeling was there, and it brought her to her knees. Her hands clutched at the edge of the counter to keep her from falling.
No, she thought tiredly, desperately. She couldn't fall.
She pulled herself up and for the last time looked into the mirror. Her eyes widened at the sight of something that chased away the stygian shadow that had wrapped around her, suffocating her.
Under the dip of her color bone was the thinnest of scars. It was a thin line, no longer than the width of her thumbnail. Against her pale skin, it was almost invisible, but her eyes could see it. Her hand went to it and she watched in the mirror as she traced it. She felt the most subtle of rises.
She had her people's hope with her. She couldn't fall. She had to hold on. She turned away from the mirror and to the door that separated them. Her determination faltered for a moment. She didn't want to face him, not now (not ever). What would she do when she got out there anyway?
She was exhausted. He would only force her into his bed. Her body shuddered with revulsion and anger at the thought. She looked around the room as if looking for a clue or an escape route. Her eyes rested on the large bathtub.
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Vegeta woke up with a start, sitting up right. He looked immediately to the other side of the bed. Not a pillow was out of place, the blanket wasn't even dented or wrinkled. He closed his eyes willing himself to control the sudden ire. Surly it wasn't good for his health to get mad, first thing in the morning.
However, everything that women did, and didn't do, was insanely infuriating.
Unbidden, his thoughts went back to last night. Wow, that was nothing like he had imagined it. What had occurred was nothing short of a disaster. The only thing that could of made it worse, had almost happened. His muscles tensed as shame bit at his mind, like a pesky bug wanting to be acknowledge.
He shook his head and tried to relax his muscles. It was her fault She was the one that had repeatedly insulted him and challenged him. Did she honestly expect him to bow his head and mutter apologies? Vegeta made a disgusted face at the thought.
His mind went over her words, her fervent refusals of him. He fisted his hands in the blanket that pooled in his lap. Not only did she refuse to acknowledge the wedding ceremony (Which she was there for!), she refused to acknowledge her agreement.
That was her gravest offense. The moment he realized what she did and didn't say… Looking back he wasn't quite sure what the emotion that filled him was, all he knew was that it was consuming. He held his word, his honor, above all, he expected her to do the same. He didn't know what was more maddening, the fact that she was refusing to fulfill her agreement, or the fact that she was pretending like she never made it in the first place.
He had been so insanely angry. The only reason he hadn't ki blasted her was because she recoiled from fear. He had barley enough sense to care about it, remembering what had happened the last time he had disregarded her fear. Actually, shocking both himself and her, he had spoken to her relatively calmly after that. He supposed it was because that horrible bruise kept staring back at him, with a vengeance. It made his insides squirm with disgust and something he really didn't what to admit: guilt.
He had been nothing short of shocked to see her sitting in that armchair like nothing happened. Which didn't really make sense. In his anger at her, he hadn't soothed his bite. Neither had she been willing to take it, which all added up to her being in an unimaginable amount of pain. However that hadn't been the case.
No, the Princess was standing up and yelling at him like he hadn't viscously marked her. She didn't even wince in his presence. It was impressive, alarming, and infuriating all at once.
When he left her, he wanted her to be in pain. To somehow feel the frustration and anger she had caused him. He wanted her to deal with the consequences of denying him.
His eyes widened as he remembered that particular offense.
What the hell!
The one thing he had been strongly looking forward to about taking a mate, she had denied him! Vegeta was suddenly beside himself with anger. Denied! He, the prince of Vegeta-sei, was denied! Never in his life had he been thrown aside in such a way. It didn't help that he had been particularly burning for that possession.
Denied!
He really could not believe it. That must have been her second offense. Not only had she pretended like he was a complete stranger, she had ignored her duty. Had she no honor! Vegeta ground his teeth. He didn't want to admit that his pride had been sorely bruised at the rejection, but he didn't know what else the feeling was. He had never been rejected before.
Not by any women. Vegeta was simply nowhere near accustomed to being told no, in any manner. Vegeta could count on his hands the number of times he had been told 'no' throughout his entire life (ironically, almost half of them had been centered around the Ningen Princess). He let out a bitter growl. He had been so angry with her at the time, it was with disturbing ease that he had marked her and left without soothing her.
Vegeta had fully expected to come out to see her writhing in pain, begging for his forgiveness, to beg him to soothe her, comfort her.
She had done no such thing.
While he had calmed down, he had begun to feel the needles of guilt about what he had done. Shame even... Doing that to your mate was simply... unjustified. Under any circumstances… For the briefest of moments his mind wondered what his mother would of thought of him, but the unusual thought was gone before it even registered.
If there was one thing he hated feeling, it was shame. Everything Vegeta did, he did with confidence, with the knowledge that no one could refute him, he felt infallible. Vegeta just simply hated being wrong. In fact, this was the first time he was willing to acknowledge a sense of regret about his actions.
That stupid Princess always managed to pull up odd and ridiculous emotions out of him.
He had just been so angry with her! He tried to justify again. He ran a hand through his hair, a part of him wishing he could do it over, fix his mistake. In all honestly, he had meant to soothe her when he got out of the shower. However, she had completely infuriated him all over again. Not to mention, she really didn't look to be in pain. The only sign that anything was amiss was that bruise.
Vegeta let out an aggravated sigh. If Plan A had gone into action, the whole situation could have been avoided. But no. He had to get married as soon as possible. He glanced at what he had decided was her side of the bed again, instantly reminded of her latest offense. She never came out of the bathroom!
He stayed up waiting for her, intending to tell her that he wouldn't maul her in the middle of the night, (because she was ungrateful and didn't deserve his touch). Though, she never came out. He must have fallen asleep at some point (he hadn't slept in two days, not since they commenced the invasion), because it was around five in the morning.
With nothing but agitation, he pushed himself off the bed and made a beeline to the bathroom. The nerve of this woman! She would rather sleep in the tub than in his bed. His pride bristled. He was at the door and pressed the touch pad. It flashed red, indicating it was locked. He let out a growl. Angrily he smacked open a small door, reveling wires and circuits. He quickly rearranged a few wires and twisted a red one. The touch pad flashed green and the door swooshed open. He walked in.
There she was, curled up in the marble bathtub, looking like a sleeping cat. Her teal hair caught the light that bounced on the mirror from the window outside. Which caused an interesting spectrum of colors shimmering across her hair. She was still wearing that dress; it was now crumpled and wrinkled around her form. One arm folded under her head and the other wrapped around her waist, her back to the wall in front of him. She looked incredibly small, and so fragile. He had never seen her look fragile before... He looked at her completely unsympathetic.
So she preferred the cold hard marble to his bed? To his touch? He was fully prepared to share everything with her, and she threw it back in his face. She knew how big of an insult this was to his pride. Without so much as an expression, he reached over her feet and turned on the shower. Set on cold.
Her eyes snapped open to reveal the brightest of blue eyes, the white tinged red. Her limbs shot out as water poured down on her face and upper body. She sputtered and cries of shock rang through the air. Vegeta crossed his arms and watched with smug pleasure. This would teach her the bathroom was not for sleeping.
Her hand shot out and grabbed the closes object and suddenly hurled it at his face. On reflex, Vegeta pulled his head out of the way and heard the shampoo bottle smash into the opposite wall. She shot up to a sitting position and her eyes finally settled on him.
Her body instantly tensed and her eyes widened with indignant rage. She looked so incredibly angry and hateful, he thought she was going to spontaneously combust from keeping it all in. She sat still and rigid as water poured down on her.
There. She looked fierce. Any trace of the vulnerability he had seen while she was sleeping was completely gone, and Vegeta was wondering if he had seen it at all.
"Sorry, didn't see you." He gave her a mocking smirk, his arms folded over his bare chest.
Her eye twitched. If Vegeta had been anyone else, he might have taken a step back. As it was, he simple raised an eyebrow. Her hair was getting plastered against her face and covered most of her neck. Though, it was then that Vegeta began to notice what the water was doing to her white dress. His eyes widened slightly, almost unnoticeably, as he took in her form.
His heart quickened and his tail coiled and slithered behind him. The dress clung to her and her light flesh tone was coming through. He could see the outline of her bra and pantie- Her body suddenly tensed and then her body shuddered in reaction to her own movements. His eyes jumped to her face and clouded agony was in her eyes, her teeth slightly clenched and bared.
The cruel part of him (a large part) was satisfied to finally see her in pain, to see she was dealing with the consequences of her rejection. However the honorable part (also quite big), felt shame to see his mate in pain, physical pain that he caused.
Her eyes suddenly widened and the look of pain was replaced with one of thinly laced anger and determination. Any visible trace of pain was gone.
He was completely impressed this time. Now that he knew she was indeed in pain, it was incredible to realize that she wasn't letting it show. That bruise would have floored a Saiyan woman. His pride inflated; he thought of the various protests that were made against his choice of mate. She had just unknowingly proven them wrong.
Though, the smallest facet of his being was insulted that she was so guarded against him.
She didn't seem to be making any motion to get out of the tub. "Well, I'm going to take a shower, you're free to join me if you like." He said, casually reaching for the draw sting of his sleeping pants.
She suddenly leapt up so fast; she was a blur for second. In her haste to get out of there, her outstretched foot slipped on the cool tiles. Her arms shot out to catch something as she began to fall to the side. Without a thought, his hand was on her waist to steady her, she was immediately stable on her feet and she recoiled at the contact.
He flexed his hand in surprise. She was freezing! Which shouldn't have come as such a surprise, but he felt like he had literally placed his hand on an ice sculpture. She hadn't been under the spray of water that long. She snatched a red towel from a shelf and wrapped it around her as she ran to the door. Her wet hair flying off of her neck, the door shutting behind her. The back of her pale neck and that dark, grotesque, bruise imprinted in his sight.
The guilt swarmed back into his stomach and his tail wrapped around his waist at the odd uncomfortable feeling. However, he couldn't deny it. Only the lowest of Saiyans would do to their mate... And Vegeta had done that to her. He suddenly remembered the vow he had made all those years ago.
His pride felt oddly bruised. The sense of shame one cause to themselves was always worse than any insult someone else could throw at them. He shook his head to rid himself of those feelings. She was the one at fault not him, he forcibly reminded himself trying to replace any guilt with anger. She was the one that tried to break her vow. If she had held up her obligations to him, he never would have had to do that to her. If she hadn't fought him... His anger began to shift to… something he wouldn't tolerate. He shook it off.
She had fought him and now she had to deal with the consequences, what happened when she wouldn't yield to him. If she asked for forgiveness, gave in to him, he would soothe her, make all her pain go away. Replace it with pleasure.
His muscles tensed at the thought of her beneath him, her skin pressed against his. Her hot breath on his neck and her whimpers in his ear. When he realized what he wanted, wouldn't be given to him, the thoughts left him just as quickly as they had come.
He pulled off his pants and steeped into the cold shower. He needed it. The water washed away the heat in his stomach. He reached for the shampoo. He then remembered what had happened and looked over to the other side of the room. There on the wall was a huge splatter of transparent gel next to the mirror. The gel dripped down the wall to the busted bottle in a puddle of goop under it.
He let out a puff of breath, a small smirk forming at his lips. She always did have a good arm on her.
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Kakarrot sat on the counter watching his mate pace the floor like a caged lion. She had just come from fitting the Ningen Princess for a new wardrobe. Chichi was furious.
She had just burst into their room, her body completely tense and her eye's ablaze with righteous anger. Kakarrot didn't like when his mate was angry, it was one of the only things that really subdued his usual cheer. He silently watched her form, wondering what in the world the Ningen Princess had done.
She suddenly stopped and turned to him. Her mouth opened and then she just let out an angry puff of breath and snapped it shut and continued pacing. Wow, he hadn't seen her this angry in a long time. He patiently waited for her, his mind trying to conjure up scenarios that could lead to Chichi's intense ire.
The Ningen Princess was infamous for being a spoiled, arrogant brat. Shallow and vain, and even worse, she had a mouth on her. A big one. Kakarrot found her amusing. However, Kakarrot was a rare type of Saiyan. A very rare type, and what he found amusing, other (normal) Saiyans found enraging. One of the reasons he was chosen to deal with her later that day.
But right now he was faced with a angry mate and he sought to mollify her. The Princess probably said something to set his mate off-
She spoke suddenly; her voice clipped "I mean, I don't like her any better than the rest of us do, but..."
Kakarrot lifted a brow. Now he had no idea were this was heading. Chichi spoke again, this time a hiss of anger.
"She was bruised."
Kakarrot didn't say anything. He merely took on a more somber expression. To be honest, he wasn't completely surprised. Vegeta wasn't known to be gentle with anything. However, it hadn't ever crossed his mind that Vegeta would ever strike the Princess. Actually, Kakarrot did find it... odd, but it certainly wasn't impossible. Prince Vegeta was extremely well known for his temper and, disregard for others. Not only was the Princess fully capable of setting him off, Kakarrot knew her to have disregard for her own safety. It was like asking a match and dynamite to get along.
However, Chichi too knew Vegeta's nature, and she had much less reason to find the bruising odd. So Kakarrot was wondering why the Princess condition would upset her this much.
Chichi caught his questioning look "I mean... He didn't soothe her." Her voice was a hiss of sympathy and anger.
Kakarrot was taken back. That was unusually cruel, even for Vegeta. In fact, he found it hard to believe that Vegeta would do that to the Ningen princess. In a language that only Kakarrot was able to decode, Vegeta had expressed interest in her. Kakarrot even liked to think that the Prince had had some genuine feelings for her. Apparently that was wishful thinking.
"I was surprised that we were summoned so early in the morning, I mean, it was the morning after their wedding night and all." Chichi added with a dismissive shrug. "Luffa and me knocked on the door this morning talking about how we would do the measurements as quickly as possible. The Prince was already out of there. We went in and we froze when we saw that horrible bruise."
"So did you find her passed out or something?" Kakarrot finally spoke, his brows dipping in concern.
Since she had first burst into their room, Chichi's tense shoulders finally slumped and her lip sunk from its feral snare. Sudden realization and confusion was in her eyes. "Actually..." her brow furrowed even more as she thought about what she was going to say.
"What?"
"She was... She didn't convey any pain… We did the whole fitting with her complying to our directions without so much as a whimper... " His mate looked utterly confused, Kakarrot was too. He was under the impression that the bite was mind-blowingly painful. That is, unless the proper procedure was taken before and after.
"I guess it doesn't hurt that much." He said with an easy shrug. He instantly regretted it when Chichi's eyes snapped to him, her body on the offensive.
"Oh, it hurts! When you marked me, the only reason I didn't pass out was because I wanted it and you soothed it." She said in a matter-of-fact-tone, hands on her hips, "You remember my cousin Okra? While she wanted it, her brute of a mate didn't soothe her!"
Kakarrot's eyes widened. He did remember her. Her neck was a monstrous black bruise and she was completely incapacitated. That strong Saiyan women had been so incredibly weakened, in so much pain, it had almost killed her.
"I guess that rumor is true then, that Ningens have a insanely high threshold for pain." Kakarrot said thoughtfully. That rumor had been skirting around for as long as he could remember, but no one really believed it.
Chichi gave him an odd look, then another one that made him think she caught a whiff of something spoiled. "But Ningens are so weak, how can that be true?"
"Well, what else could it be? You say she was acting like it didn't even happen."
"Just at the end... Luffa accidentally brushed against her bruise and the Princess collapsed in such a fit of pain, she would of split her head open on the floor if I hadn't caught her." His mate supplied. She didn't seem to want to believe a Ningen could take something her own flesh and blood couldn't. "I think she thought Luffa did it on purpose because the Princess gave her the dirtiest glare. But neither Luffa or I would wish pain like that on our own enemy."
"She's not our enemy anymore." Kakarrot supplied with a shrug. "Actually, she'll be our Queen someday, huh?" He gave her a goofy grin to get the tension out of the air. It wasn't like either could do much about the situation.
Chichi was quite for a moment studying him. Despite marrying him and knowing him more intimately than any other being, she was occasionally, like any other Saiyan, taken back at his un-Saiyan like nature. Many people would still not acknowledge the Ningen as the Saiyan Princess she had become yesterday.
Her eyes snapped with a sudden fire as she remembered something.
"Oh, I guess it don't hurt that much!" She repeated him in a mocking voice, rolling her eyes. "You are such a guy. Try to imagine your spine being ripped out, and then living like that till the person that caused it decided to have some mercy."
Kakarrot winced. He really couldn't shake off the surprise that Vegeta would do that to her. Maybe he didn't realize how painful it actually was. As Chichi had stated, in not so many words, men seemed to be largely unaware of how much the procedure hurt. She turned to the small kitchen they had, her rant apparently done, but anger still in her shoulders.
He got up from where he leaned against the wall and wrapped his arms around his mate. She instantly relaxed and looked over her shoulder at him.
"Did it really hurt that much when I marked you?" He whispered, his brows dipped in concern. He brushed his lips against his mark, barely running the tip of his tongue over it, soothingly. She melted to his touch, leaning against his muscled chest and giving him more access. She let out a slightly strangled breath as she smiled.
"It was different." She murmured, "It was right."
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Bulma stood in a black towel, slightly refreshed after a lukewarm shower. After her fitting that morning, numerous chests of new clothes were brought to the room. They were filled mostly with dresses and at her request she was given more casual wear, such as shorts and pants. Bulma preferred clothes that wrapped around her body as oppose the flowy dresses. Simply because she was used to cold winds and crisp biting air.
She searched through one of the chest and found a light hooded blouse with long sleeves. It reminded her of home, with it's soft white color and the cover it provided. She then grabbed a pair of black trousers and slipped on the pair of white boots, tucking the pants into them, making them poof out a bit. She flipped the hood up over turquoise locks (she had always had a fondness for hoods).
A huge yawn escaped her mouth and then her face turned to sneer as she remembered the morning. After having a horrible night's sleep (if you could call, closing your eyes and trying to forget your surroundings, sleep), she was violently awoken.
By him.
The bastard. She had woken up a few hours before from a horrible nightmare. Though, the second time she had fallen asleep, she was dreaming that she was home, with Yamcha. Needless to say she was not pleased when the first thing her eyes registered was the Saiyan Prince. She was so disoriented and hadn't processed what was going on quickly enough, that all she could do was glare at him in anger. She hadn't even given him a proper hatful glare or any biting words. Then he had looked over her body like that; her only reaction was to flee. The sudden movement had cause incredible pain and soreness in her entire body.
Which made her remember that he was the one that did that to her and still all she could do was glare. It wasn't even a good one. It wasn't until he left the room that she got her wits back, ready to fight and have a screaming match.
There was a knock at the door, disturbing her from her dark mood. "Come in."
The door opened to reveal a tall man. He had broad shoulders and wore the typical Saiyan armor. His was black and blue without any shoulder pads. He had on black shorts and blue-tipped black boots. His hair was odder than most Saiyans (which was saying something) because it had a random rounded spot and the rest was rather spiky.
Bulma tilted her head slightly to the side as she looked at him with a raise eyebrow; he was oddly familiar...
"Hi there!" He called out cheerfully with a stupid grin on his face, "I'm Kakarrot, your Bulma!" He seemed peculiarly excited and happy to see her.
For a moment, Bulma was taken back at his disregard for regal protocol. At the space station, she saw him there, she concluded and then dismissed the thought without further ado.
"It's your Highness." She sneered, her tone icy. The last time she had demand to be addressed like that was when she was five. Her father grounded her for a month. Never was she allowed to show any contempt for someone simply because they were below her station. However, species was another thing entirely.
"Oh, my bad." He said, smiling sheepishly, one hand behind his head. He was completely unfazed by her rude attitude. "I'm to show you around the castle."
Bulma didn't bother to dwell on his out of place friendliness. "You actually think I want to see this primitive cave?" She looked at him like something insect she found under a rock.
"Oh, come on! It'll be fun." He said with that same stupid grin, completely disregarding her comment.
Bulma's brow furrowed in confusion. That comment would of sent any self-respecting Saiyan wanting her blood. Not only did she insult his culture and technological advances, but the Royal Family. He didn't even bat an eyelash.
"What do you say?" He asked instead, as if they were old friends.
For what seemed like a long moment, Bulma just stared at him. Her brow deeply dipped in suspicious confusion. She didn't really know how to react to him. On one side, Bulma deeply resented treating someone so outgoing and friendly with scorn, especially since he had yet to do anything against her personally. However, the other side saw only his tail wrapped around his waist, and a five-year harden grudge was burning her conscious and compassion to ash.
However her compassion and conscious was strong, and she couldn't bring herself to slam the door in his face. So she settled on giving him a hard glare. She opened her mouth to add an insult, but he cut her off.
"Or you can stay in Vegeta's room all day." He said with a shrug, then smiled sympathetically "But a good walk with help you adjust to the gravity better."
It was at that comment that Bulma realized how bad she was slouching, She quickly shot up, her back gave a loud crack as her spin straightened. She bit her lip as pain shot through her neck like someone sliced it open with a blade dipped in vinegar. She pushed that to the back of her mind. However now that he brought her attention back to the gravity, she found it a bit more difficult to ignore the pressure on her body, her muscles crying out in protest.
She sent a spiteful glare when she realized that he had seen how bad the gravity was affecting her. He didn't react.
Bulma quickly weighed her options. Stay in his room, like some concubine waiting for him to comeback (she sneered at the thought, noting but hate filling her being), or look around the palace and let her body move under the strain of gravity. The quicker her body adjusted, the better (just because she was good at ignoring pain, didn't mean she didn't feel it). Plus, it would be best to know the layout of the palace, where the docking bay was, the labs and such. Without a word she closed the door behind her
The Saiyan gave her a big grin, "Great! Let's start in the east wing."
He began to walk a few paces ahead, but Bulma was glued to her spot in front of the door. The moment she had walked out of the room, she was reminded how disgustingly hot it was on the planet. The heat hadn't even entered her mind since she took that shower yesterday. It was then that she realized that the Prince's room was finely air conditioned and the throne room had been as well.
Irrationally, Bulma felt like screaming 'Why isn't the hall air conditioned!'
However, she restrained herself and simply gave the massive window in front of her a venomous glare. She felt beads of sweat slowly slide down her back and instantly regretted her choice of clothing. She sighed, at least her pants were loose and didn't cling to her skin. The fabric of her blouse was equally light and airy.
"Something wrong?" The Saiyan asked curiously, his brow dipping slightly.
Something wrong? Where the hell should she start? Though, the latest thing to the list was how the entire planet was out to get her! Bulma didn't want him to know how much she was affected by the natural climate, along with the gravity. So she sent him another glare and followed after him. He simply smiled and began to walk again when she was at his side, as if she had sweetly said 'Oh, everything is dandy! Please lead the way, kind Sir!'
It was beginning to become infuriating.
"This is the Royal Hall, only the royal chambers are on this floor. It's a huge circle, well, square really. If you keep following the hall you'll pass King Vegeta's chambers, a few empty room reserved for incredibly important guest and then you'll come back to Prince Vegeta's room." He explained as they passed a guest room. "You know, come to think of it, I've never seen anyone stay in the guest rooms, well before you anyway. Though, you didn't even spend the night in that room." He shrugged dismissively "Any Dignitaries and such stay one floor down."
Bulma looked at the windows that lined the inside of the square corridors. She wasn't nearly as observant as she would of liked to have been the first time she had been escorted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a lot of green outside the window, she supposed that was the courtyard. She couldn't really turn to look, not wanting to waste the energy as she fought against gravity. Though she could see the sun gleaming off the windows across the courtyard
"How come there's no guards on this floor?" Bulma asked curiously, that would be a good thing to know.
The Saiyan began to chuckle. "Both Vegetas are fully capable of protecting themselves. Besides, no one is actually allowed on this floor unless requested by the Royal Family. " He led her to some stairs. "There are stairs at each corner of the hall."
They went down, Bulma gripping the rail. She was slightly afraid that the gravity would pull her head over heels toppling down. At the end of the stairs there were two guards. The Saiyan nodded to them and the guards looked over Bulma with both awe and suspicion. She glared at them with contempt.
"There's guards at the bottom of all the stairs, mostly for lookin' official." The Saiyan said honestly, causing both guards to shift their glares from her to him. He didn't even notice. Bulma let out a light snort. At least it wasn't only her hostility that he ignored.
As they walked around the full loop, he went on to explain the floor, going though a quick list of Dignitaries that had stayed there. He didn't know any by name and just said their species or if he didn't know that, he just described them. Bulma was only half listening, wondering why the heck he was her tour guide to begin with.
"Then there was that scaly purple guy. Well, it might have been a girl, it had really long lashes and a voice like a bird, but it was really hairy. It had a tail too, I think it was from the Pajaro Sector."
"It was a Dubian, they're from the Pesca Sector." Bulma corrected with snobby look.
"Yeah, well he smelled like moss. Or it smelled-"
"It was female, the males don't have lashes."
"Oh." He paused thoughtfully as if committing the fact to memory, though when he spoke again, she swore he forgot it "Then there was the Vaspertilian! What was his name? He was a good guy. Really great sense of humor, even made Vegeta laugh…"
"Prince Demetri." Bulma supplied. Her mood lightening up just the slightest. She, herself, was fond of him and his family.
"Yeah!" He exclaimed, eyes bright. "He was pretty easy going, I liked him a lot."
Bulma noted that unlike the floor above, this one had many guards. "Is any one staying here now?" Bulma asked curious.
"Nah," He shrugged "They're just protocol." The Saiyan brought them to the stairs that had come down from, and then led her over to a nearby elevator. "The Royal Hall is the only floor without an elevator," The door shut behind them.
"Next is the advisor's floor." He stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall and stopped at a big black door.
"This is my room, if you ever need anything." His words were simple; however, he gave her a smile so sincere and warm, that for a small moment, Bulma completely forgot her situation. She forgot who she was and what he was. His familiarity bit at her mind and it was with alarming effort that Bulma had to push it out of her mind, and remind herself of her situation.
However, she couldn't bring herself to glare or scowl at him, but with a look of suspicion, she merely nodded at him. Then out of the blue another thought occurred to her, shaking her out of her revere.
"You're an advisor?" She asked making a face of disbelief. He was very young, and didn't have any sort of elegant air around him. His demeanor reminded her of some kid that wandered off the street and decide to just play it cool. Not to mention the fact that he had no idea what Dignitaries had stayed in the guest rooms, names that the servants of her castle knew.
He laughed and gave her a rascally grin, then shook his head "No." He didn't elaborate anymore than that. He lead her to another elevator without hesitation.
"The next floor is the Elite's Chambers, it's the same square as the last three, but with more rooms. No need see the same design for a fourth time." While his tone was the same casual one he had been using since the tour began, Bulma couldn't help but feel he wasn't being completely honest. Why wouldn't he want her to be on that floor?
Oh. The thought occurred to her that she had indirectly been responsible for the death of hundreds of Elites. The thought spurred on a sense of pride and she couldn't help but smirk. She supposed she wasn't going to be the Elite's favorite person anytime soon.
The door opened and the next floor had much more people wandering about. They walked out and everyone seemed to stop, mid step, mid word, mid everything to look at Bulma. If she hadn't been born a princess and grown up with such scrutiny, she would off shrank away or been intimidated. As it was, she simply held her chin up high and followed after the Saiyan.
He didn't seem to notice the Saiyan's reaction to her, or her reaction to them. He simply carried on with his friendly demeanor as if it was still just the two of them. The behavior was so strange, why wasn't he acting like the other Saiyans? Come to think of it, he hadn't even bee awe struck at the door, or clipped and straight to the point like the women that were sent to her.
"Alright, instead of just a square, this floor branches out, each corner of the square is a four way." He led her down the massive hall. This one was much wider and the ceiling higher than the last few floors. Bulma did her best to pretend not to notice any of the other Saiyans about. There were guards, maids, soldiers, all sorts of workers. Each was still looking at them.
For the briefest of moments, it occurred to her that they should have been bowing to her, at least a nod of respect, not their stares and glares. Well, whatever, she really didn't care right now.
"Hungry?" The Saiyan leading her suddenly asked, a hopeful look in his eye.
Bulma shrugged. When was the last time she had eaten? She wasn't sure, still, she didn't have much of an appetite.
"Silence always means yes." The Saiyan joked, clearing having enough appetite for the both of them. He began to lead her in a new direction. "Let's go to the soldier's kitchen." He paused for a moment, almost making Bulma bump into him. Then shrugged to himself and kept walking. Bulma didn't bother to ask.
Soon they were at a double door, and the Saiyan led her in. It was a tall and wide room, a few stoves and ovens lined the walls, along with sinks and in the center were three enormous islands. Pots and pans hung from rails above the islands and there were many women and a few young girls and children bustling about.
Before they could even advanced five paces, someone yelled out. "Get out of here, Kakarrot! We're setting up the next round, you can wait half an hour!"
"Aww, come on! The Princess is hungry." He shouted back. The clatter of pots and pans seized and everyone stared at Bulma again. Well, this is getting old, Bulma thought staring back at them.
Kakarrot seemed unfazed and lead her though the kitchen. The silence was thick as everyone watched their movements. The Saiyan picked up a plate of a large bird that looked like it would feed 10 to 15 people and then walked over to another large double door, opposite to the one in which they entered, and led her out.
They entered a mammoth of a dining hall filled with eight gigantic long tables. A few Saiyans were in there, spread out in small clusters around the room, seemingly waiting for the next meal. Her tour guide was once again oblivious to their stares and sat down on the bench. He motioned for her to join him.
"This is the soldiers dinning hall, the Royal one is being used right now. So I didn't think you'd want to be in there." He said offhandedly as he offered her the whole plate of bird. She raised a brow at him and realized that he was completely right. She had no desire to be any where near the Royal Family.
She couldn't help but be utterly confused by his considerate action for a moment, but then she figured he just wanted to eat and wasn't allowed to in the Royal Dinning Hall.
"No thanks." Bulma said, the manners reflexively coming out of her. He seemed to expect it and dug into the bird himself. For a few moments Bulma watched him eat with morbid fascination. Saiyans were notorious for their appetite, but... The sounds of his teeth grinding, the smell of the meat, the pop of bones pulled out of place. Bulma grimaced in disgust as he shoved more and more meat in his mouth. She couldn't look away. Before she knew it he was gnawing on the bones and the bird, which had been the width of her forearm, was nothing but a pile of bones.
When he was done, he wiped his hands on a napkin and sat up. "That should hold me till the next meal." He declared brightly.
She looked at him as if his tail had grown a mouth and was talking to her. "That was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen." Bulma declared wide-eyed, her without emotion. "You devoured that thing with your bare hands in ten minutes."
He simply sent her a sheepish smile, though it suddenly turned impish. "You ain't seen nothing yet. Wait till the banquet tonight."
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.To Be Continued.
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Really sorry this took so long. I'm iffy on this chapter, more was suppose to happen. It's all getting pushed till the next one, which will hopefully come out in a more timely manner. Also if you see any errors, please tell me so I can fix them.
Thank you to everyone for their encouraging reviews, it really does help to get this out sooner. When I'd feel my attention slip to something else, I'd go read some reviews and then I would get the will to get this story out of my head and onto your computer screen. So keep em coming!
By the way, Luffa is a type of Vegetable.