Chapter Two
Her fingers slid along the cold length of her scalpel, watching as the candle light flickered against its shining surface. Icy eyes narrowed, studying the refined edge of the blade. A gloved finger touched the tip; seemingly satisfied with it, the woman placed it back upon the table glistening table. An assortment of surgical tools lined up neatly for display upon a sanitized, glass table. Graive took note of each one, making sure they were all accounted for so she could do her job properly. Smiling softly, the edge of her soft lips gleamed in the dim lit room. Tonight was going to be interesting.
Heavy footsteps were heard as the beastly Amani carried the unconscious Castanic down the stairs. The light click of his talons on the floor caused Graive to glance up. Overlooking her pet, she motioned with a single hand for him to lay Ciraz upon the examining table. The room around them was small, dark. There was a seemingly dark void surrounding them, as past the small bits of candlelight, there was only an abyssal black. There was a rather intricate contraption hovering just over the table she stood beside, and as Graive's hand began to glow a bright white, she lifted it to said object.
The room lit up momentarily, and in the same moment the Amani male slipped Ciraz onto the table. After a mere few seconds, the light became more focused, narrowing upon the chest cavity of the Castanic man. Arcana sparked and flowed from the contraption, which was now obviously used for lighting. "Thank you, Vexan." Graive murmured to the Amani. Vexan grunted lowly, and for a second the witch took the time to look him over. His massive form seemed too large for the small room, his head nearly touching the ceiling. Horns curved sharply from the top of his forehead, large and imposing. Two smaller ones pointed out dangerously behind the larger ones and overall his thickly scaled body was a dark hue of gray.
Thick muscles rippled with each little movement he made, dancing beneath the solid flesh of his form. Amber eyes, piercing, like molten lava bore out at the world. They were the eyes of a monster, a creature – no pupils, only the constant of golden fury. The most defining feature over all, however, was his lips. Sewn together, this prevented the male from speaking. Graive had done the deed herself, having no tolerance for small talk or being disobeyed. So now, the beast complied to her every word with the feral responses of growls and grunts.
Offering him a small, empty smile, the woman turned to look back over her subject. Adept hands moved forward, unbuttoning his vest slowly. "Take his pants off and strap his ankles in." Graive gave the command without glancing up, still removing his vest and keeping an eye out for signs of him coming to. Vex growled at his mistress in obedience, obeying without another sound. Large hands grasped the feet of Ciraz, slipping his shoes off in swift motions. In the next moment Vex ripped the man's pants off without any hesitation.
Lifting her gaze from her task, the witch scowled, giving Vex a disapproving glare. "I said take his pants off, not rip them off. Now I'll need to stitch them." It was important that there was no evidence, no tale tell sign she'd done anything to the man. Leave no evidence, no trace; it was in this manner she was able to get away with her dark, devious deeds. The large Amani glowered at his Mistress, obviously displeased by her tone and scolding. Slipping the man's ankles into the straps a moment later he threw the fabric to the side; the beast stared openly at the man's flaccid manhood.
Looking up, Graive noticed his gaze and she scoffed lightly, predicting his thoughts. "Come now, not everyone can be as impressive as an Aman." Grunting, Vexan turned and moved to the edge of the room. Massive forearms crossed, biceps bulged with muscle as he decided to watch from afar. After peeling his vest off, with no help from her brooding pet, Graive slipped his wrists into straps and also slipped a strap on his neck, just over his Adam's apple. Just in time, too, as it seemed the man was beginning to come to. Groaning from the pain in his head, Ciraz's eyes fluttered open slowly.
Emerald eyes peered out, but he was blinded by the light. Graive watched him try to lift his hand to block the brightness, but realized quickly that he couldn't. Confusion filtered over his features, and the witch reveled in the experience of it. While her own emotions were recycled at best, she could feel no true mental emotions; this made real emotions fascinating to her. Each contortion, each little twitch of flesh caused different expressions to wash over, it was like watching a movie. Tilting her head to the side, the witch cooed to him, brushing aside a strand of hair from his handsome face.
"Now, now, don't struggle." Her voice was a silky whisper as it filled the air and poisoned his mind. Once he'd adjusted to the light, his gaze settled on Graive's stoic expression. A nervous laugh escaped from between his arrogant lips, "If you liked it this way, all you had to do was ask, sweet." Sending her a wink, he attempted to come out of his restraints, though was careful to test their strength by pulling out against the slowly. Graive's cold eyes narrowed, giving him a look of complete and utter apathy. Where the rumors about this man really true?
Her nose wrinkled lightly, a distaste growing in her mouth. Her initial interest in the man had been due to woman chattering about a man with the stamina and power of an Amani warrior. They spoke of his charm, and how wonderfully amazing he'd been in within their beds. Graive had feigned interest, swooning over the idea until one of the ladies had begrudgingly given Ciraz's usual hangouts. It hadn't been hard to find him; his arrogance alone could smother one's own confidence with a single glance.
A Castanic was not an Aman, and while they were impressive specimens, their stamina and overall prowess couldn't physically ever match that of an Amani warrior. She needed to examine, probe, cut, to find the truth behind it all. Perhaps it was just the simplistic minds of women over exaggerating, but Graive couldn't take that chance. If something was amiss, her curiosity was too much to overlook it. The distinct aura of magic radiated from him, that much she was certain of. Such a thing was odd in itself as his skill set leaned toward the more physical cutting edge of battle. His admiration of the greatsword, which was Vexan's, had deduced he was likely a Slayer.
The glowing light above enhanced the contours of his abdomen. "We've got a long night ahead of us, my dear, why don't you just relax?" She murmured, brushing the flat of her palm against his forehead. To her dismay, his nervousness had caused him to begin sweating, and so her glove was tainted by the smell of his musk. Sighing softly, Graive slipped her gloves off little by little, pulling at one finger at a time. Ciraz watched her carefully, his head tilting up as he refused to relax. "I really don't like this, untie me, sweet. I'll tend to you properly." He offered with a low laugh, his voice slightly shaky.
"I have no intention of unstrapping you." The witch murmured softly, turning to her surgical tools to determine which one she would initiate the process with. Glancing over, Ciraz jerked away in surprise at the sight of the weapons. "Damn you, woman, let me go!" Panic laced his words, his tone of obvious fear and anger. A smile slithered across her ebony painted lips as she picked up a scalpel, the glint of the edge blinded Ciraz for a moment and he closed his eyes and looked away. "Why would I let you go? You promised to entertain me tonight…" There was a pout on her lips, her tones a sultry coo.
Ciraz's emerald eyes lifted, they were wide, staring at the weapon winking at him within her nimble fingers. After a moment of further admiration, Graive remembered something she'd likely need to do. She didn't need Ciraz getting her table dirty. Pulling out a syringe, Graive examined the liquid for a moment, making sure it hadn't thickened in between the time since she'd prepared it. The needle was long and thin, designed to slip into small tubes and veins within the body.
Thumping the base lightly, the witch was careful to make sure no air pockets were inside. Once done, she leaned over and smoothed her hand over Ciraz's torso. His body jerked, chills running over his skin and he seemed to growl in the back of his throat. Becoming uneasy, Vexan slipped from out of the shadows and loomed over the man. A cry tore from the Castanic man's lips as he stared at the beast and his burning eyes. "Let me go, you bitch! You're going to regret this!" A large, solid hand slammed against Ciraz's chest as Vexan's forced his body still.
Nodding to her pet, Graive leaned in, focusing on where the man's urethra was. A strangled cry could be heard from Ciraz as the needle sank into the base of his penis. Injecting the liquid in slowly, she was careful to make sure it was going to the correct place. "Now, this is to keep you from soiling yourself. I don't mind a little blood, but urine is…disgusting." Graive explained in a low tone as she placed the syringe back on the table of tools.
Turning, the woman grabbed a pair of disposable gloves from the same table. Slipping them on; she needed to make sure no blood got on her hands. After a moment, feeling that it was safe for his Mistress, Vexan slipped back into the shadows. The only part of him seen was the gleaming amber depths shining from the darkness. Watching Vexan leave the side of the table, she almost missed the next words Ciraz muttered. "Please, I'll do whatever you like, just let me go." The plea was pitiful; his face was contorted into a look of pain and fear. It gave Graive a rush she'd never thought possible.
"You'll do what I like regardless." The witch purred with a small, devious smile curling her lips. Slipping on her glasses, Graive pushed the frames up her nose with a single finger. The action was done so more out of habit than necessity. Licking her lips slowly, she contemplated her first move. "Tell me, Ciraz, what is your secret?" She questioned, wondering if the man would make it easy for her. He'd closed his eyes, and his lips formed silent words of prayer – as if the Gods would help him. Grabbing a scalpel, Graive leaned forward and pressed the sharp edge against his face. "Answer me, dear, or I'll cut open you're pretty face." Ciraz gasped, pulling away instinctively.
"What secret are you talking about?! I don't have a secret." He muttered, becoming angry again. He struggled against the restraints, but quickly realized it was futile. Wonderful, a laugh slipped past her lips and into the air, echoing inside the room like a malicious blade. Ciraz stared at her with terror, and then glanced at the scalpel once more. Graive preferred the hard way, it meant she got to delve deeper into the mystery. The priestess's hand lowered, fingers splayed wide just below his navel. Closing her eyes she paused for a long moment, searching his body for any magical properties.
The crackle of arcana hummed within his body, but it pinpointed at one place. Thick lashes lifted as those icy eyes of hers turned to look at his manhood. "Yes, of course. It only makes sense that would be the source."