*Content Warning: Strong sexual content. You have been warned.*
Under the knife I surrendered
The innocence yours to consume
You cut it away
And you filled me up with hate
Into the silence you sent me
Into the fire consumed
You thought I'd forget
But it's always in my head
You're the pulse in my veins
You're the war that I wage
Can you change me?
Can you change me?
You're the love that I hate
You're the drug that I take
Will you cage me?
Will you cage me?
You're the pulse in my veins
You're the war that I wage
Can you change me?
Can you change me?
From the monster you made me?
The monster you made me?
This is the world you've created
The product of what I've become
My soul and my youth
Seems it's all for you to use
If I could take back the moment
I let you get under my skin
Relent or resist
Seems the monster always wins
- Monster by Starset
Chapter 12: The Taste of Defeat
Ilyrana
Spellhold, two years ago
It took every ounce of self-control not to slip a knife through the back of the old man's neck in front of her.
Ilyrana and her companions had finally arrived at the secluded island that was Spellhold. On the outside, if one didn't know the purpose the place served, it could be called beautiful. Aged flights of stairs led to the raised stone foundations that several manor style structures sat imposingly upon. The largest of these was the one the "Director" was leading them to. It was obviously old, time and the elements had worn away at the stone, the faded wood, and the iron gates, but Ilyrana could feel the magics woven into the building. Magics designed to keep unwanted visitors out. And to keep its occupants in.
The doddering old man who was now leading them down a corridor to the waiting room made Ilyrana's skin crawl. Maybe it was his smell, like old meat left out in the sun, or how easily they were gaining access to Imoen after the hell they went through just to step foot on this island. No one else seemed bothered by him, so she chalked it up to her anxiety over being so close to finally seeing her best friend again, and possibly having to fight their way out of here once they sprung her.
She had told the Director, upon reaching the island, that they had come to see one of his "patients", a young woman who had been Ilyrana's charge until the two became separated. A woman who had always been a little soft in the head, but strong in her magical abilities, and had accidentally gotten herself involved in a confrontation with a deranged mage in Waukeen's Promenade. Not entirely untrue, though Imoen might take offence to being called mentally disturbed, once she was out of this place, but the old man had smiled kindly at her and offered to give Ilyrana all the time she needed to reassure herself that the woman was being well looked after.
When she inquired about the other residents, she had learned that Irenicus was being held under heavy guard, with his considerable power held in check by the Cowled Wizards' restraining magics.
Good to know. Once they busted Imoen out, Ilyrana had every intention of finding a way to kill him while he was neutered. If it took fighting every one of these damn wizards and flooding this fucking island to do it, then she was more than ready to begin.
After she had Imoen back.
"Here we are, my dear. If you would all so kindly wait in here, I will go and see if the young lady has finished with dinner and is ready to receive a visitor. I'm afraid you arrived just as our patients were served their meals, so please help yourselves to some refreshments while I go see if she's done eating."
Keldorn thanked the man, as Ilyrana couldn't bring herself to do so, and he shuffled out, closing the door behind them.
The waiting room consisted of a long, ornate table, with enough chairs to seat all of them with plenty to spare. A serving tray sat in the middle, with a copper pot of steaming tea, and a selection of pastries.
Ilyrana began to pace as soon as the door clicked shut. The others began to take seats, helped themselves to the food and drink, and talked quietly amongst themselves.
"You need to eat something, Rana."
"Oh, you're speaking to me again?"
Yoshimo flinched at the anger in her voice, but it didn't stop him from taking her hand and turning her to face him.
"Forgive me, I… I know I haven't been myself of late-"
"Except that you have. Been yourself. Since I've met you, you've run hot and cold with me, with no good excuse, and it's only gotten worse these past few days. I don't appreciate you trying to distance yourself anytime I bring up the future. If you don't want to be with me, just say so. I'm a big girl, I can handle it. If you just want to sleep together with no commitment, that's fine, too. Just stop giving me mixed signals and tell me what you want from me."
She hadn't meant to set into him like that, but this had been some time in coming. She cared for the bounty hunter, more so than she liked to admit, but she was tired of feeling like she'd done something wrong every time he acted like they were impersonal business associates rather than lovers. She was tired of him reassuring her that he cared for her and that he wanted to be at her side, but then turn cold and aloof after sleeping together or even in the middle of a conversation. The ups and downs, coupled with the stress of everything else, was becoming too much.
"You are right, Rana. I'm sorry for how I've treated you, you don't deserve it. I just… I…" Yoshimo let out an angry sigh and ran a hand through his long black hair. "I wish I had even just a tiny bit of Haer'dalis's way with words. I'm afraid I'm terrible at this because I've never felt this strongly about another before. I hope that, when time permits, we can talk...about us… and that you'll forgive me…"
The sadness in his eyes tugged at her, and she looked away before her anger made her say something she'd regret. Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered longer than usual, and his hand tightened almost painfully on her lower back.
"Please, at least have some tea, your skin is still cold from outside," Yoshimo said as he pulled away and poured her a cup.
Ilyrana grudgingly admitted to herself that he was right about her being cold when the warmth of the porcelain in her hands, and the strong herbal tea, eased some of the tension in her shoulders and sent goosebumps down her arms. As she sipped at it, she watched his dark eyes grow distant and haunted.
"Yoshi? What's wrong?"
"I… lied. There is one other that I… loved. Very deeply. She was… my sister."
The warmth that seeped into her chest at the implication of love was quickly replaced with surprise to hear him actually speak of family. He had always changed the subject when she would ask, so she eventually stopped asking. She understood how complicated something like family could be.
"You never told me you had a sister…" She hedged when he didn't continue.
"In some ways, you remind me of her. You're both strong of will, clever, and fierce. Both loyal to those you care for," a sad smile accompanied the blankness in his eyes. "Loyal to a fault. She's… dead now."
"I'm sorry. Were you very close?"
"Once. Yes. She was older than I, and so she looked out for me, though I'm sure I made it difficult for her to do so. After a few years spent honing my tracking skills, I learned that she had left home and hadn't been heard from in some time. I thought that I could look out for her for a change so I began to search for her. When I found her… it was already too late."
Ilyrana's heart ached for him. She reached out a hand to take his, but he pulled away. Taking a step back, his eyes focused on hers and hardened.
"I tried to save her, but sometimes there are things that can bind us tighter even than family. By trying to set her free, I ensnared myself in the very same web that held her. It's… ironic, now that I think of it."
Glancing at the half-empty cup in her hands, Yoshimo took another step away from her, one hand clenching the handle of his katana hard enough that his leather gloves creaked.
"Ironic… not just because I came to share the same chains she wore, but also because... my sister and I fell in love with two other siblings."
The room spun. The cup in her hands fell and smashed loudly onto the floor, sending a thousand tiny shards flying in a thousand different directions. Her back was to her companions. She didn't hear them react to the sound. The silence made her realize that she hadn't heard anything from them the past several moments.
"Her name, Yoshimo," she was surprised at how steady her voice was. "Tell me her name."
"Unlike her, I could do nothing to change what was coming. She exploited every loophole she could find to save the man she had been sent to prepare for Irenicus. The man she had so foolishly allowed herself to care for. Unlike me, she was successful, I believe. I'm not entirely sure whether she accomplished what she was trying to do, but death, I think… is better than the alternative. You and he are alike in that you both ran headlong for your own ends, heedless of the destruction left in your wake. Of the ones you leave broken behind you."
Reaching back, Ilyrana placed a hand on the table as her legs began to shake from the effort of standing. Leaning against the wood for support, she kept her gaze fixed unblinkingly on the man in front of her. The man she thought she knew.
"HER NAME! WHAT WAS HER NAME?!"
"I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm a coward. I could have refused… and died. Instead, I followed my orders. Instead, I… selfishly did more than that. I wish I could have found a way, like she did, to keep you from Irenicus. To save you from what's coming."
Turning her head to look behind her, she saw the others all slumped in their chairs, fast asleep from the laced tea. Sinking to her knees, she looked once more at Yoshimo, her vision beginning to blur and darken.
"Say her name."
"Tamoko. Her name… was Tamoko."
"When I woke up, I was in Irenicus's new lab. As it turned out, he took over Spellhold and killed the wardens just after he was brought there. The 'Director' was one of the wizard's reanimated corpses."
It was mid-afternoon the following day. They were still tracking the others, drawing slowly closer to the mountains. Ilyrana was hopeful she'd reunite with Imoen soon.
"How much of this do the others know?" Sarevok asked. "I understand they were there, but you said they were already unconscious when Yoshimo revealed all of this to you."
"They only know what they saw. I never told them what he told me. I…didn't really think it was something they needed to know. After Irenicus pulled mine and Imoen's souls out and placed them inside himself and Bodhi, he ordered Yoshimo to kill me, if he could. Even weakened, Irenicus must have known that Yoshimo wouldn't be strong enough to take me down alone. The others were locked up in cells. Imoen wasn't faring well enough to be of much help. It didn't matter. I wouldn't need it."
"You had said that you didn't kill him. That the gaes did."
"Yes. He just stood there, unmoving, fighting the command to attack. First, the pain started. I could see it in his face. I just watched. I… I wanted to see him suffer. It didn't take long before he was on his knees. Begging me to end it for him. I didn't. Maybe if I still had my soul at that point, I would have been capable of feeling mercy. Maybe I would have remembered his earlier apology, and that I had cared for him. I do know that it took him two and a half minutes to die. And all I can remember thinking was that it wasn't long enough."
Sarevok was quiet for some time. Ilyrana focused on their surroundings in an attempt to ground herself to the now. Remembering Spellhold, and all its horror and grief, made it difficult to distance herself from the memories. Talking about it, saying aloud some of the most painful secrets she had kept buried, made it all the more real. It was easy to pretend it had never happened when you simply stopped thinking about it altogether.
She owed Sarevok the truth, though. Well, perhaps not, but she felt like he deserved it, at least. And, maybe, having told someone the full extent of her time at that place, she could begin to heal. She highly doubted it worked as well as that. As people like Keldorn and Jaheira swore it did.
Here's to hoping.
"What happened next?"
"His cunt sister, the vampire, thought it would be fun to play cat-and-mouse with us in a labyrinth beneath the asylum. It was there that I first turned into the Slayer. Twice. Both times I had no control over it. How I didn't slaughter any of my people I'll never know. Once we got out, I rallied the other patients and we assaulted Irenicus while he was preparing for his trip to the Underdark. It wasn't enough. He escaped."
Ilyrana repressed a shudder as she remembered that awful descent into the nightmarish black of the subterranean realm that the drow called home. She had never liked being underground, and the Underdark was so very, very, deep. It was impossible to traverse that realm without constantly thinking about the earth pressing down on you. That it wasn't the night sky miles above you, but the ground. It had felt like walking through a tomb. Like she was exploring her grave. If she never stepped foot there again, it would be too soon.
Shaking her head to dispel those thoughts, she glanced up at Sarevok. His face gave nothing away as to what was going on in his mind. She wondered what he was thinking. If he was just as unsettled as she had been upon learning of Yoshimo and Tamoko's relation. Yet more links in the chain that bound them.
She didn't know what had compelled her to confess that to him last night. She could have just stopped after telling him why she didn't kill Tamoko. Maybe she had still wanted to hurt him, like he had hurt her days ago. When he had seen the dream of her sleepwalking and used it to catapult her shortcomings and insecurities at her. Maybe the weight of so many secrets was finally starting to suffocate her.
Whatever the reason, she had been too exhausted to control her emotions. Too heart sore from having spent hours two days ago burying people she had cared for. People who had died in service to her. Gathering what little of their personal effects she could find. Like Mazzy's sword and helm, and the necklace Edwin never took off. There had been nothing left of Korgan.
The memory of Sarevok holding her while she cried made her uncomfortable, if only because she wasn't able to sort out how she should feel about it yet. The shock of him wrapping his arms around her, of hearing his heart beating beneath her ear, of the feel of his body against hers, brought on too many emotions at once.
If she was being totally honest with herself, which she wasn't ready to be just yet, she could admit that the only thing that felt so wrong about being in his arms was that it had felt so right. When it shouldn't. She shouldn't have felt comforted. Or safe. Or that he was the only one strong enough to hold her together while she had tried so hard to fall apart.
"Rana, I'm… sorry."
He had said it so quietly into her hair that she hadn't been sure she had actually heard it and not imagined it. Only after whispering back that she was, too, did she know for sure that he had. The way his arms had tightened around her, and the kiss he had pressed to the top of her head… No, she still wasn't entirely convinced that it all hadn't been just another dream.
"Abbil, look there," Viconia said as she came up from rearguard behind them.
Following the drow's pointing finger, Ilyrana looked down from the hill they had just crested and could just make out a thin column of smoke rising into the afternoon sky from the base of the mountains. Squinting, she realized there were, in fact, several.
"Another merc army?"
"Hmm maybe. Hard to tell from this distance. Could be a town."
"There aren't any towns for miles according to the map that monk gave us."
"That inn we stayed at a few days ago wasn't on the map either. Could be a deliberate omission, or just shoddy cartography, but at this point I'd rather investigate anything not listed. I trust Balthazar about as much as I trust Melissan."
"Well, do we make camp and scout it out later, or press on and hope we stumble into the others?" Viconia asked.
"We'll make camp in that grove there just ahead. Sometime before dawn I'll sneak down there and get a look."
Unanimously, they all agreed it would be safest not to light a fire. Each of them had rations of dried meat, nuts, and fruit, enough for several more days, so they would have that for dinner. Viconia and Sarevok would, at least, but Ilyrana still felt sick at just the smell of food.
What she wanted, what she needed, though it angered her to admit, was alcohol. The desire for it was growing strong enough that she seriously considered upending her Bag of Holding in search of any more forgotten stashes of spirits. If they had decided to make a fire, where she could see clearly enough, she probably would have.
Restlessly, she scaled a tree and settled herself on one of its lower branches. Between withdrawals, the events of the past several days, and the growing tension that came with doing little more than walking for days on end, Ilyrana was fast becoming irritable and her temper unpredictable.
In the back of her mind, the pressure was building strength again. The whispering. It was elusive, at first. If she tried to focus on it, it went quiet. The second she became distracted, it was there in the background. Coloring everything she saw, felt, and did.
For years she had fought against it. Her father's voice, the source of the whispering. With the dawning of each new day, though, her will to push back grew weaker. Slowly, thought by thought, and action by action, she lost ground to the taint.
Not long now.
The thought rolled through her mind like distant thunder. The knife she had pulled out at some point and begun to twirl, blurred faster through her fingers, cutting the air. Distantly, the thunder shifted to the sound of a heartbeat. Then two. Viconia's and Sarevok's. They sounded wrong.
Why did they sound wrong?
Their rhythmic thumping grew louder. Her knife spun faster between her fingers.
One grew louder still, while the other remained the same.
The wrongness scratched at her, just behind her eyes. Why, though?
Louder. Closer.
Her hand began to ache from the effort of the spinning.
She knew why.
Why it was wrong.
The realization made her feel foolish for not seeing it sooner.
Louder and faster.
It was wrong because they were beating.
That was offensive.
They should be silent.
They should be still.
She could stop them. Make them silent. Make them still. That was right. The beating was wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong wroNG WRONG-
"RANA!"
The knife was smacked from her hand and sent spinning into the dirt. The shock of the blow made the whispers retreat. Or maybe it was the voice?
"Damn it, girl, what are you doing?!"
The hand that belonged to the voice caught her wrist. Blinking to focus, Ilyrana looked down and saw Sarevok standing beside the limb she sat on, his eyes glowing with anger.
"Let go of me," she snarled and tried to yank her arm out of his grip.
He snarled back and pulled, half dragging her off the branch, his other hand grasped her waist to control her fall.
Fury tinged her vision with crimson. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she tried to shove him back and twist her arm out of his hand. He must have expected that, because he yanked her closer, and held her arm up in front of her face.
The anger washed away and was replaced with confusion.
Blood coated her hand. It oozed from dozens of gashes in her fingers. Some were deep enough that she could see bone beneath. She hadn't felt the cuts when they happened, but seeing them made them flare to life with pain.
Staring wide eyed in disbelief that she had cut herself that many times, and that badly, without knowing, she almost didn't notice Sarevok swipe his thumb gently across her cheekbone with his other hand. Looking up at him, she saw him wipe blood off on his shirt. It must have flown off the knife as she twirled it, speckling her skin and clothes.
"Viconia!" He shouted as he turned her arm to examine the lacerations.
Ilyrana didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. There was no sane explanation.
Sarevok's half of her soul struck her own, harder than the times he had done before. The sensation made her gasp, and her rage would have come charging back to the fore if she wasn't so off balance.
The glow from his eyes dimmed. As did some of his anger, as understanding lit his face. As he felt the lingering effects of the taint and what it had been doing. Which finally brought her own anger back.
"You have no right to invade my privacy like that," she hissed.
"Perhaps not, but at least now I know why you mutilated your hand."
"I didn't know I was doing it!" She bit out between clenched teeth, lowering her voice as the sound of Viconia's hurried footsteps grew louder.
"I know you didn't. And I know why you didn't know."
Biting back her response as Viconia appeared, she settled for glaring at the man.
"By Shar, we leave you alone for five minutes and you do this! How did this happen?"
Releasing her to the cleric, Sarevok stepped to the side and met Ilyrana's glare with a thoughtful look. Ilyrana would have preferred his usual scowl, as the way he studied her made her wary.
"Is someone going to answer me? How did this happen?" Viconia demanded as she looked at the wounds.
"Lost in thought. Cut myself."
Sarevok raised an eyebrow at her reply, but said nothing.
"That's a weak lie, even for you, abbil."
Light flared from the drow's palms, and the stinging pain in her hand dwindled to nothing.
"Thank you," Ilyrana said softly, flexing her fingers to ensure they were all back in working order.
"If I go back to eating, can you manage not to injure yourself before I finish?"
"I'm not a child," she snapped.
"Then you better not be bleeding again before I'm done with dinner," Viconia replied, then turned and went back to camp.
Ilyrana glared after the woman, then turned it back on Sarevok, before turning to walk away. Or trying to.
"It's going to come back."
"It always comes back, what's your point?"
"You need to release some of that pent up aggression, on something other than yourself, or the taint is going to find a way to do it for you again."
"You think I don't know this? You think I'm not used to this? You should remember what it's like."
"I do. Which is why I know how to remedy it."
"You remedy it by killing. I know this already. Are you offering to die so I can get some peace?"
"Not just killing, Rana. Murder is a product of violence. Violence itself can sometimes be enough to sate the taint."
"Soooo you want me to… what? Kick your ass? Now that you mention it, that does sound very cathartic."
"I'm offering to let you try."
Ilyrana blinked at him.
"Meaning what, exactly?"
In answer, Sarevok disappeared in the direction Viconia had. Ilyrana watched him leave, her brow furrowed in irritation and puzzlement.
A moment later, he returned, carrying his sword in one hand.
"Draw your swords, Rana, and let's see if you can best me a second time."
Ilyrana stared at him, unmoving, caught between an intense desire to obey, and a sudden feeling of foreboding. A remnant of the one other time they had crossed swords.
"Are you sure?" She asked softly.
"I know you've wondered, just as I have, what the outcome of a rematch might be. At least this way, it serves a greater purpose. Come, for old time's sake, if nothing else."
For a long moment, Ilyrana didn't move. He was right, she had wondered. He was one of the best fighters she had ever seen. He had been far more powerful than she was when they fought before, and while she was much stronger now than she was then, she knew the odds of winning were stacked against her. Not to mention she had defeated him before solely because of those memories, not because she was his equal or better, and not even because she was lucky.
She held back, a small part of her wondering if he had an ulterior motive for wanting this. It would be easy to claim that killing her was an accident, just a badly timed slip of the blade, during a sparring match. He must have seen her thoughts on her face, or guessed the reason for her hesitation.
"You're going to have to trust me."
"Can I trust you?"
"I guess you'll find out."
"That's not very reassuring."
"Disarm me or draw blood. If you've the courage. If you can."
Taking a deep breath, she reached up to tighten the leather knot that held her hair up in a tail. Eyes fixed on his, she unsheathed her short swords, and slowly shifted her weight to prepare to strike.
"Good girl," he crooned, smirking at the flash of annoyance in her eyes, while adjusting his grip on his greatsword.
She didn't ease into the fight. There were no warm up motions to go through that would give her the upper hand. The only thing she had on him was her agility and raw speed, which wouldn't help nearly as much because he wasn't encumbered by armor at the moment. Nor could she rely on the usually effective tactic of wearing a larger opponent out, as his stamina was great enough that he could likely do this long after she succumbed to fatigue. Not even the Slayer could help her, as she hadn't been sleeping and eating enough to regain a modicum of the energy required to live through the transformation.
This was a bad idea, but the dried blood on her hand was a grim reminder of what the taint could do when her stranglehold on it eased for even a moment.
Ilyrana hit him straight on, fast, each of her blades flashing out at both his midsection and the femoral artery. He swept her swords aside, still wielding his weapon one-handed, when most men needed two just to heft it. His other arm shot out, aiming at her throat in an attempt to grab and immobilize her. Lunging back, and just barely avoiding being caught, she struck again, only to have her swords turned away.
Sarevok didn't go on the offensive. Not yet. As they stepped apart and slowly began circling one another, Ilyrana searching for an opening, she suddenly noticed the lengthening shadows and the growing twilight. Not long from now, it would be night. And in the dark, with her Infravision, which he lacked, she would be untouchable.
Circling.
His eyes glowed just as brightly as her own, though not from anger. Nor were the halves of their soul touching.
With a viper's speed, she struck again, one blade aimed high on his chest, the other coming low at his knee. Leaning back, he avoided the first, then smacked the second aside almost casually with his sword.
Circling.
Not long now before it grew too dark for him to see. He must know this, but he still wasn't pressing her.
She knew him. He wasn't going to let her win. Whatever reason he had for holding back, it was not to aid her in any way.
Spinning one blade to build momentum, she slashed upward, and was parried, then brought her other sword up to block the near instantaneous riposte at her torso.
Skipping back to get out of his reach, she noted that her breathing was already laborious, and that he had barely broken a sweat. She was in no condition to be fighting. Even at the peak of health, her chances of winning would be small, and she was far from healthy right now. Still, the hum of bloodlust from the taint was waning, as he said it might.
Sarevok chose that moment to attack. Raising both swords and crossing them, she absorbed the punishing stroke, drawing back and sliding her blades out to reduce the force of impact. She couldn't directly stop his assault, not without risking being disarmed. Not without her hands going numb from the jarring blows.
Sidestepping, he lashed out at her waist, forcing her to hop back. Grasping the hilt with both hands now, he brought his sword down in a devastating downward stroke. Ilyrana again crossed her swords, this time unable to divert the force behind it, and she was instantly forced to one knee, gritting her teeth in an effort to just hold him at bay.
One hand again blurred towards her, the weight he was exerting against her didn't let up a bit, and all she could do was drop her arms and roll to the side to avoid being sliced open or grabbed.
Back on her feet, she danced away to buy her a second to breathe and regain sensation in her arms. Gods, he was just as strong as she remembered.
Hanging back rather than pursuing, Sarevok once again began to patiently circle around her, forcing her to keep moving to remain out of his considerable reach.
Again he struck without warning. Again she dodged him. She retaliated, but was easily pushed back. Darting in, using the dimming light and her speed, she tried to land a single blow, however small, before she had to duck away.
As night began to settle around them, Ilyrana noticed the feel of the fight had changed. No longer did it seem like a test of skill. Or even an outlet for the taint's driving hunger. Now, it felt like a struggle for dominance. Like there was something to be gained by winning, other than the victory itself. As they closed again, striking with breathtaking speed and carefully controlled power, she watched his eyes take on an almost predatory intensity.
Putting distance between them again, and gasping for air, Ilyrana realized that even with her Infravision, she couldn't beat him. Neither could she hold him off much longer. Her arms, up to her elbows, were completely numb. And he was holding back. The question now was what would happen when she lost?
Lashing out with both swords simultaneously, she swept aside another blow. Then another.
His half of their soul slid against hers, distracting her enough that she almost lost her footing. She got a sudden glimpse into what he was feeling. The rush of combat. The intoxicating knowledge that he was winning. Why his gaze seemed to sear her skin.
Stepping around her and swatting her swords aside, they began circling once again, just out of reach of each other. Ilyrana couldn't break their stare, trapped by the golden light of his eyes. That impression of a deer wandering into the lion's den flickered through her mind.
He lashed out, forcing her to retreat. His strength, his absolute conviction of just where and how his attacks would fall, his arrogance that he held nearly all the cards, all of it affected her in a way she didn't expect. Giving more ground, now barely able to hold him off, she realized, with a sickening surety, that she had accepted his challenge knowing she would lose, regardless of how well she fought. Because, gods help her, she wanted him to win.
The moment that thought went through her mind, his sword slapped one of hers out of her hand. Taking a step back, then another, she tried to back away from him. He kept advancing, but he didn't strike.
One more backward step. His eyes glowed brighter as he drew closer. One more step… her back hit a tree. Suddenly, his sword fell to the ground, and he lunged at her. Grabbing her wrist, he pried the remaining sword out of her grip and brought it to her throat.
Gasping for breath, Ilyrana tried not to move as the steel lightly touched her skin. Breathing heavily as well, Sarevok tilted the blade, forcing her to lean her head back against the bark, chin up. She looked up at him. He stared down at her, and what she saw in his eyes made her shiver. That small movement was enough that the edge of the sword nicked her skin. She watched his gaze drop to it. Felt a small bead of blood begin to roll lazily down her neck. Saw his eyes begin to follow it. She closed her own.
The blade disappeared. Hands grasped the backs of her thighs and she was lifted, easily, and pressed roughly back into the tree. Her eyes flew open in surprise, only to slide shut again as Sarevok's mouth closed over the blood on her neck.
Gasping as she felt his tongue slide over the cut, she couldn't stop her legs from wrapping around his waist, pulling him against her. A harsh growl escaped his throat, and she felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin just below her ear. His hands slid to her waist, gripping her hard enough to bruise as he tasted her, his lips and teeth marking her fair skin in his lust.
"Sarevok…"
His name, breathed out in a desperate plea, was enough to drive him to the edge of insanity. One hand glided up her side, brushed across her breast and up to the tie in her hair. It tore away like nothing in his hand, and her long thick hair tumbled down across one shoulder. His fingers threaded through it then closed into a fist before he used his hold to pull her head back. Drawing away from her neck, he looked down at her, eyes burning with an almost menacing intensity that would have scared her if she could think straight.
This was wrong. She knew that. Could feel it, but she couldn't make herself tell him to stop. Even knowing that by not stopping him, she was surrendering more of her power, her control, to him.
As if he read her thoughts, her summoning of will to push him away, his lips came crashing down on hers in a demanding kiss. Plying her lips apart with his tongue to twine with her own, he swallowed her moan as his hips rocked against her. She could taste the faint metallic tang of her blood, and for whatever reason it aroused her. She could feel him, hard between her legs, and her hips rolled against him of their own will.
The hand at her waist moved to the ties of her leggings and ripped them open. Her head fell back, and a cry escaped her throat as his hand slid down to the juncture of her thighs.
"Fuck, Rana…" he rasped as his calloused fingers stroked her, his forehead pressed against hers, not allowing her to look away from him.
Biting her lip, she again felt trapped by his gaze, unable to tear her eyes away from his. With an almost anguished cry, she surrendered completely.
Her moans grew louder, her nails biting into his shoulders, clutching him close to her as she neared her peak. Her back arching, seconds away from release, her cries weren't loud enough to cover the sound of someone clearing their throat from somewhere off to the side.
Both of them turned their heads to see a very amused, and slightly embarrassed, Valygar, standing several feet away.