By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (12 page)

It would be then, that moment,
when he would admit to himself that she had failed, when he would
stop to even try to bond her. And then he would go over to just
take without heed to her health, would drain her blood slowly and
mix it with the sustenance of the court to give them at least the
temporary benefit of her presence. She almost wished that moment
was there already, that they could just jump to the end and forego
this farce.

Elena felt his sigh as a
foreshadowing of what she saw as the inevitable result of their
association. How could it be that only a week ago she had come to
peace with this and today the fear of the certain failure was so
present again? Would it have been easier had she not spent a week
with them, had she not started to feel for these people? They
deserved better than they had gotten all their lives. They deserved
an ErGer worth the name, not a defective specimen like her. She
only identified the burn on her cheek for a tear when she tasted
its salt on her lips. With brutal self-possession she pushed down
the rising pressure behind her eyes.

All of a sudden his hands left
her and she felt bereft, the cold hitting her skin where his hands
had been. Her arms fell from his neck, her shoulders curving in an
instinctive hunch, all arousal forgotten. He caught her wrists in
his before they could come to rest on her thighs in the well known
position of submission.

"Can you tell me what is going
through your head right now?"

His question drew her eyes away
from the darkness of the shadows to meet his yellow gaze. There was
hardness there -- and sad incomprehension. Could she make him
understand her thoughts? Could she make him grasp the truth she had
known from the first moment but had not allowed herself face? Did
she want him to? The questions were mute, her mouth too dry, her
mind too full to even try to speak. Silently she shook her
head.

To her surprise his expression
softened, his mouth stretching in a smile holding as much pain as
it held regret. What did he see when he looked at her now? Did he
already see the pitiful failure she knew would come -- or did he
see the desperate pride which had become the steel infusing her
spine, holding her head up? She might be a failure, a burden to her
family, a source of pity and veiled disdain but at least she would
not let them see that she knew it. His right hand let go of her
wrist, let it fall to her thigh in a heavy thud, a sensation, not a
sound.

She did not expect his fingers
in her hair, the cruel strength with which he wound her braid
around his palm, stretching her neck without mercy. The pain was
sharp, immediate -- and salutary. She fought it because it was
something she could fight and win, something she could do right.
She felt the tug, the giving way of single hair breaking under the
strain of his strength and still he did not let go. Her teeth found
her lower lip and, when she could not counter the pain on her scalp
with the pain of her lip anymore, her teeth ground together in an
attempt to keep the sound of agony from spilling from her
mouth.

"You are not very good at
following orders -- are you? It surprises me. I had heard the ErGer
of Innsbruck is so well trained in obedience she never needs an
order repeated and now look at you. I have to say, I am
disappointed. Your fame was clearly exaggerated."

His words hurt but also
confirmed something in her, let that little Gordian Knot of acid in
her chest writhe in happiness. What had he expected? Of course she
was a disappointment. She had disappointed everyone else, so why
not him? Who was she to hold onto her last, her only,
accomplishment: her proficiency in the rules of submission? She was
almost grateful for the physical pain, the cruelty of his grip. It
helped her step away from the agony of her emotions, the hate she
felt when she thought of herself. But he was not finished yet in
listing her faults:

"You disobeyed, you refused me
an answer and then you lied. I asked you a question and you lied,
not only violating the very foundation of what you should have been
taught -- but in direct contravention to the promise you gave me.
What do you think I should do with that?"

Heat burned in her cheeks but
there was no space for embarrassment under the pain of his grip on
her hair. Her neck muscles strained against the savage strength of
his hold and breathing became difficult under the stretch of her
neck. She tasted the salt of blood in her mouth from where her
teeth had buried into her lips. Darkness danced in the corners of
her vision and it took all her concentration not to break her
position, not to fight him outright. Only as she thought she would
have to surrender to the pain and let the scream pressing against
her throat out to fill the room did he loosen his grip, by a minute
amount. Just enough to let her breathe, just enough for the
prickling burn of blood rushing to sensitive skin to take over in
her awareness and replace the overwhelming pain in her heart.

She was caught by the
expression of intent concentration, of studious attention in his
eyes. He watched her every move, every flicker of emotion on her
face and body with avid attention -- and then his lids lowered,
hiding his thoughts from her, his moods, his intent. It was
terrifying.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was
breathless and lost, thin under the pressure of his
disapproval.

"Sorry because you fear the
consequences?" The tone of the question was all hard stone, the
melodic quality crystallising into diamond edges. But he was wrong.
She was not sorry because she feared what he would do to her, not
really -- she was sorry because she could not even give him this.
She might never have been a naturally biddable woman, but she had
learnt to follow orders, had learnt to play this game of
submission. Elena had always understood it to be her destiny, her
only chance to fall into the position her genetic make-up had
chosen for her.

But it felt different here. For
the first time in her life she respected, she desired the man
trying to bond her. For the first time she wanted to bond, to give
her power to another -- not to find a place in this world, but so
that he could. It was hard to admit it, even to herself, but she
wanted to please him. She wanted his forgiveness and at the same
time, she feared what that would mean.

"No, Yes, No." She was too
confused by her own scrambling thoughts, whirling to find an answer
that made sense in the framework of reality. Words she wanted to
say, but then discarded unheard, pinged off her mind like so many
skipping stones, barely touching before flitting away again. But he
wanted an answer and knowing created a visceral need in her to give
him what he desired. So she said the first thing coming to mind: "I
don't want to disappoint you." And more quiet as if a dam had
broken: "I do not know why."

Under his lowered lids his eyes
glittered in an emotion she could not identify but thought it might
be triumph, and a little bit of pride. She did not care where that
pride came from, did not have the strength to wonder about it. She
was emotionally, mentally exhausted. Too much happening in her
mind, too fast. She let it slip, allowed it to buoy her without
question and took the strength it gave her. She said:

"I
am
sorry and I will
try to do better. I don't know if it will be enough. I don't know
if I can be enough. But I'll try. I promise. I will make sure to
pay attention, not to get distracted anymore. Just punish me and
let me try one more time."

A long moment of thoughtful
silence. What was he thinking? She felt his eyes on her but did not
dare to look at him. She did not fear the anger that might darken
his eyes -- but the disappointment he must be feeling would hurt
too much. So she waited, her eyes fixed over his shoulder, whilst
his fingers held her head in a painful grip. The minutes trickled
by without a sound, or movement, from him.

When he finally spoke, his
voice was contemplative:

"Punishment?"

She tried to nod, the movement
cut short by his hand in her hair. The contemplative light in his
eyes watched her with the attention of a hawk.

"So you have been taught to
expect punishment and in your eyes punishment will erase a
misstep?"

Panic rose. He would not let
her try again, would not let her make up for her momentary lapse in
obedience. Her words tumbled over each other as she tried to
convince him.

"It won't erase it. I know
that. But it will prove to you that I will try, really try. Do what
you want with me and I will endure it. I promise I can still try to
be useful."

Her eyes found his, begged him
for this second chance. Would he give it to her? She doubted any of
the other men ever having tried to bond her would have given her a
second chance based on the smallest infraction. Not even Adrianus.
It was why she had learnt to obey, to anticipate and strategise.
The silence stretched and she could read nothing in the calm gaze
meeting her own. When he finally spoke, there was speculation in
his eyes.

"Alright then. Punishment. Do
you promise to accept anything I chose?"

A second chance. It should have
made her feel lighter, instead it made her feel lost. What would he
choose? Would she be enough? She wanted the warmth in his eyes
back, wanted to see those embers of respect in his expression
again. Even if they failed in the bonding in the end, even if he
would bleed her dry, for one moment she wanted to see it again,
wanted to see herself as a being, not a thing, one more time
through his eyes. How pathetic was she? Yearning for even the
smallest piece of warmth from an orc, when all he needed was her
body. Her insecurity was audible in the tentative quality of her
answer.

"Yes."

The next question shocked
her:

"Why?"

Elena did not understand the
question. Had she not made clear to him she wanted to bond to him,
that she would do anything for that end?

"The bonding ..."

The hand in her hair tightened,
streaks of pain fanning out from her scalp, along her neck, her
shoulders. She screamed, the sound escaping her before she could
control it.

"Not good enough, little one.
You are lying again."

"No!" Tears pooled in her
eyes.

"Yes, Lena. You are lying. Tell
me why you are hoping for me to punish you?"

The words were spoken in a
raised voice, his tone harsh and demanding, nothing left of his
usual calm. It shocked her. He had been so controlled, so careful
throughout their travels, even when he scolded her, his voice had
always been restrained. Now it held only anger. It was a whiplash
which snaked into her mind and ripped out the words she so
desperately tried to keep from him:

"I want to please you."

Her body began to tremble under
the impact of mortified shock. He let her braid slip through his
fingers, let it slide from his hands but before she could lower her
head in shame. He cradled her face in his palm.

"There you go, little one. That
is what I wanted to hear."

Tears fell from her eyes, burnt
her cheeks. Pathetic indeed.

"Why do you make me say it?"
Humiliation tinged the question with bitterness.

"Because you needed to
know."

"I needed to know how weak I am
-- I know that already."

"No, you needed to understand
that this is different from anything you have felt before, that I
will not let you hide behind the bonding. I will have the bond --
and I will have you. All of you."

His eyes were serious as they
searched hers, delved deep into her soul as if they saw something
she did not know existed there. Then he smiled a smile of dark
anticipation, a smile full of a promise she did not understand. Not
yet.

"I want you." The stark truth
-- and one no one else had ever told her. And she wanted it too,
wanted to be wanted. If she would have one ounce of courage left,
she might have even admitted she wanted him.

"Will you let me take you? Will
you give me what I want?" His eyes burnt into hers, all cold
dispassion gone in a flash of possessive heat.

She wanted to say yes, wanted
to promise him all her being. But she had disappointed too
many.

"I will try."

The kiss was heartbreakingly
tender. Then he let his hands fall from her.

"I know you will, Lena."

With a single, fluid movement
he rose to stand over her, power and grace in every inch of him.
His features held no tenderness, no warmth -- only power and
control. He looked down on her and she was only too aware of the
cruel light in his eyes, a gleeful awareness of her absolute
vulnerability under his rule. She knew she would not find mercy in
his hands. That knowledge, she revelled in it. He expected her to
take whatever he threw at her, endure what he would demand of her
-- and more. And where she doubted herself, he did not. He was
certain, confident in her, even though she had already failed once.
And through him she saw her own potential for strength. She could
almost believe him.

"Eyes on the fire, Lena."

Playtime was over. This time he
would not let her escape. When her eyes found the dancing flames
once again, no relaxed heat rose in her muscles, no calmness found
her mind. Instead, she was hyperaware of his movements behind her,
of the drag of cloth and the heavy thud as something was dropped to
the floor. A metallic creak and the sound of wood hitting stone
made her think he had opened one of the heavy wooden chests along
the wall, a suspicion proven correct when, after only a moment, the
lid was closed, the snap of a fastening sliding home.

She felt him move across the
room back to where she knelt at the fire and marvelled at the utter
quietness of his movements. He made no sound as he walked across
the stone floor. Still she knew exactly where he was, so conscious
was she of every move he made, as if thin strands of gossamer silk
connected him to her; a spider web of awareness stretching between
them. Then there was quiet, the room having lost all life suddenly.
No anxiety touched her. He had not left her, had not abandoned her.
That was all that mattered for the moment.