By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (8 page)

He let her settle, let her sink
into the position without disturbing her, allowed the moment to
stretch. Then, before the calm could be washed away with worries
about the future, he reached for her. His long finger stroked along
her throat, gentling her gaze to his. She shuddered under the soft
touch, its impact racing electric tingles along her spine. There
was heat in his eyes, and open appreciation. She felt the moment
when his long thumb claw slid from its sheath. It was a curious
sensation against her cheek and for a moment she wondered if it
would hurt, how its edge would feel against her skin. She did not
have long to wonder, its sharp edge stroking over her lips,
painting their contours with exquisite care.

It brought her skin alive. She
could feel her lips, could feel her own heartbeat as a heated
pressure against them -- and his touch a soothing balm. She had
never known the shape of her lips in this way, now their edge burnt
under his finger. Without thought she wet her lips, his taste, warm
spice and dark wood, trickling into her awareness, joining the
scent of his skin surrounding her.

"You are mine, body and soul,
by your own choice. Every aspect of your existence, every second of
your life, will be under my control. There is nothing you can do,
nothing for you to decide, nothing for you to worry about but how
to best fulfil my demands."

His voice was deeper, darker,
speaking to something in her soul. But it was his eyes which caught
her, captured her, held her. Their heat a touch on her skin, a
match lighting a fire in her, barely glowing embers for the moment,
but with the potential to ravage her. She had never felt this way.
He leant closer, his breath whispering over her lips, conquering
her with the memory of his taste.

"You will eat what I give you,
sleep when I tell you to, move where I put you. You will take all
the pleasure and pain I give you, you will take it and endure
because I give it to you."

By rights, the words should
have frightened her. They were stark and confident, expressing the
utter certainty he held in himself. This promise of pleasure and
pain, so full of conviction and dark intent, should have left her
huddled in a corner, catatonic in fear. But the effect it did have
on her was the opposite. His eyes burned with the anticipation, the
sheer joy of what he wanted, what he expected would happen. What he
would make happen. Something clicked in her, slotted into place,
quieted. Her mind, its surface a whirlpool of emotion at the best
of times, calmed, rested. It was as if some weight had been lifted
from her. And as she had felt when she had come to him, when she
had made the first free decision about her own future, she felt as
if she could breathe, unencumbered for the first time in her life.
His smile grew deeper, the harsh lines of his face softening.

"That's it, little one. Let it
take you. Give in, just let it go."

Elena wanted to ask what he
meant, wanted to protest out of sheer principle, but her budding
words were stroked away by the caress of his thumb spreading the
taste of his skin over her lips. Back and forth, the movement
mesmerising and soft. A moan fell from her mouth before she could
censor it, before she even knew it was there, waiting in her to
break free. Arousal, an emotion she had rarely felt in her life,
swirled through her veins. The strong fingers holding her chin
trembled, his chuckle a sensation on her skin.

"I will draw every sound
possible from you, moans, and cries, and screams. I will mark your
skin so that my possession is visible to all. You will writhe and
fight under me and then, when you think you have given me all, you
will beg for more."

Reschkar's voice wrapped around
her in a licentious cadence of heat and arousal. His thumb's caress
was replaced by the touch of his lips as he teased her mouth with
the same rhythm his fingers had established. Back and forth, never
pressing in, his mouth sliding over her skin with sinful patience.
It drew her, a magnetic pull of pure sensation. Without conscious
thought she angled her head and tried to follow his lips, to catch
that tantalising taste she had become familiar with over the last
few days. She could not, his fingers holding her chin, holding her
in place for his own delectation. Her very inability to deepen the
kiss, to either withdraw or demand more, shot a spike of heat
through her. Teeth nipped her lower lip, a gentle reprimand
reminding her of her lack of power, of control.

It was ironic, but it was that
inability to move towards him which made her strain against his
hold. It was a compulsion, previously hidden, a need to test the
hold. There was no give in the hand holding her face at just the
angle he wanted, the tips of his claws threatening to break skin.
Why were his claws out anyway? Would he hold her even if she
managed to draw blood against that sharp edge? She pushed a little
further, strained a little more. He growled.

"If you, for just one moment,
think I will allow you to harm yourself against me, you are
thoroughly mistaken. Heed this rule, for there are no excuses: if
you hurt yourself intentionally and out of pure spite, I will not
only put you over my knees and spank you until you cannot sit for
days, but I will also think of the most effective way to make sure
you never, ever, consider that action again. Is that clear?"

Violence threatened in the
gravel of his voice, leaving her in no doubt he meant each word he
said. For a moment she felt the fear in her heart, the shot of
adrenalin in her muscles -- and doubted her sanity in all
seriousness. Because what she wanted to do most, was push.

He saw it in her eyes and the
smile he gave her was full of challenge and anticipation.

"Try it -- just try it. I dare
you."

She wanted to, oh God, how she
wanted to! He was close enough for his taste to be renewed against
her lips with each breath. The taste was tempting, the need to
reach for the salty spice, essence of which covered her skin,
almost overwhelming. She yearned to lean into it, to meet that
challenge -- but in the last moment her courage deserted her. He
saw the moment she withdrew, decided not to meet the challenge of
his words and his smile told her of his regret.

"Too bad, little one. I would
have enjoyed it." His lips stroked over hers again, too quick to
sate that strange need in her. "More importantly: you would have
enjoyed it too."

Was that a threat? Why did he
make her want something she should not want? Why did she hear it as
a promise instead? And why did the next sentence not make her
scream in terror?

"And then, just when you would
have thought you could not take more, I would have pushed you
deeper. I would have taken all you are into my keeping. I still
will -- in time."

Reschkar covered her mouth with
his, the kiss commanding her attention and compliance. It was not a
shy kiss, nor was it the kiss of a man unused to such activity. It
was the kiss of a master and she was mastered by it. His lips were
firm, his tongue demanded entrance without any doubt of its
welcome. He delved and discovered, stroking along her skin, across
the roof of her mouth, as if he needed to claim every inch of her.
Then he invited her to play and like a starved child she could not
help reacting, duelling his tongue, nibbling and nipping. In the
kiss, she could taste his smile.

He took his time, let her take
hers, but eventually they parted, panting breaths filling the air
between them. His hand still spanned her chin, his thumb returning
to spreading his taste over her moist lips. But his voice was rough
with emotion when he said:

"Gods, I cannot wait to take
you."

She believed him. For the first
time in her life she felt desirable. Moreover, she felt
desired.

Elena was not a beautiful
woman, had been aware of this fundamental lack in female worth
early on. She was too tall, but not in a slender, elegant way, or
even with a strong, athletic character -- no, her body was gawky
and fragile at the same time. She had retained the echoes of her
childhood's chubbiness. Some of her skin was less subtle than it
should be, her rapid growth spurts as a teenager leaving her with
stretch marks barely discernible now, but still there in the right
light. Not even her features, which, though not unpleasant, were
bland at best, fit the ideals of beauty. Her best feature might be
her hair, long and thick, however, it's colour was washed out,
somewhere between brown and blonde. Her eyes matched the rest of
her in boring normality, brown and unexceptional. She knew she was
no monster, but she was no beauty either. At best she was
unexceptional.

For close to seven years she
had shared the beds of some of the most powerful and/or beautiful
men in the country but every single one of them would not have
looked at her twice had she been anything other than an ErGer, not
even out of pity. This man, on the other hand, made no secret out
of wanting her, not just for the power she could give him, but
because he wanted to lose himself in her body.

A more conceited woman might
have thought it was because he was an orc and his access to
beautiful women was limited -- but there was a deep beauty, alien
and ferocious, in the orcs themselves. She had spent too much time
with them now not to be aware of it and there was none who held it
more deeply than this man. She doubted there were many women --
orc, human or vampire -- who would have denied him a single night,
or even an eternity.

"Mine." The word wrapped around
her, bound her with its deep command. Elena could come to love the
gravel in his voice.

It was a declaration of
possession, one designed not to warn off others but to repeat to
her, once again, that she had become his, body and soul. And with
each time, with each declaration he imprinted the sensation on her
mind, the knowledge of his power over her. And every time he spoke
it, she believed it a little more. He would not let her escape, not
even in her mind. She was ashamed to admit the thought reassured
more than frightened her.

Elena did not hear the knock on
the door. What did that say about her state of mind? Outside the
cold wind was battering the thick stone walls, snow whirling in its
force, all life, all demands from the outside world cut off by the
realities of winter in the Alps. The castle had become an island in
a white sea, inaccessible and self-contained, the only sounds and
realities those of the ones dwelling within. But her own, personal
world seemed to have narrowed even further then that, narrowed to a
point where the only thing of importance was him.

The realisation of another
presence in the room took Elena by surprise, her sense mute to it
until Reschkar acknowledged it with a fleeting smile over her
shoulder. All of a sudden her mind caught up with what it had heard
but had not manage to process -- the timid knock, the cautious
shuffle of feet, the change in air currents in the room. Someone
had entered. Someone else. A potential threat at her back. It
washed away her preoccupation with the man before her, woke the
vigilance familiar to her mind. Her muscles locked, readiness to
move swirling with the adrenalin in her blood. But she could not
move, could not turn. There was no physical restraint holding her
in place, no bond, no chain -- only his desire. She knew Reschkar
did not want her to turn. She was caught, not by his hand cradling
her chin, but by the steel of his will shining through those yellow
eyes.

Trust

Elena felt the other presence
come ever closer, felt it halt in its step, close enough for her to
hear the even breathing. She gritted her teeth. She was only too
aware why the other person had paused just out of her sight, but
close enough to let her anxiety bubble up and threaten to overwhelm
her calm. She had seen the movement with which Reschkar had stopped
the other, without ever taking his attention from Elena. He watched
her, studied her, enjoyed her battle, relished the expression of
his power over her.

Anger rose in her and was
quickly suppressed. Anger was not a wise emotion, not for an ErGer
who, by definition, spent her life in the power of others. But she
could not suppress the rhythmic shivers shaking her body. What a
difference to even a few minutes ago, when she had only been aware
of him, had been lost in the intimate familiarity of his touch.
Now, the world intruded more on her with every second, every
sensation acquiring the harsh edge of trepidation and fear.

Where only moments before she
had been aware of nothing but him, now she felt the cold draught
against her skin, causing her muscles to lock as if it were a snake
waiting to strike. The soft fabric below her knees, protecting her
against the cold of the stone floor, started to chafe, the soft
folds of the fabric turning into sharp edges. The sound of
breathing, hers, his, even the intruders, was overshadowed by the
roaring in her ears as her heart rate increased. And throughout it
all, Reschkar simply looked at her, that infuriating smile of
impending victory tugging at the corners of his mouth. She would
have loved to scratch his eyes out, the desire so strong she felt
her own nails pricking her thighs where her hands had rested in
complete relaxation before.

Then the tension broke. She
would have preferred to say her rational mind reasserted itself --
and there was an element of that, but in reality something deeper,
on a more subconscious level, occurred. In the depth of her being
she realised there was no reason for her to fear whomever had
entered, the biggest threat, the only threat to her, was looking
into her eyes. Reschkar would not allow her to come to any harm
from any source other than himself. Nothing else mattered. No one
else did. And in that there was the deeper realisation, one
underlying all, her absolute state of dependence on him. On an
exhalation, suddenly and without hesitation, her body relaxed, her
mind cleared. The smile tugging at his lips was given
free-reign.