Fire Ch. 09

**

"Well, look here Remy, seems like the gods have seen fit to bless us with sport after all. I told you to quit your bitching."

Thea felt her stomach slam up into her throat and she opened her eyes turning them toward the voice. Two faces grinned down at her. The man who spoke looked almost youthful, his face clean shaven, his hair a devil-may-care swath of wheat and his eyes the clear sky blue of a local boy. Remy looked at least middle age, and much darker, the feint shadow of a beard graced his chin and rounded face. The one thing they had in common was the bright glint in both their eyes.

"Hello pet. What seems to be the problem? A lover cast you out? We can fix that for you if you like." The one called Remy leaned in, his hands on his knees, his mouth twisting into an unappetizing leer.

"Leave me alone. I'm not interested." She rasped, the hardness of her glare not quite covering the tremor of fear in her voice.

The first man frowned mockingly. "Well that's not very friendly. Maybe she likes girls better, she is dressed up like a man."

Remy grinned again. "We can fix that too." Behind them she heard a low chuckle.

There was something sharp and hard in both their eyes that accompanied that first glint and it made up her mind for her before she could bother formulating a plan or even a coherent thought for that matter. Hesitation was no longer an option.

The blond opened his mouth to add something, but before the sound could escape she had launched herself forward, catching him in the gut with her shoulder and sending him stumbling back while she jumped past him.

She made it all of four steps when a hand seized her by the collar, yanking her back with a sharp tug. She threw back a hopeful elbow as she stumbled backwards and felt it connect. A cry and a curse behind her filled her with a furious satisfaction and spurred her on.

She spun, taking advantage of the weakened grip on her shirt. They were so much slower and weaker than Jairus, and no doubt not expecting a fight, so she shook them off with surprising ease. She caught two handfuls of someone's shirt, not bothering to check whose, and yanked it with every ounce of strength she had. The one trying to hold her released her completely and the figure she'd shoved tripped sideways over the low rail running along the lip of the canal. The loud splash was still echoing in the narrow alley and she was no where near finding her bearings when another pair of hands caught her, twisting a wrist behind her back and an arm wrapped suddenly around her throat. She clawed at it with her fingers and tried desperately to twist away, but the arm only tightened, slowly cutting off her air.

She sneered as a third face appeared before her.

"Crazy little slag."

"Disgusting pig." She returned, punctuating her words by recklessly spitting in his face. She was rewarded with a solid blow across the face. It was thankfully open-handed, but still hard enough to make her eyes tear in pain. The second blow split her lip and made her head spin slightly.

She could taste the blood. But the taste of her own blood had long ago ceased to frighten her. Instead of fear, her first response was a surge of energy, heightened senses, and instant arousal. That arousal quickly flowed into fury.

The man behind her grunted as she twisted again, and her heel connected with his shin. He buckled a little, but didn't loosen his grip. She tried to knock her head back into his,

"She ain't all that little, Campbell." he gritted out as his other hand fisted in her hair and wrenched her head back in an attempt to subdue her. She let out her own grunt and suppressed the urge to kick him again. Instead she took a deep breath and let her brain catch up to her body. The more she struggled the tighter his grip got she reasoned, and at this rate she'd black out if she didn't get some air soon. So she let her shoulders slump and her legs buckle a little and went slack in his arms, forcing him to do the work of holding her up.

As he loosened his grip slightly she was able to turn her head a little and saw that there were actually four of them, though the darkness of the alley made it difficult to make out the features of those not directly in front of her. One was still in the process of dragging his dripping self out of the water, cursing loudly as he did. She briefly wondered which one it was, though she didn't linger on the thought as the arm was still chocking off most of her air.

In the corner of her eye she saw a shutter open and close overhead, telling her she was unequivocally on her own. They'd seen, they must have seen...but they didn't care. Jairus hadn't been exaggerating about this place. With a mental groan she steeled herself and let her eyes flutter closed and went completely limp, seemingly falling unconscious. She endured a few frightening moments of suffocation before the arm around her finally let her go and she felt herself slide down to the ground.

"Well that's more like it." The others chuckled again, muttering replies she couldn't hear. She heard the jingle of a belt and diverted every ounce of focus she had to maintain her even breathing. She watched them through her lashes, seeing enough to know that none were close enough for her to do anything. There were four of them, and one of her. She'd have to wait.

She nearly broke when she felt her pants being tugged roughly down over her hips. She flinched and instinctively twisted away, though she managed to keep her eyes mostly shut. She tried to be patient, to keep her focus, to recall the things that Jairus had been teaching her. But it was hard.

"Hold her down."

She saw a figure kneel down next to her head and reach out for her hands. She rolled toward him with what she hoped was a groggy sounding moan and caught a glimpse of his leg and the sheath strapped to his thigh. She focused on that, gritting her teeth against the sensation of a rough hand being thrust down the front her trousers and up against her sex. They were still trying to get her pants down but apparently this one was too impatient to wait. Her stomach lurched nauseatingly and she could taste the bile of it in her mouth as she choked back the urge to be sick. Another hand was moving under her shirt, causing the top buttons to pop open. She gritted her teeth. 'Focus' she growled to herself, forcing herself through the ordeal, imagining that knife in her hands as the embers of her anger and fear made a rapid crescendo into a white hot flame.

All she could do was slow them down by trying to make it that much more difficult, buying time. So she spread her legs to keep her trousers up, despite the fact that it went against every thought and instinct in her body, all of which screamed at her to slam her legs shut in order to keep him and his filthy hands off her. She swallowed another whimper as the rough fingers pried her open, digging deeper into her sex, clumsily seeking entrance and pulling at the skin painfully.

The man feeling her up laughed.

"Look at that, the little slut can't wait for it."

"She probably don't get much running around dressed like that."

The other man was still trying to capture both her wrists when she flailed one arm out against his leg, in what she prayed looked like an unintentional gesture. Still more laughter. Half way through the laugh she wrenched her captured arm out of his grip to snatch at his shirt and pull him nearer, grabbing the knife with the other.

She plunged it into the nearest wall of flesh without so much as a thought, using all her strength in a quick and twisting in-out thrust before slashing it at the man between her legs. He had just enough time to pull away and throw an arm between them to protect himself, but not much more than that. The blade glanced off his arm, slicing into him and leaving a painful but relatively harmless wound.

The others were already moving forward so she let instinct take over completely. Her spread legs closed around the man between them and she twisted, putting herself for a moment on top. It was the blond. He blinked up at her in surprise and before she knew what was happening there was a long blade lodged firmly in his throat.

She froze and stared down at the hands still wrapped around the hilt. Her hands.

Her eyes darted up to his. She saw confusion and fear, and then...nothing. She didn't really hear the movement or cursing behind her. The fear and anger which had fueled her was sucked out of her, pulled into the strange void before her. She could hear nothing, feel nothing, couldn't move, not even to take her hands from the hilt she clutched so tightly. All she could do was stare back, entranced by those glassy eyes. He was dead. She had killed him.

It was the sharp tug on her hair that finally pulled her out of the bareness of those eyes. Her head jerked back painfully, shocking her back into real time and making her cry out for the first time in surprise and pain. She was pulled off the body and thrown face first onto the stones. There was a knee on her back, a fist in her hair, and the silver flash of a knife under her eye.

And then it was gone.

Her head dropped to the flagstones as the fingers pulled from her hair. She breathed once, and turned her cheek against the smooth stone surface, watching in breathless horror as a red spray arched high across the wall beside her. She climbed to her knees, slipping in the pool of blood that had slowly begun forming beneath her.

She caught sight of the man who'd been holding her down as he crouched pathetically back against the wall. His face was pale and damp, and he clawed his bloody shirt with both hands, covering the wound she'd given him. His eyes were filled with fear but he wasn't looking at her. She turned and scrambled awkwardly back away from the spreading red tide and from whatever fearful thing she knew was behind her, that even now was casting the shadow of its presence over her.

A cloaked figure came into view materializing over her, and stepped forward, its boots somehow avoiding the red mess which had half-hazardly painted the street. She gazed up into the hood and saw nothing but the brief glint of dark eyes as the hooded face looked slowly from the knife in the dead man's throat to her own body as she shied away. She could see the path of those shining eyes as they traveled down her partially open shirt and trousers. Her eyes also slid lower, trailing down toward his hands. They were pale hands, wielding a strange blade, long and curved, its handle wrapped in red silk. The pale hand became that much whiter as it tightened around the red grip. She could feel his gaze burning into her.

Black fire. Searing, all-consuming, blessedly familiar fire. She licked the blood from her lips.

Without a word he strode past her, the hem of his cloak brushing her lightly. She didn't turn to watch. Not when there came the briefest of cries, cut short by a long choked gurgle,or at the soft thud of a body hitting the ground, nor when all was silence again except for the gentle lap of water against old stone.

Instead she stared forward at the two bodies in front of her, the nearest with its throat sliced open, the second with his head twisted unnaturally, both as limp and lifeless as two hay-stuffed scare-crows, both gazing back at her with those empty eyes.

She put up no resistance as she was hauled to her feet and felt fingers wrap around her chin, tilting her face up to meet the dark face before her. Her mind was a blank sheet, her body cold, and her heart like a lump of ice frozen hard in her chest.

He could think of nothing to say as he gazed down at her, his mind still spinning with fury and relief. If the sight of her pinned under that son of a bitch had made him see red, then there was nothing in the world to describe his fury when she turned and he caught a glimpse of the slow bruises forming on her throat and face and the way her shirt hung half open from her shoulders. He almost wished there were more of them so he could work out the remainder of his fury on their sorry carcasses. Slowly he reigned himself in and did his best to suppress his rage until it was reduced to a cold ball in the pit of his stomach.

They hadn't found her. She had defended herself. She was safe. His jaw felt locked, his throat closed.

He felt he should say something, comfort her, but even when he felt he could finally force out a sound more eloquent than a growl, there was a strange turn to her expression that made him hesitate.

He expected fear and relief, possibly even gratitude, but not whatever it was he was looking at now. So he stood and waited and watched. Finally she broke his gaze and turned her eyes down toward the dead man with a knife in his throat.

"He's dead." she whispered. He watched her pale face as one of her hands slid up her stomach to grasp close her gaping shirt.

"Yes."

"I killed him."

It suddenly dawned on him what strange emotions were warring in her eyes. She was in shock. Not from having been attacked but from having killed a man. It had been so long he had nearly forgotten what that moment felt like. He had been brought up expecting, and even looking forward to it, but it had still left him a little rattled.

Voices drifted towards him, still a ways away but he didn't want to be standing here when they finally stumbled upon the rather gruesome scene. She clearly needed a few moments to collect herself, but this was not the place to take them.

"Come." He untied his cloak, laying it over her shoulders and slid an arm around her waist to guide her away from the body she was still staring at. "You did well. The first time is always the hardest." He muttered, not quite sure if that was consoling or not. He was only repeating what was told to him, not knowing what else to say. He was focusing on their path, pulling them across a narrow foot bridge, but he could see the way her head had snapped towards him in response. He dared a glance toward her face and turned his eyes away just as quickly. The look she gave him was one of sheer horror.

"The first?" her voice was low and hoarse. The voices were getting closer and she was tugging away from him slightly, slowing their progress. He sighed and swept her up into his arms. She made a small yelp of protest but otherwise did not resist.

"Hold on." He whispered and held her against him with one arm as he turned and began climbing an old wrought iron ladder at the end of the street. Up, he found, was generally the last place people looked.

She obeyed and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was reminded once more of the night he found her, only this time it wasn't fear which made her shudder in his arms. At least not fear of him. 'That at least is an improvement.'

He set her down lightly on the roof top and waited. She was silent for a long time and merely stood before him, her hands clutching the front his shirt and her forehead leaning against his chest. She took one long shuddering breath and pulled away. He released her as she turned.

"If you're going to tell me it gets easier, don't. I don't want it to get easier. I don't want to hear that."

She looked back up at him, but he was already looking away. She wondered briefly if that disappointed him. Why should it? God what was wrong with her?

She killed someone, that's what. They were dead right now, bleeding out in the alley below. She thought of all that blood. There had been so much.

"Sort of a waste isn't it?" Her voice sounded like gravel. He looked at her again. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, it wasn't something she was used to seeing there, and it made her nervous. Perhaps he thought she'd gone mad...perhaps she had. "All that blood." She qualified, managing a shaky smile.

His gaze remained serious and her own attempt to remain calm crumbled and she buried her face in her hands before running them through her hair in a gesture of extreme frustration. Or perhaps despair, she couldn't quite tell. She shook her head at the sky. It was clear and bright, the moon right where she'd left it when she leapt out the window. Had this all really happened so quickly? Mere minutes. That's all it takes, just minutes, seconds, between alive and dead.

"I can't do this Jairus. You were right. I...I'm not..." she shook her head again and turned her gaze downward. "They...they left me for dead, so I thought...I thought I could handle it, if I had to. I thought I'd seen enough." Her shaky smile returned as she looked up at him. "I was certainly angry enough."

He was before her again, so quickly she hadn't seen him move, making her inhale her surprise. His fingers lightly held her neck and jaw, his thumb smoothing over her cheek and whipping away an escaping tear. His sudden touch seemed so gentle that it caused more tears to well up in the place of those he had removed. Her skin felt hot where he touched it, pulsing as if he were some sort of load stone drawing in the fragmenting remains of her heat. The rest was like ice. She could feel herself shivering again.

"They're not the same Thea, the villagers and the Huroth."

"Feels like it. They both want me dead."

"It doesn't work that way. And anger isn't always enough."

"Why not?" she bristled. "It should be dammit."

He smiled slightly. "I don't know. It just doesn't. Thea..." His fingers tightened and he stared deep into her eyes. She felt like her heart was seizing up. "You need to listen to me...alright?"

She swallowed and made a motion of assent.

"Good people don't like killing. For some it never gets easier. But you did nothing wrong. You were defending yourself, and if he had lived, then he would live to hurt someone else. Ask yourself Thea, what if they had found a different girl, younger maybe, or less able to defend herself? What would they have done to her?"

She felt the anger that had been so quickly drained from her flare back to life and it cleared some of the muddiness from her mind.

She felt...startled. What if they had found someone else? They would have hurt her, raped her for certain...and who knew what else. Would they have killed her to silence her, or just left her alone and battered in the alley? Bastards.

He searched her eyes and nodded releasing her face and giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. She frowned.

"What about you?"

His eyes searched her face again and he sighed.

"I'm rather used to it."

"You felt nothing then?"

Another long pause. "Honestly?"

She nodded. He took a deep breath.

"If I hadn't been concerned for your safety, I wouldn't have been so merciful. I'd gladly do it over again...and I'd take my time about it." His eyes glittered darkly and she could see the muscle in his jaw twitch slightly.

"That is rather honest." she breathed.

"Too honest?" The remnant anger in his eyes turned to something else.

She bit her lip and shook her head no, averting her eyes. "No. I...I like that you're honest...even...even if it's hard to hear." She cleared her throat and her eyes flicked back up to his. "It lets me know I can trust you." He gave her a strange and intense look and she felt compelled to look away once more. "S-so for some it does get easier then?" She murmured.

He looked at her another long minute before answering.

"For some, it was never that hard."

She only nodded. More honesty. He continued.

"I do what I do because it comes easily...because it's what I know, what I was born and trained to do."

"To be an assassin?" her gaze returned to his face. He shook his head.

"Killing is killing. War is as much death for profit as assassination, only less...intimate." He released her shoulders and shrugged. "I thought it translated well enough. Besides, the anonymity of war just lets some people sleep a little better at night. On the most primitive level though, it's all the same, at least to me. How is the man who kills you in an alley for your purse any different from the emperor who kills you in a field for your land?"