Possess Me Ch. 07bytitania123©
First off, THANK YOU for your amazing response to the last chapter. I cannot relay how appreciative I am for your loyalty to return chapter after chapter to share in this story with me. I also am so intrigued by your questions and speculations.
Secondly, though this chapter is short, I think it will answer a large amount of your questions. I only hope that it isn't disapointing as you all have done so well at imagining his reasons for being the monster that he is.
There is quite a little bit of flashbacking in the beginning, so please let me know if you are able to follow it. I didn't want to write a straight-forward flash back, but wanted Malik to analyse in the present what had happened in the past. So, I tried to blend his thoughts. If it does not come across readable, please let me know and perhaps I will rework this chapter.
Thirdly, I hope this chapter satisfies you enough, because, though it isn't the end of the story (maybe 60% at this point) I now need time to work out the last part of the story, since I'd only established details for up until now. Though I know what will happen in a broad sense, A LOT is still missing, so I need some time get my bearings (a week maybe) before I begin writing, and each chapter takes 7-10 days.
I know that was a long intro, but you all seem to really like clear expectations, so...
Thank you! Please keep the feedback coming!
I almost forgot. GREAT JOB TO...Anonymous who first guessed it was "This Love (Will Be Your Downfall)." Here's your ;)
It was her eyes that glittered with a power that was countered by the sensuality of a mouth that begged to be subdued. It was her strength to stand against a fire-breathing dragon to save the weak. It was her fists on her hips as she did so. It was the curve of her breast, the wit of her mouth, her scent underlining the freshness of the herbs she grew. It was her bashfulness when she bit her bottom lip, silently hoping for the opportunity to be wanton. It was the particular brown of her hair that glistened in the sun. It was the taste of her sweat.
It was her voice desperately calling his name, declaring she belonged to only him.
Malik felt the tightening of his body, and was a thrust away from climax when it became her voice begging in pain that he stop. It was the knee in his groin. It was the liquid hurt that sprang in her eyes when she accused him of robbing her. It was the stings of her hands slapping against him. It was the sob pouring from her collapsed form. It was the tinge of blood he saw on his drained prick.
It was her, broken, as she fled stumbling from his room.
Broken. Broken. Broken, the tattoo of his heart echoed. Even in the dimness of his room, Malik could see the tears pool in her heartbroken eyes. Broken. Broken. Broken. Malik felt his stomach churn. He pulled out of the woman on her hands and knees and pushed her away, now almost completely flaccid, though not from release.
"You wish for something else, master?" the brunette said as she began kissing his chest. He pushed her away as well, and he stood and walked to his bathing room.
"No. I am finished with you. Dress and leave."
They were trained well enough to know when a man finished unsatisfied. And Malik Blackwood was unsatisfied. But, it was their ability to remain ever obedient supplicants that caused him to visit them more than the others. And it was this unwavering obedience that now moved them to dress and quietly slip out the door of his chamber. Eleanor collected them from the great hall and escorted them to the carriage that was just pulling into the courtyard.
Malik washed the stench of them from his body. Standing at his door, he looked down at the handle, contemplating the consequences of his two choices. He sighed furiously as he walked to the chaise before the dying fire. He threw on more wood and sat down in frustration, running his fingers through his hair as he sighed again.
All of his life, Malik had brilliantly understood. He understood people's wants and fears. He understood their motivations and hindrances. He used his ability to manipulate those of power and wealth to his benefit. Though he was only twenty nine-years-old, he had already tripled his family's fortune. He had mastered every living creature within his path.
As he stared into the fire, he realized for the first time in his life, he was without understanding and without a plan. He felt an unsettling anxiety thread through his brain, shutting down his ability to analyze and scheme. In an uncharacteristic want of control, Malik threw himself back against the chaise with a dramatic arm draped over his eyes. Squeezing out the light from the growing fire, he pictured the cold day that was the beginning of his downfall.
Despite owning a carriage, as a young man, Malik often rode horseback when attending to his business affairs. The traveling, though generally not as comfortable, was more efficient and timely. The satisfaction of steering another creature was a bonus to his soul's deeply embedded need for control.
Though Saul often accompanied him on his trips, he rode from Lord Halmar's estate alone. Despite the lateness of the hour and the fact that he would ride through the night, he stopped in the small village of Tamlin for temporary relief from cold and hunger.
His mood was foul as he slid from his stallion and approached the Two Carvers', frustration growing at the old man's resistance to part with a small parcel of land. He came to the conclusion that he could possibly blackmail the disagreeable blockade instead of weakening his position by offering more money.
As he stepped up to the door in thought, a young, undersized boy collided into him and darted away before Malik could grab him. Though disgruntled at being so disrespected, he decided to ignore the infraction and eat. But when an unconscious movement brought his hand to his belt where his coin purse was strapped, Malik realized the imp had relieved him of it. Turning quickly to the light-fingered youth, Malik shouted after him. All commotion halted on the street, including the boy who turned chastised toward him.
"Sorry, sir, please forgive me. I did not see you," the boy apologized. Large brown eyes brimming with fear watched as the wrathful figure approached in four, long strides.
Malik stood before him. Strong fists full of the child's dirty shirt jerked the slight form forward. "Give it back."
"Give what, sir? I have nothing," the child pleaded.
"The coin purse you cut off my belt. Give it back, or you will spend the next three days in the pillory." The villagers who witnessed the frightening scene drew around closer, their horror rising.
"Please, no! I took nothing from you, sir."
Malik threw him to the ground. "Do not lie, boy. Either give it back or your family will join you."
The boy scrambled up into a begging form. "No! Please, I tell you I did not take anything!" The small boy was sobbing silently with his hands clasped before his chest. His stricken form shook with fear as he looked helplessly to those gathered around.
Malik pulled his short sword. "If you do not give it back willingly, I will take it from your corpse," his cold voice spat. As he raised his weapon, something hard and heavy hit the side of his face before it fell to the ground in a chinkering. His hand darted up to the smarting injury as he spun toward the attacker. He was momentarily confounded as a young girl ran to the aid of the boy, throwing her body between him and Malik's blade.
"There is your purse, sir. It was on the ground near your horse." Acrid disdain contorted her lovely, young face.
Outraged by the impudence of the girl, Malik took a threatening step forward. "And how am I to know you are not his accomplice, giving up the loot to save his life?"
"And when would he have had time to pass me the bag? Besides, as you can clearly see, the leather bands are not cut, but worn to breakage. No one stole anything from you; you merely dropped it." She reached down and helped the child to his feet. She turned back to him once the boy had reached the safety of the crowd, hiding behind a woman's skirt. "You should thank me, sir, for saving your life."
Malik did not follow her meaning. "And just how did you save me?"
"I stopped you from murdering an innocent child in front of his entire village. They would have skinned you alive." She leveled her hard gaze on him.
His anger did not diminish but grew at the audacity of the small, meager girl. "Have you any idea who I am?"
"It matters little when you terrorize children like a barbarian! You misuse your might, sir, threatening when you should protect."
Her words were spoken with unabashed rancor as she heaved in angry breaths. The swelling desire to crush her unyielding spirit beneath him consumed his mind. "How dare you presume to instruct me."
"Clearly someone needs to for your understanding of right and wrong is sorely lacking." For moments the two exchanged challenging stares, daring the other to advance.
Malik, knew, however, his legitimate case was lost. Quickly, his brutal desires gave way to his colder, more rational calculations, and his demeanor lost its heat and stilled into icy depths. Never in all his life had he been so disrespected. He was a nobleman of the oldest order, power in position, family, and wealth elevated him to the highest rank deserving of honor. And yet, the young, insubordinate girl had stood against him as though she were superior, instructing him on how he ought to behave. This would not end. Given time, Malik could draw water from stone, and he could certainly punish an arrant, independent spirit that crossed him.
He said nothing further as he looked about at the faces of the gathered crowd. Several still had palpable fear, while others looked on in disgusted, self-righteous anger. The gathered few stood courageously behind their valiant young savior, heaping their disapproval high.
Unable to tolerate the lack of fear befitting his power, Malik reached down to snatch the purse up before turning toward his original destination. He did not eat in peace, however, but paid a vagrant to inform him of all he could about the headstrong young girl that had stood against him, making his unquestionable authority a mockery for the small village.
Malik learned she was sixteen or seventeen years, that her mother was deceased, and her father previously owned a bit of acreage on the edge of the village, though through misfortune was unable to earn a keep from it. She spent most of her day working at the baker's before she would work in the garden at her cottage. She was quite lovely in the town, and many had begun to ask her father for a union, though, strangely, he denied all suitors.
Over the coming months, Saul was repeatedly sent to learn even more about her and more importantly, about Fromm Lightheart's hamartia that would serve as the opening for Malik's insidious scheme. The general character of the father, though not overtly evil, was one of selfishness and excess, stewed together with a want of responsibility and financial care. The lands that had been in his family several generations, were recently lost due to small debts owed to several men in the village. He had no income to speak of, save his daughter.
One evening, after much mead and gambling, Malik, who had entered the hall with one purpose only, offered a small loan to Lightheart to carry on his game. The snare began slowly at first, and occasionally, Lightheart was able to pay the monies borrowed back. But soon either Malik or his man were lending money while encouraging endeavors that would return no profit, piling the debt notes higher and higher. Still, Malik was concerned the debt would not be great enough for Fromm to part with his only daughter, and so he gave him the spade to dig his coffin's hole.
One evening, a sickly man appeared at their cottage, requesting entrance. As he lay before the fire, he told a story of his wealth, and how he would never live to spend it. He was presently penniless, having invested all he had in the deed to a ship returning within a fortnight to the ports in the south. The man related he had a single, young daughter who would not be able to claim the deed he held in his pocket and would be left destitute. He then suggested that Fromm buy the deed from him so he could give her the money instead. The amount the man wanted was staggering, but when he faithfully relayed the worth of the cargo the ship carried, Fromm knew the price was small in comparison. With thoughts of vast riches swarming his head, he went to the Two Carvers' for a drink.
As fortune would have it, or so he thought, Malik's man sat at a table. "Oh, thank the heavens you are here!" he exclaimed, rushing over. He nearly bubbled with excitement. "Please, tell me, do you return home this evening to your master?" When he received the affirmative, he clasped his hands together. In hushed voice, so as not to alert the other townsmen to his good fortune, he spoke. "It is providence, I tell you. I have, this very evening, an opportunity to make good on the debt I owe him. However, I find myself without the currency to do so. If I could only obtain one more loan, I could pay him back with full interest. Could you speed along and retrieve the monies I seek in good time?"
The man thought and then shook his head after supposed consideration. "I do not know if my lord will agree to it as you have already lost so much."
"I know, I know, but this will solve all. Such a fortune to be made, if only I could secure the deed. The man who owns a ship with great wealth, lies in my home as we speak. He will sell me the deed, but for such a grand price. Once the ship arrives and I have sold the merchandise, your master will receive all due him."
"Very well, how much do you require?"
He said in hushed tones, "The man asked five thousand."
"Are you mad? That is more than double your debt as is. That is a king's ransom and I wager, you'll not get it from Blackwood."
"Oh, please! You must persuade him. This is no trickery, but in truth I will make a great fortune once I have the deed."
"You are certain the deed is good?"
"Yes, yes, he showed it to me," though he did not admit to his inability to read it. "Please, you must convince him."
"I will do what I can. Now, if you will excuse me, I will finish my meal before I leave."
"Yes, of course, of course. Thank you, my good man, thank you." He stood and bowed happily over and over as he left the tavern. Within twenty four hours, the dispatch had returned bringing the noose with which Fromm would hang himself. The deed was given over, and in a week's time he left for the sea, only to arrive at the port with a ridiculing reception. The men laughed at him, saying the deed was counterfeit, and no such ship named The Buffoon existed. In a torpor, the cheated man returned home, waiting for Malik to contact him and demand his money.
Malik poured another goblet of wine, the memory of seeing Brynna for the first time in nearly five years rushing through him. He had entered the cottage in all authority to claim her, but faltered within himself as the fire-lit woman stood defiantly.
She had been a skinny young thing when she openly defied him. In his rage, Malik had paid little attention to the underdeveloped, contumacious troublemaker. His initial want was to crush the obstinate person who stood so heroically before him. However, the past five years had done much to the maturity of her face and form, and he immediately saw he would have to calculate his quickly burgeoning lust into his grand orchestration.
Despite his momentary pause, Malik was assured his set course would not alter. He would dominate her, as he had first desired, but not with a single, crushing blow. Slowly, he would chisel her will away until her malleable figure lay in his grasp.
As foreseen, she resisted his chains, fighting against him futilely. He found her temper easy to provoke as he established outrageous, constricting expectations for her behavior. And though he found himself immeasurably stimulated by encouraging and then dominating her fiery spirit, he had not anticipated the effect her continual opposition would have on his own anger.
Through all his schemes and punishments, her will to oppose him never weakened. Though he expected resistance initially, he had believed he could eventually tame her. He had pained and pleasured her flesh. He both lavished sweet luxuries on her and deprived her of basic necessities. But still, she would not bow. Only when he made others suffer, awakening her need to defend the weak, did he get her to bend, to say the words that proclaimed his ownership of her, the words that sent lightning through his body.
It was not only her unbreakable spirit that frustrated him. His growing desire for her troubled him greatly. Though he was an unabashed appreciator of women, he had never been ruled by his desires for them. And yet, the desire, no, the need for her possessed him like a mad demon. The feeling that gripped him was more than a physical yearning, but an emotional pull as well. And it was unbidden, unwelcomed, and uncontrollable. He felt increasingly helpless against her, ever more desperate for her, and it filled him with dark fear. To brace up what was vulnerable, he became cruel in bidding for complete control.
Refocusing his subjugation efforts by using their mutual desire against her, Malik felt the first leanings of submission to him. He only realized too late, however, that he was as much a slave to her as she was to him; the beast he had set out to tame had already captured him.
Once he claimed her completely, he was under her spell, caught in the bliss only touching her could bring. At her devastatingly beautiful capitulation, he foolishly believed he had mastered her. But his control over her disappeared like smoke in the wind when she learned of his manipulations to entrap her father, and thus her. Malik saw then that he had never been her lord. She had only ever done what she wanted. He had compelled her to do nothing outside her own will. She refused to belong to him, and he knew he would never be able to change her.
His rage at failing to tame her, his affronted dignity, his denied lust, they all broke his sanity, dismantling him until he was an animal, ravaging her against her will. He deserved death. He knew that. Perhaps she will return tonight to slit my throat.
There was no hope for him, but there was no other choice. Somehow he would set about to mend her. Broken. He groaned at the image of her broken, standing with the tray of food. Standing though he knew she was falling. His chest was hurting, his entire torso tightening at the uncomfortable sensation. Why had he done it? He had already hurt her; why had he set out to destroy her by bringing those women there?
And then he knew. Because she destroyed me. He saw in those moments after raping her, standing over her like a mindless beast, he had blamed her for his all-possessing desire and his lost control. But he knew the truth. He knew he was only blaming another innocent again.
Somehow, he promised he would change it. Mend her. He stood and stalked to the door. He would apologize. He sighed angrily. Apologize. That's all I have to offer her? I'm sorry I loaned your gullible father more money than he could ever repay all to make you a slave so I could make you nothing more than an obedient puppy. I'm sorry for raping you and I'm sorry to have broken your heart by bringing not one, but three naked whores here.
He was pacing angrily in front of his door wanting to fix the damn mess but knowing nothing could fix it.