Captive 813

The door opened slowly, her heart racing as she glared at the dimly lit figure. How many days had it been? How many nights? There were no windows, no clocks, no indication of time passing except her own fatigue. The familiar clunk of his boots as he slowly walked across the hardwood made her pant in fear, her heart racing. All of her nerves were screaming as she whimpered against the gag in her mouth. Her hands were bound together, tied to a metal slat in the headboard. Her legs chained to the metal frame.

There was enough slack for her to move around, and she was permitted off the cot to use the restroom and eat. But she was never allowed to leave the room for any other reason. A crinkle of latex gloves pulled her back to reality as this man adjusted black medical gloves over his hands.

"Captive 813," his voice boomed, filling the stifling silence. It made her cringe every time. The sound was like melted honey, smooth and warm as it molested her ears. For however long she was trapped here it was her only interaction since the first man disappeared. She'd seen others, people who would bring her food or bring her to the bathroom to bathe or use the toilet. But this man was the only one who seemed permitted to speak with her.

"It is time for our meeting," he breathed, as per their daily ritual. He adjusted the mask covering the lower half of his face. The dim light of the room only ever gave her a muted understanding of his appearance. He was taller than the others who visited her. His shoulders were broad, his hair dark and wavy as it hung a bit shaggy when he didn't style it back. His eyes were almost like ice, a brilliant blue and seemed to reflect all light. They were beautiful and haunting as he stared her down.

He stood next to the bed studying her frame. Her skin was alabaster, marked from her ankle and wrist bindings but otherwise perfect. A thick, auburn mane waved and wound its way over her body. She had her bland captive gown on, the number of her identity embroidered on the front left breast over her heart. What always caught his attention was the confused yet enraged stare that penetrated him. Those amber eyes studied his every move.

"We will begin at the start, again, Captive 813," he breathed in what he presumed to be her native tongue. She gave no indication of understanding him. The previous interrogator had given up after five days of no response. He had studied her files tirelessly, hoping to prove that he was more capable than that bastard. As his hands reached out to untie the gag, to release her mouth from its bind, she flinched and pulled away. A sigh escaped his lips. He held back his frustration as he ignored her cowering and untied the fabric. It fell from her lips to the blanket on the cot. Her lips looked irritated and puffy from the strain. He noted that, ensuring he'd tie it much loser this time around.

Her eyes continued to run over his muted frame. He had on a white button up, a black tie, a black vest that shaped his torso, and black slacks. All of his clothes seemed perfectly tailored to his frame. Each day was some variation of the same outfit. A vest, a tie, those irritating black medical gloves that squeaked and squelched obnoxiously. The only thing she never caught a glimpse of were his boots. They sounded heeled, the way they connected with the wood.

"Tell me, do you remember your name?" he asked plainly, pulling the stool across the room to sit next to the cot. Her eyes were narrowed, her tongue making quick work of moistening her lips as she smacked them a few times. He couldn't help but notice the contrast of her tongue, the pale pink texture, to her ruby lips. It was stunning. She was stunning. He was warned of this though, that this creature was designed to be this way. "Do you understand me?" he showed no indication of his growing frustration, but he was three days in with no luck. "Would you like to know how long you have been here?" he offered noticing a subtle shift in her eyelids. They twitched, expanding just enough to expose the slight whites of her eyes around her irises before she returned to her normal stare.

He took a deep breath and adjusted his tie, pushing his hair back from his forehead. This was the first sign of progress he had ever seen. It was the first indication she understood them. He clicked his tongue and pressed the heel of his palms to his knees as he narrowed his eyes and studied her. What was going to crack this woman?

"I will tell you how many days you have been here, Captive 813, if you tell me your name," he offered gently. She blinked once, twice, her eyes shifting here and there as she studied him back. A moment of excitement welled up in his stomach as her lips parted as if to whisper her thought. She pressed them back together, the color fading from them briefly before she released the tension in her face. This was going nowhere. Her eyes seemed to be dancing between his eyes and his mask for some time and he hesitated.

"Would you like me to take my mask off?" he asked softly, her eyes snapping to meet his. He saw her eyelids narrow, an immediate twinge in his stomach told him he had her. "How about I make a generous deal with you. I will take my mask off, and tell you how long you have been here. I just ask that you tell me your name," he insisted, still using a steady and gentle tone with her. A wrinkle in her forehead, the puckering of her skin between her brows made him falter. But then her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath before she closed her eyes.

"Aeryn," it was only her first name, she did not give up her birth family nor her country of origin. There was no reason to. She was the captive. It wasn't like they didn't know that already, or so she thought. His body was overwhelmed with satisfaction at the sound of her voice. The sound was lilted, tickling his ears in the usually quiet room.

"Aeryn," he breathed and she grimaced. Without hesitation he removed his mask, her eyes locked onto his face out of blatant curiosity. He rubbed his face hating the itchy material, happy he found a reason to not wear it. "May I call you Aeryn?" he asked softly, hoping the breach in familiarity made her more open than referring to her as Captive 813. She blinked once, looking at him as her head tilted slightly. "This is your eighth day here Aeryn," he offered up, letting her name dance on his tongue. It felt nice, a warped sense of pride tingling in him.

"What happened to the first man?" she asked, his chest tightening. He nearly lost his composure as her voice seemed to caress his ears. It was melodic, like a song bird's and as smooth as satin.

"You have yet to cooperate with my questions and now I must answer yours?" he let out a soft chuckle, actually rather amused with her emboldened and unexpected behavior. Her tongue flitted against her teeth before she closed her lips and turned her head to glare off toward the door. Not that it mattered if he told her. In fact he was certain she had her own assumptions of why he was the one interrogating her now.

The silence festered, neither of them moving. All that was heard was the gentle breaths awkwardly timed between the two of them. His hands shifted, the rubber gloves crinkling and she sneered, her eyes darting to his hands. He hesitated and then smirked, slowly sliding them off. She watched, her face relaxing as he crumpled them up into his palm. He cleared his throat, standing up and turning toward the waste bin by the door. He dropped the mask and gloves in there, making a mental note that she detested both. He walked back over grabbing the cloth gag and her eyes widened slightly as they met his.

"If you answer three of my questions, any three of your choosing, I will tell you what happened to the other man. I will not wear another mask for our meetings. And I will not wear gloves," he offered three compromises. A ripple of intrigue and confusion made her features twitch ever so slightly. An untrained eye would have missed it, but he saw it. He took great satisfaction in all of her reactions. She relaxed into the metal bars at the head of the bed, her shoulders and arms slumping awkwardly. He took that as an indication of submission and cleared his throat.

"Have you heard of the Hallowed Faction?" he asked plainly, studying her features. There seemed to be no change in her posture or jerky movements. Just the gentle raising and lowering of her torso with her breaths.

"Have you heard of the Jilted Clansmen?" he continued. Still no indication or abrupt changes in her demeanor.

"What about the country of Madeley?" he breathed, her eyes snapping to his fiercely. Her lids narrowed momentarily before she adjusted, her fingers wriggling as she tried to get more comfortable. Or perhaps more distanced from him. "Is Madeley important to you?" he asked and she pressed her lips together. He sighed, standing up slowly as he adjusted his vest and tie. "Aeryn, your cooperation is important," he breathed sternly, his tone harsher then. She whimpered, cringing into herself as she turned her head away.

"Please do not hit me," she breathed, the tremor in her voice nearly breaking his resolve. He took a deep breath and glanced at the cloth in his hand.

"I am not like the first man. I will not use brute force on you. However, I have my methods and I do not guarantee they are any more enjoyable," he warned and she whimpered. "Will you answer any of my questions? I feel I have been quite generous with you, yet you refuse to return the favor Aeryn," he breathed her name easily, the feeling of her name flirtatious and domineering on his tongue.

"Madeley is a country full of rotten scum," she sneered in Slovan, her native tongue. A prickle of victory and adrenaline raced up his spine as he held back his satisfied smile. He cleared his throat and raised his right brow ever so slightly as he leaned toward her.

"So are you aware the previous man is from Madeley?" he breathed in Slovan, her eyes giving away her astonishment at this development. She clicked her tongue, looking away as her hands balled into fists.

"Men from the Slovanian Isle would have him castrated for the way he placed his hands on me. Like a barbarian," she spat through clenched teeth, a fire now burning behind her eyes. She did not know or understand why she was so willing to speak with this man.

"My sincerest apologies on his behalf," he breathed gently, her body trembling slightly as she stared up at him in abundant surprise. "We were unaware you were Slovan. You do not look Slovan," he continued and she hesitated, her nose wrinkling slightly. This intrigued him greatly. "Are you not Slovan?" he pressed, noticing her frigid composure returning almost immediately. He cleared his throat and pinched the cloth in his hand, rubbing the fabric as he stewed over this new development. There was much they had to learn about this Aeryn. A gentle rap on the door made her cringe and he sighed.

"It appears our meeting is now over," he leaned toward her, forcing the gag against her lips. He made sure to only tie it tight enough to not be removed. He stayed near her, the subtle feminine musk wafting toward him made his stomach churn. Even her natural odor was captivating. "Please do not try to get the gag off, or I will have to tie it tighter next time. I appreciate your cooperation today Aeryn," he breathed her name again. It tasted like sweet nectarines on his tongue every time he got to breathe it, seeing the flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Until our next meeting," he breathed, heading for the door.

It opened, two older women standing ready to escort her to the bathroom. Today was her bath day. Which meant their meeting after dinner might be far more productive. She was usually in a better mood after bathing. He was eager to see what else he could gather from her.

***

There was a knock on the door and her eyes darted to the cast of light from the hallway as it opened. He carried a plate this time, the door shutting and locking behind him. She noticed a chain around his neck, light glinting off the silver metal as he moved through the room. He grabbed the stool and set the plate down on the edge of the cot. Her eyes locked onto it, taking in the meal. It was a slab of some meat she couldn't identify, a small serving of vegetables, and a banana.

"Aeryn, it is dinner time but I have other matters to attend to so our meeting will have to be now as well," he breathed casually, reaching up to remove her gag. Again, she licked and smacked her lips but her mouth did not look nearly as irritated as it did this morning. A warm aroma of vanilla engulfed him as he adjusted her hair. He saw the hair on her arms raise, goosepimples puckering her skin as she trembled at his touch. "I do not want to get food in your freshly washed hair Aeryn. I hope this is ok," he whispered, his face hovering over hers as he continued to run his hands through her hair to push it back behind her shoulders.

His eyes were focused on his hands, his face the same calm expression as before. But she was captivated by him. Being this close to her without his mask she could see all of him. He had harsh angular features, with thick brows, and pert lips. No man had ever looked like this. Of course she was only familiar with Slovan and Tarian men. They were all heavy featured men with rounder faces. This man looked unnaturally beautiful in her eyes.

"I hope we may continue where we last left off," he breathed quietly, sitting down on the stool. It creaked and scuffed as he slid closer to the cot. He grabbed the fork and started slowly slicing the meat, just driving the side of the fork through the tender steak. After cutting it up he smiled slightly, stabbing a piece. He held it up to her face, his free hand under it to catch any sauce. She scoffed, her face wrinkling out of disgust. "Do you not eat meat?" he asked gently, about to pull his hand away. She hesitated, staring at the meat.

It wasn't the meat that disgusted her. It was the act of him feeding her like a small babe that made her mad. She was a grown woman. No one should feed her. Especially not a man. He went to return the slice of meat to the plate when her stomach rumbled. He studied her curiously, noticing her lips parted slightly as she stared at the plate. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, her eyes snapping to meet his.

"Please understand why I cannot unbind your hands. I do not wish to offend you but as we do not know each other well your hands must stay cuffed for both of our safety. Now please, if you are hungry I would like you to eat," he breathed coolly, lifting the meat back up. Her resolve crumbled as the hearty aroma raped her nostrils. Her lips trembled before she took a deep breath and accepted the fork into her mouth. Their eyes locked as he gently eased the fork off her lips. She chewed a few times, the bite melting in her mouth. A satisfied sigh escaped her lips after she swallowed.

He stabbed another piece and held it up to her, his eyes trained on her mouth. He watched as her tongue teased the fork, her lips parting around the meat. When they closed they molded to the imprint of the fork, some gravy lingering on her lips. He pulled the metal out slowly, his body feeling fuzzy as he admired her lips rolling slightly as she chewed. The wiggling of her neck as she swallowed made his stomach lurch.

"Thirsty?" he asked when she glanced at the water. He was back to speaking Alberian, as was his native tongue and the primary language of this embassy. She obviously knew it, that was evident to him. He grabbed the water and lifted it up to her lips. Her head tilted slightly, craning her neck as she gulped the water eagerly. The bobbing of her throat was more satisfying than he could articulate. Her lips were glistening in the soft light as her eyes met his. He stabbed a few pieces of vegetables and lifted them to her lips, again marveling at the illustrious movements of her mouth. Was it arousing to him?

"Aeryn, may I ask a question or two now that you have had a few bites?" he asked gently and she hesitated, glancing at the plate. "I promise not to let it cool," he assured her and she actually bit her lip. His tenderness, the way he studied her calmly, the smoothness of his voice was all so alluring. It was like everything was a promise of her safety, of her protection. She sighed and let her lips part as a thought danced on the tip of her tongue. He waited, but was disappointed when she pressed her lips together and simply stared at him.

"Why were you visiting the forbidden lands?" he asked and her stomach lurched. A memory of her journey north out of Alberia plagued her. Her mission as Taria's consul was to deliver a message to the private base.

The leaders of Taria and the Slovanian Isles were building a unified fort in the unclaimed land. It was marked forbidden by The Legion; Alberia, Madeley, Taria, and Calacary were united through a pact which formed The Legion. They set standards and precedents for the remaining territories. It was not until recently that oppositional parties started revolting. The Hallowed Faction, the Jilted Clansmen, and several other anarchists and revolters have recently been working through underground channels to rise against The Legion.

All of these thoughts were pouring through her mind as this man studied her. She cleared her throat and glanced at the plate again, feigning interest in his question. He took a deep breath and pushed up from the stool, walking away with the plate then. A panic set in as she was regimented to one, maybe two meals a day. And the food she was provided was nothing compared to the meal he had brought. At first she did not mind, but days of never feeling satisfied and having the nagging hunger was driving her insane. The lingering aroma of the gravy tickled her nostrils, tantalizing her and making her mouth salivate.

"I cannot easily answer your question," she breathed in Tarian this time. His body stopped halfway across the room, his shoulders prominent as he stood tall. After a moment he turned, his face showing a flicker on confusion. A tremble of accomplishment washed over her as she realized she was able to make him crack.

"A woman that knows Slovan, Tarian, and Alberian?" he breathed to himself in the common tongue. This language was used only by those who worked in The Legion or as consuls. Her spine prickled as she realized she now had the ability to know something he may never. So long as she pretended not to understand him, he could muse to himself in common tongue. "Tell me, where did you learn to speak three languages?" he asked as he returned to the stool, speaking to her in Alberian.

"Do you not know Tarian?" she challenged eagerly, a joy almost bubbling up in her. He was amazed to see such excitement on her face after days of what seemed to just be fear and indifference.

"My Tarian... not good?" he offered and she actually giggled, the sound making his chest constrict.

"By the Minuila and Mondula I am blessed to know we each have a language of our own!" she cheered, his face twisting in confusion. The speed with which she spoke muddied his understanding and certainly pleased her.

"Slow! Please?" he asked gently in Tarian but she shook her head.

"You have spoken in an unfamiliar language to me. I wish to have my own language," she breathed easily in Alberian, piquing his interest. She glanced at the plate in his hands and he sighed, feeding her a few more bites. His amazement with her was coupled with an overwhelming sense of admiration. The more he learned of this woman, even these few pieces of information, the more he wished to understand. And deep, festering desires filled his gut as he fed her, as he admired her tongue and lips with each stroke of her mouth on the fork. He decided her dinners were going to be hand fed to her from that day on.