Captured Ch. 03

Scarn was alluring himself, like all demons, with an appetite for lust. If he craved release he signalled for a female to be used and subsequently discarded. But he was not one to desire a particular other -- his desire was a base urge that independently rose within him and was quickly satisfied.

And yet for the first time he felt the reverse effect upon him. Scarn realised he was sexually drawn to the creature, regardless of his inclination. He was being unwittingly snared like the prey of a predator, and it oddly pleasured him. The unfamiliar sensation was fascinating and thrilling, so long as it could be indulged and sated.

Jealously shadowed Scarn's face as he absorbed the truth of Thoran's acquisition and understood the bizarre adjustments to the home's interior. Thoran always managed to find the best of everything. Of course he would capture a mystifying creature with unmatched beauty and keep her hidden. He was always a secretive bastard.

Decades ago, Thoran declared a complete disinterest for binding a female to him. But he clearly changed his mind, and appraising the contender, Scarn could not deny Thoran's choice was more than worthy. Physical exceptions aside, there was something else about her that he couldn't place. Not only did she have her own luring aura, she was resistant to his. She was powerful.

But she wouldn't talk to him, and Scarn struggled to gauge whether she was Thoran's mate, or prisoner. Scarn lifted his chin thoughtfully, holding Sirah's frightened gaze. Her demeanour was difficult to articulate in his mind - she was delectably fearful, yet innately unafraid.

As an idea occurred, Scarn's perplexity reverted to wicked intent. Perhaps she could resist one demon, but not three.

Sirah watched apprehensively as the demon gave her a last hungry stare. It was a flirtatious glance of accepted challenge that warned an ordeal was in store for her.

******

It took very little effort for Scarn to pique his companions' curiosity and have them join him to observe Thoran's new conquest. Plyon and Vertar looked upon Sirah with unconcealed admiration, growing restless as they felt her enticing energy.

"We cannot enter the mist. I want to know if she is imprisoned, or chooses to withhold herself. Let us merge the call with the lure," Scarn ordered, and the three of them raised their palms to face the smoke wall.

Soon after, Sirah felt distinctly uncomfortable, a budding discomfort that rapidly intensified to an overpowering mix of agony and pleasure. Then, male voices penetrated her mind, speaking from deep within her skull.

Come to us

Come to us

Come to us

The desire heightened until it was blinding, like a searing hot hellfire alight within her. It hurt, and the pain seemed enhanced by the alluring voices dominating her thoughts. Sirah whimpered and inwardly begged her body to relent without yielding to the demand.

But the sensations continued and finally her feet lightly stumbled as though pulled by invisible rope attached to her limbs. She touched the mist and was thrown back to her bed, but in a far gentler manner than Scarn had endured when he attempted the barrier.

"Ah. She is a prisoner." Scarn ruefully rubbed his chin and the others looked disappointed. "Well, I suppose we will wait."

His companions looked to him stupidly.

"Wait for Thoran's return," Scarn snapped, his temper soaring as the others slowly comprehended.

"But we must journey to the North."

"Then go, both of you. Go and barter with savages, while I enjoy her beneath me."

"Huh," Vertar said thoughtfully, a gleam of new interest in his sky-blue eyes. "Will Thoran share?"

Scarn laughed roughly. "Thoran? The superior one, who renounced the traditions of his brothers?"

"Aye," Vertar conceded. "But if she is bound, there is no cause."

"Do you smell him on her, brothers? She is not yet bound," Scarn smiled sinisterly.

"What do you plot, Scarn?" Plyon said sharply, settling an accusatory eye on his companion. "This is Thoran's land. She belongs to Thoran."

"You were willing to draw her out, just now."

Plyon rubbed his neck uneasily, remembering the magnetic pull he felt to the female. "Aye, the girl has a lure about her."

"Aye, I want her," Vertar agreed, also looking uncomfortable. "But it would be unwise to interfere with a demon's intended, especially if that demon is Thoran. The penalty would be severe."

"Unless he disappeared altogether," Scarn countered in silken tones.

Plyon roared and struck the wall. The underground shuddered and stones fell from the ceiling, but otherwise the interior of Thoran's home remained well in-tact.

"You speak treachery, Scarn. We are loyal to none but each other."

Scarn looked to Vertar, who seemed in agreement with his blood-brother. Shrugging nonchalantly, he gestured to Sirah.

"Then you will go on without me."

Sirah felt a bizarre temptation to plead with the two other vicious malevolents to remain. Though she wouldn't trust them for ten orbs, they clearly had some respect for Thoran where Scarn had none. Above all, she did not want to be left alone with him. But clearly Scarn was leader of the three, and she bit her tongue as the two light-haired demons turned to depart.

"Before you leave," Scarn called after them, and gestured to the smoke wall. "How about some sport?"

"Sport?" Plyon echoed broodingly, still unsettled by Scarn's earlier suggestion.

"Well, we are trapped on either side. We cannot harm her. Why not test our lures? Why not see if we can't help her experience the full measure of womanhood from the other side?"

The others smiled at the scheme. During times of boredom, they would cast specific lures which compelled young women to kill themselves by jumping off cliffs or into water. Sometimes they resurrected the unfortunate women before making them die again. It would be fun to see the desirable little being throw herself toward them, to pleasure her painfully until she begged for mercy.

"What say you, brothers?" Scarn bantered, already knowing his suggestion struck a chord of appeal. "Shall we find out if Thorn's mate is mute?"

Sirah fearfully shook her head, not entirely grasping the meaning of their plan, but knowing it did not bode well for her.

"Pain, before the lure," Scarn instructed the other two, who nodded their understanding.

The three starkly attractive impressions of men stood tall, shoulder to shoulder, smiling down at Sirah from the other side of the mist. She was still helplessly shaking her head, silently pleading, but it only excited them more as their palms raised toward her.

Sirah anxiously edged back on the bed, flattening herself against the wall behind to increase distance between them. Then she shrieked as her skin burned acidly from the inside, before ebbing to a painful lust that magnetically drew her from the bed, toward the smoke. Dimly she heard masculine tones above her screams, cruelly laughing at her.

The suffering was constant, and then her clouded thoughts were again penetrated by male voices that tormentingly pierced her mind like sweet music.

Come to us, we will do you no harm

Come to us

Let us pleasure you

Come to us

We will pleasure you

Sirah tightly closed her eyes, but still she staggered forward. As a desperate battle raged within her, she managed to hold off from touching the misty blockade.

"The girl is resilient!" she heard Plyon marvel.

But then fresh agony washed over her, the burning of her skin amplified, and she silently pleaded with the voices tempting her.

Stop, please, stop, it hurts!

Registering her appeal, the demons collectively chuckled.

Then come to us

Come to us

We will make it stop

Let us pleasure you

A sharp sting reverberated behind her eyes, and Sirah felt her resolve snap with an ensuing wave of lust that made her feel as though she might burst with longing. Her body ignored her mind's objection and leapt to the mist. As soon as she touched it, she was immediately thrown back to the bed.

Shaking, Sirah miserably opened her eyes to the sound of loud guffaws echoing throughout the room. Daring a look, she saw the two blonde demons roaring with laughter, but Scarn was not. He was watching her with an amused, calculating smile. A smile that told her this was not just a game to him.

"Again," he loudly commanded, prompting the others to lift their palms, eager for another spectacle.

"No! No, please!" Sirah begged, weakly sitting up on the bed.

Scarn's dark eyes flared with elation as the soft plea delighted his ears and stirred his loins.

"Wait," he said abruptly, reaching to push the brothers' arms downward. "I want to try something else."

Stepping back, he lifted his hand to Sirah, who recoiled at the gesture. Then his fingers curled, as though he was slowly trapping a butterfly in the centre of his palm.

Sirah's heart skipped a beat and she gasped, staring down her body as the sacred place between her legs began to throb and tingle. Forgetting her plight and her audience, she wantonly moaned and tugged up her dress to spread her thighs as the delicious, thrumming heat centred in that place.

Panting heavily, she arched and smoothed trembling hands over her breasts, down her trim waist to her inner thighs. Then the pleasure suddenly disappeared, and again she heard laughter.

But the sound was not heartless amusement as before; the demons' mirth was thick with lust. Their delight was more than sadistic boredom. They were far from unmoved after watching the little nymph squirm with pleasure. The sight titillated their ancient senses, far more than when they indifferently toyed with prey.

Scarn felt the difference very strongly. It was a foreign sense of thwarted pleasure. After catching a brief glimpse of Sirah's delicious nudity when she lifted her dress to display herself, he ached to lash that tender flesh with his tongue.

He wanted to plough through the smoke barrier, leave his brothers on the outside and seize the would-be nymph. He would catch his hand in her sleek hair, force her back to the bed, and unleash his lure on her full strength until she cried out for him to possess her bodily treasures.

The pale-jade eyes would widen invitingly, and her soft, pouting mouth would press sweet kisses to his lips and wherever else he desired. He would plunder her innocence, and take her every way he wanted. And she would have no choice but to encourage him.

Horrified, humiliated and not least of all terrified, Sirah quickly dragged her dress back down and curled up on the bed with her hands clasped over her ears. Never had she been so traumatised in all her years, save when she was first abducted, but this was worse. She felt desperate for Thoran's protective presence, and wished he would quickly return to end her torture.

"And now..." she heard Scarn's dulcet voice, slightly shaken with desire.

Once again the internal layer of her skin sizzled like fire and Sirah scrambled from the bed to the floor, twisting in agony. She'd half fallen into the pond, but the cool water did nothing to alleviate the burning inside her. Her breath came in unsteady gasps, and if she was able to sob, she would have. But the pain came at such strength, the air seemed to catch in her chest. Through the demon's voices, through the confusion swirling about her mind, she imagined another voice. Her father's voice, making remark on her suffering.

This is why I kept you home. This is why I warned you. This is why...This is why... This is why...

Then the pain ceased, her father's voice vanished and an exhausting lust flooded her. It shattered her thoughts like an ocean's wave crushing a feeble boat in a storm. The desirable voices returned, summoning her.

You will come to us

Come to your masters

Don't fight, let us pleasure you

Come to your masters

With her mind overcome, Sirah recklessly dragged herself from the floor to run full speed at the mist, toward the tempting men offering such wonderful promise.

The mist repelled her again, but Sirah hungrily clawed and struggled, dragging herself like an animal caught in mud, like a baby deer swallowed by quicksand.

Blissful silence quietened her mind as the pleasure ebbed and pain did not return. Pitifully gasping to catch her breath, Sirah opened her eyes and froze. She was on the ground, looking up at the three demons towering over her. They gazed down, their expressions mirroring Sirah's bewilderment. But where her face showed fear, theirs was fascination.

"The siren passed through the mist."

"Impossible. The block must have been for demons."

"Do your eyes lie, brother? It threw her back before. She broke through where we failed."

"I knew it," Scarn said quietly, though his chest trembled with fresh, triumphant excitement. "I knew you were special."

Sirah was in a terrible position of being too afraid to move, aware a flight attempt was pointless, but knowing it would be blind folly to remain idle and let them do their worst.

Taking advantage of their shock, she summoned her instincts and in the blink of an eye, vanished in an exit that would have baffled a mortal. But not demons. They immediately gave chase, barrelling after her through Thoran's dark abode.

The underground was full of winding tunnels, interlocking and dividing in a confusing web of shadowed paths. The floor was smooth stone, the walls chiselled earth.

Sirah ran desperately, her feet barely touching the ground as she fled at great speed, her small wings vigorously fluttering to propel her movement. Unfortunately, they were not long enough to let her glide. But it would have made no difference.

Sirah was fast, but they were much faster. The demons followed behind at an easy pace, knowing she escaped in the opposite direction of safety, and was in fact delving deeper and deeper into Thoran's maze. For them, the chase was fun. It wouldn't be the first time they'd pursued a doomed prey till it succumbed to exhaustion.

When Thoran pursued her, there were hiding places, trees and an abundance of twists and turns that gave Sirah a fighting chance. In a demon's lair, she had none. In her wake, the demons mused their discovery.

"I want her wings," Vertar panted, as they turned a particularly sharp corner.

"She is Thoran's," Plyon retorted with growing exasperation, eyeing Sirah's frantically blurred wings with longing. It was true that the fluid, pretty colours teased him to tear and taint them. "She cannot be harmed. But she is not bound, so we can at least take our turn on her."

"I will decide if you have turns," Scarn smoothly overrode their discussion, hardly exerted. "But her wings are not to be touched. I do not want her essence tarnished by a resurrection."

"Oh, do you claim her for yourself?" Plyon snarled, his suspicions about Scarn's contempt for Thoran confirmed. "Perhaps you'll bind her for your mate, too?" he added sarcastically.

"Perhaps I will."

Scarn's dark eyes glowed as Plyon's flippant retort took hold of his mind. He would be the envy of all demons, and enjoy stealing something precious from Thoran. The satisfaction of owning a mythical female that Thoran carefully selected for a mate, and flouting her under his very nose whenever possible, presented the theft with increasing appeal. Scarn could excruciatingly taunt the arrogant bastard for all eternity, whilst enjoying the nymph at his leisure.

He pictured himself the master of a rare creature, a delicious, unknown being that roused his desire like no other. Scarn wondered the extent of her abilities, and what he might achieve by them...

Scarn's imagination took him to a first exquisite moment of burying himself inside the nymph, and feeling her tight, virginal walls squeeze him to release. The idea created a thrill within him beyond anything he could remember. It was a thrill of an anticipatory conquest that made his prior existence of seduction, rape and cruelty seem repetitive and mundane.

And just like that, the fleeting thought solidified to a firm intention. He was going to trap the creature and bind her to him, before Thoran could.