Imperius Ch. 07

Author's note: This story includes nonconsensual anal sex.

~< >~

Magnus untied the cloth that bound Lilah' hands from the post above her head and lowered them in front of her. She was limp in his hold, her exhaustion absolute.

He lifted her, her slender legs draped over his forearm.

"Praetor," said Saphir, near his shoulder, his voice whisper-soft to avoid waking her. He stood a head shorter than Magnus, closer to Lilah's height, "I would suggest having Daegon carry her to your ship."

Magnus continued to stare down at Lilah's face. Her head was tilted back and her lips were parted slightly, their color deeper than he had ever seen them. Her golden curls were a wild, damp mess around her pale face.

Saphir lowered his head respectfully, "The choice is yours, of course, but the others will be watching for any signs of attachment."

Magnus gazed at her a moment longer, and then—, "Take her," he instructed Daegon without looking at him. The Gauthrian lowered his crossed arms and did as he was told. Where Magnus was a head taller than Saphir, Daegon was two head's taller than Magnus. Lilah looked like a fragile doll in his immense arms, and Magnus shoved down a flare of possessiveness at the sight.

He turned to Saphir as Daegon left the tent. "To work," he said.

~< >~

Hours later, Magnus looked out over the imperial camp from the window of his sky ship, his forearm resting against the glass. His clothing was simple, with neither praetorial regalia nor ballistic armor carefully fitted over the black fabric. The sky he saw was an ivory sunrise, its colors muted through the tinted window, and the room he was in was made of such dark colored steel that it might as well not have been daylight at all.

The door opened behind him with a soft, electronic hiss, and Saphir entered, his blue eyes placid. "I've sent new orders to my contacts, Praetor," he said. "If any of them sight our targets, they'll know what to do."

"Where would you guess they ran?" Magnus asked without turning toward him.

"The capitol, most likely," Saphir replied, his eyes on Magnus' back. "The last our people saw of her, the operative had the Lieutenant draped across her shoulder while she fled into the mountains."

"Mmn," Magnus hummed the sound thoughtfully, tilting his head. "Is she as strong as they claim?"

"Surprisingly yes, considering she was only supposed to be a prototype," said Saphir. "Her instincts were impressive."

Magnus was staring in the direction of the Legatus tent, where a horde of reclaimed Illythian captives were being roughly processed and tallied by Imperial guards.

Thus far, it seemed that they'd recovered nearly all of the ones who had escaped.

Small consolation, when the ones they hadn't captured included two members of the most elite regiment in the Illythian military.

And when the commander of that regiment was dead, and his intel with him.

"Has the legatus overseen the interrogation of MacCrannach's regiment?"

"Yes," Saphir replied, and tilted his head. "They will know what Lilah did. They will want to know why."

"Well, that's easily answered," Magnus said with a sigh, and dropped his forearm from the window as he turned to face his right hand. "The intel he could have given us—Especially when we have his son."

"Still-," Magnus said as he sipped the wine and lowered into a chair, a minuscule crease forming between his brows.

"I had no idea she had it in her to sacrifice a life so...strategically."

Magnus made a study of the wine in his glass, barely touched. In a moment, he would set it aside and likely forget it was there. He drank the stuff occasionally, but rarely enjoyed it. He'd never liked to imbibe much of anything that dulled his perceptions. Usually.

"For her to act so decisively in that moment—," Magnus said, his eyes narrowed pensively, "—there's something else at play. Something close to her heart."

His gaze sharpened, losing their deep thoughtfulness and cutting back to Saphir.

"Bathe her, but don't discuss where we're going," he instructed. "I'll join you in a little while." He ran a hand through his wavy black hair. "I have a report to prepare first."

~< >~

When Lilah woke, she was in a dark room, in a soft bed, back on Magnus' sky ship.

She rolled over, tossed the blankets off, sat up, and buried her face in her hands.

When she had first come here, she had been so frightened that she might be in the hands of someone who would torment her, who might offer her body to his allies, or expose her to a myriad of physical grotesqueries.

What she hadn't been prepared for, was a calculated siege against her very sense of self. What she hadn't been prepared for, was Magnus.

The light from the window was soft, morning bright but mellowed by the tint of the window and the more golden glow of the lamplight. Clearly the sun was on the other side of the sky ship.

She shook off the urge to wonder if Magnus had arranged her here by thoughtful design, or mere happenstance, when a faint sound from behind her prompted her to turn.

Her breath caught, teetering on the edge of alarm when she caught sight of Daegon. He was staring like one might watch a small, wild animal—his posture so still that it might have been unsettling if she hadn't witnessed enough of Magnus' focus to inoculate her nerves against anything less.

She tugged at the bed sheet to cover herself.

His eyes stayed watchful, as her gaze moved to the injury on his upper chest.

She lifted her chin to indicate the wound. "That doesn't look like it's been disinfected," she said.

He looked, if possible, more wary. Another time, another life, she might have smiled. At the moment, she felt too hollow to even summon the energy.

She inhaled deeply and rose from the bed, giving the bed sheet a second little tug and wrapping it around herself loosely as she walked over to the washroom. Behind her, Daegon moved closer.

"The door stays open," he said, and she didn't doubt he could close the distance to stop her, in the time it would take for her to disobey him.

But she only wet the first cloth she saw, and returned to him.

She approached him, unfazed by his looming height, and paused a few steps away.

"Please let me clean that," she said, meeting his eyes, using the kind of inflection that didn't invite refusal. He didn't move, and didn't respond.

She closed the distance between them and touched the damp cloth to the bare skin of his chest. He seemed...bemused. Perhaps it made for an amusing visual, her treating him with a serious expression while he loomed stoically over her, about twice her size.

She reached out with the cloth, but paused when she felt him tense.

"I'm a good medic," she said, looking at him evenly. "I promise I won't attack you or try to make it worse."

"No," he said, surprising her with the thoughtfulness of his tone, and in his expression when she glanced up at his face. "But you did run."

"I did run," she agreed, her voice still sounding hollow to her own ears. "Would you have?"

There was a long pause, before he responded.

"I would have stayed and killed as many of my enemies as I could find," he said. Quite loquacious, this man before her, in comparison to the giant who had instructed her simply to "follow" when they'd first met, and then thrown her over his shoulder when she hadn't moved quickly enough.

"I, in contrast, simply killed my own commander," she said, and while she had meant for it to sound matter of fact, the words sawed through her throat like a dull blade. Something heaved in her chest, trying to follow in the wake of that pain, but she shoved it back down and ignored the feeling of his eyes on her face as she finished cleaning his wound.

The door opened with a soft whooshing sound, and there stood Saphir.

"What's this?" he asked, moving into the room fluidly and taking in their standoff with eyes of the deepest blue.

She turned to him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd stood and watched while Magnus fucked her with his fingers to the point of exhaustion.

The time before that, he'd slaughtered her regiment.

"This wound needs treatment," she said evenly, gesturing at Daegon's chest.

Saphir looked back at her a moment, his expression impossible to read. "Perhaps later," he said. "For now, we worry about you."

He gestured to the door. "Follow me, please," he said, and waited for her to begin moving before he led the way. Daegon followed behind her, a massive shadow in the dark halls.

He led her to the bath chamber, the familiar one with the off white, near golden glow against gleaming marble. It had been just as well lit last time she was here, but this time Saphir glanced at her and moved to a control gauge on the wall, dimming the lamps until they were softer and the color of the marble deepened to almost amber.

He made a strange attendant, stranger than she had realized before. Perhaps it was a result of what she knew now, of what she had seen, but she didn't think so. He moved differently now, every gesture more precise. She could see the deadliness in him, and she suspected this was only because he allowed her to see it.

There was already water in the tub, and he came to her and moved to take the sheet she still held around her shoulders. She removed it herself before he could and handed it to him, moving swiftly into the water so that he didn't feel the need to help her. It was hot, a little too hot to submerge into as quickly as she did, but the pain was almost welcome as she curled her knees to obscure her chest.

When she saw Saphir come back into her eye line, picking up a comb from a vanity, she lifted her eyes to look at him. Something, some frustrated and resentful part of her, made her ask, "Not sending Daegon outside this time?"

Her attempt to sound casual rang hollow and tense, and she only kept her gaze lifted and steady out of brittle pride.

He turned to her, his expression considering and more than stoic, deeper than the un-emotive mask everyone around Magnus seemed to wear. Only a day before, she would have been unprepared to see it on Saphir's face, but now it seemed that for him, it wasn't a mask at all.

"I could if you'd like," he said, in a tone of perfect courtesy, "--Though I suspect he isn't the source of your discomfort any more."

She lowered her gaze in quiet acknowledgement, and the moment passed with the uncomfortable realization that she was still curious about him—She wondered if he was comfortable with the role of assassin--if he had chosen it or if it had been chosen for him--but as soon as the thought occurred to her, she tried to shove it away.

He moved behind her, and spoke softly. "I'm going to wash your hair."

She nodded, opening her mouth to say she understood, only to choke on the words and close it again.

They were silent as he wet her hair, and massaged fresh smelling oils into the tresses. Daegon still stared, but he seemed less ready for her to lash out than before, the wariness in his eyes less pronounced.

Still something about it, about the entire experience, needled her.

"This scent is different from before," she remarked, her voice coming out clipped.

His hands paused in her hair for only the briefest instant. "Yes," he agreed.

"The choice of waterlily perfume last time wasn't a coincidence—you were fishing for my reaction," she said, her eyes fixed forward. "And like a fool I told you, without thinking, they were common where I grew up. I all but told you where I was from."

This time, his hands were quite still.

"Lilah—," he began carefully.

"Please don't," she said, cutting him off. Tears were forming in her eyes, threatening to spill over, and it took all of her will to fight them. "Please, I'm sorry I said anything."

The pause lengthened, and then— "As you wish," he said quietly, and guided her to lean back and wash away the suds from her hair.

When it was done, Saphir dried her off and laid her on a massage table and applied oil to her skin, and his doing so felt so much more invasive now than it had before. He began at her shoulders and covered her arms, working the oil smoothly into the skin of her back, soothing and massaging her muscles until her body turned limp and warm.

When she shifted, he maneuvered her firmly back into the position he wished, and she felt a surreal reminder that he was likely strong enough to hold her in place with one hand, in spite of his svelte musculature.

He didn't apply any cosmetics this time, leaving her natural features unvarnished, but he did soften the curl of her hair, letting it fall in waves around her shoulders, longer than it usually looked and a little brighter. When she looked in the mirror, the tapered point of her chin looked softer for it.

Behind her, there came the familiar hiss of a sky ship door opening, and she didn't have to look to know who would be standing there.

~< >~

Saphir and Daegon both turned, but Lilah could see Magnus standing in the doorway, a golden chain linking two manacles hanging in one gloved hand. He wore a kind of uniform, different from the armor of last night, all black with understated silver embellishments and leather gloves.

She met his eyes in the mirror without moving. His gaze was thorough, eternally assessing, as he took in the sight of her.

Magnus jerked his chin just slightly, and said, "Wait outside."

The words were for Saphir and Daegon, but his gaze never left Lilah, not when he gave the command and not when they followed it.

The door shut behind them, the whoosh of the metal was barely audible to her as she met his eyes in the mirror. They stared at one another in a heavy blanket of silence that felt somehow less constricting than usual with the proxy of the mirror between them.

The manacle in his hand clinked softly.

Lilah inhaled slowly, and stood, and turned to face him. There had to be a way to desensitize herself against the potency of him. She couldn't simply continue this way forever, with the force of his attention turning the air into hurricane pressure whenever he looked at her.

If she could become used to Daegon, surely she could become accustomed to this as well.

Or at least, pretend to.

She looked down, and tried not to furrow her brow. She wouldn't have ever believed it if someone else had told her a person could make you feel like the earth had shifted on its axis whenever they entered a room, and now that she knew it could happen she wasn't at all sure how to live with it.

She held out her hands, that he might put them into the manacle he held.

"Lilah," he said, and she looked up, reading the instruction to do so in the way he said it. It was a marvel, how he could tell her so much with just her name, a language of one word.

"Look at me," he said.

So she looked at him, and he searched her face for several lingering moments before he came forward and attached the contraption. The metal clinked. There was length enough on the chain that she could hold her hands almost normally, but his hand lingered, gripping her wrist. He rubbed his thumb against the place her pulse lived, with a leisure that was entirely at odds with the intent, almost angry way that he watched her.

Something caught in her throat as she looked back at him. He had a way of making her feel overstimulated with any look that lasted longer than a moment, no matter how much she tried to brace herself beforehand.

"These hands," he said, tracing the lines of her fingers, "—are as warm as I remember,"

Her breaths were shallow. She forced herself to take a deep one.

He turned her palm upward, touching two of his fingertips to the centre and caressing slowly, taking in the obedient shudder that coursed through her in response. Her body was always obedient to him, so much more than it was to her.

"You tended to me in that camp, when you saved my life. On the rare occasion I wasn't asleep, I pretended I was, but I could hear your voice--your precise little movements. The first time, I heard you sit down and rub your hands together, and I opened my eyes just enough to see. I half expected you to notice, to be looking back at me. I wonder to this day if you would have been startled if you had. But you were only looking intently at my wound, taking the time to warm up your hands before you treated me."

There was something deeply unnerving when he moved his thumb back to her pulse, to feel her erratic heart rate.

"The question now, is what could compel the nurse so dedicated and gentle that she rescues enemies on the battlefield and warms her hands before touching a patient, to turn around and shoot her own commander?"

She was simply not breathing now, like an animal that hopes if it can be still enough, that the predator will simply pass by.

"Where does my Lilah get that kind of nerve?" he whispered into her ear, threatening and seductive.

She didn't answer and he took hold of the chain with one hand, and lifted it over her head, drawing her close and kissing her, softly at first and then so deeply it was like he was trying to inhale her soul.

~< >~

Magnus searched her mouth with his tongue, almost losing himself the sweetness of her. When she moaned, his cock jumped like an eager beast. Her breasts were pressed against his chest plate, and he yearned to suckle at them hungrily, even while his mind protested at the idea of ending the kiss. She was in his arms, the heat of her sex pressed to his stomach and her legs against his sides. His fingers dug into the supple flesh of her buttocks as he continued to plunder her mouth urgently for what might have been moments or hours, before he released her lips and turned his attention to those round, lovely breasts. He drew one nipple between his lips and she cried out, the sound as involuntary as the way she arched her back, giving him even better access to her flushing bosom.

A growl rose in his chest. He reveled wordlessly in the feeling that she was safe and soft in his arms and his. The nipple in his mouth was hard and velvety, and he lapped at it once with his tongue before turning his attention to the other, savoring the sensation as it hardened under his attention as well. His eyes cut to her face, but she was arched too far for him to see much. He felt a flare of delicious frustration. Nothing was enough.

He lifted the chain of her manacle away from his neck and turned her around, and placed her against the leather covered massage table, face down. He held her in place with a single hand, and while she didn't struggle in earnest, her body arched against him, the metal chain clinking at every movement. Her toes trailed against the floor, with most of her weight supported by the table.

There was a mirror in front of them, and the sight of himself towering over her was enough to have his cock wrenching needfully against his pants.

He thrust his pelvis against her thigh and she let out that gasping moan in response, his favorite sound. His eyes wanted to close and savor it as much as they wanted to stay open and watch her slender back shifting helplessly under him.

Mine, he thought as he stared down at the sight, his grip tightening around each globe with ruthless possessiveness.

His hands were still in gloves, which he removed with efficiency and laid to the side before brushing her hair away from her back, admiring the way the lustrous, golden waves rippled against her clean, pale skin. She shuddered at the sensation of his flesh against hers.

Magnus bent over her and touched his lips to her left shoulder blade, pausing when she writhed in response. He kissed the spot again, and she keened. So responsive. He explored every inch of her back then, transfixed by the beauty of her arousal and her instinctive resistance.