tagNonConsent/ReluctanceMadness in Blood Ch. 04

Madness in Blood Ch. 04


Tryxoth watched as the ruby shard she balanced on a black ribbon, turned and flitted with muted magic.

It was critical that she find Princess Arelia or she was sure the next person to have the Warlord's wrath was going to be her. She was having more difficulty than usual and that pissed her off. Magic wasn't answering her call as easily as it had once. After a wave of prejudice inflamed a panic against those who could wield magic, all that was left were dead bodies.

And she had been cut off from the source that made her powerful, the magic she now wielded minimal compared to what she had.

Her coven long burned, long buried.

But something rare had come across her table—something that she had only heard in midnight tales spoken to the night sky to scare children.

She had never felt inferiority, never felt that she wasn't enough until that witch had landed on her table.

She had never thought she would meet a Sarca witch.

Tryxoth had touched her skin and felt the wild, bloodthirsty magic that was like energy moving the ground below them with a force of the Gods. It was like a lull that had pulled her under and she hadn't been able to help herself from touching the witch.

Tryxoth had fought, secretly, from having her end up in the Warlord's hands. The Silver witch was not going to come out the same because she didn't have her magic to defend herself. Tryxoth had to make three sets of cuffs before she had nearly drained herself making the fourth. Sayrai had been too strong.

It had been a surprise that she was able to contain her magic at all. Tryxoth was torn between wanting to make sure the witch was secured for further study and the slight guilt that those cuffs might cause more damage than the Warlord himself.

But, she owed that dangerous male and though her conscious was underdeveloped she would do what he asked.

Tryxoth glanced at the table and had a sudden thought. It was very probable that Sayrai had hidden Arelia herself. No doubt she had been very thorough...and Tryxoth wasn't too mighty to think that she could figure out Sayrai's thought process.

However, she was tactical. Walking over to the table, she smiled triumphantly. On the corner of her crafting table was a few strands of dark hair wrapped around the lip of a bolt. There was only one person who had been on this table.

She plucked the hair and slowly wrapped around it around the ruby. She turned back to the laid-out map of the realm and concentrated again.

The ruby slowly spun with the lackluster energy she could provide it...and then it changed. The ruby pulled at the ribbon until it became tight, as if the ribbon had grown from the chard. It vibrated in her hand and she almost let it go when it started to burn.

When Tryxoth thought she could not stand it anymore, the ruby flew out of her hand and landed on a spot on the map. One she had never thought to consider.

She smiled, "There you are little princess."


Her mama was standing over her. It wasn't that strange—but it still scared her every single time. She would do this, sometimes... watch her sleep. She never knew what she had done to make her mama look at her that way. She hadn't been bad, had she? She washed her hands before she ate and brushed her mama's hair just the way she liked it. She didn't snag it or anything.

But—there had to be something Sayrai wasn't doing right. Something that made her mama mad.

Sayrai peeked out from under her blanket, shivering at the flash of silver at her mother's side. The older woman was swaying from side to side and staring hard at her.

Suddenly a hand—clawed and ugly pulled her out from under the blankets.

"Run, little girl, run." She heard her slur maliciously, the austere square knife raised over her shoulder—scaring her so badly she messed herself...


Sayrai awoke, a hand gripped in her hair, pulling her from where she slept. Tightening on her scalp, she was yanked across the stone floor.

"Let me go!" she demanded and heard a low dismissive sound.

She reached up wrapping her hand around a thick wrist, trying to alleviate the searing pain.

"Damn you! I said let me go!" she screamed again and blessedly landed in a heap on the floor.

"Is that better?" The Warlord asked her.

She was on her knees, ignoring the uneven stone biting into her skin. She threaded her fingers into her hair rubbing at her scalp. She could see his heavy boots through the screen of her hair, metal tipped and braced apart.

The skin on her back tightened, that inevitably she felt earlier, catching up with her.

"Fuck you." She panted.

She felt his foot come down hard on her back, pressing her back into the stone. She clenched her teeth against the pressure but did not give him the satisfaction of squirming. He gave her a small reprieve but pulled her hands behind her back.

"No!" she screeched when cold manacles enclosed her wrist. He ignored her and lifted her up to stand and face him.

He had brought her to a room she had never been in before. It mimicked the shape of her sleeping chamber so she figured she wasn't too far away from the rest of the servants. There was a single chair and a stout looking table that had a stain in the middle. On a square in front of her was a drain.

"At last Lady Sayrai, you and I have the chance to get to know one another." He said his voice crisp with the accent that belonged to Haldane's aristocracy.

Sayrai fought to take a step back from him but controlled herself. He was still in his formal, military attire. He embodied his status of Warlord and everything she had come to learn about him. A small sliver of apprehension coursed through her as she remembered what Cadeon had told her.

This male like to break things.

"So," he said as if they were at dinner requiring, "I finally get the chance to meet the mythical Silver witch. Should I be worried about my animals dying? Will there be children born with missing bones in their heads?" He lowered himself into the chair, relaxed as if he had plenty of time to spare.

She shook her hair out of her face, "Of course not. I prefer to take heads."

He leaned back, "Careful witch, it may very well be your head."

Sayrai lifted her face in defiance, "I'm here for a reason, correct? You've gone through so much to get me. Don't insult me by suggesting all your hard work would go to waste."

"I see you've been educated. Well, let me save you some time. The only instruction you will receive from now on will be the rules you will be following."

"And if I don't?" she quipped back.

The Warlord paused in his motions, his eyes shooting through her. He slowly unfolded from his seat like a cat who just saw something worth extending its claws for.

He walked over to far wall and lifted a latch that was situated by bolts. Above her she heard metal chains falling. He walked back over to her and without breaking away from her eye, he unlocked one of the cuffs to bring them in front of her, holding onto her wrist so hard she had to stop from making any noise. He re-cuffed her then stretched her arms over her head and put the chain length over the hook making her go up on her tiptoes.

The effort she had to put into balance left her open to whatever he wanted to do to her. Sayrai fisted her hands above her, praying for her magic to come back to her. To protect her. But her magic was ornery, often acting with a will of its own. After using the spell to get out of prison, her magic still had not returned to her.

"This is my fault," he said getting up circling around her, "I should have made our impending relations apparent."

"Preferably, before you slammed my head into stone." She retorted.

"It's important to establish who is in control, don't you think? Violence can often be the unpleasant side of training wild animals."

She felt her face tighten with indignation. It was hard to keep a semblance of being in power with her arms cuffed above her head.

The Warlord turned to her, his face twisted cruelly, "Do you know what comes after violence?" he stepped closer to her, the heat of him making her claustrophobic.

"Enlighten me." She said airily.

He bowed his head, "Would I be a gentleman not to?" His hand went to his side and she heard the sharp slicing of air. He had unsheathed a danger with a worn hilt.

"Animals are, unfortunately, on a tip of defiance and the willingness to please. Even exotic animals can be made to heel. To perform."

He placed the tip of the dagger on the swell of her bottom lip, then slowly down the arch of her neck. Sayrai fought to keep herself from swallowing and even harder to look away from him. A magnetic pull almost made him seem charismatic. The way he held himself was almost a distraction from the ominous air of him. She could see the brutes of Haldane believing in his ability to protect and glorify them.

"Of course, they'll fight it at first," with an upward slash, he cut her right sleeve, "they may even hurt themselves in their fool hardiness." Another slash, and gone was her left sleeve. His hands took a hold of the split collar of the dress and easily pulled it apart, leaving her in the shift she had been given.

"They'll accept the balance of cruelness because with good behavior comes result," the dagger rested on her breastbone, pressing down painfully.

He watched her face, his eyes taking in all the lines and emotions.

When he decided he'd had enough, he sheath the dagger and ducked his head then licked the pearl of blood that had formed on her skin. His tongue on her elicited a shiver she was uncomfortable with and she tried to jerk away from him. He grabbed the front her shift and with barely a flick of his wrist, tore it away.

She felt the cool air of the cellar lay over her naked body and wished with anger her hands were free. Not so she could cover herself but so she could try and bash his head in.

He took a step back, taking in her nakedness. He started with her breast that had heavy swells, then moved across her belly, over the expanse of her hips, and he stopped at her sex.

"Is this what you do to all your prisoners? Tie them up and gawk at them? This is the mighty power I'm supposed to tremble before?" Sayrai taunted.

The Warlord let out a laugh and stepped closer to her. One hand wrapped around her throat and she swallowed.

"I apologize, Lady Sayrai. This is exactly why it's so important to establish who's the master and who's the animal." He said tightening his hands on her.

She tilted her head back slightly.

"See, you have no value or space in my domain," he squeezed harder and she tried turn her throat, to get air into her lungs, "Your entire existence is now based on my mercy and I can assure you, I'm not impressed."

He let go of her throat and she could not stop herself from pulling in mouthfuls of air.

"You've obviously got attributes that appeal to my King. As I am an ever faithful to my country I've taken this to task personally. I'm going to open you up and rip everything out of you until all that is left is a pathetic thing." He drawled running a finger across her nipple that had peaked in the cold air, onto the softness of her belly and hooked under the chain he had put there.

Sayrai controlled her face again.

"Tell me about the chains." She said ignoring his threat.

"Because we're getting to know one another, I'll let that go just this once," He said putting his hands behind his back, "You can't be trusted to conform like any other slave, so you'll be made to heel. Tryxoth created these chains to mute you. You'll find no extra assistance in your violence or attempts to escape. You will be magically tied by boundary so forget fleeing Sytadel. The chains will hold you until I say otherwise."

Something pulled at Sayrai's mind, something her mother told her, something she had learned when she was being taught basic craft.

"You're holding me with an entrapment curse." she whispered, a horrible realization that escape may not be as close as she thought.

The curse had been a crafty tool in a war between two witch clans that had long ago destroyed themselves. It would mute the magic of the wearer holding them, keeping them bound and close to whomever held their anchor. If she got too far from the anchor...it would be the end of her. Broken entrapment curses were meant to enforce servitude and control. The only way to break it was to destroy the anchor and that could be anything the Warlord had wished.

He smiled in earnest, the scar that went vertical down his lips, stretching. "I see your plans of running falling into ruin."

"Do you think I can ever coerced into doing anything for you? I won't let you turn my magic into a weapon for Haldane!"

He tilted his head, "As if you have a choice. You're going to do whatever I want. Soon you'll understand that. Why don't I tell you what is going to be expected of you?"

"Fuck off." She spat.

He was so fast, that even while she was looking at him she did not have time to brace the blow across her face. She felt blood trickle out of the side of her mouth and her head started ringing.

"Now, savage, let me explain this, one. More. Time. Your life is whatever I say it is. You're going to sleep, eat, jump, fuck when I say so. Every time you have a silly little violent burst you're going to punished. Every time you speak out of turn, you're going to be punished."

He cupped her jaw, gently, contrasting the lines of violence that constructed him. Putting his lips on her ear he said, "I'm going to be your God."

He sounded so sure. She would be dishonest if she did not feel fear.

"You fool yourself if you think I'll ever submit to you." She said the uncertainty even apparent in her ears.

Something flashed in his eyes but it was gone just as quickly as it was there.

"I like optimism in my slaves. It's erotically pleasing to watch it die. Why don't we start tonight, darling? You've murder one of my most esteemed guest." He said holding his hand over his heart in mock sentiment.

"He was a rat bastard. He deserved to die." She shot back.

He raised a brow cynically, "Of course he did. Now, that you've been properly informed—any punishment that you endure will be entirely your fault. You're going to fall into line one way or the other. I want you to preform my little pet."

Sayrai's anger choked her throat, "Preform, what?"

"Your past behavior is completely unacceptable so tonight, you're going to make amends. You're going to reward one of my most loyal soldiers."

Sayrai heard the door behind her push open with a groan and wind cooled on her back.

The Warlord looked over her shoulder and a pleased expression washed over his face, "Ah, I've been waiting for you, Braydor. Come, I have decided that you need to be rewarded for your...tedious service in the swamps of Arvaka."

Braydor came into her line of vision and she felt the prickling heat of embarrassment come over her skin. The soldier had managed to wash away the grease and dirt of their previous battles. His eyes lit up when he saw her and she saw something ugly and disturbing there.

The Warlord cuffed the back of his neck like a pleased father giving his son the opportunity to prove his mettle.

Braydor was in awe to see Sayrai so vulnerable. Then there was nastiness and lust swirling on his face and her body went taut with fury.

"What did you have in mind, my lord?" Braydor asked with a lopsided smile belying his eagerness.

"Tell me," he said sweeping his hand toward her, "How much hardship did this lady give you?"

Braydor's face darkened and the fist at his side tightened. Sayrai knew he was remembering the times she had cut down his men, burned his camps to the ground, and tormented him endlessly with his inability to even come close to catching her. She could see all those memories floating around, taunting him.

"She was a fucking bitch and seeing her here...strung up and at your mercy, my Lord...she deserves everything that's coming to her."

She ran her tongue over her lower lip, "My, my, aren't we brave now? If you'd really like to know how it was? He cried and cried when I had him by the balls. I expect you could have sent a toddler in his place and he would have done a much more satisfactory job."

If it were not for the Warlord's hand on Braydor's neck, he would have attacked her.

"Tsk, tsk," he moved away from the soldier and walked behind her, "We can't blame Braydor, can we?"

Sayrai could hear the creaking of the leather he was wearing. She knew she'd hear it in her nightmares.

"We can't?" Braydor said naively and Sayrai almost laughed if she wasn't already nervous about the male behind her. Suddenly, his hands came down hard on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin. There was restrained power there.

The Warlord's soft laugh, so misplaced, echoed off the stones and he tightened his hold painfully.

"Lucky for you, Braydor," the Warlord's words scathing on the back her neck, "She does have everything, as you say, coming to her. I mean to rectify all the problems she caused me. Starting with you."

Sayrai could hear the loud crashing of her heart in her ears. Even though Braydor the Dumb still looked confused, she had an idea of what the Warlord was doing.

That bastard was going to give her to him.

A smile of understanding crossed Braydor's face and he looked downright thrilled, his eyes roaming over her again. When he stepped closer, she could not control herself, she spat right in his face.

Braydor, forgetting himself, slapped her on opposite side the Warlord had. She wished she had her magic back so she could burn the skin from their bones.

"Remember, Braydor, try not break her—"

"As if this spineless rat could!" she yelled finally letting her anger get the best of her. The Warlord jerked her to bring her back to heel.

"This is her initiation as my toy. There seems to be a misunderstanding on what her role is—so please assist her," his voice took on it normal coldness, "do not permanently damage her—that's my privilege."

He walked to the door and said over his shoulder, "Pull the latch—it'll be entertaining."

When the door shut, Braydor gripped her chin, "I promise—it'll only hurt a lot."

"How does it feel? Knowing that the only reason you get to use me is because your papa tied me up first." Sayrai drawled.

Braydor, who couldn't seem to ever keep the upper hand, fought his anger, "Shut up, you're not in control anymore. You're just another slave. The Warlord will sort you out until you're dead on the inside."

Her brows popped, "That's so...intelligent for you Braydor. I have to say I don't know what I appreciate more—you finally not being a spineless whore or that beautiful scar on your face, courtesy of me, of course."

It was true, the flat white scar on Braydor's face had been the result of one of their many battles in Arvaka. He'd had her pinned up against a rock face and wasn't aware of the fire-hot dagger she had in her hand.

He had been gloating at having her pinned and she had been pissed that she could feel his arousal pushing into her belly. It had been the last time he had celebrated too early. She had slammed the hot dagger onto his face.

His screams had mixed with her laughter.

Braydor breathed in quickly as if he was trying to remember the Warlord's warning hanging over his head.

"You thought you were so clever." He said whispering, the smell of wine on his tongue.

She pulled on the chains to lift some of her weight off her arms, "I am clever Braydor. Far too clever for you, in fact."

He leaned in close, "Obviously not, you bitch, because here you are—strung up, being whored out to anyone the Warlord feels like."

She did not let that rankle her, "And you are just about anyone."

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