The Healer Pt. 10

When she wakes, her head is resting on Vadim's lap, his fingers gently stroking her red hair. Her torn dress is covering her nakedness, tied together by a ragged strip. There is no one else there but them.

She slowly sits up, shock still overtaking her. Her body aches, everywhere. She can feel Callen's seed still oozing out of her. Tears start to fall from her face.

Vadim slowly wraps his good arm around her, drawing her close to his chest, "Shhh," he coos.

She looks down at his mangled arm, pushing down the panic, trying to shove aside everything else so she can focus on just that. Coral doesn't want to leave the safety of his embrace but she pulls away regardless and shakily rises to her feet. Walking to the metal bars, her tiny hands frantically grab a hold of them to steady her form. She stumbles down the length of the cell, her eyes scanning the ground within her reach to try to find something that will help her set his broke bone.

At the far corner of the cell where the iron bars meet the raw stone walls, she spots several pieces of broken cane reed just beyond the enclosure. She wobbles while crouching down, sliding her arm between the bars and stretching as far as she can. Her fingers fumble to grasp them but finally do and she pulls them towards her body. Losing her balance she topples over onto her ass, her eyes catching sight of what lies beyond the bars—various chains, restraints, whips, flogs and torture contraptions that she has no knowledge of. Her breathing starts to increase when her attention is shifted to the implements; she feels her head getting warm, tightness in her chest, anxiety welling up in her stomach. Leaning over, she vomits on the ground—whether from shock or morning sickness, she doesn't know. Not that it matters anymore.

Coral forces herself back up again, her entire body shaking, her chest tight, finding it hard to breathe again. She puts her hand against the damp raw stone of the cave, trying to stop it from moving around her or her from swaying when she feels the coldness of panic at the back of her head. She bends in half, attempting to draw in slow deep breaths to stave off the light headedness when her eyes brush past a patch of familiar mushrooms. Piers' voice echoes distantly in her thoughts, When the time comes, you put one of them in your mouth. Chew on it and hold it between your cheek and gums; it will numb your mind and your body, then you won't have to suffer as much. There should be no pain.

Without hesitation, she crashes down to her knees, plucks one and crams it into her mouth, chewing it up a bit before tucking it in between her gum and cheek. The earthy, dirt taste contrasts the spongy squeakiness of the mushroom against her teeth. Clutching onto the cane reeds tight, she crawls the remaining way back to Vadim, the stone scraping her bare knees though the torn front of her dress. She stops at his right side and sits back on her heels, her breathing still frantic. With shaking hands she reaches down to the hem of her torn, gray dress and rips several long strips of cloth from it.

As the effects of the mushroom start to seep into her body, she feels a calmness wash over her, her objective self completely removed from her emotional distraught; her breathing slows, her hands stop shaking. It feels almost as if she is floating in the pool in the castle bathhouse, relaxed, everything muffled and distant like through water.

She reaches out indifferently feeling the break in Vadim's arm, not even thinking to remind him to brace for it when she sets the bone back into place. When he screams through gritted teeth, she looks at him, remembering that pain hurts, "Sorry," she mumbles. Placing the broken canes parallel to his forearm, she snuggly wraps the strips of fabric around it, securing them tightly to immobilize the break. Then, she sits back down on his left side. She leans her head against his shoulder.

"Are you really pregnant?" He asks quietly.

"Yes," her voice is indifferent. It used to bother her so much before—she was worried, she thought about inducing the contractions to get rid of the foal, but why? Apathetically she prods through her memories until she recalls, "Quell doesn't know."

"Oh, Coral," he says, a sadness in his voice.

Quell was so upset when she was simply going to help women bare foals—he was mad at her. No, he was broken at the thought of losing her like he lost his first mate and bairn. She continues, "If we get out of here, don't tell him. If—if the foal survives, then I will let him know. It would ruin him to know what he lost otherwise."

He pulls her close, "I am sorry, Coral."

"So am I, Vadim." She should have told him, she should have been honest from the moment she knew. There should be no secrets between mates, no matter how painful. With a sigh, she stares off into nothingness, her eyes seeing things but not bothering to focus, the eerie calm of the mushroom permeating her entire body. It is a while before either of them speaks, though they still remain nestled closely in each other's arms.

"Quell will come, Coral," Vadim says to reassure her.

"I know he will—I am not worried about that; what I wonder is how long it will take him to figure it out," her voice is flat, devoid of expression. Freed emotionally from her mind, it is so clear now why the women were afraid of Quell—his eyes. Those piercing, blue eyes that he shares with his cousin.

"I had a feeling something was off with Callen; I should have said as much. I should have forced Junta or Tomir out of that room last night to come with us to our chambers," Vadim's voice is bitter, angry at himself.

What he says is true but he is hardly the only one guilty and she freely admits it, "If I would have just stayed and watched the mating, this wouldn't have happened. It is my fault. It is all my fault. They were after you and you were being a gentleman and escorting me. If I hadn't made too much of the base elixir, if I wasn't so stupid as to put it in my case instead of dumping it out, if I would have just told Quell I was pregnant, I wouldn't even be here. You would be safe."

"This isn't your fault, Coral. They would have gotten to me somehow—I'm the easy target to grab."

"Well," she says, glancing around, her eyes falling on the now dark streak of blood leading towards the exit, "at least we know who the guilty centaurs are and one of them is already dead. That only leaves two. The odds are better that way."

Vadim looks at her somewhat aghast, "What?"

She turns and stares into his dark eyes, seeing the surprised look on his handsome brown face. She struggles to make the leap as to why he is confused by her words, they were the truth—then, she recalls that she is drugged. She spits the half dissolved mushroom out into her hand, wondering if she is supposed to leave it in there forever, swallow it or just suck on it for a while. She knows that Piers uses dried mushrooms, crushes them and mixes them with water to form a paste that is applied to a cow's tongue; making the mental adjustments she realizes that she only needed half of the mushroom and after holding it in her mouth for a while, she should have swallowed the rest.

"What is that?" Vadim asks.

"Piers always called them the 'hooded harbinger,' I am not aware of what their actual name is. During the Battle, he used them to ease the pain of passing for many dying men and we used it often when he would have to perform a surgery on an animal. I've never had it before but Piers warned me that I should take it when a centaur decided to mate me so as to cut the pain. It does as he says." She flicks the mushroom out of her hand, continuing, "I was surprised to see them growing over there but I suppose that makes sense; this place is old and was clearly used for torture. A smart man, knowing he was about to meet a gruesome death probably brought some with him. Their spores spawned more and after years they made a nice residence in this cave. Just as well—anyone locked in here no doubt has reason to use them." Turning to Vadim, she remembers to ask, "Are you in pain? I can get you one."

He shakes his head, "No, Coral. One of us should have our wits about and I certainly do not blame you for electing me." Vadim tilts down onto his left side, pulling Coral with him and into his chest, resting his damaged arm over her waist. He nestles his face into her hair, "Let us get some rest while we can."

Coral tucks her arm under her head, feeling the warmth of Vadim at her back helps with the chill. It doesn't take long before her eyes shut and she drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

...

Neither of them hear the approaching clop of hooves on the stone; it is only when Coral is yanked up by her arm that they wake. Vadim immediately jumps to his feet and tries to come to her aid, only to trip when the chains cobble his feet together; he falls to the ground, cursing at Callen.

When Coral realizes what is happening, she starts fighting again. She pulls against him, trying to push him away with her free arm only to get that one grabbed too; sobs rack her body and panic starts to set in as the mushroom wore off in her sleep. She can hardly choke down any air, frantically trying to get away as her hands are chained to the mounting stand.

Callen looks over her form, "Will you give me the recipe?" He pulls out the vial, uncorking it to release the dark, mysterious scent. It sends a shiver down his shaggy palomino back, his eyes hazed over with lust, "The recipe for this version?"

Coral's body sags down to the ground, her hands bound above her, "Let me go," she whispers.

He smiles darkly at her, reaching out and wrapping a hand around her waist. Though she fights, it does no good because he soon strips her bare just as before and has her buckled into the stand. He runs his hands over her naked back, leaning down to whisper into her ear, "Please—keep fighting me, Coral. Not only do I enjoy your resolve almost as much as I do mating with you, but the challenge of breaking your spirit is one that I haven't encountered yet." His tongue flicks out and he tastes her skin, trailing it down her spine.

She struggles away from him but it is no use; his thick fingers stroke her cunt, rubbing the elixir on her, though this time, he is more gentle, "If you are a good girl, Coral, and do not fight me I will not be so rough on you." He presses a finger against her clit, rubbing it in a circular motion.

Coral bites her lip but still the moan escapes; the haze of the elixir hits her and she yearns for a cock to fill her. She shakes her head, forcing herself back to the present by pulling against her wrist restraints; the sharp pain of it jars her back to reality and despite how good it feels, she fights against him, tries as hard as she can to pull away from his touch as she is determined not to break.

Callen lets out a huff, his hand leaving her womanhood; his shaggy fur tickles her back and before she can even tell him to get off of her he rams his cock deep inside of her cunt, as far as it can go, in one violent thrust. With each plunge he grunts, Coral crying softly beneath him; he tangles his hand in her hair and tugs her head back, leaning over her. His voice is strained and threatening, "Look at me Coral."

She squeezes her eyes shut tight; he slaps her and though she cries out she still refuses to look at him. When a large hand wraps around her throat and squeezes, cutting off her air, his voice cuts into her thoughts, "Look at me Coral," he demands.

Though she tries to break from his grasp she cannot; finally, she is forced to open her eyes or be choked out. A wicked grin crosses his face, his searing blue eyes staring into hers. He watches her, feeling her cunt tighten down on him, her back involuntarily arch up, and finally the moan that comes out from behind her clenched teeth. A shudder ripples through his hide and he thrusts harshly into her, his seed filling her cunt and oozing out; only then, does he let go of her hair.

Her head falls back onto the mounting stand, quiet tears racking her body. She doesn't even try to fight him when he unbuckles her and drags her back into the cell. The guard, having watched the entire time, smirks before locking her in. Callen takes a moment to smooth back his brown hair and straighten his shirt, adjusting the belt with the knife on it. He draws in a deep breath, shuddering at the remains of the elixir hovering in the air. With one last dark look at Coral, he smirks. The two centaurs leave.

Coral lays on the stone floor where Callen dropped her, her entire body quivering. When she sees Vadim's horrified, concerned and angered face, his body stretched out trying to reach her, she rolls away from him before curling into a ball.

"Coral," his voice is laced with pain. "Please. Come here."

She doesn't respond, she doesn't move. She remains where she is for several hours, her soul dying. Tears fall from her eyes when a tentative hand reaches down to her lower stomach and presses against the soft flesh. She isn't sure what would be worse—making it out of here alive with the foal, or without the foal. Or not making it out at all.

It is only when the approaching clop of hooves echo throughout the room does she sit up and scramble away from the gate, pressing her back into the stone wall. The guard appears, a disgruntled look on his face. Unlocking the cell, he sets down a pitcher of water, a large bowl and a chamber pot.

"Leave the keys in the lock. I will see to it that your death is quick and painless," Vadim rises to his feet, his posture commanding, his voice has a surprisingly dangerous tone to it

The guard looks over the man and laughs; saying nothing in return, he locks the door and leaves.

As she watches the sway of the centaur's body leave, she feels a tightness in her chest, struggling to draw in a breath she pants but it doesn't seem like she can get any air. Each thud of hoof on stone makes her body jerk in fear. When he is gone, she scrambles over to the mushroom patch; with a shaky hand, she plucks one, tears it in half and stuffs it into her mouth. She presses her palms to her eyes, trying to shut out everything, forcing herself to take deep slow breaths, focusing on the earthy taste of the fungus in her mouth.

The calm soon washes over her, bisecting her emotions off, the tightness in her chest loosens and her breathing comes easy. Her dull eyes look down at the patch; carefully, she picks the remaining mushrooms, tearing them apart before gathering them up in her hands. Rising, she sets them down in the corner near where her and Vadim lie; then, she reaches through the bars and grabs what remains of her dress, pulling the tattered rag on, doing her best to tie it closed. She moves with purpose, tending to the tasks before her—the horror of her rape, the stress of her emotions locked down.

Coral kneels near the cell door and brings the pitcher up to her lips to drink down the cool water, her throat scratchy and tender. Taking it and the bowl, she sits next to Vadim and offers him the pitcher; he drinks gratefully. By the time he has it set down, Coral holds a spoon full of stew out to his mouth. He shakes his head, "No, Coral. You need it—you are eating for two."

Swallowing the mushroom, she hastily takes the bite before scooping up another and offering it to him, "We are in this together, brother. Either you eat with me, or I don't eat at all."

His dark eyes look into hers; Coral senses his apprehension when she looks back at him. Studying his face, she realizes how tired he looks, how pained his features are. When a sigh escapes his plush lips, it occurs to her that he feels just as helpless as she does. He is right, she should eat the entire bowl of stew but he is the only one trapped with her in this, the only one who can offer her some semblance of compassion. That is why she insists again that he eats, almost prodding his lips with the spoon.

Reluctantly, he takes what she feeds him, eating in silence for a while before he speaks, "Quell will come, Coral. He will not stop until he has found us."

"I know," she says, adding before she can ponder that it isn't the right response, "I just hope he arrives before we are dead."

Vadim drops his head into his hands, his voice is shaky, "Tell Callen the recipe, Coral. I cannot bear to watch you be taken like that anymore. I kills me that I cannot help you." When he looks back at her, there are tears falling from his eyes.

She looks over him calmly, remembering his love of her, her love of him. She feeds him the last bite of the stew, "No. I will not give him the recipe, Vadim."

The sadness doesn't dissipate from his face, "Please, I beg you."

She shakes her head, setting the bowl down, "I will not."

"Why?" He cries out, frustrated, "Why put yourself through this? Why put me through this? Why put Quell and your foal through this?" He is getting angry.

Looking over the unusual emotion on his face, she sees his easy affect shattered, gone. She knows that he is correct—it kills him to see this happen to her; Callen has already succeeded in breaking the Prince. Vaguely, she thanks the stars that he wasn't the one with the recipe. "I will not give him the recipe because this is bigger than us. If he had the elixir he could do this to every woman. He would do this to every woman. No, brother—this ends here. It has to."

Ending the conversation, she drags the chamber pot over; she offers to help him but he refuses. With her back turned, she counts the mushrooms; she knows that she needs to keep them close so that she can get one into her mouth before she is dragged from the cell.

When she has had her turn with the pot, she places both it and the empty bowl near the door, not wanting to give the guard any reason to come closer than he has to. Vadim pulls her close in his arms, offering what little comfort he is able to provide. They sit in silence for hours.

...

Vadim lies with his head in Coral's lap, asleep. He is exhausted, though she is still wide awake, dread sinking deep into her body. She tries not to think about Callen but instead focus on Quell. She recalls the safety she feels in his arms, the warmth of his body on hers, the adoration in his eyes when he looks at her—but each time she pictures his face, she sees Callen. When her chest starts to tighten, she looks down at Vadim and gingerly strokes his jaw, thankful that he is here for her.

This time, Coral hears the soft clop of hooves from a distance. Hastily, she stuffs half a mushroom in her mouth, pressing it against her cheek, sucking the earthy, gritty dirt from the fungus. "Vadim," she whispers, shaking his shoulder slightly.

When his eyes open, he sees the guard unlocking the gate, Callen walking in. He hisses, "Leave her alone, Callen." He sits up trying to protectively cover Coral.

The eerie calm washes over her; she can see something in Callen's eyes—a need, an urge, a desire to hurt something. He is in no mood to deal with Vadim. She squeezes Vadim's hand before sliding out from under him and stepping away, keeping her back against the rough stone wall to drawn Callen away from her brother.

"Come here, Coral," he commands her.

She stares down at her hands objectively, her bruised forearms—she does not want to lie with him but fighting doesn't make a difference as he takes her anyways. Still, even with the calmness of the mushroom floating through her, she cannot force herself forward. She steels herself against his advance; when he grabs her she doesn't jerk away but she gives him cause to keep pressure on her arms.

She makes him force her into the stand, letting him know that she still does not want this. She swallows the remainder of the hooded harbinger and tries not to fight him as he takes her again. He pulls her head back and she stares into his deep blue eyes—eyes the same color as her mate, eyes she used to adore getting lost in, eyes that used to make her blush when they wandered her body, but now eyes that she hates.