The Seeker Ch. 05

Venlen stood at the desk, gripping the letter from his brother with a shaking hand. He had ordered the desk be moved from the office down the hall, refusing to leave Laiyla's side. The letter had been delivered this morning, but with his hands full of his recovering Fae during the few hours she had been awake, he hadn't gotten to it until now. They would have to leave earlier than he would have liked, it would seem.

My dearest brother,

Prudence tells me you have finally caught up with the Seeker. I offer you my congratulations. I am eager to meet the pretty young thing, and I wonder at the length of time it has taken for you to return home.

I do hope you have not run into any... shall we say, trouble.

I know it is silly for me to think I must remind you of the reason I sent you after her to begin with. There is a terrible rumor amongst some of the bolder ladies of the court. They mistakenly believe that you have taken the Fae girl for yourself.

I encourage you to return hastily, so that you can put these ladies' delicate minds at ease.

Regards,

Your King.

He was breathing in heavy, violent breaths. The threat that read from between the lines of the letter was clear. Damien had wanted Laiyla secured and brought to court, where he might use her to the advantage of the crown. Venlen had always thought it a flawed idea. Lystra, the last Seeker, the one he had killed after years of fighting off her evil magic, had turned corrupt and power-hungry. She had developed dark, powerfully sinister magic that went beyond normal Seeker abilities as the corruption had spread through her like slow dripping molasses. It had been what had made her so very dangerous.

From the very first reconnaissance of Laiyla, Venlen knew that she was untouched by this darkness. She had been sent away to protect her from that kind of influence. He had met her adopted parents, although they hadn't known it. They were good, kind and compassionate. Venlen had known then that his brother's plans for her to follow in her grandmother's footsteps, to use her powers to protect his position on the throne, were deeply flawed.

Venlen had thought then that when he eventually brought Laiyla back to court, when his brother had met her and had seen how different she was from Lystra, he would change his mind. Laiyla could still be useful, just in ways that did not require the darker part of her abilities.

Now, everything had changed.

He crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it across the room into the fire. He took to pacing the length of the floor, throwing angry glances toward the bed where Laiyla lay curled under layers of blankets. Her wounds were just beginning to heal, the fever finally releasing its grip on her. When she slept nestled against him, her nightmares were easily redirected by his gentle humming and stroking, but they were still occurring nightly. She was not ready to leave yet.

It didn't matter. If he stayed away any longer, his brother would start to send his men. The thought was not exactly an intimidating one. His own men were battle tested, ruthless, relentless. Their numbers were modest, but the way dark followed wherever they went struck fear into all they encountered. The Army of Night. Damien could send hundreds of his best warriors out to meet him, and it wouldn't matter. They would be slaughtered easily, fed to the dogs. But starting a war with his brother was not something he wanted.

He was resigned. They would have to leave tomorrow. Which meant he needed to test the bond, needed to see how well he would be able to wield her magic. He had already selected a task for the occasion.

He barked an order at the guard outside. The healer rushed in a moment later, green robes swishing around his feet as he hurried to where Laiyla lay unconscious on the bed. Venlen gritted his teeth as he watched the healer's fingers dance over the bandages on her legs and thighs, shoulders and forearm, then finally her neck and the thin line that curled around her breast. A threatening sound escaped his throat as he watched the healer rub salve onto this last wound, as his hand worked carefully around the small curve of flesh. The man winced and there was a tremor in his hand as he finished his task. With a sigh of relief, he stood and turned to Venlen.

"Your highness. Her wounds are improving every time I see them. Her fever is almost gone, the tonics are helping. In three or four days, she may be ready for more activity." He looked nervously at the door and wrung his fingers. "From a strictly medical standpoint, sir, she may benefit from some time outside." He coughed and stared down at his feet, straightening his robes.

Venlen glared at the man, his anger flaring. She may benefit from some time outside. His anger quickly turned internal as he let the implications of those words rush through him. He had taken a forest Fae, a Seeker, and had trapped her inside, had practically dared her to run from him. And when she had... His eyes softened as he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest.

"We must leave tomorrow. The trip will be long. You will come with us. If she arrives healthy and happy, well then, so well you." He left the rest unsaid.

The healer gaped at him, his eyes round with horror. "Your highness!" he gasped. "She is not ready! If you try to move her now, I can make no guarantee of her health!" His voice had an edge of panic to it.

"She is Fae!" Venlen roared, stepping toward the man. "She is stronger than you think! Staying here is no longer an option. Gather what you need for the journey. If you cannot find something or need something in greater quantities than what you have available, tell my men and they will get it for you. Gold is not a factor." He reached into his pocket and took out a small sack, the currency inside clinking together in a way Venlen had seen men kill over. He tossed the sack at the man, who fumbled nervously before catching it in his hands and looking inside. His eyes widened.

"Before you begin preparing," Venlen said, drawing the man's attention back to him. "I need her awake for several hours. Prepare a tonic and then leave us."

..............................................................................

The smell of peppermint and sage swirled around her. Calloused fingers smoothed back her hair, stroking her forehead. His low hum vibrated through the room. "Come back to me, keonai mouv. Braenn mael laevvi."

She tried to shake her head no, to snuggle deeper underneath the layers of quilts and blankets that covered her, but the movement sent jolts of pain through her and she groaned. She opened one eye cautiously and saw Ven crouched beside her bed, watching her face with an intensity that sent goosebumps up and down her spine. She sighed resignedly and turned her head back into the pillow, the pain in her neck flaring in response. "I'm not having sex with you."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending heat to her cheeks.

"Just a few hours for me, keonai mouv. Then you may sleep again. Come. I have food ready."

"Soup?" she mumbled into the pillow. She loved Sonya, but the thought of another meal of soup and bread made her stomach revolt.

"Not soup."

She lifted her head in curiosity, peeking out over her nest of warmth and comfort at the table in the center of the room. He hadn't lied. It wasn't soup.

Slowly, she stretched her aching limbs and moved away from the heavy bulk of blankets. She kicked her legs over the side and let her feet dangle. She felt his eyes appraising her every movement, and heat rose to her cheeks as she looked down on her naked, wrecked body. She sucked in a hiss at the sight of herself.

Bandages covered her. Some of them covered slices and cuts she could remember getting, others she had no memories of. Her honey colored skin was camouflaged with colors of deep purple, blue and yellow from where bruises of differing ages painted her. She thought of the brutality she had been subjected to during her short time with this man. Although Venlen had not touched her roughly since finding her half sliced open and half raped by Raul, she could mark his violence on her body easily enough.

As if reading her mind, Venlen brushed his fingertips across a yellowing bruise gripping her wrist, right near the raised pattern that marked her as his. His eyes searched her face as he knelt in front of her, his massive hand enveloping hers protectively. Endless pools of midnight sky threatened to drown her as she looked back at him. She wanted to reach out and touch his face, trace the line of the scar that ran down his neck, feel the softness of his dark hair curled around her fingers. Instead, she looked away, back down at the bruises on her wrist he continued to stroke his fingers over.

"We will eat first," he announced, and stood up to walk to the wardrobe crates by the door, dropping her hands back lightly in her lap. Ruffling through the contents, he brought up a floor length soft fabric dress with long sleeves. It looked warm and comfortable, its color reminiscent of the skin of a summer ripe peach. He held it out to her, and she took it, sliding it over her head as she eased herself to the floor. While the dress fitted her comfortably, the folds of fabric seemed to hide the bulk of dressings and bandages underneath. She looked down and gave an experimental twirl, delighting at how the fabric swirled gracefully at her feet. It reminded her of the soft white gowns Eila used to wear.

She walked to the table where a pleasant aroma greeted her. Large bowls filled with a rainbow of fruits and vegetables sat to the side of a tray, a large cut of meat smothered with a dark sauce and heaps of sliced mushrooms dominating the center. Smaller plates filled with side dishes of mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, creamed corn and freshly baked bread surrounded the generous portion. Beside the tray, a picturesque slice of apple pie dotted with cream topping waited for her. Her stomach growled, and she wondered how long it had been since she had eaten food that smelled and looked this good. Happily, she reached for a fork, pushed the tray to the side, and began to dig into the pie.

She had shoveled two thick bites into her mouth and was chewing with bliss when a hand slid the plate out of her grasp and the tray was pushed back in front of her. She snarled and looked up to where he sat across from her, his eyes dancing with amusement as he held the dessert far out of reach.

"You will eat the things of substance, first. Your body is craving sugar because of the amount of energy it has taken you to begin to heal. You need many nutrients, not just sugar. When you have eaten enough, I will give you back the pie."

Grumbling, she began sampling bites of food from the different dishes on her tray. Everything was rich and delicious. He let her eat in silence, and as promised, when she had eaten as much as her stomach could comfortably fit without being stuffed, he gave her back the plate of pie, which she finished off eagerly. She sat back in her chair, sighing. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He stood up and took slow steps around the table toward her. His closeness during the times in the night she cried out and thrashed against phantoms was comforting, as much as she hated to admit it. Even though there were times that the phantoms she thrashed against were memories of him. The hold of his strong arms, the resonating hum of the Oden lullaby he favored, the feeling of his fingers trailing through her hair... They settled her, calming her in a way so strong she suspected the magic of the bond was much more than partly to blame. But when he came toward her like this, the look in his eyes hungry and predatory, pure strength and dominance emanating from every inch of him, she had to force herself to meet his gaze with her shoulders back and head held high, despite the icy tendrils of fear that gripped and threatened to paralyze her.

Her neck strained to hold his gaze as he loomed over her, moving so that his knees brushed the chair she sat in behind the fabric of her dress as he pushed her legs apart. She froze as he knelt down, flinching back when his hand reached out behind her neck and swept her forward into his lips. New pain sprouted from where he gripped her, his long fingers brushing against the tender areas beneath the bandages. She groaned against his mouth and then realized her mistake when she felt him react excitedly, the hem of her dress being brought up around her thighs. Never breaking their kiss, he scooped an arm around her waist and brought the fabric of her skirt up around her stomach as he positioned her ass on the edge of the seat. His knees hit the ground as he broke off his searing kiss, kneeling before her as he brought his mouth down to between her legs, his strong arms pushing her legs to the side despite her attempts to bring them together.

She gripped the seat of the chair to keep herself from diving her fingers into his hair. She felt his breath, warm and heavy, before his mouth fell on her, devouring her.

She arched her back against the scream that threatened to escape her as his tongue swirled mercilessly against her clit. He hooked an arm around her lower back, his other hand keeping her splayed apart, as he sucked and swirled that swollen bundle of nerves. His fingers massaged the sensitive skin around her slit as his mouth worked. As two fingers parted her folds and slipped inside her, she felt the loose grip she had on her control breaking, and she bucked her hips up to meet the thrust of his hand. Her muscles clenched in protest when his tongue abandoned her clit to move down to where his fingers speared her, lapping up her fluids as they coated his hand in response to the pleasures he was forcing from her. He leaned up and crushed her lips against his mouth as he forced his tongue into her, making her taste herself. She recoiled, even as her traitorous body strained against his fingers, wanting more, needing more. Happy to oblige, he deftly unfastened his belt with his free hand as he continued fingering her, as his tongue continued roughly exploring her mouth. His cock sprang free, hard and pulsing, and he drew his fingers out of her and coated himself with her wetness.

His hands encircled her tiny waist and he easily lifted her up off the chair as he lowered himself to the floor. He settled her on top of him with her knees straddling him, gasping as she felt his erection beneath her. He lifted her a few inches and positioned himself at her entrance, now dripping wet from his attention. She squirmed in his grip as her mind screamed at her to stop this mess. "Be still, keonai mouv." He commanded, and she went limp in his hands, only distantly registering the way she had obeyed him without meaning to. "Look at me," he said in his deep, rumbling voice, and again, she reacted instantly, her eyes meeting his without second thought. He thrust into her, burying himself completely in her as she arched her back and cried out in surprised pain and pleasure.

This new angle gave her more of him, stuffed her full of him in ways past couplings hadn't done before. She gasped as he eased out of her and then pumped back in and it seemed like every time he moved into her, there was more and more of him to fill her up. It felt horrible and wonderful. His hands never left her sides, manipulating her body to move on top of him the way he wanted. Her fingers clutched at his knees as he bent her back, his cock moving into her with unforgiving force, rubbing against something inside her that threatened to rip open and spill out. Her breath came in heaving gasps as she struggled to use her hands, her knees, her feet, anything to help lift herself up out of the way, to brace herself against his relentless movements. He held her firm, moving her up and down the length of his shaft in time to his bucking hips, as a sound erupted from him, low and dangerous and full of needful pleasure. "Do not even think about fighting me, Laiyla." Her heart raced at his words, but her mind went blank and she relaxed in his hands, opening and offering herself to him. The slow building pressure gripped her in its intensity as he quickened his movements, that area inside her invoking waves of pleasurable torture with every deliberate thrust. She tried to move against him, reaching for the release threatening to undo her, but he held her still and ground into her with his own measured rhythm.

Unease flared in her. Something was wrong.

He watched her writhing in his hands from his place on the floor, knowing what he was doing to her, how he was stretching this moment out for her and denying her even thoughts of undermining his intention. The feeling of her tight walls stretching for him as he commanded her to relax almost drove him insane. His eyes rolled up to the back of his head and he shuddered as he kept her locked in his hands above him. She whimpered and squirmed, not daring to move her lower body but desperate to be free of the torturous pressure racking her shivering frame. The sound was exquisite. He buried himself in her deeper, reveling in her submission and acknowledgement of the dominance he held over her body.

When he was at the very edge, when he knew he could not hold on to himself any longer, he finally let her go. "Come for me, keonai mouv."

The rich timbre of his voice tore through her, and at nothing more than his word, the terrible pressure that had her gripped in its torturous claw finally toppled over and she screamed out at her intense release. Hot waves of come shot deep inside of her, and her body squeezed and pulsed around him, greedily milking his cock of every last drop. His head was thrown back, the muscles in his neck and chest tight and straining, his hands clenching around her where he still held them around her waist, and she had no doubts she would have yet more bruises tomorrow. She fell forward, and keeping her hips locked around where their bodies were still joined, he held the back of her head as he pressed her to his chest.

"What have you done?" she growled. Tears threatened. She dug her nails into her palms, biting back panic at what she was beginning to understand. He didn't answer her, and a slow-building fire began burning in her middle as she felt the truth of his actions wash through her.

She pushed herself off him as a strangled sound of anguish escaped her. Powerful arms clamped down on her, refusing to let her break from where they were still joined. An arm escaped, and she slapped a hand across his face, the impact leaving a red handprint on his cheek. She gaped at him, stunned and hurt and angry, twisting in his arms to try to free herself.

"This will stop. You will not move. Calm yourself." The air was thick with the danger in his command. Without the distraction of sex, this time she could feel his grip, icy and threatening, constricting around her mind as her muscles became relaxed and she stilled and fell back against him. The tears came freely now as she struggled to think. How was he able to do this? When the scrape of her mental claws had harmlessly bounced off him days ago, he had told her that she was no longer able to hurt him. How was it possible for him to flip her power against her, then? Shouldn't it have been impossible for him to hurt her too?

"I brought you only pleasure just now," he told her, in response to her thoughts. There was a tone of annoyance in his words, and she could have sworn he was bristling.

"Get out of my head, reisnaig," she snarled angrily at him.

"I will once you are calm, and I know you will not hurt yourself trying to fight me." His voice was infuriatingly soothing, his words almost humming as he held her to his chest. His fingers played with her hair, stroking it and smoothing it.