I'll Punish You for Pleasure

[Dark Temptress]

Closed to he who dances in the shadows...

Rated 18A

A'rai Dienn Salaturn stared at the burgundy liquid inside of her wine glass, and wondered if blood would ever taste as sweet. It would certainly not give her the heady rush and exhilaration, the tingle and the utter abandon that wine left her feeling after a bottle or two. But perhaps it would give her something more, something far better than the intoxication of alcohol.

Swirling the contents within her crystal glass, A'rai watched the liquid collect on the sides and stream down like little red rivers. Bringing it to her lips, she drained the contents and set her glass upon the immaculate, white table cloth. Immediately, a servant detached herself from the wall and poured more of the enticing liquid from a decanter that sparkled in the flickering light of so many candles. She watched impassively as it flowed into her glass, then looked down at her so far untouched meal. The servant scurried back to her hole, right next to the china hutch and as far from sight as she could possibly get.

Staring down at her plate, she found herself without appetite. Still, she dutifully picked up fork and knife and cut a few steaming morsels of meat from the piece of venison before her. Placing the pieces in her mouth, she chewed and swallowed mechanically, like those little trinkets her father brought home from Alerar.

She'd rather just drink the wine and screw the meal.

Across the table, spread out with their best china and glasses and sitting before a roaring fire, sat her father; recently back from some opportunity in Raiaera. And by recently, she meant he'd been home a fortnight already and it was a fortnight too long for her. He could leave and never return and she'd be the happiest woman on Althanas; as long as he left his entire fortune to her of course.

Ever the wise nobleman, her father had invested in many enterprises over the years, and most of them had paid him quite handsomely. Right now he found himself torn between investing in Raiaera's regrowth, or Alerar's war machines.

Knowing him, he'd probably do both.

Folding his copy of the Salvar Newsprint and placing it upon the table, her father spied her staring down at him. With harder features than her own and blonde hair going grey at the temples, he may have been considered handsome at some point. But the years had left lines upon his face and his bright blue eyes had dulled a bit. Indeed, it appeared he looked slightly older to her than he had those eight months ago before he left.

"A'rai, my dear," he smiled, his deep voice filling the empty space between them, "I have something I need to talk to you about."

Inwardly she sighed, wishing not even to waste her breath upon him. Outwardly, A'rai smiled, her bright green eyes dancing in fake merriment as she placed her fork and knife upon the table and dabbed at the corners of her full, red lips with her napkin.

"Of course, father," she said, her voice so high and girlie it practically made her sick, "whatever is bothering you?"

With a careful eye, she watched as he picked up his glass and drank, fortifying himself. The seductress knew this to be a conversation she would rather avoid, and judging by his reluctance to speak, she could hazard a rather accurate guess at what topic he was about to broach.

"I do believe it is about time you married." He finally said in one great whoosh of breath. When she opened her mouth to retort, he held up a hand to silence her and continued. "I have been very lenient. I know you have wanted your freedom and you've been waiting to fall in love with one of your suitors, but how ever shall you fall for one when you spend no time with them?"

She watched him pause and draw breath, steadying his nerves and arranging his thoughts. Her father never did like imposing upon her and she fed off that viciously, but it seemed this time he would not be so easily persuaded.

"You have had many fine suitors come to call and I do not wish to force you to choose one, or choose for you, but it has been long enough." He could barely meet her eyes as he netted out his orders, the coward.

Picking up her wine glass, A'rai sipped at the contents before setting it next to her plate. Her eyes wandering over the patterns of leaves and vines that danced along the rim in gilded gold, before rising and meeting those of her father's; watching her intently.

"I know I have taken a very long time, father," A'rai began, her voice soft, with just a note of pleading in it, "I have been overly picky of the men you have sent to me, perhaps, and thus have waited too long," for you to die of natural causes she thought, "and tried your patience."

He nodded his assent, but interrupted her before she could continue. "I have been very patient with you, but I'm laying down the law now, A'rai. You have until the end of the year."

Her eyes narrowed as her mask of civility broke for a split second, then fell back into place. "But father--"

"No buts!" He said, his voice rising as his hand slashed through the air. Apparently she really had tried his patience. Seeing the colour rise in his cheeks, A'rai knew she would get no further with him. "You have waited long enough."

Oh, how she couldn't agree more. She had waited far too long for nature to run it's course. Time to take matters into her own hands.

---

Two weeks later, A'rai stood in her mother's old bedroom; now converted into her private sanctuary. All of her mother's furniture and belongings had long ago been removed and dumped in the trashed. She had no sentimental attachment to them, in fact she had no attachment to much of anything in this world; asides from herself.

Instead of a room filled with comforts, the seductress had turned this place into her study and laboratory. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, but many of them were empty, their shelves filled with nothing but dust and cobwebs. Still, she had managed to fill two of them completely with a small library of books on the occult and the different regions of Althanas. Several of the items therein were demon summoning tomes, her pride and joy, and how she had amassed the small amount of power she currently had.

The only sign of comfort within the large space were a desk and chair and a large, plush, wing back chair that she used for reading. These were both pushed back against the wall to create room. No fire burned within the large stone hearth and the cool Salvarian night wind was seeping in through the windows, even though heavy drapes covered them. Candles lay strewn throughout the entire room, creating a soft, yellow light that chased the shadows to the very corners. No carpets covered the floor to keep the chill from the feet, in fact, they had been rolled up and moved aside to make room for what lay in the centre.

A large circle lay painted in chalk upon the dark hard wood floor. A circle within a circle, with a hundred symbols and lines that crossed over one another in an intricate dance and pattern that left the eye wandering into confusion. An ancient language she knew not the meaning of was drawn between the two circles, lines of text she couldn't care less about and only knew they were pertinent to the success of summoning the demon and the protection of the summoner.

In the end, it had taken her three days to draw it, but she had loved every minute spent thinking about how the demon would torture and kill her father in whatever manner she directed it.

Feeling that same grin begin to spread across her face, A'rai pulled an ornate dagger from between her ample chest. Unsheathing the weapon, she ran it across her palm. Pain lanced across her hand and she couldn't help but shiver with the pleasure of it. Blood welled and dripped across her porcelain skin. Holding her hand over the circle, she watched it drip down onto the lines and began the call.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

He was walking through the planar market when it happened.

Aurelius had been a planewalker for nearly a decade now. That, as far as anyone with any knowledge of the planes could tell you, was an impressive feat. If ignorance of where you were wandering didn't take you in the first few years, then the native denizens of whichever plane you were banging around in did.

But not Aurelianus Drak'shal.

He had not only survived in the myriad hostile environments, the Cager had thrived. And in his many travels across the Inner and Outer Planes, the tiefling had encountered the planar market many times - it was notorious for being able to provide any product a body could ever hope for or need; legality and morality were not issues in this place. The place was, in a word, hectic; every race, every planar origin, every profession and creed, servants of every power, of every faction were welcomed here. They were bound by oath not to commit any crime, nor cause harm to anyone else while within the confines of the market. And because the place could pop up on any of the planes (Prime, inner, outer, elemental, quasi-elemental, demi or pocket..) at any time, bodies were less likely to bring the race card into it. After all, what sort of sod was barmy enough to start a fight with a devil on its home plane?

"You can drop the price, or you can shove it up your arse!" Aurelius barked, jabbing his finger into the face of the merchant.

Standing nine feet tall, the sinuous Abishai snarled a reply back in the serpentine tongue of the Nine Hells. Its mottled black scales rippled with heat as its temper rose, the draconian devil looking down on the half-breed warlock. In return, Aurelius glared back up at the towering, winged trader. On his shoulder, the albino foetus shrieked up at the powerful devil, regardless of the fact it could split the familiar in two with a single claw.

"Oh, is that right?" the Anarchist snarled. "C'mon Varshok, you old bastard, it's a bottle of Angel's Tears! I'm not asking you to 'arvest their bloody spunk. You know my offer's more than fair," he added, holding up the object in his hand.

He reached inside his battered but beloved coat with his free hand - a smirk touched his lips as the Abishai tensed - and pulled out a cigarette. Varshok reached out a curving talon, lighting the end of Aurelius' cigarette with a single, light touch. It bobbed its head in what could loosely be considered a nod, hissing a string of words.

"Aye, that'll do nicely," the half-demon smiled, handing the black-scaled nightmare a sealed scroll-case festooned with wax seals and strips of what looked like leather. The origins of the item were better not even thought about, let alone discussed (and the contents of the case were even less pleasant to contemplate). In return, the creature handed Aurelius a small green-glass bottle, stopped with what appeared to be a severed finger. Inside, the tiefling could make out the liquid sloshing nearly to the neck of the vial.

Varshok held out a gnarled claw, offering to shake to seal the deal.

Aurelius looked at the offered claw, before raising his eyebrow, the three obsidian rings piercing it glinting in the dim light. "You think I'm a bloody rube?" he chuckled. He gave the Abishai the finger before strolling off through the other-worldly masses of the market's patrons, followed by Varshok's guttural laughter.

Aurelianus tucked the vial of angel's tears back into his coat, careful to avoid nicking his hands on the spikes and blades adorning his armour. He took another draw on the hand-rolled cigarette, filling his lungs with smoke--

And it hit him. Somewhere, behind the skin of this plane, beyond hearing, there came a clarion call. It resounded in the half-demon's skull like the death-knell of a world.

The force of.. whatever it was sent the tiefling to his knees. None of the other shoppers even batted an eyelid. Well, the ones with eyelids didn't. He could forgive the ones that didn't. It felt like someone was gripping his heart, and trying to pull it out between his ribs. The tiefling barked out a stream of profanity, hand flying to his chest, the cigarette dropping to the cracked rock underfoot. Junior was skittering around on all fours, flapping its wings as it watched the master. Aurelius tried to get back to his feet but another wave of pain hit him. He landed on his knees on the dusty ground again, spittle dribbling from between his clenched fangs.

The warlock grunted, sweat running down his brow, dripping from around the base of his four glossy horns. The pain had vanished as suddenly as it had come, but the warlock couldn't help but wonder just what it had been. He spat on the ground, getting to his feet.. but stopped dead when he reached down to pick up his cigarette. It wasn't there - and neither was the dusty, red rock that had just a moment ago been underfoot. He suspected Varshok of some kind of treachery.. but as soon as his golden-yellow eyes scanned his surroundings, he realised it was nothing to do with the Abishai. He was now in a room, somewhere decidedly not the planar market. A shiver went up the half-breed's spine as an icy breeze caressed his alabaster skin. He gazed at the room, noting the book-shelves lining the walls and also noted the scarcity of books sitting on them. He was not alone in the room, but for the moment he ignored the chit standing before him. He ignored Junior as well, though he was happy to see the familiar hadn't been left back on the other plane.

Re-adjusting his trademark coat, Aurelianus let his eyes slip over the seal chalked across the smooth floor. He recognised the majority of the symbols, and the general composition of their layout... it was a summoner's circle.

"Well, this is new," he chuckled, taking out another cigarette from an inner pocket. A tiny burst of Hellfire from his palm, a small puff of smoke, and the warlock was finally ready to turn his attention to the one who had brought him here. She was, he admitted to himself, definitely worthy of a ride - a tasty little blonde, her blood dripping from the laceration on her palm. He ran his forked tongue across his lips, letting his imagination wander free.

"So," he started, blowing a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, "what can I do for you, luv?"

[Dark Temptress]

A'rai raised a slender, blonde eye brow as she stared at the creature before her. She had summoned many times, for many different reasons, but never before had a demon appeared to her like this. Normally they cloaked themselves in shadow and smoke within the circle, hiding their true form from her. This one looked like a strange cross between a war machination, with all the sharp bits coming off his body and clothing, and a human.

He possessed not a single strand of hair upon his head. Instead, red quills poked out from his pale skin, a similar shade to her own alabaster. They protruded from the top of his head, like a cascading waterfall of hardened blood down his skull. The things even lay upon the sides of his skull, right around his ears. Underneath all those decidedly sharp looking adornments of hair were horns of all things. Horns. Four of them. Black as sin and smooth looking to the touch. She was tempted to reach out and grab them just to see if they felt as sleek as they looked. The horns gave him an odd regal look that matched the hard angles of his face perfectly, creating the semblance of a crown upon his brow.

And his eyes.

The seductress found herself drawn in by them.

Truly, the strangest things A'rai had ever seen before. They looked like that of a snake, black all around with slits of gold in the middle. They danced with barely concealed merriment as he drew hungrily upon his smoke, before blowing the fumes out the other side of a quirked mouth; lined with razor sharp teeth.

She could stare at him for hours and find something new to look upon. As he turned his head to the side, studying his surroundings, she saw tattoos upon the shaven skin of his skull. A hydra, or so it appeared to be. She could only imagined the rest of his body lay covered in them as well. She as well had her own tattoos, though they lay upon her spine and could only be seen by the eye of one with arts in magic.

With slow, measure steps, A'rai began to walk around the circle, examining what she had summoned with a careful eye. Her long, red skirt trailed along the floor behind her as she walked, the front and back both cut low to show off as much skin as society would allow her. The back itself curved down, exposing the entirely of her spine and stopping just above the rise of her bottom. The front was a low semi-circle that cupped her breasts and exposed the tops of them, which rose and fell with every drawn breath. The sound of that fabric rustling along the floor, her bare feet, and their breathing filled the silence between them. That, and the staccato tick of claws digging into hardwood on whatever the hell that white thing was that came with the man before her. It was an ugly little creature, that's for sure. It had shriveled skin that belonged on a corpse, and tiny claws and sharp teeth, not to mention disgusting little leathery wings.

The only thing she knew was that whatever he was, this man was not fully demonic. There was no way he could be. A halfling perhaps? But how on Althanas had she managed to summon one of those?

When she made her way to the back of the room, her forest green eyes ran along the edge of the circle and noticed a smudge in one of the glyphs. Just a small thing really, where one line bled into the other, and her trained eyes knew it to not normally be that way. Inwardly, she cursed her luck. Her skirt must have rubbed up against it somehow, or her hand as she had drawn the other symbols. Either way, it was too late to fix it now.

He was trapped.

Her chance at finally freeing herself completely lay before her, and whether it went completely as planned did not matter, only that the outcome was the same. Taking the lot given to her and making the most of it was something the seductress was used to, and the many scars that lined what visible parts of his skin she could see, told of a life lived hard and a man not afraid to fight. She could still use him.

Even half the blood of a demon could be a powerful thing. Though, thinking the other half of him human, somewhere in the back of her mind another plan began to form. She let it fester while she dealt with her current situation.

“What you can do for me is quite the loaded question...” A'rai purred as she walked back around to face the demonic creature before her.

Her eyes travelled down the length of his body, taking in the strange clothing and cords and various talismans and items that covered his lean form. Some of them she recognized from her books as arcane, but most of them she had never seen before in her life and could only wonder at their use, meaning or origin. He may be the only person who wore more decoration upon his body than she did.

Realizing her hand still bled, and that she'd left a small trail of crimson drops in her wake, A'rai brought her palm up to her face and slowly licked along the shallow cut. The taste of iron filled her mouth as the rich, red liquid flowed across her tongue. She even licked the blood from the tips of her fingers, her eyes never leaving the man in the circle as she did it.

“At this moment, what I want of you,” she began, allowing her hand to drop back to her side, her lips stained with her own blood, “is death. I require you to kill my father.

“I care not the manner in which you kill him.” She waved her hand through the air dismissively, sending fresh droplets of blood flying and splattering on her dress and the floor. “The only two things I care about are that you make it look like an accident; and that in no way, shape, or form, can his death be linked back to me. Other than that, you may do whatever you like to him. His name is Aldehir Salaturn and he is currently at the gentleman's club known as the Crooked Lance. He will probably be there until quite late into the eve.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

His gaze followed the chit as she strolled around his "cage", eyes marking every curve and line of her supple little frame. Aurelius took the hand-rolled cigarette from between his lips, licking his fangs contemplatively as the smoke drifted lazily into the cool air.

Despite the chit's diminutive frame, she carried herself with all the grace and poise of a hunting cat. Pikin' blue-blood, he sneered, instantly smelling the aristocracy on her. Still, for a noble, he was appreciating the amount of skin the girl was showing him - and every new detail the half-breed saw brought a fresh depravity dancing through his brain-box.

Oh yes, Aurelianus was going to reap a bounty from her flesh. That much he promised himself.

"Nice ink," he smirked, nodding to the line of tattoos running down the chit's ivory back.

Junior scampered up the tiefling's leg, scalpel-fingers digging into his leathers, but not piercing, as the animated foetus clung to its master. It could sense the magicks surrounding them both, and it did not like them. The abomination flapped its wings angrily every few moments, tiny needle-like fangs chattering together as the creature hissed its impotent rage.

But its master waited patiently, barely moving at all other than to watch the chit make her way back round to stand before him. That, and smoke. He was like a statue, albeit clad in leather, straps, blades and spikes.

Her voice was a soft purr as she outlined what she wanted of the half-demon in her.. captivity. Aurelius chuckled quietly to himself as the girl outlined her plan; it was a story almost as old as the planes themselves. Another spoiled rich girl wanting Daddy out of the way so she could get her claws into the poor sod's jink. The Anarchist sneered softly, smoke streaming from his nostrils as he finally finished his smoke, and crushed it out under his hob-nailed boot. Once again, he was slapped in the face with another glaring instance of the so-called nobility putting their own needs above any of their people, just for the sake of their own petty personal grudges. His fingertips trailed along the tattoos flanking his quilled-mohawk. He wasn't above using people, granted, but he still had a deep-seeded loathing of the "upper classes", and his own goals weren't as selfish as some claimed.

He was by no means a moral creature, but the arrogance, and narrow-mindedness of their actions made Aurelius' blood boil. Though not as much as watching the summoner lapping her own blood from her fingers like a kitten with cream. Another pass of his forked tongue over his fangs. His serpentine eyes narrowed, breath coming a little heavier before he got his libido under control. Grinding his fangs to restrain himself, he waited for the summoner to finish explaining what task she intended to force him into.

Just pen 'er in the dead-book and 'ave done with it! the little voice niggled in the back of his skull.

Down boy! he chided himself. There'll be time for that later. For now, let's see what we can get out of this.

The tiefling warlock stepped to the edge of the chalk-circle, stopping just short of the inner markings. The summoner let loose a laugh, hidden behind her bloody hand; the sheer condescension in the tone brought a feral growl vibrating deep into Drak'shal's throat.

"And where do you think you're going?" she asked, her tone dripping with derision and mockery.

With a smug grin, the plane-touched warlock stepped forward, outside the confines of the summoner's circle, savouring the slight sting as he passed what should have been an impassable barrier - it was like someone was rubbing salt across his skin, slightly abrasive, the sting thrilling him. But, credit where it was due, the arrogant bitch managed to keep her composure; there was the slightest widening of her emerald eyes, before the doors closed, and her face was back to its arrogant, superior cast. Still, he knew she hadn't been expecting Aurelius to be able to leave the magickal bindings.

He gasped theatrically, looking down at his outstretched arms as if expecting to be on fire, or worse. "Well, would you look at that!" he exclaimed, his mouth in a sharp-edged smirk. "Looks like bein' a 'alf-breed does 'ave its advantages after all."

The tiefling's inhuman eyes rose slowly to meet the girl's. He took another step closer to her, raising his hand slowly, calmly.

With a gesture, he hammered the blonde with an Eldritch Blast, knocking her back like she'd been pole-axed, her slender frame hitting one of the book-cases with a satisfying *thump*. Tomes clattered from the shelves. But before the chit could even finish starting to fall, Aurelianus was there. He moved like quicksilver, seeming to flow from one position to the other; from standing calmly outside the circle, to having the presumptuous girl by the throat, keeping her pinned against the wooden shelves, his fingerless glove pressed tightly against her windpipe.

"So, Miss Salaturn, you were sayin'?" he asked rhetorically, his thumb pressed against her windpipe preventing any response.

He felt a shiver go up his spine, setting his quills rattling, and his bladed armour scratching against the inside of his battered coat. But his eyes widened slightly in surprise when he felt a shiver travel up her's. He looked into her shining green eyes, and his smile darkened when he saw the lust burning in her gaze.

Well well, he thought, grinning viciously, looks like you found yourself a proper barmy chit this time. The thought was not an unpleasant one. He eased off the pressure enough to let her breathe, keeping his face close to her's, his many piercings jingling softly after his rapid movement.

Aurelianus let the thoughts tumble around his brain-box for a moment, weighing up the possibilities of his current situation. It took a long minute's deliberation, but eventually he released the Salaturn girl, throwing her to the ground. Her landing sent blood splashing from her palm across the meticulously chalked circle.

"Tell you what, luv; there's bugger all stoppin' me from 'oppin' down to this Crooked Lance and exposin' you to your Da'..." the tiefling paused a moment to let Junior swoop down to the small spatters of blood, its tiny tongue lapping at the crimson drops, "but I 'ave no reason to do that. Yet."

He knelt next to Salaturn, squatting down on his haunches. His pale hand reached out, a finger under the chit's chin tilting her eyes up to meet his unblinking gaze, the myriad talismans tied round his wrists clacking together like wind-chimes.

"So, I'll make you a one-time offer, seein' as I'm feelin' charitable. I'll pen your Da' in the dead-book," he said casually, as if they were discussing the weather, "and in return you owe me a debt. One day I'll come to you and whatever I ask for - blood, sex, jink.. anythin' I damn well please - you'll give it to me, no ifs, no buts."

The half-demon stood again, his heavy coat barely stirring in the icy breeze blowing through the chamber. His eyes stayed locked on the girl before him, colder than the Salvaran wind on their exposed skin.

"And if you try to peel me, to cheat me, I'll drag your soul kickin' and screamin' down to the Hells, and we'll show you what 'appens when you're at our mercy for a change."

[Dark Temptress]

A'rai calmed herself.

She steadied her breathing first. Turning the shallow gasps for air into a more steady and controlled rhythm. Her chest no longer heaving. Full, parted lips, closing. With that, the rapid staccato beat of her heart slowed as well. The flutters of excitement that had it pulsing inside of her squashed like some vile insect as she forced it back to a more sedate pace.

Her body came next; the treacherous thing. A'rai could already feel a wetness between her thighs courtesy of his rough treatment, and an ache that she wanted nothing more than to have him satisfy with a hard fucking. The fact that he kept licking his fangs made it a more difficult endeavour. She couldn't help but wonder how it would feel if he sunk those into her shoulder, or the base of her neck, as he slammed himself into her from behind.

Finally, she reigned in her emotions last. The anger that seethed and slithered inside her, turning the pristine, porcelain skin of her face slightly pink as all that blood rushed to the surface of her skin. And the lust that shone in her eyes. She reigned it all in and carefully hid everything behind a well prepared mask. The one she always used; impenetrable, cold and unforgiving. Making the soft angles of her face somehow look hard. Making her forest green eyes freeze over faster than a Berevar lake on the dawn of winter.

It took her only a matter of seconds to do all of this. Everything about her, her body and mind and emotions, were just another thing to control and use to her advantage.

During it all, she never looked away from the cold, unblinking stare of the man before her. She could see his filthy and disgusting creature lapping up her spilled blood from the corner of her eye; the cut on her hand having split wider and deeper from the force of her fall. She could feel that life giving liquid between her palm and the floor, sticky and thick and squeezing out between her fingers. Perfectly matching the colour of her dress.

The garment itself a twisted mess of material about her legs and body; ensnaring her in a crimson cord. Blonde hair a whirlwind around her face, creating a golden glow in the candle light.

Like a cat, the seductress moved. Gathering her legs towards her, drawing herself up on to all fours. Her hair tumbling over her shoulder and spilling down across her breasts. She made it a dance. To distract him; entice him.

He watched her, and she saw those serpentine eyes rove across her form, that tongue lash out against the sharp points of his teeth before he drew deeply from his smoke.

She stood; slowly.

The thick strap of her dress fell across her shoulder and down her arm. She didn't bother to fix it.

A'rai could dare him to tell her father all about her little scheme. He wouldn't believe this half demon and the threat meant so little to her she could barely call it more than a joke. She owned almost every servant in this house. The room would disappear, the tomes hidden, the chalk circle washed away, all before he could even make it half way to the Crooked Lance. She could tell him all this and many more things, but it would get her nowhere. A'rai wanted his strength and prowess, not his scorn, and sometimes pride had to take a back seat when making deals with the devil.

As much as it rubbed her skin raw to do so.

Bare feet picking their way across the cold, hard wood floor, A'rai closed the distance between her and the half breed. She walked across that circle meant to hold and contain him, now a ruin and nothing but dead magic and hard work. She stepped over her own blood and avoided that grotesque thing until she stood less than a foot away.

Neck craned back; forced to look up at him.

“The death of one man for a favour of any kind certainly seems like a heavy price to pay.” She purred at him.

He drew on that smoke slowly; lazily, the bright red ember glowing in the dimness of the chamber, before he blew it out. The acrid smell filled her nose and stung her eyes. She ignored it.

“Take it or leave it, luv.” He growled out around the end of his smoke.

She looked into those disconcerting eyes for a time, weighing her options. Her father needed to die. End of discussion. But she'd never owed a favour to another person before in all her life. She always found an out to work around, a loop hole, her own skills at lying and seducing getting her out of needing to pay back anyone. Though, she supposed if he merely wanted sex as payment, she'd have no issues giving him that. The other things bothered her.

Anything at any time.

Left a lot of room for the imagination.

Still, did she have much of a choice?

Sighing, A'rai held out her hand; her bloodied hand. “Agreed. A name to seal the deal then. And do make sure it is your real name, otherwise the contract is void and I give you nothing.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

He could taste her frustration, and it was sweet.

Countless times, he had made this same deal with people in desperate situations. And countless times, they had been forced to agree to it, despite their reservations. It brought a wry grin to his sinister features. By now, he hoped, her brain-box would be buzzing with all manner of hideous ideas about what sort of payment the half-demon would take... the guttersnipe knew his was - every time his gaze wandered over the girl's body he felt his body temperature rising, his mouth watering and his lusts stirring.

Nah, look at 'er, mate. She ain't the type to worry, he thought to himself. She'll try and get 'er way out of the deal, so keep a peery eye on 'er. You can think about givin' 'er the pike later. It was sound advice, even if was from the voice in the back of his head. The summoner had already shown herself to be canny in demanding his real name, so he would need to be on his toes.

Shrugging his duster up higher on his shoulders to ward off the frigid wind, the tiefling extended his hand and shook with the chit. He took a small amount of satisfaction squeezing her wounded palm, feeling the blood welling up and dripping from between their hands. The scarlet spatters almost steamed in the icy air.. before Junior pounced on them, the animated little horror letting its minute tongue flick from between almost non-existent lips to lap it up.

"Aurelianus Drak'shal, luv," he smirked.

"At your service," he added with a mocking chuckle, smoke curling from the corners of his mouth.

***

The tiefling had left soon after, stopping only long enough to light up another smoke and tell the chit he'd be back soon.. and if she was naked, then so much the better.

That was a few hours ago.

At the moment, however, the Cager was leaning casually against a rough stone wall, keeping his coat tightly around himself to ward off the chill as he killed time. That was one of the things Aurelius loved about this dreary hell-hole of a city - apart from the air of defeat and depression lingering over the city, the war-torn streets provided all manner of hidey-holes for illicit enterprises, and the guard were stretched too thin to maintain much of a presence in many areas. The buildings loomed high overhead, like monolithic edifices in the grim moonlight, looking down on the ne'er-do-wells meandering through the many streets and narrow lanes between them.

Every gust of wind down the drab Knife's Edge streets set the buckles all over his coat rattling against each other. The warlock was also wearing the slightly battered hat he'd taken from a witch-hunter back East of the city, keeping the brim low to hide his features from the scrutiny of anyone nearby: the irony of the pyromancer half-demon wearing the hat of a Sway Church fanatic was just utterly delicious. Another smoke burned out its short existence clamped between Aurelius' almost-blue lips, lazy coils drifting out alongside his condensing breath. He watched it idly, his attention mainly scanning the building at the end of the road, before spitting the butt out and crushing it more aggressively than was strictly necessary under his heavy heel.

He sneered as he marked the bouncers standing at the door. Pikin' "gentlemen's club"! What kind of poncy-arsed name is that f'r a soddin' slut-hut? The guttersnipe despaired at the airs and graces these rich addle-coves tried to put on everything. Aurelianus was the sort of bloke who called a spade a spade, and if you were a pretentious twat, he was liable to smash your brain-box open with it. Still, he wasn't going to get in the door; not looking the way he did. So he was stuck out here in the damnable cold, freezing his bollocks off until the old sod he was here for emerged.

It was not doing wonders for his mood. And as he counted out the remaining hand-rolled cigarettes in his silver case, his mood darkened more.

It didn't matter that he had no idea what the bugger looked like - no stranger to murder for pay, the tiefling had slipped some jink to a few of the local thugs that drifted around the area, to give him the nod when Salaturn came out. The cutthroats often lurked in the shadows near these places, hoping against hope to catch a drunk and unwary noble on his lonesome. The shifty leatherheads hadn't questioned the gold they'd been handed, and knew enough to keep their eyes to themselves when Aurelius had approached them for the little task. The Salvarans hadn't even hesitated when the warlock gave them another purse to attack the man, and any guards with him, on his signal.

Aurelinaus could see them now, skulking in the burned out remains of what had once been someone's home, keeping out of sight of the Crooked Lance's (the tiefling had sniggered at that one) hired guards.

Even as he turned his serpentine eyes to the low-lifes, one man nodded to the door of the club. The Cager perked up, seeing the thick oak door slowly open followed by a prodigious cloud of bluish smoke. The half-breed's heightened senses could smell the expensive cigars even from this distance. He tensed instantly, pushing off from the wall and slipping a little further into the shadows. He marked the noble instantly, pulling on a sickeningly expensive fur-trimmed cloak, covering equally opulent clothes and accessories. The plane-touched instantly saw the family resemblance between A'rai Salaturn and her father; the same blonde hair and pale skin, albeit his was greying at the temples, and his skin was marked by his long years; the same emerald eyes, bright even from where Aurelius lurked, and the same arrogant look on his face.

Drak'shal ran his tongue over his fangs, feeling his rage simmering just inside his control. But, it was the other man that caught his attention more.. or more accurately, it was because he didn't draw the eye at all that made the naturally paranoid malcontent suspicious. Usually these stuck-up aristocrats had a small army of guards in tow. The better to keep 'em safe from the "riff-raff", he sneered, letting his gaze roam over the servant. And yet, here was this high and mighty lord, satisfied with one mere serf to keep him alive? Something didn't sit right with the canny tiefling.

The man was taller than Aldehir, with short-cropped black hair and a beard to match. His body looked lean, but was nothing impressive.. then what was it about him that so bugged Aurelius? It was like a splinter lodged under his skin, itching, niggling..

He shrugged away the nagging doubts, and signalled the four hired goons to follow the pair of clueless rubes as they started their way back home.

It was time for the fun to begin.

[Dark Temptress]

A'rai sat in the parlour, waiting. It seemed like lately all she did was wait on other people and frankly she was getting tired of it.

Perhaps I should have killed him myself. Then I could have seen the shock wash across his face right before the light left his eyes. The last thing he saw being me, his loving daughter, grinning down at him, enjoying that sweet smell of iron in the air as his blood spilled across the frozen, cobble stones.

The very idea of it aroused her. But no, she knew she had made the right decision in summoning someone to do it for her, even if that summoning had gone horribly wrong. This way, no one could trace Aurelianus back to her, unless the fool was caught in his own game. He did strike her as the kind who toyed with his food, with everything, that he took what he wanted and threw the rest away like garbage.

My kind of man.

Her eyes narrowed at that thought, her hand clenching and pulling at the healing cut upon her palm. She stared down at it and watched as the pristine white bandages began to turn red.

She never had met a sort like him. Nobles were all the same. Liars and cheaters, they hid their wants and desires, their lusts and temptations behind masks of civility that the peasants both admired and hated. They said pretty words and danced to pretty music, but inside, they secretly wondered how they could screw one man out of a million gold, while deflowering another man's daughter.

They all thought the same and she was sick of it.

Once Aurelianus killed her father, she would mostly be free from the restraints placed upon her, at least in her own home. There were other things that needed to be done to completely free her from the shackles of nobility. True, she could walk away from it all once daddy dearest took a knife to the heart, but where would she go? All she knew was Salvar, all she knew was this disgusting place called Knife's Edge and the denizens that dwelled within it. It would take time for her to completely shed the skin that hid her true self within, time and effort and a little luck.

Reaching for the crystal goblet in front of her, A'rai drained the rest of the wine and then refilled her own glass with the burgundy liquid. Most of the servants were sleeping this late at night. Most, but not all. Her most trusted one, a woman a few years younger than her and slim of frame, though sharp of mind, currently cleaned up the mess in A'rai's study. The majority of the blood had been licked up by that abomination, with it's white, leathery skin, sharp little teeth and serpentine tongue. The circle needed to be washed away, the books put back on their shelves and all the candles blown out.

In the beginning, the noble had done all of that herself, trusting no one with her secret. But Valeriya had impressed her and she had dropped subtle hints that the girl took in stride and did not spread around the house hold. Thus, A'rai had brought her in to her confidence and now considered making her, her own personal servant. She'd already begun her swordsmanship training and a scholar taught her twice a week to read and write.

Speaking of reading, the seductress turned her attention back to the ancient manuscript before her and carefully turned the brittle, yellow page. The writing was faded, the ink washed out by the years, and Gods knew what else, making it even more difficult for her to decipher the fluid hand writing. She moved a candle closer to cast more light upon it. A line of wax dripped over the side of the candlestick and pooled on the dark, wooden table; dangerously close to the worn, leather end of the priceless tome. Priceless, but so far, useless.

She found no information on the name Drak'shal. It resembled no language she knew of on Althanas, and as a halfbreed, she'd thought it might tie in to his demonic heritage. Having more information on the fellow would certainly be useful, especially if she didn't like the terms for her end of the bargain. There were many more tomes she could peruse through, but her mind grew weary and wandered from the subject. That idea, that delicious thought, she'd had earlier kept worming it's way to the forefront of her brain.

If a halfbreed by blood were as powerful as him, A'rai wondered how strong a halfbreed made by assimilation would be.

She cast her eyes towards the hearth, a dying fire within. The leaping orange and yellow devouring the last of the logs and giving the room it's only source of warmth. Well, that and the wine. Strong and potent, her body tingled, her face flush with the heat it gave her. Part of her knew she should keep a level head for whenever Drak'shal returned, another part of her didn't care.

That one seemed to be winning.

Sipping from that glass once more, A'rai let her mind wander as the seconds and minutes ticked by. She'd drained half the glass when she heard the sound of soft foot falls upon the wooden floors. She turned just as Valeriya approached her. The young girl's forehead beaded slightly in sweat from her chore, and A'rai noticed a couple smudges of chalk on her hands and even one of her flushed cheek.

"The room is clean, mistress." Her voice was soft and her brown eyes never entirely met A'rai's as she spoke.

"Thank you," the noble said before she closed the tome in front of her and passed it to her servant, "take that back to the room and then you may retire. Feel free to neglect your duties tomorrow morning. I'll wake you when I need you."

"Thank you, mistress."

She turned, her drab, grey skirt swirling around her lithe frame as she hurried from the room and to the promise of her warm bed.

Having no more taste for the wine, A'rai stood and left the parlour, heading towards her own chambers. Drak'shal would return. If not, she'd summon another.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Two of them were dead.

Aurelius blinked, not quite believing what he was seeing.

Only minutes ago the tiefling had clambered up to the semi-intact slate-roofs of the city, following his mark, his minder and the four cutters he'd sent after them, from above. Clearing the gaps between roofs was no issue for the Cager, who had spent many years of his life escaping authorities with his urban acrobatics. He hadn't even broken a sweat keeping up with them.

Everything had been going according to plan; the pair were unaware of their tails, or of the Anarchist lurking above them, and the four thugs had waited for Aldehir and his servant to take a narrow lane before they made their move. With a cunning that almost impressed Aurelianus they split up, two of the hardy Salvarans sprinting through adjacent streets to flank the men they had been paid to attack. As soon as Salaturn and his minder were half-way through the lane the pair of cutthroats stepped into the narrow alley, blocking off one entrance.

Instantly, the servant had laid a hand on his master's shoulder and turned them round the way they had come... just to find two more waiting for them. A cliché trap, but there was a reason it was a cliché - it usually worked.

Perched up on the edge of the gutter, serpent-eyes dancing with a predator's hunger at the unfolding fight, the warlock had licked his fangs eagerly...

And in the time it took the two biggest Salvaran men to draw their weapons and charge, the black-haired servant had whipped out a gleaming rapier from his belt and executed them in one flawless pass. The close confines of the lane should have hampered him, even a little, or made it easier for the two well-muscled and tattooed brutes to flank the slender man... but contrary to what should have happened the bodyguard had flicked out his rapier at the first man to reach him, skewering him neatly through his left eye before whipping it out and dropping low to slice through the other man's stomach.

One-two.

As quickly as that.

Aurelius found his fanged grin spreading wider at the almost preternatural skills of this human. Now there's a sod worth makin' a deader! he thought with genuine joy. By the time the thought passed through his head, the pair of thugs dropped to the dirty cobblestones. The man straightened up, and brushed imaginary dirt from his finely tailored clothing with his free hand.

"Galvar, do you have a handle on the situation?" the imperious voice of one Aldehir Salaturn rang out in the dead-silence of the night.

"Aye, my lord. I apologise for this delay," the man replied with icy cool.

The two remaining thugs at either end of the alley were still trying to connect what their brains knew should have happened, and what they were actually seeing - one of their friends dead from a pin-prick wound, and the other lying in the steaming coils of his own spilled intestines. But a life of violence was harder to ignore than common sense. With a nod to each other, they moved (much more cautiously) toward their targets. One drew a crude looking hatchet and started threateningly toward the none-too-concerned Lord Salaturn. His companion, looking much less happy with his lot, squared off against Galvar. He brandished a notched short sword with the confidence of someone used to using it.. but he still hesitated. The utterly unphased look in the dark-haired swordsman's eyes was deeply unnerving.

The first, the hatchet-man known as Fjorl, broke the tension first, breaking into a sprint and charging Aldehir. The noble drew back, his fine cloak pressed against the damp, dirty wall.. but once again Galvar reacted with inhuman speed, pivoting on the ball of his foot to hurl a slender throwing knife with pinpoint precision; Fjorl took the blade in the throat, dropping to his knees as he gurgled out his last breath through a ruptured windpipe. Without missing a beat Galvar was facing the last thug with his rapier held casually in front of him, the other mens' life-blood dripping from its mercurial length.

It was now that Galvar made his first mistake of the night.

The last thug, despite the fact he had went from a quarter of the gold to the full purse in a matter of moments, decided it wasn't worth dying for. He dropped his short sword at his feet holding his hands up as he backed off from the ice-cold killer. The man paused for a heartbeat, then turned and sprinted from the alley. Galvar darted after him, stopping just long enough to draw a bead, before sending another throwing knife at his back. For the first time tonight though, he missed. The thug turned down a side-alley at speed, the knife ricocheting loudly from the stone next to his head a hair's breadth from its target.

But in the brief time he had taken his eye off his charge, Aurelianus had made his move; the tiefling drew his Baatorian blades with one practiced motion, the viciously serrated knives glowing softly along their length with deep red glyphs, before he dropped from the roof like some malevolent spider. He landed lightly in front of Aledhir Salaturn, rolling to his feet with serpentine grace and instantly lashed out with both blades. The old man didn't have time to scream, to call for aid or even to completely register what he was seeing in front of him before two lengths of enchanted green-steel tore through his flesh. One went clean through his fine vestments and through his blue-blooded heart before the hilt hammered against his ribs. This would have killed him almost instantly anyway, but as an added measure the second knife whistled up under his jaw and planted itself in the base of his brain. Lord Salaturn, for all his noble upbringing and lessons on etiquette, died with the same disgrace as any other man. His emerald eyes rolled back in his skull, and Aurelius' heightened senses could make out the quiet hiss as the "mighty and refined" noble soiled himself, his heart trying in vain to beat its last around the knife impaling it.

"No."

The word was spoken quietly, almost too quiet to hear, but with such hate that it sent a wonderful tingle up the half-breed's spine.

Aurelius yanked the weapons free, spinning on his heel to hammer a boot into the deader's chest. The corpse landed in the gutter with a meaty thud as the murderer turned to face the last obstacle to completing his ride.

Galvar stood, shoulders shaking with rage, his face still a blank mask. Though his tiefling opponent could detect the barely concealed emotions burning through the human before him; it was writ large in the tension in his frame, the small twitch at the corner of his eye, the way his jaw clenched hard enough to set his teeth creaking. His breathing was coming faster, chest rising and falling as his chill-blue eyes stayed locked on his master's corpse; it was lying in the filthy water in the gutter of the lane, his clothes already soaked in dirt, urine (his own and whatever was in the gutter) and his own blood, eyes glassy and staring unfocused at the night sky.

Aurelianus used the lull to drop his hat and coat at his feet, circling his shoulders to loosen his muscles for what would inevitably be a decent scrap. The plane-touched cocked his head, easing out the kinks in his neck as he regarded the swordsman, his eye drawn to the silver rapier - the last time he'd faced someone wielding one of those, he'd left the witch-hunter mutilated horribly, but alive. Sadly, that wasn't an option this time; A'rai had made clear there could be no witnesses to his crime.

"Nothin' personal, cutter," he smirked, snake-eyes dancing with amusement. "Just business."

Galvar never replied. Without another word he moved to attack the creature before him.

[Dark Temptress]

Sleep evaded her.

A'rai didn't know how long she stared up the heavy curtains of her canopy bed, but it was long enough to annoy her. Her mind wandered over every little thing it could. So fast her thoughts filtered through that just as she grabbed one, another came and pushed it aside creating a whirlwind inside of her brain that would not settle down no matter how much she commanded it to.

She thought about her father and wondered how Drak'shal would kill him. Would the old man suffer? Or would he make it quick and painless? Would he get to stare into those serpentine eyes as the light left his own?

Drak'shal himself came and went in her mind more than any other thought. She couldn't help but think about the halfbreed. Growing up in this shit hole of a city with an overprotective father and a society that dictated how she should live her life, A'rai had never met anyone like him. Never had the opportunity to come across anyone like him, in all honesty. The closest that came to it would be Jame Kaosi, but when she tried to compare the two of them, it was like comparing the summer to the winter.

Her treacherous body knew what it wanted from Drak'shal. She shifted in the soft, warm sheets of her bed. Legs twisting together, back arching ever so slightly off the mattress as her hands skimmed up the smooth skin of her stomach and to her breasts. Her hands squeezed and kneaded soft flesh, fingers toying with her already hard nipples.

I will not do this.

She pinched and twisted the sensitive peaks, a soft moan torn from her lips as her hips rose off the bed; an ache growing between her thighs.

Stop.

Her nails dug in to her skin, creating a sweet symphony of pleasure and pain. A shiver raced down her back and she felt that familiar heat begin to pool low in her stomach. She was already wet.

Stop, dammit!

A'rai tore her hands away from her body in frustration. Gripping the demon of her lust by the throat in her mind and throttling it into submission. She would not pleasure herself while thinking of that halfbreed. Not when she still didn't know the other half of their bargain, when he could literally ask her for the skin off her back or her first born child (not that she planned on having any) as payment for this simple deed.

Though there is Galvar. A twisted grin broke across her face as she remembered her father's personal servant. Oh my, I do believe I forgot to mention him to Drak'shal and the fact that he's a master swordsman, and isn't like to play fair when the master's life is on the line. How utterly careless of me.

She chuckled in the darkness of her room. Perhaps Galvar would take care of Drak'shal for her and then she wouldn't have to ever worry about fulfilling her end of the bargain.

Realizing that sleep was evading her, A'rai threw back the heavy covers and crawled to the edge of the bed. Grabbing the heavy drapes and pulling them back, A'rai gasped as the cold night air washed over her warm skin. Goose pimples broke out across her arms, shoulders and down her legs. Reaching for the nightstand, the seductress grabbed her heavy house cloak and wrapped the fur lined garment around her body.

Stepping on to the floor of her room, which felt like ice on her feet, the seductress moved to the writing desk at the far end of her room. Pale, silver blue light filtered in from the large windows and spilled across the floor and walls, illuminating her path. Once at the large, wooden desk, she grabbed a box of matches and struck one. Orange light flooded the area, giving the room colour over top of the black and grey and blue. Holding the flame carefully, she moved it towards the lantern and and pressed it against the wick.

More light suffused the room as the flame jumped to the wick and began devouring the source of liquid fuel that soaked into the rolled piece of cotton. Blowing out the match, A'rai closed the glass dome over the lantern and picked it up off the desk.

Turning towards the door, some feet across the large expanse of her room, the seductress stopped and paused, hearing something odd in the preternatural quiet that filled a house this late in the evening.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

He swore again.

The tiefling limped up another small staircase, cursing fluently under his breath as he went, every movement bringing a fresh, sharp sting from one of his wounds. He lifted his boot to rise up another step, snarling as the gash along the side of his knee dribbled another feeble protest. The smooth wood under his palm was left slick by the red blood dripping from his hand, rivulets meandering down the bannister to pool on the floor beneath - this blood, unlike the rest, was not his. He tried to decide which one of his injuries hurt most.

And there were plenty to choose from. And who's bloody fault is that? the voice in the back of his head jibed.

"Shut up," he muttered, not realising he was speaking aloud. He winced as the gash across his lips cracked again, a tiny trickle of blood sliding across his forked tongue. It tasted coppery and bitter.

Like goin' down on a chit when she's on her bad-week, the voice chimed in, not helping at all.

Muttering every profanity he could bring to mind (a varied lexicon of obscenities, to say the least), the half-demon shouldered his way through the door at the top of the small servants' staircase, making his way none too quietly through the slumbering Salaturn household. Behind him lay a trail of inky, black blood drops, and smears leading down the walls wherever his shoulder dragged against them. He was, to put it lightly, a mess. Junior flapped around him, hiss-whispering to its master, obviously greatly worried. It rose in front of the plane-touched's face, chittering away incessantly. Aurelianus, already pissed off after the beating he had just taken, swatted at his familiar angrily, sending it flapping ahead of him out of reach.

The fight with Galvar had lasted.. and lasted, and lasted some more. In the end, Aurelius had wondered who was likely to bleed to death first, because neither of the fighters could get a killing blow into the other, despite the hideous damage they had each inflicted. But, as he steadfastly tried to ignore the pain screaming through his system, his wounded pride couldn't deny it had been sheer luck that had killed Galvar. The thought rankled with the warlock, but he could not deny the truth of it.

Another stumble as he finally emerged into what appeared to be a dining room. The room was cold and empty, hanging tapestries stirring in the icy wind coming in through the gothic arches along the walls.

It touched the sweat lathering the half-breed assassin's frame, making him shiver; the fact the cold was biting him this deeply spoke of severe blood-loss. Ha, tell me somethin' I don't pikin' know! he sneered, mostly to himself as he tossed his hat and coat onto the lavish oak table before him. They landed with a heavy clatter, sending the dishes already laid out ready for breakfast skittering to the floor. Aurelius might have been worried about waking the servants, but he had more pressing concerns, as evidenced by the audible pitter-patter of his lifeblood dribbling to the floor. The flow was slower than it had been a few minutes before, but whether that was a good or a bad sign, Aurelianus wasn't sure.

The far door of the dining room opened, a warm glow suffusing the chamber as A'rai wandered in, her face an expressionless mask.. until she saw the haggard tiefling standing unsteadily in her home, bleeding all over the marble floor. His serpentine eyes.. well, eye, more accurately, as the other was closed by congealing blood the colour of liquid darkness, focused on the chit, even in his state noting the fact she was naked under her robe. He thought for a moment he detected the slightest hints of a smug smile on her face before she quashed it.

"You took your time," she stated imperiously.

He almost slumped to a knee, hand pressed to a gash in his side, bringing another pained growl as he felt something in his shoulder tear open more. His armour was slashed in too many places to count, some of the blades and spikes sheared away by Galvar's unerringly accurate rapier.

The end half of the blade of said weapon was sticking through the tiefling's chest, as it so happened, emerging from his back just next to his shoulder blade. That was only one of a catalogue of lacerations and punctures in his alabaster flesh. Normally, he would have had a witty retort to that, some scathing response from his acid-tongue.

"Up your's," he grunted, supporting himself with his hand as he sat on the edge of the table.

He could have sworn she smirked at that, but he was having a hard time concentrating past the swimming black spots in his vision. He tried to shake his head clear - and regretted it instantly, starting to raise a sticky hand to the side of his head. He was dizzy as all hell. His dizziness peaked, however, when he glanced at his hand and realised he was missing the upper half of his left ring finger. He stared at it for a moment.

"When the 'ell did that 'appen?" he pondered absently, his voice flat and emotionless.

He marked the chit moving closer to him, her blonde hair contrasting the fur-lined robe brightly in the dim room. She set her candle down on the table, her eyes roaming over him like a scalpel dissecting a cadaver on the mortuary slab. Which I pikin' will be soon, unless I get patched up. Still, despite his dire predicament, the lascivious tiefling couldn't resist picturing the things he could do to A'rai with a scalpel, some shackles, and a lot of spare time.. Her voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Those look rather painful, Aurelianus, I do hope you're not going to bleed to death in my dining room."

He glanced up at her, a dry expression on his face. "I do 'ope you're goin' to give me a bloody 'and gettin' these seen to, before the guards break down your door." He tried to sound nonchalant, but even he could detect the slight slur of his words, his tongue feeling leaden in his mouth.

She laughed, the sound carrying in the preternatural stillness of the house. "But if you bleed to death, then the final loose end is tied up." Her green eyes danced mischievously in the light of the candle. Closing the distance between them, A'rai reached out and ran her fingers over his stained skin, enjoying the feel of his hot, sticky blood.

"Though I suppose you could still prove useful." She placed her hand on his chest and gave him a push into the chair behind him, ignoring his pained grunt as the impact jarred the blade embedded in his chest.

"Sit." Then turned and walked to the wall. She grabbed the third string down and pulled on it several times.