Caught in Darness

Author's note: This story contains a bit of non-consent sex. Reader discretion is advised.

*

"They are creatures of the dark." She said in a quiet tone. The elf lady sat nestled in his arms staring out into the darkness. Mule sat behind her with his back to the wall staring blankly at the black all around him. She had been describing the creatures that sulked about the room in detail to him - being his eyes for him. For the moment they felt safe here, the denizens of this room were a community of sorts. There was no violence among them, and they left the two well enough alone. Food was brought in through the maid door as vats of gruel. It was a mix of plant and animal leftovers. The food was lacking but it wasn't horrid. One could say they were well fed by Zecarin standards.

"They are the children of man." Mule whispered back. His tone hinted at sadness.

"I know of no magic that can change the shape. How can it be you are not a human?" She asked him. "How can they be the children of man?"

"It happened long ago." Mule said. "I have strayed too far from them to be called human anymore. But to me, it is they who have strayed." The explanation didn't satisfy her, but the lady recognized a distraction for what it was.

"Tell me someday?" Was all she asked as she reached up to his cheek and caressed it slightly. "You have not asked my name? Is that not customary to greet among humans?"

"It is safer that I do not know." Mule replied. "There is power in a name." the elf lady shrunk away from that. Something in his voice disturbed her and a small fear planted itself in her mind. "Why do you stop yourself, when we are joined? There is nothing to fear. Eltharian and Humans are not compatible..." Mule did not answer her right away. His silence only made the moment more uncomfortable.

"I am not human." He said at last, and then kissed the tip of her long ear. The reassurance was momentary. The lady kept the rest of her thoughts to herself after that.

"Killer." Came a voice from the darkness that did not belong to either of them. Its tone was a greeting, and came from a creature with harsh vocal cords. The lady turned her head abruptly, and clenched his arms securely.

"a Langken." She whispered to him. "a lizard-kin."

"You are the killer." The Langken said. "The one whom the guards speak of. The one whom we fear when they take our strong away." It spoke with an old man's voice. "You are the killer?"

"I am." Mule said. "They made us fight."

"This is known. They make many of us fight." It approached them slowly. "You are human. You are Eltharian. This is known. Yet unknown to us." It studied them for a moment before breathing deeply. "Such rare things from the surface do not last long here. This is known. We wish you peace, Killer." The Langken made a chortling noise, some sort of farewell, as he left them alone.

In the darkness, Mule rested his head against the stone wall. His thoughts drifted away from the here and now to give him peace to think. The lady in his arms had grown silent. She drew herself away from him, hugging her knees to her chest. A seed of doubt about this human had been planted with the Langken's words. Mule was a killer, one that could sneak into Zecarin territory undetected by their spell-wards and soldiers -- the perfect assassin. Too perfect to just be a coincidence, and too dangerous to assume he had honorable intentions with her. If he intended to rescue her, why hadn't he? What was he waiting for? These questions monopolized her attention while Mule napped behind her.

The door opened. Light entered and showed the denizens of this room in a different way to her. She turned her head and found Mule had woken from his short nap and was watching the Zecarian jailors as they stepped aside and let in the honor guard of The Majestic.

"They're here for me." Mule said as he rose to his feet. The soldiers were scanning the crowd when they spied him approaching. The Langken was also standing before them expectantly. Mule looked at the grey-brown walking lizard with a hunched back. Their eyes met face to face. "The Majestic would only send the elite for a Killer." He told the old reptilian. One of the soldiers turned his spear point towards Mule. It was the slave keeper standing next to him that spoke.

"You, and the pale bitch." Growled one of the jailors in the common language.

"Do not expect them both back." The soldier with the spear chuckled to the jailor in Zecarin. "She has an appetite tonight." Mule forced back his bristled reaction and glanced back to the elf lady. He motioned for her to follow before the soldier was bothered into action. Together they were ushered out into the light of the hallway.

They walked in silence through the halls. Mule studied the layout this time, his eyes were glued to the floor but each time they came to a junction he took note of the path they took. His mind was trying to memorize a map of sorts. When they opened the door to their destination, he found it to be same audience chamber he had recently left from. The heat vents made the air arid. The sensation made his wounds itch from the memory. He glanced down to see them well scabbed over. They had spent two days in the holding room at least.

The room was less crowded this time through. The Majestic sat lazily on a cushioned, orange onyx chair, her head propped up in her hand with a mixed look of boredom and anger. She wore a more conservative silver silk dress this time that covered her torso and neck, but left her arms bare. Her legs were wrapped in red leather leggings with glistening orange scales sewn into them. That chain of hers was gone. Across from her stood two Zecarin nobles in rich attire. A lady, younger than The Majestic wore a purple corset lined in gold trim. It met at her neck in a collar, and made a circle opening over her cleavage. Her legs were hidden behind a skirt of stringed black pearls. Her hands were demurely pressed together at her hips, and she gave Mule a suspicious look with pursed lips.

Her companion, a warrior-lord in full black scale, polished to a glossy sheen sneered at the lady elf behind Mule. His head slowly turned from her to Mule and their glances met. This one was a seasoned killer, and he measured Mule's worth just as Mule was measuring his. It grew to an uncomfortable stare between them before the lordling forced himself to look away. Something snagged in Mule's mind, he noticed no one was armed -- except the soldiers that escorted them in. There was a chance.

"I was expecting someone bigger." The guest lady said in Zecarin. "Are you sure?"

"This is him." Her companion assured her, as he approached. The warrior-lord walked around them, sizing them up from top to bottom. "He is a marvelous specimen. One can see how he made it this far into our city. What is his worth?" The Majestic drummed her fingers impatiently on the arm of her onyx chair

"Much." The Majestic replied. "For he has already cost me much."

"You should be more careful with your things then. And this one?" He turned his eyes to the lady and she immediately shriveled away from him. "The body looks well, but the mind has seen some wear. Is she trained?"

"Neither is." The Majestic let her annoyance show in her voice.

"I speak the language of humans." The lord said in a hard accent. "I am The Unkillable." He walked in front of Mule and presented himself. The human's gaze immediately dropped to the floor. He kept his eyes there even as the Zecarin began to pull off his polished scale tunic. "You keep it so hot in hear. My skin must breath. His armor fell to the ground bit by bit until he stood bare-chested in his undergarments. "Look at me, and read the truth on my body."

Mule glanced up, and briefly scanned over the hard toned muscles of this warrior's thighs, arms, and torso. But they ignored his build when they saw his scars. He studied each one that littered his body. This was not some pampered lordling that stood before him, but a monster of war. Healed over holes, long dark gashes, and mottled skin that had seen the flame too closely. There were scars that told of wounds that no one could have survived on their own - a faint smile in the skin of his neck, a dent in his sternum. Everywhere but his face bore the marks of his life's work. His head had been shaved, and he wore a mustache of red fur on dark grey skin.

"Yes, this one has seen war." The Unkillable hissed in elation. "He will make a fine gladiator."

"He is not for sale." The Majestic yawned. "But you may play with his pet if you like. She likes that."

"Faugh! I will not soil myself with the pale worms." The Unkillable sneered and whirled suddenly on elf, striking her across the cheek with the back of his hand. The blow sent her to the ground, where she stayed motionless. Her eyes stared out blankly, awake but unresponsive -- it was how she dealt with their punishment. The warlord gathered up his armor. "You always make this chamber so hot." He sighed in fake distress as he paraded his muscled body before his companion. But his distraction fell on blind eyes, as the two women hadn't let their gazes move from the other. "I will enjoy the hospitality of your pool garden. Seek me out there." His footsteps thumped loudly on the stone floor with the pace of a soldiers march.

There is power in a name. Boils words echoed in his mind as he watched The Unkillable leave. His stomach knotted with the feeling of uncertainty -- the only one that could possibly stand in his way just walked from this room half naked. To have a name like Unkillable is to be able to defend its truth.

"I am sorry, but these exotic pets of yours do not appeal to my appetites." The lady in the pearl dress said to The Majestic. "The debt is not yet repaid, sister. I will visit again, and I hope you have something more worthy then." She turned to leave, and the tightly braided ponytail of black hair swung behind her like a heavy rope. The elite guards that had brought Mule in now escorted her out. Mule realized this and turned to look at The Majestic. She in turn was already staring directly at him. It was a long, dreadful silence before she finally spoke.

"Here I sit unarmed." She said in Zecarin. Her demeanor was much more subdued than her usually perverted bloodlust. "Yet I send my guards away. Why? Is it because I do not fear you?"

"It is because I should fear those two, more. You do this for our protection." Mule quickly finished for her. His choice of words, and quick response showed he had mastered the Zecarin mannerisms of speaking to nobility. The Majestic lifted her head slightly and let a soft smile curve her lips. She stepped down from her chair and walked slowly towards him with her hands across her chest defensively. Her calm attitude was uncharacteristic. There was a complexity to the interactions of Zecarin nobles that Mule was just now beginning to understand. They wore many faces, and many masks. At least the women did; that warlord wore no other face but his own, and the scars that made Mule nervous.

"Humans are creatures of legend here." She spoke softly to their air. "Few are those that have seen one. Fewer are those that know what they can do... or cannot do." She let the comment hang in the air before continuing. "We all know what the pale ones are capable of." She said with distaste as she glanced at the Eltharian lady. "They only inspire fear in their own homes. Here, alone, enslaved, they are pitiful." With the toe of her red leather boot she rolled the lady onto her back.

"What am I to do with you?" She pressed her toe to the lady's cheek and rolled her head to the side. Mule knew she was not talking about the elf.

"I claimed a service. I will serve." Mule stated flatly. He couldn't help but look at the back of The Majestic's neck. One quick grab, and this devil women would be dead without a sound. He could take his charge and run, he knew the way out. But something inside him said simply - 'wait'.

"Yes. You will." The Majestic again let the comment hang in the air. "It would serve you well, to maintain the mystery of humans, and reveal nothing." She never looked at him as she turned to leave. "Outside this door, my servant will take you to your new apartments. She will see to it you are cleaned and clothed appropriately." Mule helped the elf to her feet and helped her follow the Mistress.

"It would also serve you well to rid yourself of the one person in this city that knows what a human is truly capable of." A cold chill immediately ran down the elf lady's spine as The Majestic spelled out Mule's weakness in their little game.

But when she looked up at him, he wouldn't meet her gaze.

* * * * *

Mule looked at the tub in question. The water steamed up in the already warm air, dictating that the temperature would be too high for his liking. The mistress had commanded that he be bathed and cleaned so he would be tolerable to the nobility. But the attendant had taken some liberal assumptions about how to do that. Mule glanced over his shoulder at the serving girl. She was Zecarin, but disfigured, like Boil. The left side of her head and shoulder was completely scarred, probably from a fire. She grew her hair long to cover that side of her face and always kept her gaze downward. Even now as she scrubbed mules back with a porous stone she was watching his heels. Mule had been lathered by her ministrations in a oily-soapy residue. It smelled musky, and made his skin slick. The dried blood, sweat, dirt, and other grime of the last few weeks were being scrubbed off along with a layer of skin. It left finished areas freshly pink and tender. Behind them, the Eltharian lady watched in quiet study.

The three of them were the only ones in this bathing room. The stone tiled floors were rough, absorbing the moisture from the feet that tread across them. Whereas the tub itself was recessed into the floor and made of scintillating colored glass that reflected and refracted the light from a source underneath it. The tub glowed, casting its array of colors onto the walls and ceilings, yet leaving most of the rest of the room dim. This chamber was meant for royalty, and the serving girl was part of it. This was not something Mule would likely see again, but in it was a lesson to be learned. His Mistress was teaching him things without saying the words herself. It was Boil who first gave him that lesson - "Listen to what is not said, more than what is said."

This bath house was luxurious. The Unkillable mentioned he was headed to the pool gardens when he left the audience chamber. If a male like him, a warrior, also indulged himself like this, then he was a soldier that had earned it. Zecarin's earned everything through conquest - status, desires, wealth. The Unkillable was dangerous. That was what his Mistress was trying to show him -- through a measure of what the male Zecarin earned for himself.

A cascade of cold water shattered his train of thought as it poured over him washing away the oily soap. He jerked involuntarily and clenched his fists tight as well as his teeth. Wet, brown curls dripped into his eyes and he shook his head violently to send water droplets out away from his face. The attendant placed her hands on his back and ran her fingertips down his flexing muscles in a soothing fashion. Her arms wrapped around him as she pulled herself against his back. Her warm bare skin pressed up against his chilled nerves.

It did the trick of instantly soothing him back into a relaxed state. The contrast of cold and warmth was another one of her skilled ministrations for relaxation. His head lifted back reflexively and nestled against the top of her head as his neck sought out more of her to warm him. It was an instant later he remembered who he was and where he was that he sat up straight again and pulled away from her.

Mule looked down to his arms, and the raw tender skin was showing the veins in his arms clearly. The constricting cold had jarred his circulation into pumping faster, and the clenching of his muscles caused the veins to distort grotesquely above his skin. He looked down his bare body and was amazed that the effect was not limited to his arms.

The attendant crossed his field of view and brought his thoughts back to the now. She took his hands and led him slowly into the steaming tub. Her naked form started to disappear below the low lying fog. In that moment Mule noticed how beautiful she looked, her hair perfectly masked her deformity so long as she kept her gaze down. And as she led him into the water, there was a certain allure to her that he struggled to fight back. It wasn't until he was waste deep in the bath that he realized the water wasn't as scalding as he anticipated. It was in fact very preferable and relaxing. The floor under the water stepped off sharply about a foot making a ledge or seat.

The attendant placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down onto it, submerging the rest of his torso up to his armpits. Slowly she circled around him and positioned herself to sit behind him with her legs under her. Each instruction she had given him had been with her hands, she never said a word to him, her hands did that for her. So he stared out at the water as he had done and waited. Her hands touched his neck and started to rub the tension and pain away. Her hands spoke to him "Surrender To Me."

Her arms made no splash in the water as they worked nor did she make any sound other than the light breathing of her slender form. The room was silent. The light was pleasingly low yet enough to navigate around. The temperature was constantly warm. The smells were subtly musky from the soap and lightly herbal from incense burners in the corners. This had all been planned out to an art form - this was a room for seduction.

The thought had no sooner occurred to him than a soft wet sensation stole his mind back to the bath. The attendant's lips were on his neck kissing softly up the curve of the muscle and tendon towards the ear. It was a sensation that sent all kinds of nerve impulses throughout his body. Part of him had already been seduced by her attention and begged for more, and yet the other wanted to push her way. His muscles tensed drastically. The attendant sensed his discomfort and backed away, her fingers replaced her lips and started to rub and kneed those tensing muscles back into submission.

Mule turned his head slightly and glanced back to the corner of the room where his companion sat watching them. Her face was stoic, and unemotional, and she watched them both as instructed. This was a lesson for her as well as for Mule. Since he had claimed her, The Majestic had commanded that she attend to him in their fashion, so that Mule would learn their ways and live as one of them. She was to attend to him, as the scarred Zecarin now did, and this was her first lesson.

The attendant's lips found the back of Mule's neck again, this time he didn't resist. Her hands roamed over his shoulders and down his arms, rubbing and kneading with a surprising firmness that overwhelmed his senses and he found himself taking deep sharp breaths in elation. Her thumbs pressed into the large muscles between his shoulder blades that ran down his spine and worked away the knots. She put her weight into it as she rose forward onto her knees and used her body's entire motion to work out the tension in Mule. The effect was immediate. His shoulder's slumped forward and he let a soft moan escape his lips. The lower her hands went the farther forward he leaned to accommodate her. When they reached his waistline she slid forward and pressed forward against his back. Her small breasts were firm enough to illicit an immediate response from Mule as he sat back up, but only to pressing against her. Her strong fingertips found their away around him to his manhood, and took him in her grasp.