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He nodded, his eyes resting on the end of a whip mark that rose up past the top of her dress. She sat up and they sat together, one scowling and the other looking down at his hands. When she asked what his plans were, he stood up, moving away from her and over to the window. Reaching out to the latch, he flipped it up and pushed it so that fresh air blew in.
“No plan,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. After a pause he turned around, crossing his arms over his chest, and looked her up and down. She looked bad; worse than he’d initially thought. Her skin was mottled with bruises but they were oddly shaped. Coming back from the window, he sat on the bed again but not beside her. He took the end, sitting with his back against the wall and propped his feet up against the side so that his knees were halfway to his chest.
“If I had known-” He stopped he gestured over her body. There was nowhere to go with that statement because he had known. Not about the cruel brutality but he’d known what would have happened to her; why it was so important that she stay a virgin. “I mean I knew he would-” Lukos made another gesture, indicating nothing in particular and then went on with, “I wouldn’t have sold you to him if I’d known he would do that.”
He didn’t hold her gaze this time. He didn’t want to see the loathing or anything else she might level him with. Abruptly he got up again and moved to the door. Wrenching it open, he walked out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. There was nothing in the world that would possess him to remain in that room with her, and explain to her satisfaction why he had sold her in the first place to a man that he himself did not even want to be alone with.
Bianor was sent back in with food and to assist her if she needed anything while Lukos went back down to row. He did not return to the room until he was certain she had to be asleep. They would have to have the conversation at some point. But he wanted to avoid it. He was being a coward and he knew it which put him in a black mood.
When he finally pushed open the door, he slipped in, sopping wet again below the knees, barefoot, and trying to see if she was asleep. It was hard to make out her features in the dark and he hoped that she hadn’t been able to stay awake. Sliding his trousers down, he laid them out to dry and turned to the bed. He stood there for the space of several heartbeats, considering how much it would pain him to sleep on the floor.
His preference would have been to keep his trousers on but with them dripping wet, he wasn’t about to climb into bed with them. The floor he would not consider. As gingerly as he knew how, he approached the bed and inched up until he was balanced on a foot and a hand, his body arched in the air before easing himself down. His back was pressed to the wall and he slid under the blanket that she was on top of, effectively separating them.
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"I suppose you saw then..."
He nodded, his eyes resting on the end of a whip mark that rose up past the top of her dress. She sat up and they sat together, one scowling and the other looking down at his hands. When she asked what his plans were, he stood up, moving away from her and over to the window. Reaching out to the latch, he flipped it up and pushed it so that fresh air blew in.
“No plan,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. After a pause he turned around, crossing his arms over his chest, and looked her up and down. She looked bad; worse than he’d initially thought. Her skin was mottled with bruises but they were oddly shaped. Coming back from the window, he sat on the bed again but not beside her. He took the end, sitting with his back against the wall and propped his feet up against the side so that his knees were halfway to his chest.
“If I had known-” He stopped he gestured over her body. There was nowhere to go with that statement because he had known. Not about the cruel brutality but he’d known what would have happened to her; why it was so important that she stay a virgin. “I mean I knew he would-” Lukos made another gesture, indicating nothing in particular and then went on with, “I wouldn’t have sold you to him if I’d known he would do that.”
He didn’t hold her gaze this time. He didn’t want to see the loathing or anything else she might level him with. Abruptly he got up again and moved to the door. Wrenching it open, he walked out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. There was nothing in the world that would possess him to remain in that room with her, and explain to her satisfaction why he had sold her in the first place to a man that he himself did not even want to be alone with.
Bianor was sent back in with food and to assist her if she needed anything while Lukos went back down to row. He did not return to the room until he was certain she had to be asleep. They would have to have the conversation at some point. But he wanted to avoid it. He was being a coward and he knew it which put him in a black mood.
When he finally pushed open the door, he slipped in, sopping wet again below the knees, barefoot, and trying to see if she was asleep. It was hard to make out her features in the dark and he hoped that she hadn’t been able to stay awake. Sliding his trousers down, he laid them out to dry and turned to the bed. He stood there for the space of several heartbeats, considering how much it would pain him to sleep on the floor.
His preference would have been to keep his trousers on but with them dripping wet, he wasn’t about to climb into bed with them. The floor he would not consider. As gingerly as he knew how, he approached the bed and inched up until he was balanced on a foot and a hand, his body arched in the air before easing himself down. His back was pressed to the wall and he slid under the blanket that she was on top of, effectively separating them.
"I suppose you saw then..."
He nodded, his eyes resting on the end of a whip mark that rose up past the top of her dress. She sat up and they sat together, one scowling and the other looking down at his hands. When she asked what his plans were, he stood up, moving away from her and over to the window. Reaching out to the latch, he flipped it up and pushed it so that fresh air blew in.
“No plan,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. After a pause he turned around, crossing his arms over his chest, and looked her up and down. She looked bad; worse than he’d initially thought. Her skin was mottled with bruises but they were oddly shaped. Coming back from the window, he sat on the bed again but not beside her. He took the end, sitting with his back against the wall and propped his feet up against the side so that his knees were halfway to his chest.
“If I had known-” He stopped he gestured over her body. There was nowhere to go with that statement because he had known. Not about the cruel brutality but he’d known what would have happened to her; why it was so important that she stay a virgin. “I mean I knew he would-” Lukos made another gesture, indicating nothing in particular and then went on with, “I wouldn’t have sold you to him if I’d known he would do that.”
He didn’t hold her gaze this time. He didn’t want to see the loathing or anything else she might level him with. Abruptly he got up again and moved to the door. Wrenching it open, he walked out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. There was nothing in the world that would possess him to remain in that room with her, and explain to her satisfaction why he had sold her in the first place to a man that he himself did not even want to be alone with.
Bianor was sent back in with food and to assist her if she needed anything while Lukos went back down to row. He did not return to the room until he was certain she had to be asleep. They would have to have the conversation at some point. But he wanted to avoid it. He was being a coward and he knew it which put him in a black mood.
When he finally pushed open the door, he slipped in, sopping wet again below the knees, barefoot, and trying to see if she was asleep. It was hard to make out her features in the dark and he hoped that she hadn’t been able to stay awake. Sliding his trousers down, he laid them out to dry and turned to the bed. He stood there for the space of several heartbeats, considering how much it would pain him to sleep on the floor.
His preference would have been to keep his trousers on but with them dripping wet, he wasn’t about to climb into bed with them. The floor he would not consider. As gingerly as he knew how, he approached the bed and inched up until he was balanced on a foot and a hand, his body arched in the air before easing himself down. His back was pressed to the wall and he slid under the blanket that she was on top of, effectively separating them.
Lukos stood and went to the window and Thalia watched; as if he needed to find something to do to keep from explaining anything to her. With her question of what was next, he stated that there was no plan, which surprised her. The man always seemed to have a plan for her whether she liked it or not. She remained silent as he sat back down; further away and behind her. The upper part of her back was exposed to him; the red lashes and bruises clearly visible as he spoke and then motioned to them; rephrasing what he was saying to state that he wouldn't have sold her to him. She stared back at him; her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul. It was a familiar look she gave him and usually meant he'd said something in particular to irritate her. "Ignorance is bliss, then, hmm? There were more before me... would it have mattered once you walked away? Like this was any worse than what you thought he did.."
He stood as she spoke to him and crossed the room in a few short strides; pulling the door open and shutting it firmly behind him; ending her lecture. She glared at the door he'd just escaped from; unable to go easy on him. Unable to forgive him. And the fact that he could walk away made him a coward. She hated him. She hated what he was and what he'd done to her. Of his complicity and selective ignorance. And once confronted with the truth, what did he do? He ran away.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she took gulping breaths to keep the sobbing at bay. If she could launch something at the door behind him, she would...but there was nothing save the pillow which provided an inadequate projectile. That and her arms hurt. She didn't want to consider overly exerting herself. So she laid back down gingerly on the bed and gave a shuddering breath; lifting a hand to wipe away her tears angrily.
When Bianor came back with food, he didn't say much and Thalia was on the verge of drifting off again just from the sheer fatigue her body was dealing with. But she woke immediately as the door opened. He asked her if there was anything else she needed and she replied in the affirmative before pushing her slowly to sit on the bed. "Test it. ...All of it.."
Bianor looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?" She glared at him. "The food. Your cook despises me and as far as I'm concerned the feeling is mutual. So test it." Bianor made a few excuses, but Thalia just continued to stare at him until he finally gave an exasperated sigh and tasted everything on the tray. "There... everything tastes fine.." Thalia shot him a withering glare. "The water, too.." Bianor shook his head and plucked up the skein; drinking some of the liquid. When he didn't fall down convulsing, Thalia nodded. Bianor turned to leave and Thalia stopped him. "Wait. ....Bring some wine. If I'm lucky it will dull the pain and this throb in my head..."
He nodded and returned some time l later after she'd finished the fruit, bread, and meats with another skein of wine and a chalice to drink it from. She shoed him off and filled the cup; draining the pungent and primitive brew quickly before taking another. The wine was thicker and more hearty than what she was used to in the upper levels of society, but she could taste the fermentation. It would have to do.
The rest of the afternoon was spent as most of the others were, save with the dull haze of oblivion that'd settled over her from the wine she drank. Thankfully it dimmed the pain her body experienced. But it also dimmed her senses. She wandered about the room; feeling the rock of the ship a bit more. The view from the window was far more interesting and she made sure to keep the glass full. She searched through drawers of clothes she'd searched through before and old papers and charts; finding nothing that had any interest to her until she lifted the mattress and let out a crow of delight. She had to give it to Lukos.. at least he was consistent.
Day turned to evening and into night and she was growing sleepy from the wine and the length of the day. She lay back down and drifted off easily in the bed beneath her makeshift drapery bedding. When he came in she didn't stir until he climbed into bed behind her; tugging up the blanket she was laying on to get beneath it. She groaned; still a bit foggy from the alcohol and turned to face him; pulling one of the blades she'd found beneath the mattress and tucked the point of it beneath his throat. With a whispery voice that didn't come out as firm as she'd thought it would, she murmured close to his face; her words running together slightly. "Takeme home, Lukos..."
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Lukos stood and went to the window and Thalia watched; as if he needed to find something to do to keep from explaining anything to her. With her question of what was next, he stated that there was no plan, which surprised her. The man always seemed to have a plan for her whether she liked it or not. She remained silent as he sat back down; further away and behind her. The upper part of her back was exposed to him; the red lashes and bruises clearly visible as he spoke and then motioned to them; rephrasing what he was saying to state that he wouldn't have sold her to him. She stared back at him; her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul. It was a familiar look she gave him and usually meant he'd said something in particular to irritate her. "Ignorance is bliss, then, hmm? There were more before me... would it have mattered once you walked away? Like this was any worse than what you thought he did.."
He stood as she spoke to him and crossed the room in a few short strides; pulling the door open and shutting it firmly behind him; ending her lecture. She glared at the door he'd just escaped from; unable to go easy on him. Unable to forgive him. And the fact that he could walk away made him a coward. She hated him. She hated what he was and what he'd done to her. Of his complicity and selective ignorance. And once confronted with the truth, what did he do? He ran away.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she took gulping breaths to keep the sobbing at bay. If she could launch something at the door behind him, she would...but there was nothing save the pillow which provided an inadequate projectile. That and her arms hurt. She didn't want to consider overly exerting herself. So she laid back down gingerly on the bed and gave a shuddering breath; lifting a hand to wipe away her tears angrily.
When Bianor came back with food, he didn't say much and Thalia was on the verge of drifting off again just from the sheer fatigue her body was dealing with. But she woke immediately as the door opened. He asked her if there was anything else she needed and she replied in the affirmative before pushing her slowly to sit on the bed. "Test it. ...All of it.."
Bianor looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?" She glared at him. "The food. Your cook despises me and as far as I'm concerned the feeling is mutual. So test it." Bianor made a few excuses, but Thalia just continued to stare at him until he finally gave an exasperated sigh and tasted everything on the tray. "There... everything tastes fine.." Thalia shot him a withering glare. "The water, too.." Bianor shook his head and plucked up the skein; drinking some of the liquid. When he didn't fall down convulsing, Thalia nodded. Bianor turned to leave and Thalia stopped him. "Wait. ....Bring some wine. If I'm lucky it will dull the pain and this throb in my head..."
He nodded and returned some time l later after she'd finished the fruit, bread, and meats with another skein of wine and a chalice to drink it from. She shoed him off and filled the cup; draining the pungent and primitive brew quickly before taking another. The wine was thicker and more hearty than what she was used to in the upper levels of society, but she could taste the fermentation. It would have to do.
The rest of the afternoon was spent as most of the others were, save with the dull haze of oblivion that'd settled over her from the wine she drank. Thankfully it dimmed the pain her body experienced. But it also dimmed her senses. She wandered about the room; feeling the rock of the ship a bit more. The view from the window was far more interesting and she made sure to keep the glass full. She searched through drawers of clothes she'd searched through before and old papers and charts; finding nothing that had any interest to her until she lifted the mattress and let out a crow of delight. She had to give it to Lukos.. at least he was consistent.
Day turned to evening and into night and she was growing sleepy from the wine and the length of the day. She lay back down and drifted off easily in the bed beneath her makeshift drapery bedding. When he came in she didn't stir until he climbed into bed behind her; tugging up the blanket she was laying on to get beneath it. She groaned; still a bit foggy from the alcohol and turned to face him; pulling one of the blades she'd found beneath the mattress and tucked the point of it beneath his throat. With a whispery voice that didn't come out as firm as she'd thought it would, she murmured close to his face; her words running together slightly. "Takeme home, Lukos..."
Lukos stood and went to the window and Thalia watched; as if he needed to find something to do to keep from explaining anything to her. With her question of what was next, he stated that there was no plan, which surprised her. The man always seemed to have a plan for her whether she liked it or not. She remained silent as he sat back down; further away and behind her. The upper part of her back was exposed to him; the red lashes and bruises clearly visible as he spoke and then motioned to them; rephrasing what he was saying to state that he wouldn't have sold her to him. She stared back at him; her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something foul. It was a familiar look she gave him and usually meant he'd said something in particular to irritate her. "Ignorance is bliss, then, hmm? There were more before me... would it have mattered once you walked away? Like this was any worse than what you thought he did.."
He stood as she spoke to him and crossed the room in a few short strides; pulling the door open and shutting it firmly behind him; ending her lecture. She glared at the door he'd just escaped from; unable to go easy on him. Unable to forgive him. And the fact that he could walk away made him a coward. She hated him. She hated what he was and what he'd done to her. Of his complicity and selective ignorance. And once confronted with the truth, what did he do? He ran away.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she took gulping breaths to keep the sobbing at bay. If she could launch something at the door behind him, she would...but there was nothing save the pillow which provided an inadequate projectile. That and her arms hurt. She didn't want to consider overly exerting herself. So she laid back down gingerly on the bed and gave a shuddering breath; lifting a hand to wipe away her tears angrily.
When Bianor came back with food, he didn't say much and Thalia was on the verge of drifting off again just from the sheer fatigue her body was dealing with. But she woke immediately as the door opened. He asked her if there was anything else she needed and she replied in the affirmative before pushing her slowly to sit on the bed. "Test it. ...All of it.."
Bianor looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?" She glared at him. "The food. Your cook despises me and as far as I'm concerned the feeling is mutual. So test it." Bianor made a few excuses, but Thalia just continued to stare at him until he finally gave an exasperated sigh and tasted everything on the tray. "There... everything tastes fine.." Thalia shot him a withering glare. "The water, too.." Bianor shook his head and plucked up the skein; drinking some of the liquid. When he didn't fall down convulsing, Thalia nodded. Bianor turned to leave and Thalia stopped him. "Wait. ....Bring some wine. If I'm lucky it will dull the pain and this throb in my head..."
He nodded and returned some time l later after she'd finished the fruit, bread, and meats with another skein of wine and a chalice to drink it from. She shoed him off and filled the cup; draining the pungent and primitive brew quickly before taking another. The wine was thicker and more hearty than what she was used to in the upper levels of society, but she could taste the fermentation. It would have to do.
The rest of the afternoon was spent as most of the others were, save with the dull haze of oblivion that'd settled over her from the wine she drank. Thankfully it dimmed the pain her body experienced. But it also dimmed her senses. She wandered about the room; feeling the rock of the ship a bit more. The view from the window was far more interesting and she made sure to keep the glass full. She searched through drawers of clothes she'd searched through before and old papers and charts; finding nothing that had any interest to her until she lifted the mattress and let out a crow of delight. She had to give it to Lukos.. at least he was consistent.
Day turned to evening and into night and she was growing sleepy from the wine and the length of the day. She lay back down and drifted off easily in the bed beneath her makeshift drapery bedding. When he came in she didn't stir until he climbed into bed behind her; tugging up the blanket she was laying on to get beneath it. She groaned; still a bit foggy from the alcohol and turned to face him; pulling one of the blades she'd found beneath the mattress and tucked the point of it beneath his throat. With a whispery voice that didn't come out as firm as she'd thought it would, she murmured close to his face; her words running together slightly. "Takeme home, Lukos..."
His muscles tensed as she groaned but he relaxed after a moment. She shifted lazily as though half asleep; certainly too sleepy to talk. Despite hours of rowing the ship toward the Hydra’s Teeth islands, despite burning muscles and a hollow stomach from lack of food, he was not tired. He was fatigued. But sleep would be elusive. Her back had been the most gruesome part. It was to him; a glaring reminder that he was destined for the deepest pits in Hades.
Lukos closed his eyes as her shifting continued. He could feel her turning to face him. He frowned as the tip of something sharp grazed his chin and then all at once, his eyes snapped open. She’d found the daggers. Of course she’d found them. She could find anything.
Her breath hit him first- the unmistakable scent of wine, betraying that she would not be as steady as he’d initially feared. This was the second time within the span of a day that she’d held a knife to his throat. The first time she’d been out of her mind, wild with rage and panic. This time, he did not think she’d actually do it. There was nowhere to go. She was in no state to fight him.
He lay there, dark eyes glinting in the moonlight pooling through the window, searching her face as she almost pleaded to be taken home. Slowly, he brought up his arm from out of the blanket, and slid his fingers over hers until her hand was encased in his. His grip on her was firm as he gently forced her wrist away. The knife was easy to take from her.
Once it was safely in hand, he tossed it over the side of the bed where it landed with a clatter. “What are you going to do when you get home?” He murmured. Unlike hers, his mind was still clear. He kept hold of her hand, partially to ensure that she wouldn’t attempt to hit him. “Marry?” As he spoke, he brought her hand up and kept hold of it on the bed wedged between them.
“Why should I take you home so that you can disobey someone else?” His words came out against her mouth and before he was quite aware of what he was doing, he found himself kissing her. He knew she reviled him but at the moment he didn’t care. Pulling her hand so that he held her arm up over him, he kissed her harder, wanting her just as badly as he had before.
“No,” he said, pulling back from her. “I can’t take you home.” Stealing another kiss, he then said, “And I won’t.” After that, he let her hand go. Without her dagger and without her chains, she could not kill him. If she wanted to hit him, he would make no move to stop her.
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His muscles tensed as she groaned but he relaxed after a moment. She shifted lazily as though half asleep; certainly too sleepy to talk. Despite hours of rowing the ship toward the Hydra’s Teeth islands, despite burning muscles and a hollow stomach from lack of food, he was not tired. He was fatigued. But sleep would be elusive. Her back had been the most gruesome part. It was to him; a glaring reminder that he was destined for the deepest pits in Hades.
Lukos closed his eyes as her shifting continued. He could feel her turning to face him. He frowned as the tip of something sharp grazed his chin and then all at once, his eyes snapped open. She’d found the daggers. Of course she’d found them. She could find anything.
Her breath hit him first- the unmistakable scent of wine, betraying that she would not be as steady as he’d initially feared. This was the second time within the span of a day that she’d held a knife to his throat. The first time she’d been out of her mind, wild with rage and panic. This time, he did not think she’d actually do it. There was nowhere to go. She was in no state to fight him.
He lay there, dark eyes glinting in the moonlight pooling through the window, searching her face as she almost pleaded to be taken home. Slowly, he brought up his arm from out of the blanket, and slid his fingers over hers until her hand was encased in his. His grip on her was firm as he gently forced her wrist away. The knife was easy to take from her.
Once it was safely in hand, he tossed it over the side of the bed where it landed with a clatter. “What are you going to do when you get home?” He murmured. Unlike hers, his mind was still clear. He kept hold of her hand, partially to ensure that she wouldn’t attempt to hit him. “Marry?” As he spoke, he brought her hand up and kept hold of it on the bed wedged between them.
“Why should I take you home so that you can disobey someone else?” His words came out against her mouth and before he was quite aware of what he was doing, he found himself kissing her. He knew she reviled him but at the moment he didn’t care. Pulling her hand so that he held her arm up over him, he kissed her harder, wanting her just as badly as he had before.
“No,” he said, pulling back from her. “I can’t take you home.” Stealing another kiss, he then said, “And I won’t.” After that, he let her hand go. Without her dagger and without her chains, she could not kill him. If she wanted to hit him, he would make no move to stop her.
His muscles tensed as she groaned but he relaxed after a moment. She shifted lazily as though half asleep; certainly too sleepy to talk. Despite hours of rowing the ship toward the Hydra’s Teeth islands, despite burning muscles and a hollow stomach from lack of food, he was not tired. He was fatigued. But sleep would be elusive. Her back had been the most gruesome part. It was to him; a glaring reminder that he was destined for the deepest pits in Hades.
Lukos closed his eyes as her shifting continued. He could feel her turning to face him. He frowned as the tip of something sharp grazed his chin and then all at once, his eyes snapped open. She’d found the daggers. Of course she’d found them. She could find anything.
Her breath hit him first- the unmistakable scent of wine, betraying that she would not be as steady as he’d initially feared. This was the second time within the span of a day that she’d held a knife to his throat. The first time she’d been out of her mind, wild with rage and panic. This time, he did not think she’d actually do it. There was nowhere to go. She was in no state to fight him.
He lay there, dark eyes glinting in the moonlight pooling through the window, searching her face as she almost pleaded to be taken home. Slowly, he brought up his arm from out of the blanket, and slid his fingers over hers until her hand was encased in his. His grip on her was firm as he gently forced her wrist away. The knife was easy to take from her.
Once it was safely in hand, he tossed it over the side of the bed where it landed with a clatter. “What are you going to do when you get home?” He murmured. Unlike hers, his mind was still clear. He kept hold of her hand, partially to ensure that she wouldn’t attempt to hit him. “Marry?” As he spoke, he brought her hand up and kept hold of it on the bed wedged between them.
“Why should I take you home so that you can disobey someone else?” His words came out against her mouth and before he was quite aware of what he was doing, he found himself kissing her. He knew she reviled him but at the moment he didn’t care. Pulling her hand so that he held her arm up over him, he kissed her harder, wanting her just as badly as he had before.
“No,” he said, pulling back from her. “I can’t take you home.” Stealing another kiss, he then said, “And I won’t.” After that, he let her hand go. Without her dagger and without her chains, she could not kill him. If she wanted to hit him, he would make no move to stop her.
Thalia had no plan and that was part of the problem Hours ago when she'd found the blades, she considered this to be a good idea. She would threaten him; demand he return her home and he would relent as he didn't know what else to do. But alcohol had a way of making all decisions seem that much wiser when they were far more hairbrained. She saw his eyes open in the dark; they were cold and calculating as they always were. She stared up at them; her jaw set and her eyes drowsy. His hand shifted beneath the blanket and he quickly covered hers as it held the knife against him; pulling it away from his chin before he disarmed her altogether and dropped the weapon on the floor behind her. The clatter of the blade broke the silence of the room. He asked her what she would do when she returned home..whether she would marry as he pressed her hands down between them against the mattress. She balled them into fists beneath his and she scowled. "That's none of your business..."
He shifted ever closer; his mouth breathing over hers as he told her he wouldn't take her home so she could defy someone else and she leaned back; scowling. "I hate you. I hate everything about you.." His mouth slanted over hers and she shoved his chest to push him away, but her attempts were weak; half-hearted. She could have easily bitten him; as she had with Ibrascus. But his mouth was warm and soft; a stark contrast to everything else about him that was hard and cold. The alcohol muddled her brain and her cheeks and nose tingled as he continued to kiss her despite her meager objections.
When she forgot to push him, he lifted her hands and pinned them above her head; deepening the kiss. It became harder and more demanding. And where she wanted to knee him defensively, she found herself pressing her hips forward instinctually against him as she gave a soft purr against his mouth. Finally, he pulled away enough to speak; telling her he couldn't take her home and that he wouldn't before releasing her hands. She breathed heavily against his mouth but didn't pull away.
She lowered her arms again and tucked them between their bodies as it had been moments before when the blade was to his throat. She gave a sigh and closed her eyes; knowing in the morning she might regret this.. that if she were smart she'd never drink again. But her fingers curled against his bare chest; searching for his shirt before realizing he wasn't wearing one. She brushed her lips over his again; of her own accord this time as, instead of a blade, the tip of her finger flicked beneath his chin in a teasing caress. But there was nothing teasing about her question. Even if she didn't remember the answer in the morning it had been plaguing her all day. If he didn't know what to do with her, but he couldn't return her than why?
"Why..? ...Why did you come back....?" The last person she'd ever expected to see at the gates of that courtyard where him. If he wasn't there to partake of her with Ibrascus than why?? Because the only explanation she could think of made her hate him less. Made him halfway redeemable, and explained the words he'd said this afternoon. "And why 'can't' I go home...?" None of it made any sense with what little information he was giving her... unless he tied it all together, and then every question she had would be answered.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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Thalia had no plan and that was part of the problem Hours ago when she'd found the blades, she considered this to be a good idea. She would threaten him; demand he return her home and he would relent as he didn't know what else to do. But alcohol had a way of making all decisions seem that much wiser when they were far more hairbrained. She saw his eyes open in the dark; they were cold and calculating as they always were. She stared up at them; her jaw set and her eyes drowsy. His hand shifted beneath the blanket and he quickly covered hers as it held the knife against him; pulling it away from his chin before he disarmed her altogether and dropped the weapon on the floor behind her. The clatter of the blade broke the silence of the room. He asked her what she would do when she returned home..whether she would marry as he pressed her hands down between them against the mattress. She balled them into fists beneath his and she scowled. "That's none of your business..."
He shifted ever closer; his mouth breathing over hers as he told her he wouldn't take her home so she could defy someone else and she leaned back; scowling. "I hate you. I hate everything about you.." His mouth slanted over hers and she shoved his chest to push him away, but her attempts were weak; half-hearted. She could have easily bitten him; as she had with Ibrascus. But his mouth was warm and soft; a stark contrast to everything else about him that was hard and cold. The alcohol muddled her brain and her cheeks and nose tingled as he continued to kiss her despite her meager objections.
When she forgot to push him, he lifted her hands and pinned them above her head; deepening the kiss. It became harder and more demanding. And where she wanted to knee him defensively, she found herself pressing her hips forward instinctually against him as she gave a soft purr against his mouth. Finally, he pulled away enough to speak; telling her he couldn't take her home and that he wouldn't before releasing her hands. She breathed heavily against his mouth but didn't pull away.
She lowered her arms again and tucked them between their bodies as it had been moments before when the blade was to his throat. She gave a sigh and closed her eyes; knowing in the morning she might regret this.. that if she were smart she'd never drink again. But her fingers curled against his bare chest; searching for his shirt before realizing he wasn't wearing one. She brushed her lips over his again; of her own accord this time as, instead of a blade, the tip of her finger flicked beneath his chin in a teasing caress. But there was nothing teasing about her question. Even if she didn't remember the answer in the morning it had been plaguing her all day. If he didn't know what to do with her, but he couldn't return her than why?
"Why..? ...Why did you come back....?" The last person she'd ever expected to see at the gates of that courtyard where him. If he wasn't there to partake of her with Ibrascus than why?? Because the only explanation she could think of made her hate him less. Made him halfway redeemable, and explained the words he'd said this afternoon. "And why 'can't' I go home...?" None of it made any sense with what little information he was giving her... unless he tied it all together, and then every question she had would be answered.
Thalia had no plan and that was part of the problem Hours ago when she'd found the blades, she considered this to be a good idea. She would threaten him; demand he return her home and he would relent as he didn't know what else to do. But alcohol had a way of making all decisions seem that much wiser when they were far more hairbrained. She saw his eyes open in the dark; they were cold and calculating as they always were. She stared up at them; her jaw set and her eyes drowsy. His hand shifted beneath the blanket and he quickly covered hers as it held the knife against him; pulling it away from his chin before he disarmed her altogether and dropped the weapon on the floor behind her. The clatter of the blade broke the silence of the room. He asked her what she would do when she returned home..whether she would marry as he pressed her hands down between them against the mattress. She balled them into fists beneath his and she scowled. "That's none of your business..."
He shifted ever closer; his mouth breathing over hers as he told her he wouldn't take her home so she could defy someone else and she leaned back; scowling. "I hate you. I hate everything about you.." His mouth slanted over hers and she shoved his chest to push him away, but her attempts were weak; half-hearted. She could have easily bitten him; as she had with Ibrascus. But his mouth was warm and soft; a stark contrast to everything else about him that was hard and cold. The alcohol muddled her brain and her cheeks and nose tingled as he continued to kiss her despite her meager objections.
When she forgot to push him, he lifted her hands and pinned them above her head; deepening the kiss. It became harder and more demanding. And where she wanted to knee him defensively, she found herself pressing her hips forward instinctually against him as she gave a soft purr against his mouth. Finally, he pulled away enough to speak; telling her he couldn't take her home and that he wouldn't before releasing her hands. She breathed heavily against his mouth but didn't pull away.
She lowered her arms again and tucked them between their bodies as it had been moments before when the blade was to his throat. She gave a sigh and closed her eyes; knowing in the morning she might regret this.. that if she were smart she'd never drink again. But her fingers curled against his bare chest; searching for his shirt before realizing he wasn't wearing one. She brushed her lips over his again; of her own accord this time as, instead of a blade, the tip of her finger flicked beneath his chin in a teasing caress. But there was nothing teasing about her question. Even if she didn't remember the answer in the morning it had been plaguing her all day. If he didn't know what to do with her, but he couldn't return her than why?
"Why..? ...Why did you come back....?" The last person she'd ever expected to see at the gates of that courtyard where him. If he wasn't there to partake of her with Ibrascus than why?? Because the only explanation she could think of made her hate him less. Made him halfway redeemable, and explained the words he'd said this afternoon. "And why 'can't' I go home...?" None of it made any sense with what little information he was giving her... unless he tied it all together, and then every question she had would be answered.
At any moment he expected some sort of violent pushback instead of the weak attempt she leveled at his chest. She hated him. She told him so as their lips met but she backed up that statement with her hips pressing against him. His stomach dropped a little and he responded in kind, inwardly cursing the blanket that separated him from her. Perhaps it was the pain she was in that made her linger this close, but the sound that escaped her lips was not that of someone wishing to escape.
Her fingers moved over his chest, each touch pressing into overworked muscle so that instead of the silky touch it might have been, it was as though she was grazing a bruise. The pinpoints of pain deepened as she put her fingers to his jaw but it strangely didn’t matter. He liked the subtle ache her fingers ignited. Softly, her lips brushed over his again, returning the kiss he hadn’t meant to give.
In the dark, it was impossible to concentrate on anything but the feel of her hips against his, the way she bodily responded to him. He knew better than anyone else what the welts on her body would feel like if he grabbed her. He did it anyway. His hands lightly slid down her frame until he found the round muscle of her bottom. Gently but firmly, he guided her against him, lost in the feel of her mouth on his. If she’d let it, the pain would drive her somewhere she couldn’t imagine.
All at once she pulled away. He reached up, curling his fingers in her hair to bring her back but she was able to get out her question; why did he come back? Pausing, he ran his tongue over his lips, tasting her. Her hair was soft. It still smelled of the oils that she must have used at Imbrasus’s house.
“Because I thought of you stuck under his disgusting mass and it made me physically ill.” Reaching up, he unclasped her chiton on the shoulder he could reach and teased down the fabric. He lightly traced the raised whip line that curled around her breast. It was almost gone but the bruises would remain. She hadn’t been flogged. Her back would have been laid open and it was obvious that hadn’t been Imbrasus’s intent.
Despite the wounds, her skin was soft. He ran his knuckles down her side, over her ribs before running into more fabric. Her next question, why he couldn’t take her home, was more complicated. They’d been over it before but there was an aspect he hadn’t told her, among the various political reasons. “I don’t trust you,” he claimed her mouth again, demanding she open her mouth to him. Bringing his hand up, he took her jaw in his hand, the way he’d done before, forcing her head to turn whichever way he pleased but he did not inflict pain; merely control.
“You know too much,” his voice hoarse was from desire. “And you’d kill me, given half a chance.” His other hand worked its way to the other clasp on her dress, undoing that too. It didn’t matter to him particularly that she would twist a knife deep into his throat if she thought she could get away with it. Of course he would do everything needed to prevent such an occurrence, but it did not alter his desire for her. Strangely, it heightened it. Like toying with a venomous snake or being in the arena with a tiger.
“You’re too dangerous.” He wanted to lose all control, all restraint. The urge to flip her onto her back and just take her was strong but he knew she would not be able to endure it. She would scream. She would cry. And unlike Imbrasus, those were not things he wanted from her. He wanted her hands sliding down his body the way she’d done in the temple. He wanted her eyes filled with as much lust for him as he had for her. He wanted their bodies intertwined, inseparable and slick with sweat. In short, he wanted things he wasn’t sure she would let him take.
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At any moment he expected some sort of violent pushback instead of the weak attempt she leveled at his chest. She hated him. She told him so as their lips met but she backed up that statement with her hips pressing against him. His stomach dropped a little and he responded in kind, inwardly cursing the blanket that separated him from her. Perhaps it was the pain she was in that made her linger this close, but the sound that escaped her lips was not that of someone wishing to escape.
Her fingers moved over his chest, each touch pressing into overworked muscle so that instead of the silky touch it might have been, it was as though she was grazing a bruise. The pinpoints of pain deepened as she put her fingers to his jaw but it strangely didn’t matter. He liked the subtle ache her fingers ignited. Softly, her lips brushed over his again, returning the kiss he hadn’t meant to give.
In the dark, it was impossible to concentrate on anything but the feel of her hips against his, the way she bodily responded to him. He knew better than anyone else what the welts on her body would feel like if he grabbed her. He did it anyway. His hands lightly slid down her frame until he found the round muscle of her bottom. Gently but firmly, he guided her against him, lost in the feel of her mouth on his. If she’d let it, the pain would drive her somewhere she couldn’t imagine.
All at once she pulled away. He reached up, curling his fingers in her hair to bring her back but she was able to get out her question; why did he come back? Pausing, he ran his tongue over his lips, tasting her. Her hair was soft. It still smelled of the oils that she must have used at Imbrasus’s house.
“Because I thought of you stuck under his disgusting mass and it made me physically ill.” Reaching up, he unclasped her chiton on the shoulder he could reach and teased down the fabric. He lightly traced the raised whip line that curled around her breast. It was almost gone but the bruises would remain. She hadn’t been flogged. Her back would have been laid open and it was obvious that hadn’t been Imbrasus’s intent.
Despite the wounds, her skin was soft. He ran his knuckles down her side, over her ribs before running into more fabric. Her next question, why he couldn’t take her home, was more complicated. They’d been over it before but there was an aspect he hadn’t told her, among the various political reasons. “I don’t trust you,” he claimed her mouth again, demanding she open her mouth to him. Bringing his hand up, he took her jaw in his hand, the way he’d done before, forcing her head to turn whichever way he pleased but he did not inflict pain; merely control.
“You know too much,” his voice hoarse was from desire. “And you’d kill me, given half a chance.” His other hand worked its way to the other clasp on her dress, undoing that too. It didn’t matter to him particularly that she would twist a knife deep into his throat if she thought she could get away with it. Of course he would do everything needed to prevent such an occurrence, but it did not alter his desire for her. Strangely, it heightened it. Like toying with a venomous snake or being in the arena with a tiger.
“You’re too dangerous.” He wanted to lose all control, all restraint. The urge to flip her onto her back and just take her was strong but he knew she would not be able to endure it. She would scream. She would cry. And unlike Imbrasus, those were not things he wanted from her. He wanted her hands sliding down his body the way she’d done in the temple. He wanted her eyes filled with as much lust for him as he had for her. He wanted their bodies intertwined, inseparable and slick with sweat. In short, he wanted things he wasn’t sure she would let him take.
At any moment he expected some sort of violent pushback instead of the weak attempt she leveled at his chest. She hated him. She told him so as their lips met but she backed up that statement with her hips pressing against him. His stomach dropped a little and he responded in kind, inwardly cursing the blanket that separated him from her. Perhaps it was the pain she was in that made her linger this close, but the sound that escaped her lips was not that of someone wishing to escape.
Her fingers moved over his chest, each touch pressing into overworked muscle so that instead of the silky touch it might have been, it was as though she was grazing a bruise. The pinpoints of pain deepened as she put her fingers to his jaw but it strangely didn’t matter. He liked the subtle ache her fingers ignited. Softly, her lips brushed over his again, returning the kiss he hadn’t meant to give.
In the dark, it was impossible to concentrate on anything but the feel of her hips against his, the way she bodily responded to him. He knew better than anyone else what the welts on her body would feel like if he grabbed her. He did it anyway. His hands lightly slid down her frame until he found the round muscle of her bottom. Gently but firmly, he guided her against him, lost in the feel of her mouth on his. If she’d let it, the pain would drive her somewhere she couldn’t imagine.
All at once she pulled away. He reached up, curling his fingers in her hair to bring her back but she was able to get out her question; why did he come back? Pausing, he ran his tongue over his lips, tasting her. Her hair was soft. It still smelled of the oils that she must have used at Imbrasus’s house.
“Because I thought of you stuck under his disgusting mass and it made me physically ill.” Reaching up, he unclasped her chiton on the shoulder he could reach and teased down the fabric. He lightly traced the raised whip line that curled around her breast. It was almost gone but the bruises would remain. She hadn’t been flogged. Her back would have been laid open and it was obvious that hadn’t been Imbrasus’s intent.
Despite the wounds, her skin was soft. He ran his knuckles down her side, over her ribs before running into more fabric. Her next question, why he couldn’t take her home, was more complicated. They’d been over it before but there was an aspect he hadn’t told her, among the various political reasons. “I don’t trust you,” he claimed her mouth again, demanding she open her mouth to him. Bringing his hand up, he took her jaw in his hand, the way he’d done before, forcing her head to turn whichever way he pleased but he did not inflict pain; merely control.
“You know too much,” his voice hoarse was from desire. “And you’d kill me, given half a chance.” His other hand worked its way to the other clasp on her dress, undoing that too. It didn’t matter to him particularly that she would twist a knife deep into his throat if she thought she could get away with it. Of course he would do everything needed to prevent such an occurrence, but it did not alter his desire for her. Strangely, it heightened it. Like toying with a venomous snake or being in the arena with a tiger.
“You’re too dangerous.” He wanted to lose all control, all restraint. The urge to flip her onto her back and just take her was strong but he knew she would not be able to endure it. She would scream. She would cry. And unlike Imbrasus, those were not things he wanted from her. He wanted her hands sliding down his body the way she’d done in the temple. He wanted her eyes filled with as much lust for him as he had for her. He wanted their bodies intertwined, inseparable and slick with sweat. In short, he wanted things he wasn’t sure she would let him take.
It wasn't the pain that drove her closer to him. It was the alcohol. It dulled her reason and muddled her logic. The pain from her bruises and the welts that made every nerve ending tingle barely registered with the wine that coursed through her system and the way Lukos touched her..aware that any aggression might cause her immense pain only made what sensitivity she did have work in her favor. Ibrascus never had the intention of feathery touches and soft caresses. Her injuries were meant for pain in the second half of his assault. But the increased sensitivity now was bittersweet. There was some pain, but with Lukos it made it erotic. It drew emphasis of the trail of his fingertips across her skin.
His hands moved down the line of her body; pushing aside her covers as he showed more restraint in touching her than he ever had before. His hand curled against her backside and squeezed; pulling her closer and aligning their hips. She gave an audible whimper of pain and gasped against his mouth...but she was already lost. Her nails dug into his chest; mirroring her own affliction.
She leaned back to ask her question and he fought to keep her from leaving his mouth; his hand sinking into her hair; curling tightly into the loose tresses as he spoke between kisses. But what he said, she'd never expected. He was so repulsed, he left and then returned? But the only reason he would do that is if he felt more for her than he'd lead her to believe. She knew she needed to think on this....to break it up and analyze the implications of what he said, but she was lost in the feeling of his touch and his mouth as it slanted over hers and the inebriated fog she was floating in.
His fingers found the clasp on her dress and flicked it open; separating the material as his knuckles dragged down her skin; across the top of her breast and the red line that marred her flesh. She shivered and sucked in a breath against his mouth. Their encounter was a push and pull of desire and resentment. Resentment for ever having to deal with each other and the inevitable result of when a man and a woman volley for power when neither will fully relent to the other. But in these moments, he was more honest with her than he'd been since he'd taken her. He told her he didn't trust her; between kisses where he demanded her to open more to him; so he could explore more fully as he turned possessive. His explanation was sound and she spoke in return. "You shouldn't trust me... " Her hand curled around his waist; grazing over his bare skin; still clammy with sweat from how hard he'd pushed himself all day. Nails bit into his flesh as the hand beneath her curled around his throat; her thumb grazing over his adam's apple and the rough skin peppered with unshaven stubble. "I should have killed you ten times over by now..." She should have, but she hadn't. Each tiny hesitation.. each excuse she made only delayed the inevitable. He'd made it clear they couldn't coexist together, yet here she was again. He'd left her. Sold her and walked away. And then, as if he didn't have enough of their battles, he came back for more. "Maybe I still will someday..."
But today was not that day. Instead, she kissed him back; twisting her tongue around his in a slow dance.. a powerplay of her own where neither of them would lose. He smelled more masculine than any man she'd ever met. Devoid of perfumed oils that softened his skin and cloyed at her senses, he smelled of saltwater, fresh air and his own unique scent that pulled at something more innate in her. "You can't keep me."
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It wasn't the pain that drove her closer to him. It was the alcohol. It dulled her reason and muddled her logic. The pain from her bruises and the welts that made every nerve ending tingle barely registered with the wine that coursed through her system and the way Lukos touched her..aware that any aggression might cause her immense pain only made what sensitivity she did have work in her favor. Ibrascus never had the intention of feathery touches and soft caresses. Her injuries were meant for pain in the second half of his assault. But the increased sensitivity now was bittersweet. There was some pain, but with Lukos it made it erotic. It drew emphasis of the trail of his fingertips across her skin.
His hands moved down the line of her body; pushing aside her covers as he showed more restraint in touching her than he ever had before. His hand curled against her backside and squeezed; pulling her closer and aligning their hips. She gave an audible whimper of pain and gasped against his mouth...but she was already lost. Her nails dug into his chest; mirroring her own affliction.
She leaned back to ask her question and he fought to keep her from leaving his mouth; his hand sinking into her hair; curling tightly into the loose tresses as he spoke between kisses. But what he said, she'd never expected. He was so repulsed, he left and then returned? But the only reason he would do that is if he felt more for her than he'd lead her to believe. She knew she needed to think on this....to break it up and analyze the implications of what he said, but she was lost in the feeling of his touch and his mouth as it slanted over hers and the inebriated fog she was floating in.
His fingers found the clasp on her dress and flicked it open; separating the material as his knuckles dragged down her skin; across the top of her breast and the red line that marred her flesh. She shivered and sucked in a breath against his mouth. Their encounter was a push and pull of desire and resentment. Resentment for ever having to deal with each other and the inevitable result of when a man and a woman volley for power when neither will fully relent to the other. But in these moments, he was more honest with her than he'd been since he'd taken her. He told her he didn't trust her; between kisses where he demanded her to open more to him; so he could explore more fully as he turned possessive. His explanation was sound and she spoke in return. "You shouldn't trust me... " Her hand curled around his waist; grazing over his bare skin; still clammy with sweat from how hard he'd pushed himself all day. Nails bit into his flesh as the hand beneath her curled around his throat; her thumb grazing over his adam's apple and the rough skin peppered with unshaven stubble. "I should have killed you ten times over by now..." She should have, but she hadn't. Each tiny hesitation.. each excuse she made only delayed the inevitable. He'd made it clear they couldn't coexist together, yet here she was again. He'd left her. Sold her and walked away. And then, as if he didn't have enough of their battles, he came back for more. "Maybe I still will someday..."
But today was not that day. Instead, she kissed him back; twisting her tongue around his in a slow dance.. a powerplay of her own where neither of them would lose. He smelled more masculine than any man she'd ever met. Devoid of perfumed oils that softened his skin and cloyed at her senses, he smelled of saltwater, fresh air and his own unique scent that pulled at something more innate in her. "You can't keep me."
It wasn't the pain that drove her closer to him. It was the alcohol. It dulled her reason and muddled her logic. The pain from her bruises and the welts that made every nerve ending tingle barely registered with the wine that coursed through her system and the way Lukos touched her..aware that any aggression might cause her immense pain only made what sensitivity she did have work in her favor. Ibrascus never had the intention of feathery touches and soft caresses. Her injuries were meant for pain in the second half of his assault. But the increased sensitivity now was bittersweet. There was some pain, but with Lukos it made it erotic. It drew emphasis of the trail of his fingertips across her skin.
His hands moved down the line of her body; pushing aside her covers as he showed more restraint in touching her than he ever had before. His hand curled against her backside and squeezed; pulling her closer and aligning their hips. She gave an audible whimper of pain and gasped against his mouth...but she was already lost. Her nails dug into his chest; mirroring her own affliction.
She leaned back to ask her question and he fought to keep her from leaving his mouth; his hand sinking into her hair; curling tightly into the loose tresses as he spoke between kisses. But what he said, she'd never expected. He was so repulsed, he left and then returned? But the only reason he would do that is if he felt more for her than he'd lead her to believe. She knew she needed to think on this....to break it up and analyze the implications of what he said, but she was lost in the feeling of his touch and his mouth as it slanted over hers and the inebriated fog she was floating in.
His fingers found the clasp on her dress and flicked it open; separating the material as his knuckles dragged down her skin; across the top of her breast and the red line that marred her flesh. She shivered and sucked in a breath against his mouth. Their encounter was a push and pull of desire and resentment. Resentment for ever having to deal with each other and the inevitable result of when a man and a woman volley for power when neither will fully relent to the other. But in these moments, he was more honest with her than he'd been since he'd taken her. He told her he didn't trust her; between kisses where he demanded her to open more to him; so he could explore more fully as he turned possessive. His explanation was sound and she spoke in return. "You shouldn't trust me... " Her hand curled around his waist; grazing over his bare skin; still clammy with sweat from how hard he'd pushed himself all day. Nails bit into his flesh as the hand beneath her curled around his throat; her thumb grazing over his adam's apple and the rough skin peppered with unshaven stubble. "I should have killed you ten times over by now..." She should have, but she hadn't. Each tiny hesitation.. each excuse she made only delayed the inevitable. He'd made it clear they couldn't coexist together, yet here she was again. He'd left her. Sold her and walked away. And then, as if he didn't have enough of their battles, he came back for more. "Maybe I still will someday..."
But today was not that day. Instead, she kissed him back; twisting her tongue around his in a slow dance.. a powerplay of her own where neither of them would lose. He smelled more masculine than any man she'd ever met. Devoid of perfumed oils that softened his skin and cloyed at her senses, he smelled of saltwater, fresh air and his own unique scent that pulled at something more innate in her. "You can't keep me."
His hips pressed harder against her as her nails dragged across his skin, biting into his flesh. The pricks of pain were almost nothing but they fired up the nerve endings in his body. She wasn’t fighting him at all, which was mildly surprising. It was not worth stopping to consider the whys of what she was doing. He didn’t care. Her feelings about it mattered very little; only her actions were important.
As she brought her own hand up to his throat, almost as though she was considering choking him, he smiled against her mouth. There it was. The aggression he knew was in there somewhere. The fiery passion that could flare up at any moment. It was part of what made her incredibly alluring; nearly irresistible. One wrong move with her, one slip up, and she could end him. She’d proved more than once that she was quite capable of killing if she so chose.
Her threat ignited a thrill and he bit her lower lip. The thought that he would have to keep her at arm’s length and yet have her this close was exhausting in the extreme but also a challenge. How long could he keep up this death dance? How long would it take her to work up the courage again to attempt another try at killing him? Would they be sleeping side by side? Or would she wait until he was alone in the temple? His pulse pounded thinking about it.
It wasn't that he wanted to die; but he was not afraid of death. Death lurked at his heels daily. His ship could sink in a storm, a deal could go wrong, or, in her case, a slave might end up knifing him. Kissing her across her jaw, he made to move down to her neck but she drew him back. He felt her tongue against his lips, prompting him to open his mouth and he found himself getting lost in the game.
Smoothing his hands over her body, he pushed down her chiton over her hips, taking her blanket down to her thighs. He pulled away from her mouth to trail his tongue over the exposed skin of her throat. From there he moved down to the curve of her shoulder, sucking the tender flesh before biting her lightly as he pushed down is own blanket.
Against his hair, she murmured that he could not keep her. He breathed a dark chuckle against her neck, a wicked smile playing about his mouth. His hand slid down her stomach, over her hip, gripping her backside. His fingers itched to go between her legs. “Then run,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck again. He wanted her to give in, to moan against him, to pant, to beg. He pushed her legs apart with his thigh, moving so that he was against her.
Who was the real loser in this game he wondered? If she let him have her, consume her, her value plummeted as a slave. She was magnificent; he would always be able to fetch quite a sum for her, but if he was honest, he wasn't going to sell her. This, he did not tell her. There was no need to let her know that she'd gained some sort of hook into him. It wasn't just Imbrasus that sickened him. It was anyone. This wasn't love. Nothing close. But it was a good deal more whatever it was than he'd bothered with in his life. No one else ever seemed worth his time. And the thought that she hated him, and yet found herself with his tongue in her mouth and his hands roving her body made him want her that much more.
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His hips pressed harder against her as her nails dragged across his skin, biting into his flesh. The pricks of pain were almost nothing but they fired up the nerve endings in his body. She wasn’t fighting him at all, which was mildly surprising. It was not worth stopping to consider the whys of what she was doing. He didn’t care. Her feelings about it mattered very little; only her actions were important.
As she brought her own hand up to his throat, almost as though she was considering choking him, he smiled against her mouth. There it was. The aggression he knew was in there somewhere. The fiery passion that could flare up at any moment. It was part of what made her incredibly alluring; nearly irresistible. One wrong move with her, one slip up, and she could end him. She’d proved more than once that she was quite capable of killing if she so chose.
Her threat ignited a thrill and he bit her lower lip. The thought that he would have to keep her at arm’s length and yet have her this close was exhausting in the extreme but also a challenge. How long could he keep up this death dance? How long would it take her to work up the courage again to attempt another try at killing him? Would they be sleeping side by side? Or would she wait until he was alone in the temple? His pulse pounded thinking about it.
It wasn't that he wanted to die; but he was not afraid of death. Death lurked at his heels daily. His ship could sink in a storm, a deal could go wrong, or, in her case, a slave might end up knifing him. Kissing her across her jaw, he made to move down to her neck but she drew him back. He felt her tongue against his lips, prompting him to open his mouth and he found himself getting lost in the game.
Smoothing his hands over her body, he pushed down her chiton over her hips, taking her blanket down to her thighs. He pulled away from her mouth to trail his tongue over the exposed skin of her throat. From there he moved down to the curve of her shoulder, sucking the tender flesh before biting her lightly as he pushed down is own blanket.
Against his hair, she murmured that he could not keep her. He breathed a dark chuckle against her neck, a wicked smile playing about his mouth. His hand slid down her stomach, over her hip, gripping her backside. His fingers itched to go between her legs. “Then run,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck again. He wanted her to give in, to moan against him, to pant, to beg. He pushed her legs apart with his thigh, moving so that he was against her.
Who was the real loser in this game he wondered? If she let him have her, consume her, her value plummeted as a slave. She was magnificent; he would always be able to fetch quite a sum for her, but if he was honest, he wasn't going to sell her. This, he did not tell her. There was no need to let her know that she'd gained some sort of hook into him. It wasn't just Imbrasus that sickened him. It was anyone. This wasn't love. Nothing close. But it was a good deal more whatever it was than he'd bothered with in his life. No one else ever seemed worth his time. And the thought that she hated him, and yet found herself with his tongue in her mouth and his hands roving her body made him want her that much more.
His hips pressed harder against her as her nails dragged across his skin, biting into his flesh. The pricks of pain were almost nothing but they fired up the nerve endings in his body. She wasn’t fighting him at all, which was mildly surprising. It was not worth stopping to consider the whys of what she was doing. He didn’t care. Her feelings about it mattered very little; only her actions were important.
As she brought her own hand up to his throat, almost as though she was considering choking him, he smiled against her mouth. There it was. The aggression he knew was in there somewhere. The fiery passion that could flare up at any moment. It was part of what made her incredibly alluring; nearly irresistible. One wrong move with her, one slip up, and she could end him. She’d proved more than once that she was quite capable of killing if she so chose.
Her threat ignited a thrill and he bit her lower lip. The thought that he would have to keep her at arm’s length and yet have her this close was exhausting in the extreme but also a challenge. How long could he keep up this death dance? How long would it take her to work up the courage again to attempt another try at killing him? Would they be sleeping side by side? Or would she wait until he was alone in the temple? His pulse pounded thinking about it.
It wasn't that he wanted to die; but he was not afraid of death. Death lurked at his heels daily. His ship could sink in a storm, a deal could go wrong, or, in her case, a slave might end up knifing him. Kissing her across her jaw, he made to move down to her neck but she drew him back. He felt her tongue against his lips, prompting him to open his mouth and he found himself getting lost in the game.
Smoothing his hands over her body, he pushed down her chiton over her hips, taking her blanket down to her thighs. He pulled away from her mouth to trail his tongue over the exposed skin of her throat. From there he moved down to the curve of her shoulder, sucking the tender flesh before biting her lightly as he pushed down is own blanket.
Against his hair, she murmured that he could not keep her. He breathed a dark chuckle against her neck, a wicked smile playing about his mouth. His hand slid down her stomach, over her hip, gripping her backside. His fingers itched to go between her legs. “Then run,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck again. He wanted her to give in, to moan against him, to pant, to beg. He pushed her legs apart with his thigh, moving so that he was against her.
Who was the real loser in this game he wondered? If she let him have her, consume her, her value plummeted as a slave. She was magnificent; he would always be able to fetch quite a sum for her, but if he was honest, he wasn't going to sell her. This, he did not tell her. There was no need to let her know that she'd gained some sort of hook into him. It wasn't just Imbrasus that sickened him. It was anyone. This wasn't love. Nothing close. But it was a good deal more whatever it was than he'd bothered with in his life. No one else ever seemed worth his time. And the thought that she hated him, and yet found herself with his tongue in her mouth and his hands roving her body made him want her that much more.
His mouth moved away from hers; depriving her of the feel of his full lips and the power play they shared. The only exchange where she didn't mind his domination over her... where she would allow him to have the upper hand.. and any other hand he wanted, really. She let her head fall back; exposing the full column of her neck as he brushed heated kisses down her skin; grinning against the curve of her shoulder as he told her she'd have to run. She smiled playfully...because it was what she was good at. Save he was better. Their cat and mouse game was infuriating and it fed them; building the fire between them that pulled them closer; sucking the oxygen from between them until they burned together.
His thigh pushed between her legs so that her own straddled him; her dress still providing a distracting barrier between his bare skin and hers. He'd tugged her strap down; exposing the top half of her torso to him; pushing the loose cords that were tied about it down to the smallest part of her waist as he moved aside their covers anxiously. Her hands splayed across his stomach; the hard muscles beneath heated skin flexed as his hands moved over her slender form. She could feel his pulse in the palm of her hand against his neck. She gave a soft sigh of contentment as his mouth tasted and explored her skin; pushing boundaries that were all but obliterated in only the last several minutes. Boundaries she would have denied him any right to if she hadn't had so much wine. If she were sober would he have been able to touch her like this? Graze fingers over sensitive flesh or press his thigh intimately between her legs? Not likely.
His mouth moved back to hers and she purred against his mouth but didn't accept him as she had before; her lips remained plush and swollen from his attentions, but she didn't return his affections as passionately; offering only soft brushes of her mouth against his. Her hands had stilled some time ago with the feeling of his pulse against her palm and her arm draped over his waist. Shifting, she buried the top of her forehead beneath his chin; turning her cheek so she could press it against his chest. the alcohol and his attentions were like a warm balm. It soothed away the days' afflictions; stealing her consciousness until her breathing evened out and she fell victim to the darkness of unconsciousness moments before he found her mouth again.
In other words, she fell asleep.
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His mouth moved away from hers; depriving her of the feel of his full lips and the power play they shared. The only exchange where she didn't mind his domination over her... where she would allow him to have the upper hand.. and any other hand he wanted, really. She let her head fall back; exposing the full column of her neck as he brushed heated kisses down her skin; grinning against the curve of her shoulder as he told her she'd have to run. She smiled playfully...because it was what she was good at. Save he was better. Their cat and mouse game was infuriating and it fed them; building the fire between them that pulled them closer; sucking the oxygen from between them until they burned together.
His thigh pushed between her legs so that her own straddled him; her dress still providing a distracting barrier between his bare skin and hers. He'd tugged her strap down; exposing the top half of her torso to him; pushing the loose cords that were tied about it down to the smallest part of her waist as he moved aside their covers anxiously. Her hands splayed across his stomach; the hard muscles beneath heated skin flexed as his hands moved over her slender form. She could feel his pulse in the palm of her hand against his neck. She gave a soft sigh of contentment as his mouth tasted and explored her skin; pushing boundaries that were all but obliterated in only the last several minutes. Boundaries she would have denied him any right to if she hadn't had so much wine. If she were sober would he have been able to touch her like this? Graze fingers over sensitive flesh or press his thigh intimately between her legs? Not likely.
His mouth moved back to hers and she purred against his mouth but didn't accept him as she had before; her lips remained plush and swollen from his attentions, but she didn't return his affections as passionately; offering only soft brushes of her mouth against his. Her hands had stilled some time ago with the feeling of his pulse against her palm and her arm draped over his waist. Shifting, she buried the top of her forehead beneath his chin; turning her cheek so she could press it against his chest. the alcohol and his attentions were like a warm balm. It soothed away the days' afflictions; stealing her consciousness until her breathing evened out and she fell victim to the darkness of unconsciousness moments before he found her mouth again.
In other words, she fell asleep.
His mouth moved away from hers; depriving her of the feel of his full lips and the power play they shared. The only exchange where she didn't mind his domination over her... where she would allow him to have the upper hand.. and any other hand he wanted, really. She let her head fall back; exposing the full column of her neck as he brushed heated kisses down her skin; grinning against the curve of her shoulder as he told her she'd have to run. She smiled playfully...because it was what she was good at. Save he was better. Their cat and mouse game was infuriating and it fed them; building the fire between them that pulled them closer; sucking the oxygen from between them until they burned together.
His thigh pushed between her legs so that her own straddled him; her dress still providing a distracting barrier between his bare skin and hers. He'd tugged her strap down; exposing the top half of her torso to him; pushing the loose cords that were tied about it down to the smallest part of her waist as he moved aside their covers anxiously. Her hands splayed across his stomach; the hard muscles beneath heated skin flexed as his hands moved over her slender form. She could feel his pulse in the palm of her hand against his neck. She gave a soft sigh of contentment as his mouth tasted and explored her skin; pushing boundaries that were all but obliterated in only the last several minutes. Boundaries she would have denied him any right to if she hadn't had so much wine. If she were sober would he have been able to touch her like this? Graze fingers over sensitive flesh or press his thigh intimately between her legs? Not likely.
His mouth moved back to hers and she purred against his mouth but didn't accept him as she had before; her lips remained plush and swollen from his attentions, but she didn't return his affections as passionately; offering only soft brushes of her mouth against his. Her hands had stilled some time ago with the feeling of his pulse against her palm and her arm draped over his waist. Shifting, she buried the top of her forehead beneath his chin; turning her cheek so she could press it against his chest. the alcohol and his attentions were like a warm balm. It soothed away the days' afflictions; stealing her consciousness until her breathing evened out and she fell victim to the darkness of unconsciousness moments before he found her mouth again.
In other words, she fell asleep.
Their kisses, instead of deepening and intensifying, dropped away until she was barely responding at all. She’d purred against him, a clear sign that she wanted more but all at once, she pulled away to curl against him. He frowned into the darkness, confusion making him pause. Her hands stilled and she moved down as she’d done in nights past; when she was asleep.
He groaned into her hair.
Lukos shifted until he was on his back with her head resting on his chest and her arm flung over his stomach. He absently ran his hand over her tortured back until he met the fabric of her chiton still around her waist. Moving her so that her head rested on the pillow, he sat up and grabbed her dress, pulling it the rest of the way off her body until she was completely naked. Like she would have been.
A long sigh escape him as he ran his hand from her ankle, up her calf, over her thigh, and up onto her hip. Frustration mounted even as his desire left him. What else would have happened if not this? He lay back down, moving her again the way she was before, half slung across him.
Now that he was a little cooler, a little less distracted by her, he found he was actually glad she’d fallen asleep. Nothing irreversible had been done. Except that she had kissed him. That distinction was important and he moved so that he could look at her face, half hidden in shadow. “I know your secret,” he murmured to her sleeping form. Placing his right arm back so that he was resting on it like a pillow, he ran his other hand over her, falling asleep stroking her back.
Without her mouth as a distraction, the sleep that stole him was deep. It glossed over the fatigue of the day, the dull ache of his muscles, the fact that he could not roll over during the night. Neither of them moved the whole night. Morning peaked through the window, light creeping across the floor in a buttery slant. Sometime during the wee hours, he’d pushed down the blanket to their hips, leaving their torsos exposed. His arm was still across her shoulder, his hand cupping her backside as he slept.
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Their kisses, instead of deepening and intensifying, dropped away until she was barely responding at all. She’d purred against him, a clear sign that she wanted more but all at once, she pulled away to curl against him. He frowned into the darkness, confusion making him pause. Her hands stilled and she moved down as she’d done in nights past; when she was asleep.
He groaned into her hair.
Lukos shifted until he was on his back with her head resting on his chest and her arm flung over his stomach. He absently ran his hand over her tortured back until he met the fabric of her chiton still around her waist. Moving her so that her head rested on the pillow, he sat up and grabbed her dress, pulling it the rest of the way off her body until she was completely naked. Like she would have been.
A long sigh escape him as he ran his hand from her ankle, up her calf, over her thigh, and up onto her hip. Frustration mounted even as his desire left him. What else would have happened if not this? He lay back down, moving her again the way she was before, half slung across him.
Now that he was a little cooler, a little less distracted by her, he found he was actually glad she’d fallen asleep. Nothing irreversible had been done. Except that she had kissed him. That distinction was important and he moved so that he could look at her face, half hidden in shadow. “I know your secret,” he murmured to her sleeping form. Placing his right arm back so that he was resting on it like a pillow, he ran his other hand over her, falling asleep stroking her back.
Without her mouth as a distraction, the sleep that stole him was deep. It glossed over the fatigue of the day, the dull ache of his muscles, the fact that he could not roll over during the night. Neither of them moved the whole night. Morning peaked through the window, light creeping across the floor in a buttery slant. Sometime during the wee hours, he’d pushed down the blanket to their hips, leaving their torsos exposed. His arm was still across her shoulder, his hand cupping her backside as he slept.
Their kisses, instead of deepening and intensifying, dropped away until she was barely responding at all. She’d purred against him, a clear sign that she wanted more but all at once, she pulled away to curl against him. He frowned into the darkness, confusion making him pause. Her hands stilled and she moved down as she’d done in nights past; when she was asleep.
He groaned into her hair.
Lukos shifted until he was on his back with her head resting on his chest and her arm flung over his stomach. He absently ran his hand over her tortured back until he met the fabric of her chiton still around her waist. Moving her so that her head rested on the pillow, he sat up and grabbed her dress, pulling it the rest of the way off her body until she was completely naked. Like she would have been.
A long sigh escape him as he ran his hand from her ankle, up her calf, over her thigh, and up onto her hip. Frustration mounted even as his desire left him. What else would have happened if not this? He lay back down, moving her again the way she was before, half slung across him.
Now that he was a little cooler, a little less distracted by her, he found he was actually glad she’d fallen asleep. Nothing irreversible had been done. Except that she had kissed him. That distinction was important and he moved so that he could look at her face, half hidden in shadow. “I know your secret,” he murmured to her sleeping form. Placing his right arm back so that he was resting on it like a pillow, he ran his other hand over her, falling asleep stroking her back.
Without her mouth as a distraction, the sleep that stole him was deep. It glossed over the fatigue of the day, the dull ache of his muscles, the fact that he could not roll over during the night. Neither of them moved the whole night. Morning peaked through the window, light creeping across the floor in a buttery slant. Sometime during the wee hours, he’d pushed down the blanket to their hips, leaving their torsos exposed. His arm was still across her shoulder, his hand cupping her backside as he slept.
When Thalia fell unconscious, she was pulled down so heavily into oblivion by the weight of the wine she'd drank there was just no waking her. She wasn't much of a heavy sleeper, but the alcohol was a fickle master. It covered her in visions and dreams she had no way of remembering the next day. She should have remembered the touch of his fingertips; how he pulled her against him when he lay down or when he removed the rest of her gown, but there was nothing.
She awoke the next morning a contradiction. The front side of he was blazing warm; the heat of their bodies entwined made her skin damp with perspiration where they touched, while her entire back was exposed to the cool morning air that filtered through the open window. She felt goosebumps skitter against the back of her thighs and she purred; searching for her covers. Her fingers grazed against a hard torso and the sound of his breathing and heartbeat against her ear registered in the back of her mind. It thrummed in time with the pounding in her head and she groaned. She made to push away, but his arm was wrapped around her; keeping her close. His hand was like a firebrand resting on the top curve of her backside. When she searched for the blanket, her fingers grazed against her bare skin. Against his hip which was also exposed and she froze; her eyes opening wide as she glanced down at them. Her drape covered them from the lower hips on, but they were very much bare, and very much entangled together just so beneath the covers.
Immediately she sat up; yanking the drape around her chest as she stared down at him; her face a mirror of confusion and annoyance. She pushed through the hazy fog of sleep and alcohol-induced amnesia to try and remember what happened the night before that would lead to this. She remembered him coming in and that she'd pulled the blade on him, which didn't make a lot of sense in her state. She remembered he'd disarmed her and thrown it off the bed. She glanced down and saw it on the ground in confirmation. And that he'd kissed her. Without asking permission, or waiting for her to push away, he'd kissed her.
Her cheeks turned red as she remembered his hands as they moved over her body.. of the feeling of him pressed up against her and of the secrets he told her. She also remembered that she did nothing to dissuade him. she remembered kissing him back; of pressing her hips against his in a plea for more and she was infuriated. Not with him, but with herself.
She had no words. Instead, she rolled off the bed and plucked up her gown from the floor. There was no blood, and she wasn't overly sore so she was sure that it hadn't gone as far as he might have liked, but that they'd kissed at all was more than she'd ever like to admit to. Shaking the sheer garment out of the second chiton, she tugged it over her head while she held onto the drape; letting it go when the dress covered her body. "You shouldn't have taken advantage while I was in such a state..." Her fingers sorted the clasp and her body ached with their bruises....but it was an improvement. No longer was the pain biting and sharp. It'd dulled to a low throb that she could tolerate more as it was like training too heavily with Diomedes.
She couldn't look at him. This was all so terribly wrong. If she hadn't have been drinking none of it would have ever happened. "This won't happen again."
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
When Thalia fell unconscious, she was pulled down so heavily into oblivion by the weight of the wine she'd drank there was just no waking her. She wasn't much of a heavy sleeper, but the alcohol was a fickle master. It covered her in visions and dreams she had no way of remembering the next day. She should have remembered the touch of his fingertips; how he pulled her against him when he lay down or when he removed the rest of her gown, but there was nothing.
She awoke the next morning a contradiction. The front side of he was blazing warm; the heat of their bodies entwined made her skin damp with perspiration where they touched, while her entire back was exposed to the cool morning air that filtered through the open window. She felt goosebumps skitter against the back of her thighs and she purred; searching for her covers. Her fingers grazed against a hard torso and the sound of his breathing and heartbeat against her ear registered in the back of her mind. It thrummed in time with the pounding in her head and she groaned. She made to push away, but his arm was wrapped around her; keeping her close. His hand was like a firebrand resting on the top curve of her backside. When she searched for the blanket, her fingers grazed against her bare skin. Against his hip which was also exposed and she froze; her eyes opening wide as she glanced down at them. Her drape covered them from the lower hips on, but they were very much bare, and very much entangled together just so beneath the covers.
Immediately she sat up; yanking the drape around her chest as she stared down at him; her face a mirror of confusion and annoyance. She pushed through the hazy fog of sleep and alcohol-induced amnesia to try and remember what happened the night before that would lead to this. She remembered him coming in and that she'd pulled the blade on him, which didn't make a lot of sense in her state. She remembered he'd disarmed her and thrown it off the bed. She glanced down and saw it on the ground in confirmation. And that he'd kissed her. Without asking permission, or waiting for her to push away, he'd kissed her.
Her cheeks turned red as she remembered his hands as they moved over her body.. of the feeling of him pressed up against her and of the secrets he told her. She also remembered that she did nothing to dissuade him. she remembered kissing him back; of pressing her hips against his in a plea for more and she was infuriated. Not with him, but with herself.
She had no words. Instead, she rolled off the bed and plucked up her gown from the floor. There was no blood, and she wasn't overly sore so she was sure that it hadn't gone as far as he might have liked, but that they'd kissed at all was more than she'd ever like to admit to. Shaking the sheer garment out of the second chiton, she tugged it over her head while she held onto the drape; letting it go when the dress covered her body. "You shouldn't have taken advantage while I was in such a state..." Her fingers sorted the clasp and her body ached with their bruises....but it was an improvement. No longer was the pain biting and sharp. It'd dulled to a low throb that she could tolerate more as it was like training too heavily with Diomedes.
She couldn't look at him. This was all so terribly wrong. If she hadn't have been drinking none of it would have ever happened. "This won't happen again."
When Thalia fell unconscious, she was pulled down so heavily into oblivion by the weight of the wine she'd drank there was just no waking her. She wasn't much of a heavy sleeper, but the alcohol was a fickle master. It covered her in visions and dreams she had no way of remembering the next day. She should have remembered the touch of his fingertips; how he pulled her against him when he lay down or when he removed the rest of her gown, but there was nothing.
She awoke the next morning a contradiction. The front side of he was blazing warm; the heat of their bodies entwined made her skin damp with perspiration where they touched, while her entire back was exposed to the cool morning air that filtered through the open window. She felt goosebumps skitter against the back of her thighs and she purred; searching for her covers. Her fingers grazed against a hard torso and the sound of his breathing and heartbeat against her ear registered in the back of her mind. It thrummed in time with the pounding in her head and she groaned. She made to push away, but his arm was wrapped around her; keeping her close. His hand was like a firebrand resting on the top curve of her backside. When she searched for the blanket, her fingers grazed against her bare skin. Against his hip which was also exposed and she froze; her eyes opening wide as she glanced down at them. Her drape covered them from the lower hips on, but they were very much bare, and very much entangled together just so beneath the covers.
Immediately she sat up; yanking the drape around her chest as she stared down at him; her face a mirror of confusion and annoyance. She pushed through the hazy fog of sleep and alcohol-induced amnesia to try and remember what happened the night before that would lead to this. She remembered him coming in and that she'd pulled the blade on him, which didn't make a lot of sense in her state. She remembered he'd disarmed her and thrown it off the bed. She glanced down and saw it on the ground in confirmation. And that he'd kissed her. Without asking permission, or waiting for her to push away, he'd kissed her.
Her cheeks turned red as she remembered his hands as they moved over her body.. of the feeling of him pressed up against her and of the secrets he told her. She also remembered that she did nothing to dissuade him. she remembered kissing him back; of pressing her hips against his in a plea for more and she was infuriated. Not with him, but with herself.
She had no words. Instead, she rolled off the bed and plucked up her gown from the floor. There was no blood, and she wasn't overly sore so she was sure that it hadn't gone as far as he might have liked, but that they'd kissed at all was more than she'd ever like to admit to. Shaking the sheer garment out of the second chiton, she tugged it over her head while she held onto the drape; letting it go when the dress covered her body. "You shouldn't have taken advantage while I was in such a state..." Her fingers sorted the clasp and her body ached with their bruises....but it was an improvement. No longer was the pain biting and sharp. It'd dulled to a low throb that she could tolerate more as it was like training too heavily with Diomedes.
She couldn't look at him. This was all so terribly wrong. If she hadn't have been drinking none of it would have ever happened. "This won't happen again."
The first of her stirrings brought him midway out of sleep. As her fingers grazed his bare hip, he woke the rest of the way. He reached down for her hand but it was already gone. Opening his eyes, he squinted into the light. The blanket slid across him as she struggled to sit up, looking around, confused. Her expression was not promising and to block it out, he flung his arm over his eyes with a groan.
All at once the blanket was gone. “Hey!” He sat up, glaring at her as she moved over to where he’d discarded her chiton, taking the blanket with her. Glancing around the room, he realized it was well past time to get up. They had been so warm and despite what he thought of her, he liked having her naked body against his as they slept. Without looking at her as she shook out her clothes, he reached for his trousers, checking to see if the bottom edges were dry. Satisfied that they were, he pulled them on and sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair.
"You shouldn't have taken advantage while I was in such a state..." she said stiffly.
Her voice drew his eye and he watched as she clasped the fabric of her dress in place. His gaze traveled down her arms and over the visible parts of her shoulders, riddled with ugly purple and yellow bruises. Her black hair was tousled about her head from sleep and his fingers. Dried brown blood crusted parts of her chiton. She was a mess.
He stood when she announced that another meeting like they’d had last night wouldn’t happen again. “No,” he agreed, casting about for his shirt. “It won’t.” Turning, he found it half under the bed. Pulling it out, he shook it. A corner of it brushed the table top and sent something metallic skittering across the floor. After he tugged his shirt over his head, he bent down to retrieve the fallen item only to find that it was the lotus part of the necklace he’d given her. Now that he looked, the jewels of the necklace were scattered all over the floor. He’d been lucky up to now not to step on them with bare feet.
“Here,” he pressed it into her palm before pulling on his boots and picking up the dagger she’d tried to use to kill him. Considering the dagger, he sighed and held it out to her, hilt first. “Next time you try to kill me? Wait for a better opportunity. I’d hate to think of you slaughtered for being so stupid as to try it on my ship.” Waiting only long enough for her to take the blade, he strode toward the door, pulling it open.
Just before walking through, he turned back and pointed to the knife. “Don’t kill any of my crew.” The dirty look he threw her suggested that he thought she might just run through and gut every single person aboard for the thrill of it. Lukos shut the door. Having killed his share of people in his life, and having started at a young age, he thought he knew what she might be feeling about the act but he wasn’t interested in exploring the emotional trauma of such actions. If she kept up her killing streak of ending lives once a week, she’d find it would get both easier and harder. Easier to do it, harder to live with it on dark nights with nothing else to think on.
Lukos pounded up the stairs to find Arktos already on deck. The big man turned, arching an eyebrow at his captain. “Satisfy yourself?” he rumbled.
“Least satisfying night of my life,” Lukos retorted, about to head up the stairs to the top deck but Arktos’s bray of laughter stopped him.
“So it’s true!” Arktos laughed harder.
“What?” Lukos pressed his lips into a thin line.
“That noble women are like cold fish! She just laid there didn’t she?” He laughed hard enough that tears streamed down his face. “You fucked-” he couldn’t breathe. “A fish!”
Lukos stared at him for a moment, the edge of his mouth turning up as an idea clicked into place. “Yes,” he growled, allowing his mouth to turn back down before his bear could notice the sly look he cast at the deck as though he could see her through the boards. “She was boring. Whores are better.”
“All your mooning!” Arktos was half slumped over a railing but his mirth had ceased to be funny to Lukos in that instant.
“I didn’t moon.”
“For a-” Arktos couldn’t even finish his thought. Lukos glanced around at the crew who had ceased mending sails or carrying huge cords of rope to stare at their captain and his first mate.
“When you can control yourself,” Lukos glared at him to no effect. “Don’t bother her if she comes out of the cabin.” He started up the stairs and Arktos finally seemed to get some modicum of containment.
“I’ll keep your secret,” Arktos burst out laughing again as though the thought of Thalia laying as still as possible while Lukos was above her was the funniest thing he’d ever considered in his life. As though the same situation had not happened to him many, many times. Or, perhaps because it had, it made it all the more hilarious to consider that his captain could find himself in the same predicament.
“It’s no secret,” Lukos said carelessly over his shoulder. “Let the men know if they ask. She might as well have been dead.” Why he was doing this for her, he wasn’t entirely sure. But with her knife and this rumor about the ship that she was no longer intact and also incredibly unsatisfying, should give her as much protection as he was capable of giving without locking her in a cage.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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The first of her stirrings brought him midway out of sleep. As her fingers grazed his bare hip, he woke the rest of the way. He reached down for her hand but it was already gone. Opening his eyes, he squinted into the light. The blanket slid across him as she struggled to sit up, looking around, confused. Her expression was not promising and to block it out, he flung his arm over his eyes with a groan.
All at once the blanket was gone. “Hey!” He sat up, glaring at her as she moved over to where he’d discarded her chiton, taking the blanket with her. Glancing around the room, he realized it was well past time to get up. They had been so warm and despite what he thought of her, he liked having her naked body against his as they slept. Without looking at her as she shook out her clothes, he reached for his trousers, checking to see if the bottom edges were dry. Satisfied that they were, he pulled them on and sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair.
"You shouldn't have taken advantage while I was in such a state..." she said stiffly.
Her voice drew his eye and he watched as she clasped the fabric of her dress in place. His gaze traveled down her arms and over the visible parts of her shoulders, riddled with ugly purple and yellow bruises. Her black hair was tousled about her head from sleep and his fingers. Dried brown blood crusted parts of her chiton. She was a mess.
He stood when she announced that another meeting like they’d had last night wouldn’t happen again. “No,” he agreed, casting about for his shirt. “It won’t.” Turning, he found it half under the bed. Pulling it out, he shook it. A corner of it brushed the table top and sent something metallic skittering across the floor. After he tugged his shirt over his head, he bent down to retrieve the fallen item only to find that it was the lotus part of the necklace he’d given her. Now that he looked, the jewels of the necklace were scattered all over the floor. He’d been lucky up to now not to step on them with bare feet.
“Here,” he pressed it into her palm before pulling on his boots and picking up the dagger she’d tried to use to kill him. Considering the dagger, he sighed and held it out to her, hilt first. “Next time you try to kill me? Wait for a better opportunity. I’d hate to think of you slaughtered for being so stupid as to try it on my ship.” Waiting only long enough for her to take the blade, he strode toward the door, pulling it open.
Just before walking through, he turned back and pointed to the knife. “Don’t kill any of my crew.” The dirty look he threw her suggested that he thought she might just run through and gut every single person aboard for the thrill of it. Lukos shut the door. Having killed his share of people in his life, and having started at a young age, he thought he knew what she might be feeling about the act but he wasn’t interested in exploring the emotional trauma of such actions. If she kept up her killing streak of ending lives once a week, she’d find it would get both easier and harder. Easier to do it, harder to live with it on dark nights with nothing else to think on.
Lukos pounded up the stairs to find Arktos already on deck. The big man turned, arching an eyebrow at his captain. “Satisfy yourself?” he rumbled.
“Least satisfying night of my life,” Lukos retorted, about to head up the stairs to the top deck but Arktos’s bray of laughter stopped him.
“So it’s true!” Arktos laughed harder.
“What?” Lukos pressed his lips into a thin line.
“That noble women are like cold fish! She just laid there didn’t she?” He laughed hard enough that tears streamed down his face. “You fucked-” he couldn’t breathe. “A fish!”
Lukos stared at him for a moment, the edge of his mouth turning up as an idea clicked into place. “Yes,” he growled, allowing his mouth to turn back down before his bear could notice the sly look he cast at the deck as though he could see her through the boards. “She was boring. Whores are better.”
“All your mooning!” Arktos was half slumped over a railing but his mirth had ceased to be funny to Lukos in that instant.
“I didn’t moon.”
“For a-” Arktos couldn’t even finish his thought. Lukos glanced around at the crew who had ceased mending sails or carrying huge cords of rope to stare at their captain and his first mate.
“When you can control yourself,” Lukos glared at him to no effect. “Don’t bother her if she comes out of the cabin.” He started up the stairs and Arktos finally seemed to get some modicum of containment.
“I’ll keep your secret,” Arktos burst out laughing again as though the thought of Thalia laying as still as possible while Lukos was above her was the funniest thing he’d ever considered in his life. As though the same situation had not happened to him many, many times. Or, perhaps because it had, it made it all the more hilarious to consider that his captain could find himself in the same predicament.
“It’s no secret,” Lukos said carelessly over his shoulder. “Let the men know if they ask. She might as well have been dead.” Why he was doing this for her, he wasn’t entirely sure. But with her knife and this rumor about the ship that she was no longer intact and also incredibly unsatisfying, should give her as much protection as he was capable of giving without locking her in a cage.
The first of her stirrings brought him midway out of sleep. As her fingers grazed his bare hip, he woke the rest of the way. He reached down for her hand but it was already gone. Opening his eyes, he squinted into the light. The blanket slid across him as she struggled to sit up, looking around, confused. Her expression was not promising and to block it out, he flung his arm over his eyes with a groan.
All at once the blanket was gone. “Hey!” He sat up, glaring at her as she moved over to where he’d discarded her chiton, taking the blanket with her. Glancing around the room, he realized it was well past time to get up. They had been so warm and despite what he thought of her, he liked having her naked body against his as they slept. Without looking at her as she shook out her clothes, he reached for his trousers, checking to see if the bottom edges were dry. Satisfied that they were, he pulled them on and sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair.
"You shouldn't have taken advantage while I was in such a state..." she said stiffly.
Her voice drew his eye and he watched as she clasped the fabric of her dress in place. His gaze traveled down her arms and over the visible parts of her shoulders, riddled with ugly purple and yellow bruises. Her black hair was tousled about her head from sleep and his fingers. Dried brown blood crusted parts of her chiton. She was a mess.
He stood when she announced that another meeting like they’d had last night wouldn’t happen again. “No,” he agreed, casting about for his shirt. “It won’t.” Turning, he found it half under the bed. Pulling it out, he shook it. A corner of it brushed the table top and sent something metallic skittering across the floor. After he tugged his shirt over his head, he bent down to retrieve the fallen item only to find that it was the lotus part of the necklace he’d given her. Now that he looked, the jewels of the necklace were scattered all over the floor. He’d been lucky up to now not to step on them with bare feet.
“Here,” he pressed it into her palm before pulling on his boots and picking up the dagger she’d tried to use to kill him. Considering the dagger, he sighed and held it out to her, hilt first. “Next time you try to kill me? Wait for a better opportunity. I’d hate to think of you slaughtered for being so stupid as to try it on my ship.” Waiting only long enough for her to take the blade, he strode toward the door, pulling it open.
Just before walking through, he turned back and pointed to the knife. “Don’t kill any of my crew.” The dirty look he threw her suggested that he thought she might just run through and gut every single person aboard for the thrill of it. Lukos shut the door. Having killed his share of people in his life, and having started at a young age, he thought he knew what she might be feeling about the act but he wasn’t interested in exploring the emotional trauma of such actions. If she kept up her killing streak of ending lives once a week, she’d find it would get both easier and harder. Easier to do it, harder to live with it on dark nights with nothing else to think on.
Lukos pounded up the stairs to find Arktos already on deck. The big man turned, arching an eyebrow at his captain. “Satisfy yourself?” he rumbled.
“Least satisfying night of my life,” Lukos retorted, about to head up the stairs to the top deck but Arktos’s bray of laughter stopped him.
“So it’s true!” Arktos laughed harder.
“What?” Lukos pressed his lips into a thin line.
“That noble women are like cold fish! She just laid there didn’t she?” He laughed hard enough that tears streamed down his face. “You fucked-” he couldn’t breathe. “A fish!”
Lukos stared at him for a moment, the edge of his mouth turning up as an idea clicked into place. “Yes,” he growled, allowing his mouth to turn back down before his bear could notice the sly look he cast at the deck as though he could see her through the boards. “She was boring. Whores are better.”
“All your mooning!” Arktos was half slumped over a railing but his mirth had ceased to be funny to Lukos in that instant.
“I didn’t moon.”
“For a-” Arktos couldn’t even finish his thought. Lukos glanced around at the crew who had ceased mending sails or carrying huge cords of rope to stare at their captain and his first mate.
“When you can control yourself,” Lukos glared at him to no effect. “Don’t bother her if she comes out of the cabin.” He started up the stairs and Arktos finally seemed to get some modicum of containment.
“I’ll keep your secret,” Arktos burst out laughing again as though the thought of Thalia laying as still as possible while Lukos was above her was the funniest thing he’d ever considered in his life. As though the same situation had not happened to him many, many times. Or, perhaps because it had, it made it all the more hilarious to consider that his captain could find himself in the same predicament.
“It’s no secret,” Lukos said carelessly over his shoulder. “Let the men know if they ask. She might as well have been dead.” Why he was doing this for her, he wasn’t entirely sure. But with her knife and this rumor about the ship that she was no longer intact and also incredibly unsatisfying, should give her as much protection as he was capable of giving without locking her in a cage.
She hastened through dressing; not at all accustomed to having to do so with a man in the same room, doing the same thing. It felt rather torrid and inappropriate. Scratch that, it felt very inappropriate. Nothing about last night had been appropriate. Still..the fog of wine didn't cloud how his mouth felt slanted over hers; the way his fingers grazed over her skin causing sensitive flesh that had been ravished the day before to shiver with anticipation. She flushed a bit as he stepped up to her and took her wrist; folding the necklace she'd ripped off her neck in her hand. She stared down at it. A few of the precious gems were missing, and she rubbed her thumb over the lotus. She was about to ask him what'd happened to it when he handed the knife to her, hilt first. Hazel eyes looked up at him sharply to distinguish if this was a trick or not. But he gave no indication that it was; just a matter of formality.
With the hand he wasn't holding, she took it from him; looking it over in the daylight. She didn't remember what she'd grabbed the night before; there were a few beneath the mattress...as if they were kept for safekeeping. With his words of warning, she glanced up at him; her brow arched as if it were a challenge as he stepped past her to the door; telling her not to kill his crew either. "I wouldn't have to kill any of you if you'd let me go.."
She watched him walk out of the room and closed the door behind him. Tucking the blade into the straps of silver leather around her waist, she looked beneath the mattress for something more substantial.. a short sword, preferably, but there was nothing. Glancing about the room, she found a few of the jewels that had fallen out of the necklace and she gathered them all together. She'd have to get it repaired. Tucking it into one of the drawers built into the wall, she then plucked up a comb and then set about brushing out her hair and braiding it so it was a bit less unruly. Her arms were mottled with bruises, but the red welts left from the whip were fading, thankfully. She knew she had to be a sight, but at least most of it was covered by her dress...save her back. She gathered up the sheer garment and flung it out the window. If she never saw it again it would be too soon. Strapping on her sandals, she decided to test the boundaries Lukos hadn't exactly given her. But she was sick to death of being stuck in that cabin and she wouldn't do it one more day. At least this time if they fought she had a weapon to defend herself with. And she was deadly with a blade.
Closing the door behind her, she lifted her skirts enough to climb up to the main deck. She'd not heard Lukos or Arktos talking; if she had, she would have been furious and likely thrown off the boat in the first ten minutes of being awake that day for stabbing the captain. But below decks voices were muffled and hard to make out. She'd grown used to the dull drone of them and the sound of footsteps as they walked about.
She stepped out onto the main deck. It was the first time she'd done so during the day and while they were at sea since she'd been in the cage on deck their first day. She'd been locked away from the full height of the sun for weeks, it seemed and she immediately took a deep breath of sea air. All around her the men worked the ship; moving ropes, adjusting the sail and washing the deck. She stepped past them to go to the front; away from Lukos and Arktos so she could look over the main bow of the ship; defying any of them to object to her presence above deck. She found a small shelf to sit atop at the edge and leaned back against the framework for the large ram at the front of the Acetone. There was a deck that was framed with banisters that served as a lookout. From there she leaned over the edge to look down at the water; the wind catching tendrils of her hair and spinning them around her face. Becoming bolder, she soon kicked off her shoes and climbed up the curve of the ram as a child climbs a tree and sat at the top; pulling herself up the side before straddling the ornamental iron piece; her bare legs hanging in the breeze. She decided she liked this spot best of all; high above the ship so she could look back and see everyone moving below her, while at the head where she could see everything in front of them. ...It also kept her out of the way of all the sailors so they wouldn't grow irritated with her more than they probably already were.
When her skin was warm from the sun and her face felt windblown, she finally shimmied back down the bow of the ship; hanging down playfully from the curve of the decorative head before dropping down to the lookout on bare feet. The way she moved about the ship; with so much athletic confidence was as if she had no fear of going over the edge or breaking her pretty little neck. The fall from the top of the ram to the deck it curved above was at least 12 feet and she fell from it and landed as if it was something she did daily.
Strapping her shoes back on, she left the lookout and wandered back to the stern where Lukos and Arktos were earlier. Climbing the steps, she leaned back against the deck to look at Arktos. Bloodied and stained, her dressed looked as if it were on its way to being a costume piece for any maiden pirate. And she didn't seem to notice. Unaware as to the rumor Lukos had started to keep her 'safe' she stared at him confidently. "....So the sword you took from me. ....It was my grandfathers and I have a sentimental attachment." She leaned her hands back to hold on to the rail; doing her damndest to be cordial to a pirate who stole her property. "....I would ask that it be returned." When he objected, she considered him for a moment and how pirates operated before removing the knife she had strapped to her waist. The hilt was made of mother of pearl and gold, and at the tip, there was a ruby. "In exchange, you may have this." It was Imbrascus's. And while she enjoyed it as a trophy after killing him, she desired her own blade far more.
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She hastened through dressing; not at all accustomed to having to do so with a man in the same room, doing the same thing. It felt rather torrid and inappropriate. Scratch that, it felt very inappropriate. Nothing about last night had been appropriate. Still..the fog of wine didn't cloud how his mouth felt slanted over hers; the way his fingers grazed over her skin causing sensitive flesh that had been ravished the day before to shiver with anticipation. She flushed a bit as he stepped up to her and took her wrist; folding the necklace she'd ripped off her neck in her hand. She stared down at it. A few of the precious gems were missing, and she rubbed her thumb over the lotus. She was about to ask him what'd happened to it when he handed the knife to her, hilt first. Hazel eyes looked up at him sharply to distinguish if this was a trick or not. But he gave no indication that it was; just a matter of formality.
With the hand he wasn't holding, she took it from him; looking it over in the daylight. She didn't remember what she'd grabbed the night before; there were a few beneath the mattress...as if they were kept for safekeeping. With his words of warning, she glanced up at him; her brow arched as if it were a challenge as he stepped past her to the door; telling her not to kill his crew either. "I wouldn't have to kill any of you if you'd let me go.."
She watched him walk out of the room and closed the door behind him. Tucking the blade into the straps of silver leather around her waist, she looked beneath the mattress for something more substantial.. a short sword, preferably, but there was nothing. Glancing about the room, she found a few of the jewels that had fallen out of the necklace and she gathered them all together. She'd have to get it repaired. Tucking it into one of the drawers built into the wall, she then plucked up a comb and then set about brushing out her hair and braiding it so it was a bit less unruly. Her arms were mottled with bruises, but the red welts left from the whip were fading, thankfully. She knew she had to be a sight, but at least most of it was covered by her dress...save her back. She gathered up the sheer garment and flung it out the window. If she never saw it again it would be too soon. Strapping on her sandals, she decided to test the boundaries Lukos hadn't exactly given her. But she was sick to death of being stuck in that cabin and she wouldn't do it one more day. At least this time if they fought she had a weapon to defend herself with. And she was deadly with a blade.
Closing the door behind her, she lifted her skirts enough to climb up to the main deck. She'd not heard Lukos or Arktos talking; if she had, she would have been furious and likely thrown off the boat in the first ten minutes of being awake that day for stabbing the captain. But below decks voices were muffled and hard to make out. She'd grown used to the dull drone of them and the sound of footsteps as they walked about.
She stepped out onto the main deck. It was the first time she'd done so during the day and while they were at sea since she'd been in the cage on deck their first day. She'd been locked away from the full height of the sun for weeks, it seemed and she immediately took a deep breath of sea air. All around her the men worked the ship; moving ropes, adjusting the sail and washing the deck. She stepped past them to go to the front; away from Lukos and Arktos so she could look over the main bow of the ship; defying any of them to object to her presence above deck. She found a small shelf to sit atop at the edge and leaned back against the framework for the large ram at the front of the Acetone. There was a deck that was framed with banisters that served as a lookout. From there she leaned over the edge to look down at the water; the wind catching tendrils of her hair and spinning them around her face. Becoming bolder, she soon kicked off her shoes and climbed up the curve of the ram as a child climbs a tree and sat at the top; pulling herself up the side before straddling the ornamental iron piece; her bare legs hanging in the breeze. She decided she liked this spot best of all; high above the ship so she could look back and see everyone moving below her, while at the head where she could see everything in front of them. ...It also kept her out of the way of all the sailors so they wouldn't grow irritated with her more than they probably already were.
When her skin was warm from the sun and her face felt windblown, she finally shimmied back down the bow of the ship; hanging down playfully from the curve of the decorative head before dropping down to the lookout on bare feet. The way she moved about the ship; with so much athletic confidence was as if she had no fear of going over the edge or breaking her pretty little neck. The fall from the top of the ram to the deck it curved above was at least 12 feet and she fell from it and landed as if it was something she did daily.
Strapping her shoes back on, she left the lookout and wandered back to the stern where Lukos and Arktos were earlier. Climbing the steps, she leaned back against the deck to look at Arktos. Bloodied and stained, her dressed looked as if it were on its way to being a costume piece for any maiden pirate. And she didn't seem to notice. Unaware as to the rumor Lukos had started to keep her 'safe' she stared at him confidently. "....So the sword you took from me. ....It was my grandfathers and I have a sentimental attachment." She leaned her hands back to hold on to the rail; doing her damndest to be cordial to a pirate who stole her property. "....I would ask that it be returned." When he objected, she considered him for a moment and how pirates operated before removing the knife she had strapped to her waist. The hilt was made of mother of pearl and gold, and at the tip, there was a ruby. "In exchange, you may have this." It was Imbrascus's. And while she enjoyed it as a trophy after killing him, she desired her own blade far more.
She hastened through dressing; not at all accustomed to having to do so with a man in the same room, doing the same thing. It felt rather torrid and inappropriate. Scratch that, it felt very inappropriate. Nothing about last night had been appropriate. Still..the fog of wine didn't cloud how his mouth felt slanted over hers; the way his fingers grazed over her skin causing sensitive flesh that had been ravished the day before to shiver with anticipation. She flushed a bit as he stepped up to her and took her wrist; folding the necklace she'd ripped off her neck in her hand. She stared down at it. A few of the precious gems were missing, and she rubbed her thumb over the lotus. She was about to ask him what'd happened to it when he handed the knife to her, hilt first. Hazel eyes looked up at him sharply to distinguish if this was a trick or not. But he gave no indication that it was; just a matter of formality.
With the hand he wasn't holding, she took it from him; looking it over in the daylight. She didn't remember what she'd grabbed the night before; there were a few beneath the mattress...as if they were kept for safekeeping. With his words of warning, she glanced up at him; her brow arched as if it were a challenge as he stepped past her to the door; telling her not to kill his crew either. "I wouldn't have to kill any of you if you'd let me go.."
She watched him walk out of the room and closed the door behind him. Tucking the blade into the straps of silver leather around her waist, she looked beneath the mattress for something more substantial.. a short sword, preferably, but there was nothing. Glancing about the room, she found a few of the jewels that had fallen out of the necklace and she gathered them all together. She'd have to get it repaired. Tucking it into one of the drawers built into the wall, she then plucked up a comb and then set about brushing out her hair and braiding it so it was a bit less unruly. Her arms were mottled with bruises, but the red welts left from the whip were fading, thankfully. She knew she had to be a sight, but at least most of it was covered by her dress...save her back. She gathered up the sheer garment and flung it out the window. If she never saw it again it would be too soon. Strapping on her sandals, she decided to test the boundaries Lukos hadn't exactly given her. But she was sick to death of being stuck in that cabin and she wouldn't do it one more day. At least this time if they fought she had a weapon to defend herself with. And she was deadly with a blade.
Closing the door behind her, she lifted her skirts enough to climb up to the main deck. She'd not heard Lukos or Arktos talking; if she had, she would have been furious and likely thrown off the boat in the first ten minutes of being awake that day for stabbing the captain. But below decks voices were muffled and hard to make out. She'd grown used to the dull drone of them and the sound of footsteps as they walked about.
She stepped out onto the main deck. It was the first time she'd done so during the day and while they were at sea since she'd been in the cage on deck their first day. She'd been locked away from the full height of the sun for weeks, it seemed and she immediately took a deep breath of sea air. All around her the men worked the ship; moving ropes, adjusting the sail and washing the deck. She stepped past them to go to the front; away from Lukos and Arktos so she could look over the main bow of the ship; defying any of them to object to her presence above deck. She found a small shelf to sit atop at the edge and leaned back against the framework for the large ram at the front of the Acetone. There was a deck that was framed with banisters that served as a lookout. From there she leaned over the edge to look down at the water; the wind catching tendrils of her hair and spinning them around her face. Becoming bolder, she soon kicked off her shoes and climbed up the curve of the ram as a child climbs a tree and sat at the top; pulling herself up the side before straddling the ornamental iron piece; her bare legs hanging in the breeze. She decided she liked this spot best of all; high above the ship so she could look back and see everyone moving below her, while at the head where she could see everything in front of them. ...It also kept her out of the way of all the sailors so they wouldn't grow irritated with her more than they probably already were.
When her skin was warm from the sun and her face felt windblown, she finally shimmied back down the bow of the ship; hanging down playfully from the curve of the decorative head before dropping down to the lookout on bare feet. The way she moved about the ship; with so much athletic confidence was as if she had no fear of going over the edge or breaking her pretty little neck. The fall from the top of the ram to the deck it curved above was at least 12 feet and she fell from it and landed as if it was something she did daily.
Strapping her shoes back on, she left the lookout and wandered back to the stern where Lukos and Arktos were earlier. Climbing the steps, she leaned back against the deck to look at Arktos. Bloodied and stained, her dressed looked as if it were on its way to being a costume piece for any maiden pirate. And she didn't seem to notice. Unaware as to the rumor Lukos had started to keep her 'safe' she stared at him confidently. "....So the sword you took from me. ....It was my grandfathers and I have a sentimental attachment." She leaned her hands back to hold on to the rail; doing her damndest to be cordial to a pirate who stole her property. "....I would ask that it be returned." When he objected, she considered him for a moment and how pirates operated before removing the knife she had strapped to her waist. The hilt was made of mother of pearl and gold, and at the tip, there was a ruby. "In exchange, you may have this." It was Imbrascus's. And while she enjoyed it as a trophy after killing him, she desired her own blade far more.
He was not the least bit surprised to see her coming up the stairs. When he’d handed her the knife, that had been all the permission he’d assumed she’d need. Not that she obeyed anyway. After last night, he was even more unsure than he’d been before about her future. The ghostly feel of her hands sliding down his torso made him agitated. There were more things and people that needed his attention. She did not deserve to take up so much of his thoughts.
His black gaze followed her across the ship and he wasn’t the only one. It was no secret that she was here but up to now, he’d ensured she stayed mostly out of sight; a thorn only to himself. The men were uneasy with her there, unsure of her status, what she was and what she was not to their captain, and - by extension - to themselves. Did they treat her like the freeborn noble she used to be? Or the captured slave she was now? But, if slave, why did she do no work? If whore, why did she treat the captain flippantly, as though he was not worth her time?
The weight of a hard gaze drew his attention and he looked down to find Arktos staring up at him. Lukos jerked his chin; an order to come. In his massive arms, Arktos held seal skin tarps. He dropped them at once onto the deck and thumped up the stairs.
“Captain,” Arktos rolled his shoulders as though preparing for a fight. Lukos’s eyes were on Thalia as she sat at the ship’s ram.
“I’ll be down in the hold.” Lukos finally looked over at his first mate. “She’s armed,” he added after a pause.
“Come again?” Arktos snapped.
“No one touches her,” Lukos directed his gaze away from Arktos’s long, sun-scorched face to Thalia’s more pleasant form.
“The men won’t,” Arktos’s reply came before his mind had a chance to catch up to his mouth. “Probably,” he added as an afterthought. Lukos turned away from the railing, making to move past him but found a meaty hand blocking his way.
“So, if not Imbrasus, then who is she being sold to?” Arktos asked. Lukos shoved the hand aside. The question was fair. But he did not have an answer that would satisfy anyone, least of all himself. “You’re not keeping her?” Lukos glared against the incredulousness of Arktos’s voice.
“Neither are you,” he sneered. His steps were hounded by Arktos’s appeased laughter, but the question weighed on him. What was he going to do with her? By evening they would be back at the island. He looked up at her, still sitting there and shook his head. She was a problem for another day. Right now, he needed to go over accounts with Bianor before any gold or item mysteriously disappeared by sunset.
By the time Thalia approached Arktos, Lukos was long gone and had been for some time. The big man watched her stride toward him, taking in her gruesome appearance with an evident mistrustful glint to his eye. Last he’d seen of her, she was clean and bound for Imbrasus. Then Lukos showed up with her by evening, carrying her on board like this. No wonder the captain’s night had been unsatisfying; she was a fright.
"....So the sword you took from me. ....It was my grandfathers and I have a sentimental attachment."
Arktos grunted, looking down his long, crooked nose at her.
"....I would ask that it be returned. In exchange, you may have this."
“What’s a whore slave going to do with a sword?” Arktos frowned as though he couldn’t quite believe they were having tis conversation. He eyed the knife. Reaching out, he enclosed the hilt inside his huge fist, and looked it over. “I’ll have another look at that sword once we reach home.” His voice took on a business quality. “See if it’s worth the trade. Meanwhile, you keep this. Captain wants me to play your nursemaid but I don’t have the patience.”
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He was not the least bit surprised to see her coming up the stairs. When he’d handed her the knife, that had been all the permission he’d assumed she’d need. Not that she obeyed anyway. After last night, he was even more unsure than he’d been before about her future. The ghostly feel of her hands sliding down his torso made him agitated. There were more things and people that needed his attention. She did not deserve to take up so much of his thoughts.
His black gaze followed her across the ship and he wasn’t the only one. It was no secret that she was here but up to now, he’d ensured she stayed mostly out of sight; a thorn only to himself. The men were uneasy with her there, unsure of her status, what she was and what she was not to their captain, and - by extension - to themselves. Did they treat her like the freeborn noble she used to be? Or the captured slave she was now? But, if slave, why did she do no work? If whore, why did she treat the captain flippantly, as though he was not worth her time?
The weight of a hard gaze drew his attention and he looked down to find Arktos staring up at him. Lukos jerked his chin; an order to come. In his massive arms, Arktos held seal skin tarps. He dropped them at once onto the deck and thumped up the stairs.
“Captain,” Arktos rolled his shoulders as though preparing for a fight. Lukos’s eyes were on Thalia as she sat at the ship’s ram.
“I’ll be down in the hold.” Lukos finally looked over at his first mate. “She’s armed,” he added after a pause.
“Come again?” Arktos snapped.
“No one touches her,” Lukos directed his gaze away from Arktos’s long, sun-scorched face to Thalia’s more pleasant form.
“The men won’t,” Arktos’s reply came before his mind had a chance to catch up to his mouth. “Probably,” he added as an afterthought. Lukos turned away from the railing, making to move past him but found a meaty hand blocking his way.
“So, if not Imbrasus, then who is she being sold to?” Arktos asked. Lukos shoved the hand aside. The question was fair. But he did not have an answer that would satisfy anyone, least of all himself. “You’re not keeping her?” Lukos glared against the incredulousness of Arktos’s voice.
“Neither are you,” he sneered. His steps were hounded by Arktos’s appeased laughter, but the question weighed on him. What was he going to do with her? By evening they would be back at the island. He looked up at her, still sitting there and shook his head. She was a problem for another day. Right now, he needed to go over accounts with Bianor before any gold or item mysteriously disappeared by sunset.
By the time Thalia approached Arktos, Lukos was long gone and had been for some time. The big man watched her stride toward him, taking in her gruesome appearance with an evident mistrustful glint to his eye. Last he’d seen of her, she was clean and bound for Imbrasus. Then Lukos showed up with her by evening, carrying her on board like this. No wonder the captain’s night had been unsatisfying; she was a fright.
"....So the sword you took from me. ....It was my grandfathers and I have a sentimental attachment."
Arktos grunted, looking down his long, crooked nose at her.
"....I would ask that it be returned. In exchange, you may have this."
“What’s a whore slave going to do with a sword?” Arktos frowned as though he couldn’t quite believe they were having tis conversation. He eyed the knife. Reaching out, he enclosed the hilt inside his huge fist, and looked it over. “I’ll have another look at that sword once we reach home.” His voice took on a business quality. “See if it’s worth the trade. Meanwhile, you keep this. Captain wants me to play your nursemaid but I don’t have the patience.”
He was not the least bit surprised to see her coming up the stairs. When he’d handed her the knife, that had been all the permission he’d assumed she’d need. Not that she obeyed anyway. After last night, he was even more unsure than he’d been before about her future. The ghostly feel of her hands sliding down his torso made him agitated. There were more things and people that needed his attention. She did not deserve to take up so much of his thoughts.
His black gaze followed her across the ship and he wasn’t the only one. It was no secret that she was here but up to now, he’d ensured she stayed mostly out of sight; a thorn only to himself. The men were uneasy with her there, unsure of her status, what she was and what she was not to their captain, and - by extension - to themselves. Did they treat her like the freeborn noble she used to be? Or the captured slave she was now? But, if slave, why did she do no work? If whore, why did she treat the captain flippantly, as though he was not worth her time?
The weight of a hard gaze drew his attention and he looked down to find Arktos staring up at him. Lukos jerked his chin; an order to come. In his massive arms, Arktos held seal skin tarps. He dropped them at once onto the deck and thumped up the stairs.
“Captain,” Arktos rolled his shoulders as though preparing for a fight. Lukos’s eyes were on Thalia as she sat at the ship’s ram.
“I’ll be down in the hold.” Lukos finally looked over at his first mate. “She’s armed,” he added after a pause.
“Come again?” Arktos snapped.
“No one touches her,” Lukos directed his gaze away from Arktos’s long, sun-scorched face to Thalia’s more pleasant form.
“The men won’t,” Arktos’s reply came before his mind had a chance to catch up to his mouth. “Probably,” he added as an afterthought. Lukos turned away from the railing, making to move past him but found a meaty hand blocking his way.
“So, if not Imbrasus, then who is she being sold to?” Arktos asked. Lukos shoved the hand aside. The question was fair. But he did not have an answer that would satisfy anyone, least of all himself. “You’re not keeping her?” Lukos glared against the incredulousness of Arktos’s voice.
“Neither are you,” he sneered. His steps were hounded by Arktos’s appeased laughter, but the question weighed on him. What was he going to do with her? By evening they would be back at the island. He looked up at her, still sitting there and shook his head. She was a problem for another day. Right now, he needed to go over accounts with Bianor before any gold or item mysteriously disappeared by sunset.
By the time Thalia approached Arktos, Lukos was long gone and had been for some time. The big man watched her stride toward him, taking in her gruesome appearance with an evident mistrustful glint to his eye. Last he’d seen of her, she was clean and bound for Imbrasus. Then Lukos showed up with her by evening, carrying her on board like this. No wonder the captain’s night had been unsatisfying; she was a fright.
"....So the sword you took from me. ....It was my grandfathers and I have a sentimental attachment."
Arktos grunted, looking down his long, crooked nose at her.
"....I would ask that it be returned. In exchange, you may have this."
“What’s a whore slave going to do with a sword?” Arktos frowned as though he couldn’t quite believe they were having tis conversation. He eyed the knife. Reaching out, he enclosed the hilt inside his huge fist, and looked it over. “I’ll have another look at that sword once we reach home.” His voice took on a business quality. “See if it’s worth the trade. Meanwhile, you keep this. Captain wants me to play your nursemaid but I don’t have the patience.”
