Chapter Text
As the Vae Victis glided through the great gulf of the Materium, Rogue Trader Ada von Valancius stared out at the star-lit blackness, her head tilted against the high back of her chair and her silk-clad knees tucked beneath her. Unconsciously she plaited and unplaited a strand of long auburn hair, trying to ease the cramp in her fingers from too much writing and tapping away at that accursed cogitator. She had sullenly turned to face away from the desk and the small mountain of paperwork and datapads that had accumulated in the wake of the flagships most recent visits to her various colonies. For now she was enjoying a few moments where her mind was empty and calm. It was rare to find an instant of tranquillity amid the chaos that had become her life, not to mention an escape from darker thoughts and darker memories that had accumulated in more recent days.
It had been weeks since their return from Commoragh – the Dark City of the Drukhari – and still she did not feel on top of everything. Her officers had indeed performed admirably after her disappearance, but their primary focus had been on locating her and her companions, managing only what was essential in the meantime. Many of her personal projects had fallen to the wayside, and issues that ought to have been handled had been neglected, or handled in a manner different to what she would have deemed appropriate. That wasn’t even getting into the myriad of personal issues that seemed to be growing amongst those closest to her, and which she felt obligated to address given everything they had been through as a consequence of their association.
When it rains, it pours.
They were on their way to Dargonus now, partially to ensure the proper running of her capital but also to address the accusations that had been levelled at the Werserian family. Though Abelard hid it admirably and was performing his duties as efficiently as always, it was obvious to Ada that concern for his dynasty weighed heavy on her First Officer. Currently they were adrift in the Expanse, while Lady Cassia attempted to plot a new, swifter path through the Immaterium. There was no real hurry to reach Dargonus. The Astropathic Choir had sent a clear message that nothing was to be done until the Rogue Trader arrived to personally oversee the investigation and pass her own judgement, but at least this way Ada felt more… industrious. More in control.
Yes, she needed to feel in control again. Since becoming Rogue Trader the feeling of being in charge of her own destiny had been severely lacking, and since the escape from Commoragh, and the subsequent journey through the Webway, more and more aspects of her life seemed to have been lost in a swirl of chaos, both the real and metaphorical kind. Even the things she had started to be sure she could count on were slipping through her fingers.
Sighing, she stretched out her arms and legs and finally manoeuvred her chair back into its proper position. After digging a knuckle into one red-rimmed eye and draining what remained of the amasec in her crystal glass, she picked up a requisition data-pad. The requests had been piling up since news of her return had spread among her associates, but at least they were simple enough to deal with. All they really needed was her confirmation that the goods could be readied and sent off at the earliest opportunity. Nice, easy, done.
Holy Terra, was this what she was reduced to? Trying to convince herself that requisition requests were a pleasant diversion? Surely there must be some pleasant middle ground between soul-crushing tedium and mind-bending hard work.
In a state of helpless frustration, she welcomed the sound of the elevator in the adjacent chamber, although she hoped it wasn’t another member of her inner circle come to lay an extra burden at her feet. Listening intently for the steps as they crossed tile, then carpet, her heart did a small flip and her stomach dropped as she recognised the long stride and the distinctive click and scrape of armour. There was no mistaking who her visitor was, and Ada had little time to mentally prepare herself for the sight of the tall, black-clad Drukhari warrior that rounded the corner and immediately fixed her with an indolent smirk that was becoming all too familiar these days.
Marazhai Aezyrraesh.
This was hardly the middle ground she had hoped for.
By all rights, he should not have been there. Not just in her chambers, but on the ship. She had been able to justify the fallen Dracon’s presence in her retinue while they navigated the hellscape that was Commoragh, and then afterwards as they traversed the Webway in search of an exit into realspace. As much as her other companions had been loath to admit it – and in most cases outright refused to – having a Drukhari at their side had been invaluable and there had been moments where his insight and his blade had saved both individuals and the group as a whole. But there was not a one of them that had expected her to continue tolerating his presence once they reached safety and he had served his purpose.
And yet she had not handed him over to Heinrix, despite the interrogator’s numerous hints that he would be happy to rid her of any “unwanted guests”. She had not had him sucked out of the airlock during that first, disastrous warp jump when he had almost lost himself to Slaanesh, and had only been coaxed back from the brink from a combination of Yrliet and Ada’s carefully chosen words and encouragement. She had not even simply asked him to leave her retinue and ship, which in the mind of her crew would have been an unconscionable and entirely undeserved act of goodwill towards the xenos who had caused them all so much turmoil. Most of her retinue had remained silent in their judgement, which suited Ada just fine. She was very ready to point out that most of them had committed their own offences that should have guaranteed their removal from her ship.
Her justifications had fallen especially short with Heinrix and Sister Argenta, who had come to her desperately with their… thoughts. They were quick to point out that nothing any of her other companions had done even came close to the carnage and horror Marazhai had wrought on her protectorates, not to mention what he had done to her personally. It was bad enough that she had refused to let them put Yrliet on trial for her part in it all. Unfortunately for them, Ada had not been in a wonderful frame of mind to listen to either of their grievances. Sister Argenta was already on thin ice, given her revelation regarding the fate of Ada’s predecessor, and had thankfully retreated when the Rogue Trader cautioned her about this developing habit of taking matters into her own hands.
And as for Heinrix…
He had been more persistent in voicing his opinion. And perhaps she would have finally conceded, if only his admonishment had not come on the back of their disastrous dinner, where she had been forced to listen, mute with despair and astonishment, as he spoke with poetic resignation about how they should make the most of this brief time together before their inevitable parting of ways. How, regardless of mutual feelings, his first duty was to the Inquisition and hers was to the von Valancius dynasty.
It had been the last nail in the coffin, as it were. True he had said these things to her before. He had not exactly lied or misled her in any way. But after all that had passed between them in Commoragh – the tenderness and passion he had shown her – she had expected something else. Something more. Her disappointment at discovering otherwise had been bitter indeed. Then there was her outrage when he seemed surprised by her refusal to continue a relationship that had no future. As if he had the right to be hurt when it was her who had been left floundering, questioning what deficiency she must possess that she couldn’t hold a man who she had felt so connected to, so well suited for.
Burning with humiliation at her own delusions and inadequacies, she had said things that were only half meant and that could never be taken back. He had reverted to his former cold pragmatism in defence of himself and, in the end, she dismissed him from her presence. She had retreated to her bed chamber to weep like some ridiculous love-struck teenager. Her overwrought reaction had only added to her sense of mortification, and tainted her tender feelings with something bitter and vengeful. Not the healthiest of ways to manage her emotions, she knew, and not at all in keeping with her long training as a psyker. She had been left to hope that time would heal her eventually. In the meantime, she practiced her breathing, found some small comfort in the meditation Yrliet had taught her, and was careful to put up a mask of cold apathy in front of her subjects, even as her heart seethed and stewed in the poison of her resentment.
It was in this frame of mind that she had found Marazhai in her quarters, much as he was now. She was certain that he had picked his moment deliberately, knowing his ability to sense the suffering of those around him, and how particularly he enjoyed the agonies of the soul. He had made no mention of it when he had sauntered up to her desk, his eyes brimming with wicked purpose; merely restated his offer to indulge the curiosity she had admitted to during that first private conversation in Commoragh. She had spitefully imagined that it would infuriate Heinrix to know that she was spending time with the loathsome xenos, or at the very least provide a distraction from her recent, unpleasant thoughts. When he had explained the nature of the “feast”, she had felt a kind of sick glee at the idea of venting her feelings on the rabble that populated Marazhai’s hunting grounds. Very unlike her, but she needed some form of release, and she told herself that it would only be the once; that she could call the whole thing off if things went too far.
But what had come after…
The thought of that night made her stomach and heart flip once more. Her feelings surrounding the encounter were complex and chaotic. Shame, regret and guilt all swirled around her in a maelstrom, but at the epicentre of that storm lay something else entirely. A deep, palpable yearning nestled deep in some untouchable part of her body… like nothing she had ever felt before in her life.
‘Rogue Trader.’
She realised that she had been staring. It was infuriatingly hard not to. Marazhai alien physique alone was enough to draw the eye. There was the vicious Drukhari armour, his imposing height, the unnatural way he moved and even his manner of standing perfectly still as he observed all that went on around him with those dark turquoise eyes. His angular features might have been called handsome were it not for his pallor, the hollowness of his cheeks, and the ever-present expression of cruel arrogance. But there was an undeniable presence he exuded as well. Something that took the breath away and left the heart frantic. Cassia had described it as akin to witnessing a grisly disaster – horrifying and mesmerising all at once. It was a fitting description, especially having witnessed first-hand what he was capable of both on the battlefield and… elsewhere.
Swallowing and trying to get her rampaging heartbeat under control, Ada stared back at him.
‘Marazhai. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
He picked up on her choice of phrasing immediately, and the smirk grew wider for an instant before morphing, unexpectedly, into a scowl.
‘Ah yes. Pleasure. So you are familiar with the concept, or at least what miserably diluted version your kind is capable of.’
It was her turn to frown. Of course she was familiar, and he should know better than anyone. Throne take her, he had even complimented her after their night together! Given that he came from a race that had brought about the existence of a god of desire through their own unrelenting excess, it was quite the marvel that she had managed to satisfy him to any degree. Why was he now walking back on that praise? Trying to bait her into a repeat performance, perhaps? He had left the possibility hanging when he had quit her chamber after the feast, although she had been too lost in her own emotions to fully commit to anything. It was not helped by the fact that, even more than a week later, she still only had hazy memories and occasional flashes of what had taken place between them while they were lost in… what had he called it? “The oblivion of ecstasy”?
What she did remember was standing in front of her bedroom mirror once she was alone, inspecting all the marks that had been left on her body and marvelling at the jolts of pleasure – like a lightning storm in her psyche – as the examination of each one sparked a fresh memory. There were the bite marks on her inner thighs that had brought to mind his face buried between her legs, his tongue lashing at her while her back arched, and the cries of hurt and delight as his teeth latched into her flesh, swapping out pleasure for pain again and again until the two were indistinguishable. And the hand-shaped bruising and bleeding indents on her hips, which showed perfectly where his hands had grasped her as he drove into her from behind and had left her breathless and weak-kneed as she briefly relived the rapture of feeling him fill her.
All this and so much more besides.
It was not as if she was inexperienced. She had enjoyed more than one partnership in her training years at the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, and then later during her brief time serving in the Imperial Guard. Perhaps not as many as some others, given how unsettled most people had been by both her abilities and her status as a void born, but still, she was no nun. And then recently of course there had been… well…
But none of those past experiences had ever been so intoxicating, despite her being able to recall every detail. None of them had managed to make her so uniquely satisfied and, at the same time, so immeasurably unfulfilled. Instead of being able to write it off as a one-time affair – a momentary and admittedly terrible lapse in judgement – the yearning that each flicker of memory brought had almost sent her running to him, begging for more. Medals should have been awarded for her perseverance in staying away! And Marazhai knew the effect he had had. What is more he appeared to go out of his way to make her aware that he knew. Many furtive glances and knowing smirks had been levelled in her direction, not to mention the occasional loaded comment dropped into conversation. Oh yes, he was certainly trying to fan the flames. And so far, she had resisted, cleaving desperately to the feelings of guilt and shame to deter herself from another abominable mistake, hoping that time would prove a cure for this as well.
She ought to have known better. She had never been that lucky. The pangs of self-reproach, while they still lingered in the back of her mind, had withered like flowers in an untended garden, while her desire, now a wild and ravenous monster, threatened to trample everything.
‘Is there something wrong, Marazhai?’ she asked.
‘Aside from the fact that I am forced to travel amongst mon-keigh? In this primitive tub? With none of the delights I am accustomed to that might distract me from the banality that is your everyday existence?’
‘Am I right in thinking you have come to tell me that you are bored, Marazhai?’
‘Boredom hardly does justice to this soul-withering tedium,’ he snarled, pushing away from the column where he had been leaning and stalking towards her, his long black hair swaying behind him and his bright, predatory eyes fixed on hers. ‘Do you not realise that such a thing is anathema to my kind? That it is only your paltry offerings that stave off the call of She Who Thirsts?’
‘Are your hunting grounds not to your liking? I’ve taken great pains to make sure they are… well stocked.’ This was no lie. When he had made mention of her crew turning his territory into a dumping ground for miscreants, she had quickly seized on the idea and made it a ship-wide policy that anyone caught breaking the rules would be sentenced to labour within Marazhai’s territory, with the length of time spent there being determined by the seriousness of their crime. Good behaviour might warrant an early release, repeat offences meant an extended stay. It had proved an efficient deterrent, although there were always a few fools willing to brave the risk, and it had eased Ada’s conscience surrounding her decision to grant him such territory.
He waved a hand dismissively, then placed them both on the desk, looming over her as she sat in her chair. ‘There is meat enough.’
‘Enough to entertain you?’
‘It is merely one form of entertainment, my pet.’
There it is.
Not quite ready to be drawn into whatever game Marazhai was intent on playing, still holding out hope for her own strength of will, Ada smiled indulgently, trying to hide her nerves.
‘Much as I’d like to devote all my time to keeping you amused, I’m afraid I have a lot on my plate these days, Marazhai. Although if you need an occupation to while away the hours, I do have something for you.’
The turquoise fire in his eyes burned a little brighter at this, and, repeating what she had just said in her mind, Ada cursed as she realised that she had sounded far less sarcastic and far more flirtatious than she’d intended.
‘And what exactly did you have in mind for me?’ he growled, lowering his head a little closer to hers.
Trying to keep her thoughts in order and not make things worse, she raised one of the folders on her desk up between them. She should have been awarded another medal for not bursting into laughter at his obvious confusion, and she bit her lip to hold back a smile when she saw something bordering on outrage seeping into the blazing eyes fixed on her.
‘This? This is what you offer me? Ink and paper?’
She would not have dared his displeasure without a worthy offering to sooth it, and she gave him what she hoped was a placating look.
‘Will you look before you judge too harshly?’
He did not appear convinced, and his upper lip twitched in a snarl. Nevertheless, he opened the folder and leafed through some of the documents. She watched a little of the fury dissipate as he took in what he was reading, but she said nothing until he deigned to look up at her.
‘It is a comprehensive list of all the alleged xenos sightings within the Expanse, including quite a few in the territories of my peers. Granted they are only rumours, but I felt confident you’d want to investigate every possibility when it came to tracking your Kabal.’
At the mention of his Kabal, Marazhai’s lips twisted into a grimace both bitter and blood-hungry, but she could sense that his anger at her had lessened, leaving something unreadable in its wake. He gave the papers another passing glance before returning his gaze to Ada. ‘And what exactly am I expected to do with these? Why are they in my hands and not those of your mon-keigh servants?’
‘Well, there is a small snag. If I may?’ She held out her hand for the folder and flipped to the first report. ‘Sadly, many of these are not official reports from my agents, so the information is a little… sparse. I have at least a dozen that only indicate the presence of ‘xenos scum’’, she held up the first document to demonstrate her point. Then, flicking through to another: ‘There are a few more that go into a little more detail. Like ‘wretched xenos abominations,’ ‘abominable xenos wretches’ and, my personal favourite: ‘abominable grox-shit-eating xenos wretches.’’ She risked glancing upwards and would have sworn that a smile tugged at the corner of Marazhai’s mouth as she made her exasperation clear, though he quickly masked it with one of his usual glares. She gave him a helpless shrug, as if to commiserate with him.
‘And this is the intelligence you expect me to rely on in my hunt for revenge?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, attempting to hand the folder back to him and, when he refused to take it, dropping it on the desk between them. ‘I’ve already given coordinates to my Master Helmsman for several sightings that we are more or less certain are your kin. Aeldari of some kind at the very least. One definite sighting of Drukhari void ships was in Langrenn’s Belt, which just so happens to be on our planned route to Dargonus, so we will be investigating that in due course. These,’ she indicated the folder once more, ‘are just the scraps, but I didn’t think you’d want to leave any stone unturned. So… perhaps you might be able to narrow some of them down further, based on your knowledge of how your kind survive in real space. Where they might have strongholds… places they would never go no matter how desperate…’
She trailed off. His gaze was fixed intently on her again, and she swallowed hard, feeling like an insect under a magnifying glass. Everything about him seemed designed to make her forget that she was one of the most powerful people in the Expanse. With this Drukhari exile, she no longer felt like some unreachable, untouchable being set on a pedestal above all others, wielding all the authority granted by her Warrant of Trade. He had been right in his assessment of his effect on her. She swooned at the thought that she was permitted to exist in the same space as this creature, that he deigned to allow her to breath the same air as him, to speak with him and offer up these favours in the hopes of gaining his approval. Just being near him was like standing amidst the corpses of her enemies on a ravaged battlefield, her heart pounding and her mind racing at the realisation that she still lived.
And he knew it. Throne take him, he knew it.
A sharp, cold touch against her cheek startled her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t even realised he had leaned closer and reached out towards her. Her eyelids fluttered as she felt his clawed gauntlet push a strand of auburn hair back from her face, then trail feather-light along the line of her jaw. He held her eyes like a snake would hold the gaze of its prey in the instant before it struck.
‘Are you pleased… with me?’
Damn. There it was. The obedience he demanded of her. Just two extra words on the end of a sentence and suddenly she sounded like a damned serf! She didn’t even know what had compelled her to speak in such a way. It spilled out so naturally when they were alone – like when they had spoken in Commoragh and he had first tantalised her with the promise to show her his world… or when he had approached her and informed her, quite plainly, that he was taking her to a feast. Before him she was meek, compliant. His little pet.
A smile curved across his lips. Perhaps it was her submission more than her help that had won his approval. It hardly mattered at that moment.
He leaned into her suddenly, his lips parting. If he had been a man, she would have expected a kiss, and human instinct coupled with that lingering desire for him led her to hope for one. But she knew that he did not partake in displays of affection, not as she would understand anyway. A kiss born of lust and quivering passion? That was permissible. She remembered well how bruised and bloody her mouth had been after their night together. But something tender? Romantic? No. Not when the merest brush of her lips on his had caused him to draw back, sneering with revulsion. She’d be more likely to find such sweet things lying with a warp beast.
So she was not surprised, only disappointed, when his lips stopped just shy of hers. It seemed he was not above using her desire to indulge in such “mon-keigh absurdities” to torment her. It was certainly working. She could feel his breath mingling with hers… swore she could almost taste him… and an ache began to grow between her legs. A sense of emptiness she desperately wished to be filled.
He took her lower lip between his teeth. He did not need to bite hard to make her wince, or to draw blood. The coppery taste rushed over her tongue, and she felt a warm wetness slip down her chin; heard the tell-tale patter of droplets on parchment. For a fraction of a moment, as he released his hold, his tongue darted into her mouth, lapping at the blood collecting there. She leaned into him on instinct, rising up out of her chair as he began to pull away from her, hungry for something more, but he was quickly beyond her reach on the other side of the desk, his lips stained red and his eyes full of satisfaction, though she couldn’t imagine that he would settle for such a small taste of her. Surely he too would want more?
Surely?
‘My obedient pet,’ he purred, running his tongue over his bloodied lips. ‘It is a… sweet little token.’
‘Then you are happy?’ she asked again, trying not to sound petulant.
He gave a derisive snort. ‘Happy? I shall be happy when I have confronted my Kabal and reclaimed what is rightfully mine. When those responsible for my exile are writhing at my feet, choking on their own blood, dying with the knowledge that I have survived and surpassed them in every way possible. But it is a pleasing step towards that goal. Make sure that you follow through on your promise.’
‘I will,’ she said, forcing a little steel into her tone, so that he would know she meant it. ‘I honour my promises.’
He raised an eyebrow and the mocking grin grew wider.
‘Even to ‘xenos scum’?’ he sneered. ‘Your much reviled ‘enemies of humanity’?’
‘Yes,’ she said simply, well aware that she was in the minority when it came to such values.
Marazhai was clearly aware of this too. He folded his arms across his chest and watched her intently.
‘You are a strange creature, aren’t you.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ she said with feigned resignation. As both a psyker and voidborn, “strange” was her bread and butter. Her easy acknowledgement of this brought a little genuine amusement to his smile at least. She gave a slight shrug, before adding, in more serious tones. ‘Listen, I think we’re both aware that almost everyone else on this ship would have never even contemplated an alliance with you to begin with, let alone tolerated your being here, right now, for however long it takes for you to confront your Kabal. I’ve had more than one of my inner circle come to me with suggestions of how I could be rid of you. But, if you require any reassurance on the matter, then I swear I truly have no intention of doing so.’
He laughed. ‘Oh yes, I’m very aware of just how pleased your companions would be to see me exit through the nearest airlock or watch the white-haired mon-keigh try to put a bolt between my eyes. I’ve even had words with your broodmale. He had the audacity to demand I stay away from you.’
Ada felt a chill. Her hands, folded on the table before her, clenched until her knuckles ached.
‘He’s not my broodmale.’
Marazhai’s eyes sparked with pleasure. ‘Oh yes. Not anymore. How could I forget?’
Bastard.
She braced herself against the table. This was not a conversation she wanted to pursue, not with anyone, but it made her wonder whether Heinrix had learned about her night with Marazhai, if he had gone so far as to warn the Drukhari away from her. He was a member of the Inquisition, after all, and the feast had not exactly been a subtle affair, despite her best efforts to keep things quiet in the aftermath. But Heinrix had not said anything to her directly. No one had. Perhaps he had only sensed Marazhai’s intention or had witnessed the burning glances in her direction and was keen to nip it in the bud.
But was it duty or jealousy that spurred him to confront the xenos? She did not know, and she tried to assure herself that she did not care and had no reason to feel guilty. As Rogue Trader, she did not answer to him, and he had lost the right to act the protective paramour.
‘Has the Interrogator been causing you trouble?’
‘Trouble? Hah! His anger and insecurity have been one of my few constant delights on board this ship. I find it rather amusing that he would go to such pains to try and protect you from my attentions. As if I hadn’t already enjoyed you. As if his helpless displeasure didn’t make you an even more tantalising prospect.’
Ada wondered, through the renewed feelings of regret that this revelation stirred, if that was what had prompted this little visit. It seemed very in keeping with Marazhai’s sadistic nature, to revel in the thought of surpassing an opponent and be able to gloat over said victory. And surely it was part and parcel of being Drukhari to be tempted by the forbidden.
Not that she was in any position to judge on that score.
‘It does beg the question, however,’ Marazhai went on, still in that playfully mocking tone. He turned his attention to one his black gauntlets, and casually began the process of prying it from his skin, feeling for the hook that held it in place at the wrist. Ada winced at seeing the bruised and bleeding mark left in the pale flesh, but he spoke as if he were doing no more than peeling off a normal glove. ‘Why would my little pet brave the wrath of her own kind to please me? Oh, you explained well enough before… I was a strong and useful ally to you in Commoragh, and I shall continue to be so while our goals align. And since our arrival in realspace you have found… other reasons to enjoy my company…’ She blushed under his gaze, and blushed even further when he reached over, with his now uncovered hand, and dragged a fingertip through the droplets of blood that had fallen on her papers. He brought it to his mouth and licked the digit clean, watching her as he did so. The hungry emptiness between her legs grew hungrier still.
‘But?’ she prompted when the silence had dragged on for longer than she could bear.
‘I cannot help but wonder if there are other reasons why you ignore the pleas of your comrades. Why you are so eager to help me despite everything that I have done to you. When you first addressed me in Tervantias’s Anatomical Opera, you mentioned the trial. That I had been… tricked. And when I answered your questions about what transpired after, when I explained to you why I had orchestrated our little conflict and your capture, I saw something in your eyes. An understanding I did not expect from a simple mon-k –’ Marazhai stopped, then gave her an indulgent smirk before continuing. ‘A human. Something about what I confided resonated with you, did it not? You know that same desire for revenge. For… satisfaction.’
He paused, waiting for a response from her. She nodded, and he closed his eyes briefly, revelling in his own satisfaction at the confirmation.
‘Hmmm, I knew it must be so. I felt that sharp, sweet anger within; a hatred growing in the pit of your soul like a rare fruit ready to be plucked and savoured. I have been eager to sample this delight for some time. So tell me, dear little pet, what name is a poison on your lips? Who do you want to see crushed and bleeding at your feet as you scream your triumph over their ruin?’
She narrowed her eyes at him across the desk. They were both leaning against it now, their poses a mirror of each other. But it was a playful glower rather than genuine anger at his line of questioning. The anger she reserved for another.
‘Why do you care to know?’ she asked, making sure to keep her tone teasing.
‘I am curious to know what drives you. I want to know who it is that inspires such delicious loathing in you, with that sickeningly generous soul of yours. I want the name of the one who you would place here, if the power to do so lay within your grasp.’ He tapped the black gem that hung from his belt. His favourite trinkets were always at his side – the agonizer that she had allowed him to demonstrate on her back in Commoragh, and the Soul Trap that currently held the soul of one Yremeryss Aezyrraesh, the former Archon of the Reaving Tempest and Marazhai’s own sister. ‘Oh yes,’ he drawled as her eyes flickered toward the gleaming stone, ‘I remember the hint of desire in you when you laid hands on this little delight. You didn’t even need to think twice, did you. You knew instantly who it was that you would condemn to this fate.’
Ada’s mouth felt dry, her throat tight. By the throne’s glory, he had picked up on that? He had sensed that from her in those brief moments? She had barely been aware of such feelings herself at the time, but now, confronted so directly with it, she knew he was right. As much as she had loathed him for all he had done and offered an alliance only out of desperation to escape The Dark City, she had been surprised to recognise the similarity in their circumstances and it had dulled the edge of her hatred. Only a little, but enough for what came later. And the more answers she gleaned from him the more the sense of their likeness grew, until it felt like his own desire for revenge added further fuel to hers.
Because there was someone she despised with enough passion to inflict a Drukhari’s torture on them, and yes, their name had burned in her brain as she compared her situation to Marazhai’s. But she was loathe to say it aloud.
‘Say it, my pet. Say the name.’
She let go the breath she did not realise she had been holding.
‘Kunrad Voigtvir.’
Marazhai was right. The name tasted like poison. She wanted to wash her mouth after speaking it. Her stomach churned with rage and revulsion.
Marazhai’s turquoise eyes rolled back in his head as he took in her reaction, breathing the sensation as easily as the air. The shudder he gave, which rocked him from head to toe, was one of arousal, and Ada was surprised to realise that her own feelings of excitement had not waned in the slightest. But now there was something new to them. An edge sharp enough to cut the soul.
‘Kunrad Voigtvir,’ he echoed in that low rasp. ‘I know this name. I have heard it whispered among the mon-keigh on this ship.’
That statement jolted her a little, although she shouldn’t have been surprised that the traitor’s name was still spoken here and there, or that Marazhai was perceptive enough to pick up on such a detail.
‘He was the Master of Whispers for my predecessor,’ she explained, without needing him to prompt her. ‘He brought me here as one of the potential heirs to the dynasty. He had the nerve to lecture me about my special destiny, about honour… and my service to the Imperium.’ She snorted and shut her eyes, remembering that fateful first conversation looking over the voidship’s grand cathedral, and what had followed; picturing his feigned astonishment at the malfunctioning servitor and his sickly-sweet reassurance as he led her away to fetch help against the heretic invasion. ‘He…’ she had to take a shaky breath. ‘He masqueraded as my guide. A mentor, I suppose. But that same day he instigated a mutiny during a warp jump and, when he had me alone during the commotion, he stabbed me with a chaos blade and planted something inside my head. Some warp entity, I think, that forced me to do his bidding.’
She almost laughed, realising that there was more than one parallel to her and Marazhai’s own history in this little tale. At least the Drukhari had never pretended to be her ally in order to spread his devastation or plant his little stowaway in her mind.
‘As it turned out, he was of von Valancius blood himself, but not closely related enough to be considered as a potential heir to Theodora. That, apparently, was reason enough for him to want the absolute destruction of her, her people and the entire dynasty, and that was sufficient justification for him to give up his soul to chaos. I think only you matched the destruction he caused that day... though I don’t think you shared the sickening pettiness of his motivations! And all of it only to fail… and then slip away like some cowardly little maggot.’
Her fingers curled into the papers on her desk. Her eyes, open once more, were trained on the smear of blood Marazhai’s fingers had left. Teeth ground sharply behind her lips. All around her, red mist like droplets of blood were forming as her psyker powers threatened to slip from her control.
‘He would have torn down everything that I was due to inherit because of his own selfishness. And worst of all, he robbed me of the opportunity to prove myself. To earn the right to sit the Lord Captain’s chair. I should have been able to ascend due to my own power, my own will. I should have had the chance to beat my opponents and ensure no one could question my right to rule over the dynasty. And he stole that from me. When I finally get my hands on that loathsome wretch I’ll make him wish he had never drawn his first breath. I’m going t–’
Her next words were snatched from her by a sudden, shocked gasp. Marazhai, without her even being aware of it, had stolen around the desk to stand behind her and decided, at that moment, to slip his hands around her waist, drawing himself close, so that she could feel his body leaning into her, trapping her against the heavy desk.
‘Marazhai –’
‘Oh, do not stop now, my pet. You were just beginning to truly rouse my interest.’
He pressed closer as he spoke in that low seductive purr, and Ada gasped again as she felt the sharp barbs and edges of his armour begin to dig into her clothes.
‘Go on,’ he whispered, his breath tickling at her ear, his lips and tongue fluttering against her skin with every word. One hand, the one still encased in a gauntlet, strayed upwards, cupping a round breast through her clothing and squeezing hard enough to cause her breath to hitch in her throat. The other hand travelled lower, lazily searching for something. ‘Tell me what you would do to him. What dark delights can that mind of yours conjure? What delicious torments would be fitting for this creature you so despise?’
It was hard to think clearly. Ada’s head was abruptly clouded with thoughts of where those hands could wander, and what pleasures they might wring from her. The flickering memories she had regained of their first night were like droplets of water to a parched tongue, and now suddenly she felt the coming of a great storm. Already her body was reacting to his touch, her legs trembling and her back arching into him as his hips began to grind ever so slightly against her. But all her thoughts were of pleasure. Suffering… torture… were the farthest things from her mind.
But of course, he was Drukhari. For Marazhai, pleasure and torment went hand in hand. He had made clear what he wanted from her, and what rewards might be bestowed if she did not disappoint. And she wanted those rewards. She did not want to disappoint him. Her feelings of guilt and regret were lost to her. The past weeks of painful longing must come to a climax. Her body, her mind, her very soul clamoured for it. And who knows? Perhaps indulging in this and actually being able to remember it would spell the end of this mad fixation. It was worth taking the chance.
But what to say? What horrors could she imagine that would entice a Drukhari?
She cast her mind back to Commoragh. The sights she had seen, the small insights she had been afforded into his world. A fragment of conversation came back to her, and she bit her already bruised lip, covering the hand at her breast with her own.
‘Would you help me?’ she murmured, tilting her head back a little, rubbing her temple against his.
He chuckled. ‘And what help would you need from me?’ He dipped his head to nip at her throat, then sucked gently at the throbbing mark he left behind.
‘You told me, in Commoragh, that you could show me how to flay a man while he still lived.’
Another, deeper chuckle. ‘I did.’
‘I think I would begin there,’ she said, her voice taking on an almost dreamy quality. ‘I think… I’d like to know what sounds he would make as I took a knife to his flesh, punctured through his skin down to the muscle. But I’d need a little guidance… to learn just how deep to push the blade.’
‘Mmmm, it does take a delicate and… practiced hand.’
She felt him smile as he squeezed her breast again. His other hand had found what it was looking for – the slit in her dress that stopped halfway up her thigh, designed to help her manoeuvre around a battlefield and now proving to have another use entirely. Cold fingers stole under it and immediately turned upward. His nails, sharp enough to be called claws in their own right, dragged against her flesh just enough to make her wince.
‘And of course,’ she went on, struggling to catch her breath as anticipation swelled inside her, ‘I would need to know where to begin. The possibilities seem endless after all. I mean… do I begin at the feet, so that he can watch my slow advance? So that he doesn’t miss one moment as I pry and peel layer after layer? First with a knife and then, maybe, with my fingers?’
‘Such an approach has its appeal, my pet.’ His fingers slipped into her underclothes, and Ada moaned at the first press against her slit. She was already so sinfully wet. ‘But consider this,’ he went on, dragging a digit along the length of her opening, back and forth again and again, ‘if you were to begin at the centre of him, the first cut right above his black, traitorous heart… what a thing of beauty you could make. Just imagine it. Strip by strip you lay bare his flesh, working your way outwards…’
‘… like a flower,’ she mused, catching onto his train of thought with disturbing ease. ‘I could watch his flesh bloom around him like blood-red petals. Watch how the blood spatters formed around each piece. I would make art out of his torture… a sculpture from his pain. I could – ah!’
Marazhai pushed a finger deep into her and Ada’s thoughts derailed entirely at the invasion. Her knuckles turned as white as the ruined papers beneath them. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, the Drukhari stepped backwards, but maintained his hold on her. He seated himself in the high-backed chair – her chair – and in doing so pulled her down onto his lap.
She winced as she made contact with the sharp points of his armour, feeling it pierce her clothing in at least half a dozen places and sensing a warm wetness at each point. Still she writhed against him, eager for more pleasure to balance out the pain. And he gave it to her, adding a second finger to his task, causing her to let out a chorus of breathy moans – the only sound she was capable of making for several minutes as Marazhai explored her, a thumb now circling her bud while his other hand now began forcing its way under her dress and corset.
‘You were saying, my pet…’
She shuddered, feeling him quicken his pace.
‘Marazhai… I… I can’t…’
‘Oh?’
‘Please…!’
‘A pity.’
His fingers withdrew from her with a wet sucking sound, so swift and sudden she let out a cry.
‘W-what!?’
‘I appear to have lost interest in this.’
He shifted as if to stand and Ada felt a rush of heat in her cheeks, as potent as the panic and disappointment flooding her heart.
‘No, no don’t stop!’
His other hand also withdrew, swifter than the other and with deadly purpose. He seized her by the throat, metal claws digging into her flesh.
‘You dare to order me!’ he snarled against her ear.
‘No, I –!’ He squeezed tighter, and Ada lost what little room she had for breath. Her hands tore at his wrist and forearm, and she bucked her hips, trying to escape his grasp. A pointless endeavour. He was so strong…
‘What use do I have for a disobedient pet? What good are you to me if you refuse to do as you are told? I thought I had made myself clear when I so generously offered to guide you into my world, to let you taste the delights of a true Aeldari in a way no mon-keigh has ever been permitted before.’ He raked his teeth against the throbbing pulse at her neck and growled again. ‘After such a promising start are you going to prove a disappointment to me after all?’
Ada choked. Tears were starting to spill from her eyes, she could feel her lungs straining as they begged for oxygen and the merciless, crushing pressure of his hold. Surely, he wouldn’t kill her? He dared not! His life hung on her continued favour. Which meant there had to be something… a way for her to placate him…
She fell still. It took immense effort. All her instincts told her to fight, to struggle. But she forced those impulses away. She ceased her mindless scrabbling at the grip on her throat, and let her hands drop to her sides. Her body lay quietly against his, except for the faintest of trembling.
Obedience. Submission. It was the only hope she had.
Just as the blackness started to creep into her vision, Marazhai released her. She fell on all fours at his feet, her reddened face hidden behind the curtain of her hair as she sucked down gusts of cool air, her throat bruised outside and raw within. One, then two tears dropped to the floor as she shuddered and quaked at how close she had come to the edge.
That was all the recovery she was permitted. Forcing her up to her feet, Marazhai grasped her by the arms and spun her to face him. His eyes were like two supernovas of turquoise, burning in a pale mask of predatory anger and desire. His upper lip was drawn back from his teeth, clearly showing the sharper canines, still stained pink with her blood and gleaming in the candlelight. He looked half mad, as he had done during their feast. It would not take much to push him over the brink.
‘Well?’ he growled, his hands moving up to grip her throat again, threatening to finish what he had begun if her answer did not satisfy.
He left her room to breathe, however, and she drew in two more long breaths before forcing herself to meet his eyes.
Submission, Ada told herself. Complete submission.
‘Forgive me,’ she moaned, her voice shaky and hoarse. A fit of coughing almost took hold, but she threw it off, briefly calling on her biomancy to bolster herself. Her hands, damp with sweat, slipped up to his chest, where even through his armour she could sense every heaving breath and the insane beating of his heart. ‘Please, Marazhai, I made a mistake. I’m ready to do as you ask. Anything you ask. I’m ready to continue.’ A slight squeeze. A warning. Her breath hitched. ‘If… if that is what you desire.’
‘Oh yes. That is my desire,’ he growled, relinquishing his grip on her throat, and instead grasping the front of her dress. With a quick savage jerk, he tore it open. Another and the entire garment was left in tatters around her feet, with Ada now in nothing but her corset and smallclothes. His eyes narrowed at the sight of them, and she almost began reaching behind her for the laces, until she realised that he had given her no such instruction. She remained still, waiting to see what he would do next.
That was wise. He grasped her thighs, lifting her up and then setting her back on the edge of her desk. A hand pressed against her sternum, forcing her to lie prone against the flat surface, and then trailed downwards. He caught the edges of her undergarments, and another violent wrench made short work of them. They were added to the pile of ruined fabric on the carpet.
Ada gasped as she felt the tickle of air between her legs. Daring to raise her head, she saw that Marazhai was now on his knees, hooking her legs over his shoulders. She winced as the spikes on his armoured shoulders cut into her thighs and the backs of her legs. The mad rage in his eyes had receded, but the lust that had taken its place frightened her just the same. Yet it thrilled her too. When he pressed his thumb against her once again, she groaned and let her head thump hard against the desktop.
‘Now… where were we?’
Ada gulped. Where had they been? Damn it, think!
‘Pain…’ she fumbled. Marazhai’s fingers were poised to enter her again. ‘A sculpture of pain,’ she said in a rush, as her memory finally kicked in.
‘Very good.’ Two long digits forced their way between her wet folds. ‘Go on,’ he prompted as he began to tease her with a long, slow rhythm.
Ada settled her mind, trying to find a balance between focus on her task and enjoyment of the sensations Marazhai inflicted upon her.
‘I’d string him up on the bridge,’ she said at last. ‘Why should I be the only one to enjoy his suffering? There would be chains hung from the columns beside my throne, attached to hooks embedded in his arms and legs and… oh… oh god!’ Another whisper of a breath against her mound, and then something wet flickering over her swollen sex. She ran her tongue over her dry, cracked lips. She must not stop. He must not stop. ‘By my order, any who pass within reach of him must spit on his wretched body, unless they’d prefer to join him. I’d extract his nerves… arrange them in pretty little lines for me to pluck like a stringed instrument whenever I grow bored of listening to Danrok updating me on the latest requestion demands. I wonder what songs I could make him sing?’
‘Music as well as sculpture,’ Marazhai chuckled, briefly ceasing his attentions. ‘What an artist you are, my pet.’
She opened her mouth to continued, but her powers of speech were stolen as Marazhai’s lips closed over her, his tongue lashing fiercely while his fingers thrust in deeper and faster than ever. Her back arched. Her hands reached down to grasp the knot that held his hair up. The sharp blades that were embedded within cut into her fingers. When she dared raise her head, trying to gauge whether she had crossed an unknown boundary, she found him watching her.
Could she stop now? No… she dared not. Her body ached for the promised climax.
‘He would hang there for days. A full day for every officer killed… an hour for each of the rest. If he ceases to sing for me, I’ll suspend him upside down, gouge holes in his body and fill them with lit candles. Then I’d pluck each of his organs from his body and let them dangle in the air beneath him… making him into a pretty chandelier.’
He held her gaze all the while she spoke, even as he bore down still more fiercely with his mouth and hand. The muscles in her core had begun to tense. Something brewed down below. The yawning hunger that Marazhai had stirred inside her was now fully roused. She gripped him tighter, her hips beginning to buck.
‘And when he’s finally – finally at his limit – at the very moment his life is snuffed out, I’ll drag his traitorous, heretic heart down to me. The last thing he sees in this world will be – my teeth sinking into it – his blood spurting down my throat – I want to feel – his final pulse against my lips – I want to taste his death – nnnAAHH!’
Pleasure crashed through her. She lost sight of Marazhai as her body convulsed and curved towards the ceiling as he finished her. It was like electricity. An explosive shock to every nerve in her body that left her twitching and trembling and filled her vision with black blooms. A strange, strangled sound, halfway between a moan and a laugh escaped her before trailing off, leaving only her eager panting in its wake.
When some semblance of consciousness finally returned to her, she opened her eyes and found Marazhai looming over her. He was taking each of her fingers between his lips in turn, suckling the blood oozing from the cuts she had sustained. When he saw that she had recovered herself, he smirked and offered her two of his own fingers. No need to ask which two. She licked at them, tasting herself and letting out a lusty moan.
‘Delightful.’ His voice was a low rumble in his throat. ‘And we’ve only just begun.’
‘There’s more?’ she asked before she could stop herself. He threw back his head and laughed, sincere amusement tangled amidst the usual mockery. He took hold of her chin, then bent his head to nip at her throat.
‘You cannot begin to imagine.’
Feeling suddenly bold, she leaned into him just a touch. ‘Now?’
That low, rumble again.
‘My pet, are you being greedy?’
She made note of his tone and chose her words carefully.
‘Eager to learn. Eager to be… educated.’
He pulled his head back. The turquoise fire of his eyes was beginning to ignite once again, but his expression was teasingly thoughtful. This was all part of the game, she realised. They were playing with each other. And while their roles differed wildly, she had tools at her disposal. It was not merely that he held all the power and she none. Her power lay in playing her part correctly. The right words, said in the right way and with the right look, could work magic and in this instance, somehow, she had found just the winning formula.
‘Well… why not. We have the time after all, and I have just the tool for your next lesson.’
Her brow furrowed, until she followed his eyes down to the barbed whip that still hung on his belt. His favourite toy. The agoniser. Her mouth went dry once more and her arm, which had been the one part of her body to taste the pain of this particular instrument, prickled at the memory of it. This had not been what she intended at all… and yet beneath the apprehension, curiosity stirred, as it had done when he had touched her pale cheek in Commoragh and whispered that first poisonous promise to her. It was wrong. It was heresy. It bordered on suicidal madness. The reasons she should recoil, refuse and run outnumbered the stars.
But she did not recoil. Or refuse. Or run. She put out her hand and rested it on the pommel of the agoniser. Her grey eyes, half-lidded, stared up at him, and she bit her lip.
‘What must I do?’
Marazhai’s grin was almost frenzied, but his tone when he answered was as imperious as ever.
‘Get up. And remove that thing.’
He made a gesture towards her corset as he pulled her upright. Now that she finally had his permission, she reached around her back for the laces. It should have been simple enough to untie the knot, but her fingers were shaking from nervous excitement and her cuts stung with every flex, not to mention the fresh flowing blood that made everything so damned slippery. Cursing she fumbled about on her desk and finally found the dagger that served her as a letter opener – ironically enough a Drukhari blade that she had taken as a small trophy from Commoragh. She turned to Marazhai, who had been watching her frustration with amusement.
She held the dagger out to him. ‘Would you do the honours?’
His smile grew wider. More wicked. He took the proffered blade, and Ada turned, taking a moment to wonder what fool would so brazenly hand a weapon to a Drukhari and then turn their back on him. Even expecting it she gasped when the cold steel slid under the corset, and then again, louder, as it moved upwards, effortlessly cutting through both laces and the flesh of her back. Blood trickled down over her buttocks and thighs. Her throat began to ache anew as she sucked in quick, sharp breaths. The corset fell to the floor, and droplets of red pattered on the carpet by her feet.
He gave her no chance to confront him, issuing his next instruction.
‘Fetch me rope. Now.’
Collecting herself, Ada looked around, but there was no rope to hand. There was, however, something that would serve just as well. Briefly disappearing into her bedchamber, she returned with a long silken cord from one of her bathing robes. Marazhai, who had come to stand at the other side of the desk, his back to the open chamber, was in the process of removing his armour and Ada waited, her heart thrumming with anticipation as he finally removed his chestpiece, leaving only his lower body still armoured. She had a moment to admire his form – the slender, agile build; the taut muscles; and of course the numerous wounds that marked where his armour was held. He grinned when he caught her staring and gestured for her to come to him. The temptation to touch his body, to run her hands all over him, was an agony all of its own, but she resisted. They shared a look as she laid the cord in his hands, and his mouth twisted into a lecherous grin as he gave the silk an experimental snap, testing its strength. Satisfied, he motioned for her wrists and she held them up without a word, allowing him to bind her. And, also without a word, she obeyed as Marazhai ordered her to lay back on the desk, stretched out like some heretic’s sacrifice. He secured her in place by looping the other end of the cord through the iron ring attached to one of her desk drawers, and made sure to run his hands across the whole span of her body before stepping away.
She waited for him. Blood was still dripping from the cut on her back. What few papers there were still on the desktop were no doubt ruined, she mused to herself.
Honestly, Ada, is that really the most pressing thing on your mind right now?
She heard a sharp snap to her left, followed by a crackle, and lifted her head to observe. Marazhai had removed the agoniser from his belt. The blue glow spread along the length. When he hefted it, the crackling sound diminished for an instant.
‘In Commoragh, you had but the smallest taste of this instrument’s power. I have been eager to see just how much you are capable of withstanding.’ He gave the agoniser a full snap, making Ada jump. He leered at her, stretched out naked and helpless before him. ‘I doubt your fragile mind and body will be able to endure much. Not yet. But I shall teach you. I will push you to your limits and then beyond. And you will not hold back. Do you understand me, Ada? You will give me your blood, your screams, your exquisite agony. They are all mine.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Crack! ‘Say it. To whom do you belong?’
‘You, Marazhai. I belong to you. Only you.’
Crack! ‘And you will give me everything!’
‘Yes, everything! All of me!’
Another crack, and this time she felt the weight of the agoniser fall across her stomach and over her left breast. The lash itself and the spikes digging into her flesh made her cry out, but they were nothing compared to the surge of torment that followed moments later. It was like acid, electricity and fire all in one, it flowed everywhere the whip touched her skin, and spread along her nerves, shaking them until she thought she would dissolve into a million fragments. Her vision blurred and then blackened. She opened her mouth, but the pain was so great that the scream did not come at first, only a strangled gasp that slowly mutated into a primal shriek which echoed throughout the chamber.
When he pulled the agoniser back, Ada felt as though her nervous system was being dragged out of her along with it. She was aware of her biomancy surging through her, fighting to counteract the onslaught. It took every ounce of effort to quell it. She knew she must not let her senses be dulled. She must feel everything, no matter how terrible. Perhaps, on the other side, there would be something other than pain. She shivered and sobbed, fighting for some form of composure before the next lash descended. This one curled up her thigh and around her rear, and her scream was instant and even louder than the first. Supernovas exploded in the blackness behind her eyes as Marazhai struck her again and again. She heard his ecstatic panting, and maniacal laughter ringing out in chorus with her screams and the rhythmic crack of his toy. At some point he paused, only to turn her onto her front to work his art on her other side.
She lost count of how many lashes descended upon her. They blended together once the pinnacle of pain was reached. There was no way for her to be hurt more, to suffer more. This was her limit, and when Marazhai did not stop she found herself sinking deeper and deeper into a fog, much like the one that had overcome her on that first night when Marazhai, drunk on blood and suffering, had seized her and dragged her down with him into that dark oblivion where nothing existed except the two of them and their pain, their madness… their ecstasy.
Yes… it was there. So close. Just on the fringes of her awareness. She could almost touch it.
It took a moment for her to realise Marazhai had stopped. That instead of the hum of the agoniser she could hear the rest of his armour hitting the floor, followed by footsteps approaching, and heavy, frantic breaths by her ear. He lifted her, forcing her up onto the desk. She heard glass breaking and the crash of her cogitator hitting the floor. She couldn’t even bring herself to raise her head, and her arms ached from tensing against her bonds. But she was aware enough of her position, upper body down, her backside high in the air. And she was very aware of Marazhai, kneeling up on the desk behind her, and the press of flesh and metal against her opening.
Oh yes, her flickers of recollection had already granted her that little detail… the bars and piercings running the length of him; the feel of them in her hands and between her lips; the sensation of them dragging and catching on her insides with every movement he made. Just one more way he blended agony and elation together. A sound between a moan and a sob escaped her, and then a strangled gasp as she felt him begin to push his way into her. He did it slowly, not out of consideration for her but to make sure she felt every inch of him and his violation of her. She knew that she would never know a feeling like this with another man. The very idea of another man suddenly seemed laughable. What else out there could possibly satisfy the hunger Marazhai had awoken?
He began to thrust, slow at first, but hard enough to rock her entire body and shift the heavy desk beneath them. The room filled with the shameful, wet sound of their bodies colliding. With an effort Ada managed to raise herself on her forearms, bracing herself just enough to be able to push back against Marazhai’s assault. The next sound she made was not one of pain but of deep, throbbing passion. Behind her she could hear him snarling and grunting, his hands holding her waist in a bruising grip as he increased his pace. She lifted her head and caught sight of their faint reflection in the glass windows. It was at once the most perverse and most beautiful sight she had ever seen.
He withdrew from her suddenly. She let out a broken whimper at the thought that he would deny her again. But he only flipped her onto her back and when she glimpsed his expression she knew that stopping was the last thing he intended. She barely registered the pain from her wounds as he handled her so roughly. It was all one to her now. Her heart leapt, though, when he seized the dagger once more and raised it high over his head. She shut her eyes as he brought it down, fully prepared to feel it pierce her heart… but it did not. Instead, it sliced cleanly through the cord that anchored her to the desk, leaving only her wrists still bound together.
Their eyes met – a grey storm and a turquoise flame – and held as he entered her again, her body welcoming him with greater ease this time. His arms went under her; lifted her upright so that she straddled his lap. Her bound arms fell around his neck. For a few brief seconds they were still, absorbing the moment and each other. The air was thick with the smell of blood, sweat and sex.
Marazhai shifted his grip. One hand tangled in her auburn locks while the sharp fingertips of the other slipped over the welts that lined her back until they found purchase around her rear and curled in deep. Her lips parted in a groan that was instantly muffled by his tongue thrusting into her mouth, his teeth clashing against hers. His hips began to move again, grinding and driving upwards, and Ada used her hold around his neck to rise up and then bring herself sharply down to meet him on each thrust. The hunger inside her demanded nothing less.
Her muscles began to tense, and she could feel Marazhai’s already painful grip on her growing tighter, his thrusts becoming wilder as he neared his own climax. She clenched around him, not caring if he tore her up on the inside, only wanting to milk every last drop from him. Their mouths parted as he threw his head back, unleashing a savage howl as he finally spent himself, while Ada convulsed and, in a fit of fierce passion, bit deep into the flesh of his shoulder.
Neither of them moved for some time, besides the slightest trembling and rocking back and forth on the top of her desk. It was Marazhai who shifted first, forcing Ada’s head back with a slow tug at her hair. But he surprised her almost immediately by leaning in and dragging his tongue up the curve of her exposed neck, chuckling with something that bordered on admiration. Slowly, almost carefully, he lifted her off him, leaving her with a cold, empty ache where he had previously been. Perching her on the edge of the desk, he untangled himself from her arms and stepped back, giving her an appraising glance through half-lidded eyes.
‘Hmmm. I thought you delightful before, but now…’
‘Now?’ she asked, her voice as shaky as the rest of her.
He breathed a deep, satisfied sigh.
‘Exquisite,’ he purred, carefully enunciating every syllable.
She was already too coloured for a blush to make any difference, but the praise made her heart do a little turn and she smiled coyly even as she fought to stay sat upright.
‘And you,’ she said. ‘You were… you are…’ He raised an eyebrow. The mocking smirk had returned and in the face of it she acknowledged defeat. ‘I don’t have the words. I can barely think.’
He laughed. ‘As if I needed you to reassure me of my prodigious skills.’
And there was that arrogance again too. It should have irritated her, as it had done in so many other situations with other men and women. But she could hardly refute his words. Not when she was still struggling to catch her breath and could not even trust her legs to hold her weight. She wisely chose to remain where she was, her feet dangling inches above the carpeted floor, her bound and bleeding hands in her lap.
‘I trust at least I have managed… to alleviate your boredom?’ she ventured.
‘Somewhat,’ he said as he bent to retrieve his armour and begin donning it once more, all indolence and swagger. ‘Though my pet still has a great deal to learn.’
Once again they skirted around the possibility of further encounters. Pride would never allow him to ask her directly, she knew, and it seemed unlikely that he would continue to manufacture these little meetings in the hopes of drawing her in. No doubt it was part of the role he wished her to play in… whatever this was. He wanted her compliant, but he also wanted her to be eager, desperate enough to beg for more. To beg for him.
‘Will you teach me?’
He took his time turning back to her, deliberately drawing out the fresh tension forming between them. When he did, he said nothing at first. His eyes had darkened again, his satisfaction seeming to have quelled the fire that raged inside him. When he raised an eyebrow, she realised he was waiting for something else.
‘Please?’
A slight spark returned to his gaze. ‘Perhaps…’ He said slowly as he took a step towards her. ‘The next time you feel the flush of desire. The next time your soul burns for pain and your body clamours for ecstasy beyond the scope of your dull mortal senses.’ Another step, and he stood between her legs, so close he could have taken her again. He placed his hands on her knees, and they glided up the length of her body, trailing over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. A brief grip around her bruised neck, and then he cupped her face. ‘Then… come to me.’ The tip of his thumb pressed into her lower lip. ‘Come to me… and if you have been obedient enough, if you beg sweetly enough, then perhaps… perhaps I shall deign to continue your education.’
He took her lip between his teeth again, tasting the droplet of blood that had welled under his sharp nail, sucking and tugging to the point of forcing her to her feet.
And then he released her, turned on his heel, and was gone from view before giving her the chance to utter a word.
Ada stared at the spot where he had stood, mind reeling. It took her far too long to realise that she had been abandoned naked, bloody and still bound at the wrists. She opened her mouth to call him back, but the sound of the elevator told her it was too late. She huffed angrily. No doubt he would have ignored her anyway. Her eyes cast around for the dagger and… damn him to the deepest bowels of hell, he’d taken it with him!
She let out a string of very improper curses that Jae would have been proud of and pushed herself off the desk. Immediately she winced as her numerous wounds protested the movement, and then shuddered as fluid began to leak between her thighs.
Bzzzz.
She swore again.
Bzzzzzzzz.
Her vox-caster was buried somewhere under the papers. After some very undignified rummaging about on the desk and the floor she finally managed to recover it and clicked the receiver.
‘Yes!?’
‘Lord Captain?’
She tried to reign in her irritation at the sound of her Vox Master’s voice. ‘Yes, Vigdis, what is it?’
‘Forgive me for trespassing on your valuable time, Lord Captain, but the Astropaths have received a message regarding your colony on Kiava Gamma. I believe there are some projects that require your input.’
‘Are they urgent?’
‘I… I do not believe they require your immediate attention, Your Ladyship.’
‘Good,’ she snapped. ‘Thank you for informing me, I shall look over everything in due time. Right now, I am retiring and do not wish to be disturbed except for emergencies.’
‘Of course, Lord Captain. Do you require anything?’
‘Only uninterrupted peace.’
‘Yes, Lord Cap –’
Ada shut down the connection and tossed the vox back onto her desk. Looking at the scene around her with a kind of faraway astonishment, she wondered if she would even believe what had just taken place were it not for this carnage, and how on earth she was going to explain this to anyone without arousing suspicion. Shivering, and deciding that there was nothing to be done in her current state, she went off in search of a sharp object and, afterwards, a soothing bath. Her body hummed as her biomancy talents were finally given free rein to close the wounds that covered her. It was a painful process – a concentration of the healing process that compressed it into a shorter span of time but intensified every associated feeling. She could only allow it for long enough to heal the marks that could not be concealed by her clothing. The rest would have to wait until she felt stronger.
And as she lay in the warm water, quiet and still at last, a terrifying understanding dawned; a realisation that the hunger had indeed been sated by their frenzied union, but only for the moment. A faint shadow of it remained, lurking as ominously as the dangers that dwelled beyond the veil. The fear that it would only be fully quiet when Marazhai was with her – inside her – filled her heart with cold dread.
She steeled herself, and slipped deeper, until the water closed over her head.
It could not be so. She would master this.
She must.