Anew (Jaycob + LaPieta)

[LaPieta]

With immeasurable dread, Ireena watched the sun set. Though typically gorgeous, the sight of that golden light dripping across the white birch that ringed her village brought only misery; the girl knew what it portented. The chains around her ankles would not let her forget, nor the cloth drying her tongue.

In the small hours of the morning she had been pulled from her cottage and dragged to the single hitching post that lay outside her town’s pallid stockade; they had fettered her feet and bound her hands and gagged her mouth. Why her people felt it necessary to keep her out there all day was an idle wondering; but the reason for her being here was not: she was an ill-liked woman with no family, her people had displeased their lord, and he would take his due.

Little was known about their ruler, only fanciful rumors regarding his supposed inhumanity and more solid accounts of his wrath. A bad harvest was not reason enough to shirk on the levied taxes, and it would not spare them. It seemed the town council had decided that offering her might. Embers smoldered in her gut at the injustice. At best, she’d end up a house servant, at worst, chattel—provided the gossip about him being a monster was false.

Shadows soon lengthened and fell upon the girl’s form, the lithe limbs sprawled inelegantly upon the dirt road. Cornsilk hair ran in sodden waves down to her ribs, cupid’s bow lips tinted blue from the chill of an earlier rain. Her pale nightgown clung to her, far too thin to offer much protection from the climate, let alone when wet. By now, the capacity for emotion had left, her mind reduced to trying to deal with the aches and pains and parching and cold the day had brought. There was only the encroaching cold and dark, and whatever fate the tyrant would bring upon her.

 

[Jaycob]

Sunset. It was a time of fear for many - as the dark fingers of night stretched greedily across the land and light fled the sky, the human imagination had a tendency to run amok. In most cases, the fears were idle and served only to provide stories to scare children or to provoke a superstitious response from adults.

In this case, they were warranted.

Niklaus rode from his castle in garb befitting a warlord. He had a swordsman’s build, with broad shoulders that tapered to narrow hips and ropy muscles. His pale face was angular; a sharp jawline and defined cheekbones dominated his visage and, above them, a pair of piercing eyes. Across the man’s back was a massive war-axe, emblazoned with runes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Armor covered him - sleek, blackened iron a set atop a thick, padded jacket, though he wore no helmet. He looked every inch the lord of the land, riding forth to dispense whatever justice he saw fit.

Niklaus’ steed was a massive, black haired beast of a horse. It responded to his every command seamlessly, hurtling down the road with little concern for any obstacles or danger. If washed, it would surprise most to find that the rear left leg of the horse was actually marred by a shock of white hair - Niklaus, in a mixture of vanity and pragmatic understanding of the power of appearance, took the time to rub soot into the imperfection and so dye it whenever he rode. The horse itself was an excellent creature: tireless, powerful, fast, obedient, and intelligent. A minor cosmetic imperfection was no reason to discard it.

He rode out to collect his due from a nearby village. In truth, their tribute was individually unimpressive, yet leaving them as potential symbols of defiance was unacceptable. Other, higher yielding towns may see it as weakness. Beyond that, they were his property, and a dog does not suddenly walk upright and say “No.” to its owner.

It was not long before he sighted Ireena. She was difficult to miss, after all, a young woman left bound and gagged in the road. Niklaus frowned slightly. He prided himself in the rule of law in his lands. Not only did he have a deep seated love of control, but also he regarded threats to his subjects as personal affronts. Bandits and criminals did not last particularly long in the area.

The man checked his steed with the barest pressure on the reins; the horse thundered to a stop, wheeling slightly to prevent tumbling from the sudden halt. He slid from the saddle, walking to the woman and was reaching for her gag when her appearance checked him like a physical blow.

She was familiar, somehow, and a shadow of repressed memory screamed through Niklaus’ mind. She reminded him of somebody, somebody from his past. Almost immediately, he felt a tightness in his chest, something he hadn’t felt since he was human. An attachment, illogical and as binding as chains, consumed him like fire on parchment. It took only seconds for him to be struck.

Niklaus was aware of what was thought of his humanity, or lack thereof. It was true, what they feared. He was, of course, a vampire. It was the source of his speed, his strength, and why he rode at night. It was what allowed him to amass wealth and power over such a long period of time. And the loss of humanity hadn’t slowed any of his other needs or functions; he’d taken more than one lover in the past… And this woman looked exactly like the final woman he had ever been with. They would have been twins, indistinguishable, had they stood shoulder to shoulder.

He reached out, pulling the gag from her mouth, and spoke. His tone was tougher than it might otherwise have been, his voice a little huskier, “Who are you? Is the village offering you in place of what was missing from their taxes?”

 

[LaPieta]

Little time had passed since nightfall and already she could hear the rolling thunder of hoofbeats down the road. The rhythmic hoodbeats almost seemed like the tolls of a funeral bell, the black-clad warlord approaching the reaper.

Her stomach lurched at the sight of him, but as he got closer she could not entirely attribute that lurch to fear. A terrible, longing ache nested in her heart, a yearning for some shapeless time before she simply could not reach. How could one clutch the nonexistent? Grasp a thing defined only by the shape of its absence, hold it in their heart? But she could not deny that gap and the desire for its closure was there, prompted by the sight of this man.

His appraisal did nothing to banish the feelings, though it added another inexplicable one: self-consciousness. Windburn marred the gentle angles of her cheeks; confusion and perhaps a bit of that longing could be read in the pale blue of her eyes, red-rimmed from the day's tears.

It took a moment for her to find her voice again, the normally warm tones now cracked and parched.

"I am Ireena Markovik, a healer. And. . .I think so. They didn't tell me anything when they dragged me out here, but I think the council's on the ramparts if you wish to speak with them." Perhaps she would be allowed free; the lord certainly didn't seem pleased at this offering, nor the type to need a dedicated physician.

Indeed, peeking heads could be seen whispering to each other behind the points of the stockade; like rabbits, they ducked back down when a gaze turned to them. As if any interaction with the monarch would bring their doom. Keeping in line with this, it seemed the key to her chains had been placed the top of the post, well out of her bound reach. They likely hoped he'd merely take the offering and depart.

"W-what do you intend?" The words ended with a dry cough, the draw of her cracked lips sending a split of red down the middle. If he was, in fact, some sort of monster, such a thing may provoke a reaction.

 

[Jaycob]

Niklaus regarded her silently, transfixed by the sudden presence of blood. For the briefest of moments he stood eerily, inhumanly still - not a flicker of movement, not a breath nor a faint sway nor a tightening of the jaw or shoulders. Without any change in posture, a faint black cloud rippled across his eyes, growing outwards from his pupils.

The vampire blinked, mastered himself. His eyes returned to their normal pale blue, and his voice regained it’s normal smooth, cultured tone. “I have no need to speak with them, Ireena Markovik. I intend to take you back to my castle; what happens next is still to be decided.”

Niklaus calmly took the key from atop the post and unlocked her chains, and returned his gaze to her. The black clouds roiled again as he caught sight of her lip but, once again, he remained in control of himself. His gaze sharpened as he looked her over; she was really quite attractive. His next decision almost made itself.

He summoned magic within himself, felt it welling within his chest like powerful emotion, and released the compulsion with his next words. “Stand, girl. Discard your dress, I will find you new clothes. You’re in no danger while you travel with me, and I want the village to know that you have been taken. You are mine now, do you understand?”

His voice cooled to iron on the final three words, making it clear that they were more statement than question. She was no slave, but she had been offered to him as tribute and he was claiming her. He climbed back onto his horse, then looked back at her and extended a hand.

 

[LaPieta]

Her own breath hitched as the pretense of his stilled; a ravenous dark sparked within his pupils, beginning to devour the sclera and all at once the fears of his inhumanity were confirmed with terrible clarity. As if it had any chance of warding him off, she took her lower hip into her mouth, keeping it there until the bleeding had thoroughly stopped. Shaking panic wracked her with the revelation, tempered with confusion as he unbound her. Thankfully her straining had not been enough to cut into her ankles; more blood would likely only incite him further. Raw skin sparked with pain, then relief as fresh air finally made contact; she was about to try and rub sensation back into her wrists when his eyes held hers and the world fell away. There was nobody else nearby. There was nobody else at all; just him. She was alone in the dark, with only the light in his eyes to guide her.

A dull, glassy film seemed to draw over her own eyes, the ember of intellect that smoldered within dimmed. She wanted to disrobe. It was all she wanted to do. It would please him. It was all she had ever wanted to do.

Ireena's motions were conducted—perhaps "conducted" rather more literally than she'd have liked—with the uncanny combination of jerkiness and fluidity that characterized a marionette. She stood and reached to untie the ribbons at the back of her nightgown, and soon the garment fell away.

The girl wasn't entirely bare; a pair of short braies covered her pelvis and only a bit of thigh, and a camisole draped loosely over the smooth, tapered lines of her torso. Much of her could be described as smooth. Gentle. Her voice came out in a susurrate lilt.

"Yes my lord."

She slipped her hand into his, soft and small and warm against the unflinching cold of his. Yet there was a rightness to it, one that transcended this artificial stupor and coiled comfortingly in her chest. It continued through the journey, magnifying when the haze that covered the world dropped.

When it did, she was nestled against his chest, riding along the frothing river that cut through the land. With considerably less clothes than she had before—the blackened iron of his armor offered no comfort.

Her village would not have her; her people would not. She was the property of the lord now—monstrous as he was—and she would find no respite when it became known. Perhaps he'd brand her so it could not be hidden, so she could not escape. But escape would have to be considered later; for now they were speeding through the moonlight-mantled land. No words came to her throughout the journey, merely a soundless mixture of panic, planning, and dread.

Stars dotted the firmament, searing pinpricks of light searing through black velvet; combined with the expanse of prairie they were cutting through it all seemed vast enough to drown in. Wind rippled through the long grass, the blades bowing down in waves in deference. Ireena burrowed against the inscrutable lord as best she could, trying to shelter from the cutting wind. As if some part of her thought he had any comfort to offer.

Soon they were canopied by dark trees, a mix of scraggly deciduous and heartier conifers. The boughs almost looked like veins, criss-crossing over them as if the pair were traversing through a capillary. Eventually, the foliage began to thin, revealing a grand structure mounted on a promontory, overlooking some vast body of water. Surely their destination, and a dwelling befitting a monarch.

 

[Jaycob]

Hiding her lip did as little to distract the warlord as it would to hide food from a starving man who had already seen it. If anything, it merely sharpened his desire; a jagged, almost overwhelming need flickered somewhere in the dark recesses of the vampire’s mind. Peculiarly, what kept him in check was the same sense of bonding that had struck him when he had first seen her. It immediately soothed the roaring hunger that had beset the man, gripping his chest in another welling of emotion. By the time that he had fully processed the two powerful, contradictory impulses, she had already begun to strip.

Niklaus nodded as she obeyed him, then let out a low sound of approval as she referred to him as “my lord”. When she climbed onto his horse and settled against his armored body, he protectively wrapped an arm around her. The metal would not be comforting, he was sure, though he cared little for that - he felt an attachment and wanted her safe, but his interest in her was very much as a curiosity and a tribute, which left little consideration for comfort.

They rode in relative silence, letting the rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves and the dusty scent of the road occupy their senses rather than conversation. Whatever thoughts Ireena was lost in were of little consequence to Niklaus. He was dwelling on this odd connection, the way that desire and affection had almost immediately begun to color his sense of ownership over his new prize.

As the woods began to make way for more open land, Niklaus was able to catch sight of his home. The keep was a massive thing, dominating the land and, while a human may not have his clarity of sight in the dark, he knew it was still an impressive silhouette.

The structure was made entirely of darkened stone, causing it to stand out against the purple-blue sky and its many stars. At each corner were enormous cylindrical towers with conical tops that looked as though they were spears thrust into the ground to ward against some threat from the sky. Smaller towers surrounded the structure, bound together by a wall that hemmed in the keep. It looked as though the architect had decided to take a cathedral’s design and make it more defensible; the result was a castle that heavily featured arches, spires, and gargoyles.

The bottom half of the keep’s walls were decorated by ornately carved arches as if to display where windows would be. Great buttresses connected some nearby towers to the keep or the walls to the ground, creating an effect akin to a spiderweb. The second story of the keep, above the forbidding walls, featured colossal windows - great stained glass affairs, backlit by a peculiar red glow.

Above the oversized door that guarded the entrance was a colossal, stylized work of glass and stone that could be more aptly described as art than a window. Stained glass, set in a series of concentric circles, divided by the black stone and dyed a number of colors. It was an ostentatious display of wealth, as glass was not cheap, and to acquire so much for a decorative rose window was almost unheard of.

Atop the structure were gargoyles - ugly, muscular behemoths that were cut from the same dark stone that made up the rest of the castle. If Ireena were paying close attention, she might notice that the one above the doorway looked at the pair as they approached before resuming his position.

Niklaus slowed the horse as they approached the castle gates. They opened without any visible prompting, allowing them entrance without having to pause, and thundered shut behind the two as they rode through. Once inside, Niklaus dismounted.

The vampire was nothing if not polite, offering her a small bow along with a hand to assist her in getting off of the horse. “Now that we are here, allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Baron Niklaus, your lord and the lord of these lands. When speaking to me, you will call me ‘my lord’ or ‘sir’. I will address you by name, and I expect swift and total obedience. I am sure you have heard all of the… Rumors about me. I do not imagine they inspire defiance.”

Niklaus paused briefly to drive his point home, then continued. “Now, please, Ireena, allow me to show you my home.”

 

[LaPieta]

The girl's unfortunately human eyes could only broadly make out the edifice, a yawning void snuffing the stars from the sky. Spikes and spires and crockets menaced from silhouette as if in warning and the windows glowed with a malevolent red light: predator's eyes glinting in the dark. Perhaps it was this place that would devour her—the central window was indeed reminiscent of a mouth—rather than the beast who wore the skin of a man that held her.

No. Hunger radiated from him too strongly, inextricable from his strength. He would have her heart dangling from his teeth like a pearl onion.

It was unfortunately easy to catastrophize, given the circumstances.

Little heed was given to the vague outlines of jeering gargoyles, the rows of robed and armored statues lined up in their niches to pass judgement on any arrivals. Though some respite from the night was offered when the crossed the threshold, there was unfortunately little warmth to be found in this tomb, only the chill of death. The air itself seemed heavy, displeased with her intrusion, but there was still a grim beauty to be found in these halls. The ceilings rose high and stark with interlocking ribs, allowing ample room for the grand staircase that stood imperiously in the center, leading to a platform that held a forebodingly large door and split into two perpendicular stairways. A red slash of carpet cut from the top and through its center to rest across the bottom floor of the hall, to where two decorative suits of armor guarded the entryway. Open arches leading into rooms she could not discern in this dark lay underneath the split staircases, as well as two doors on either side of the entry hall itself. How vast was this place?

Panic was growing harder to keep at bay, the enormity of all the forces against her growing all the more prominent as his metal-clad hand ensconced hers so easily. A bolt of deja vu ran through to dispel some of the fear, even as her hand was caged. Why. . .why was this familiar? Why was he familiar? Not just familiar, but longed for.

Ireena followed, bare feet padding along the plush carpet as she drew her along herself; at least the chatttering of her teeth was easier to suppress with how swollen with thirst her tongue was. She seemed even smaller than before in this vast hall, a pale mote floating through a cavern of stone, flaxen hair streaming loose to her tmribs; what few garments she had left hung loose and did little to shield her from anything—let alone Niklaus' gaze. The elements would have to be taken into account for her escape, particularly if he kept her parading around this place bare or just short of it.

Her gaze met his, her eyes taking on some of the iciness that his held even as a girlish flutter rose in her chest. Fear would accomplish little; she would have to keep her heart and mind as cold as the flagstones to have a chance of escape and keep the ever-growing, baffling fascination with him from clouding her judgement. Her exterior could not remain as such, however, lest she be disposed of, nor could it melt too quickly, lest she arouse suspicion. It would be a thin line to walk; a wave of inexplicable warmth washed over her with his voice, with each further second she spent examining the austere lines of his face.

A tour. . .yes. Having a better overview of the areas and their purposes would help, what potential tools lay where, and knowing which places were forbidden and why.

"You would be correct, sir. Might I ask if there's any truth to the rumors of your appetites?" Ireena's voice came out far shakier than she had anticipated—from cold or fear she could not tell. She left whether or not she would be subject to them unspoken; that could be assumed well enough, it was merely the nature she had to try and prepare for. Her mind repelled the compulsion to think about the possibilities further; it could not keep that up forever.

 

[Jaycob]

“You don’t need to skirt around the topic for the sake of my sensibilities. Among the other appetites of men,” Here he paused, looking at her significantly, letting his eyes roam her body, “I do, indeed, drink blood. You are not in danger here, if that is what you’re asking. If I wanted to drain you, I’d have done it on the road.”

“As for my other… Appetites… You will be expected to be prepared to serve them at any time during your stay. Perhaps you are considering escape or to try to slay me. Do consider that it was not I who abandoned you in the road, bound and gagged, as a sacrifice. If anything, you are safer here than you were back home. Now, follow me.”

He turned and began walking towards the main stairway. The doors opened before he got to them; they would have been impossibly heavy for most grown men to move, yet they swung soundlessly and smoothly without a touch. Niklaus was showing off. A sense of awe in his subjects was always something to be basked in and a display of power alongside his statement of authority would give it weight.

The hallway was carpeted, though it, too, was poorly insulated; it was made of stone, after all. Some of the chill was taken from the air as torches flared to life. The light caused shadows to dance and flicker against the walls. A close look would reveal shadows cast by men and women who were not present, keeping pace with their lord as he strode down the long walkway.

Doors, these more normally sized, were scattered along the sides of the hallway. At the end was another great pair of double doors, curving to an ostentatious point at the top. Niklaus decided to begin his tour here.

“If you were to explore any of these areas, you would find that they are mostly living quarters. I do not have mortal servants, but the man who owned this building before I did not have the same resources that I do. In some of them I have installed hidden tunnels to other places in the castle; I will show you how to access them at a later date. At the end of this stretch, behind those doors, is the feast hall. Near it is a kitchen, which I keep stocked. I will assign you an assistant, and you can request anything you like.”

He paused, then spoke into the air. “I expect Miss Markovik is in a state of some disrepair. Please, ensure that there is water, bread, and some soup - nothing too hearty, she’s had a rough day - waiting for us. Hot soup, warm bread, and cold water. The fire should be lit, as well. She is not like us, after all, she needs some comforts.”

One of the shadows nearby left, moving towards the feast hall at some speed. It was subtle, hidden by the flickering lights, observable only if one was looking for something unusual. When it arrived, it simply vanished.

“The nature of my servants is a touchy subject for many of them. I would not ask too many questions about that while you are in the castle. Should we decide to go out, I can give you more details.”

They reached the great doors. They opened slowly, revealing another lavishly decorated room. From the high, vaulted ceiling hung a tremendous chandelier; stained glass windows filtered moonlight and provided a kaleidoscopic array of colors. Banners of defeated foes hung from the walls - the great boar of the Mad Count, the sickle of Warlord Thresh, and the devices of several lesser known foes of Baron Niklaus. The stone walls were lined with more of the decorative suits of armor. Alone of the areas they’d been to, there was no carpet here, though the stone was warm enough.

There was a crackle audible even from a distance, and the lack of carpeting in this room gave a peculiar acoustic effects to everything. The faint rattle of the Baron's armor was more noticeable, and his voice seemed a little louder without him having to raise it.

At the far end raged a fire hot enough to finally bring heat to the area. Just walking into the room bore a noticeable change in temperature. With it came the pleasant, campfire smell of wood smoke, mixing with the scent of fresh bread. As requested, a small offering of food was already at the table. Niklaus gestured to it.

“Sit, please, make yourself comfortable. Eat and drink before we continue. At the end of the tour, I will show you to your quarters. I will change into something that isn’t armor, and while you recover I will answer any questions you may have.”

The warlord walked back out of the massive doors, allowing them to shut behind him. He selected one of the smaller rooms and walked into it, beginning to shed his armor as he did so. They were indeed living spaces for servants that no longer lived here, but now they were storage units. He selected an outfit, simple long pants and a short sleeved tunic that bound at the waist to display his figure to some advantage, donned a pair of soft-soled shoes, and re-entered the feast hall.

He sat at the table, placing his forearms against the edge. “I trust you have some thoughts on everything. Do share them.”

 

[LaPieta]

Ireena nodded, unable to suppress a shiver as his glance raked over her. At least it was not organs he had to consume; one could recover blood. It did not make the news that he would soon take her body more palatable. But did have a point in regards to her safety; she was being fed and sheltered, which was more than could be said for a good portion of her village. These overtures seeing to her needs did not seem to come from purely ensuring her survival; a man such as him knew that human beings could withstand terrible iniquities before death.

The girl padded lightly along behind him, trying and mostly failing not to startle with each shadow that crept over the wall. Whatever one could say about this lord, he certainly had a flair for the theatric; it was charming, in a way, how a man so stone cared about what others thought, even if those thoughts were fearful. He was not quite so gauche as to display the skulls of his conquests, but the tattered banners served a similar purpose. Sharp blue eyes darted about the rooms, keeping an eye out for any potential tools or hiding spots. His words prompted further thought though; what would an assistant entail? Would they be another shade? Darker questions bubbled.

If neither he nor these shades needed food, why were his larders stocked? The answer came to her almost immediately after: whomever else he took blood from. But no signs of life lurked within these halls; where were they kept? It was unlikely they all received similar treatment to what she’d received so far—save perhaps a few favored concubines. Dungeons seemed most likely, unless the rumors of Niklaus growing wings and draining villagers each night throughout his domain were also true. Even then, one wanted food stores during sieges. . .

Would she even have a chance of escaping herself, let alone freeing whatever wretches he kept below? It would be even more important to keep him pleased with her during her stay here, given the chattel infrastructure was already set up. More so to escape; concubines rarely remained as regarded in age. Rarely remained as “useful” for their initial role. Obsolescence in that regard would mean death.

Her breath caught at the sight of the chandelier, the gorgeous colors diffusing through it and the stained glass to render the dark stone vibrant. A proper gasp escaped her with the sparking of the fire—more out of relief than fear—and its warmth soon permeated her, letting the cold-stiff limbs relax somewhat as she sat. Another nod was given at his request, thoughts beginning to flow more freely now that they had begun to thaw.

Where could she even flee to, should she manage to escape his reach? There were several nations who regarded his coolly—the trophies of his foes reinforced that—but could she even make inroads without a grasp of their languages? Physicians were always needed, but she would have to survive long enough within the country to begin plying her trade, and some would not bide her methods. Oryx in particular had a notorious aversion to any healing more than prayer, a policy she suspected came about from the nation’s reported inability to sustain its high population. The warriors of Altatia had even fewer qualms about using women as chattel and-

Cart before the horse. Vitality flushed through her limbs as she indelicately wolfed down the meal; better she be uncouth now when he was out of eyeshot. Only when she was halfway through the bowl did she realize the soup was a hearty chowder in some variety; there was only enough energy to register taste once the baser needs were met. The salt of the nearby sea air permeated the dish pleasantly, helping the water she was chugging feel all the more refreshing and the bread she dipped in it all the more savory. His re-entry would find her quickly switching to table etiquette that could be seen as dignified, were she not in her underthings.

The sight of him dressed down evoked some solace; he still seemed human in terms of physicality, at least. And damnably familiar; like a leaf on the wind the image of a scar on his left pectoral flit through her mind, but trying to grasp for clarity only drove it away. His presence seemed to insinuate through the air as he sat beside her, dark and alluring. But she had to keep her mind, could not let whatever dark powers he held eat away at her. After a moment to swallow, she answered:

“Few I feel you’d find novel: you likely have dungeons where you keep your own ‘food’ as it were. My ending up there or not is conditional on your pleasure with my performance. Your chefs are remarkably good, it must have taken centuries for this place to be built, the usual thoughts a captive has, and. . .” She tried to keep her gaze cold, but regarding him only elicited a warmth building in her chest, one that shone through in her expression as she tried to place him. How did. . .

“How do I know you. . .?” The words came out in a liminal whisper, susurrate and sibylline; a small hand reached to his almost idly, halting in fear of reprisal.

 

[Jaycob]

Ireena seemed to be enjoying her food, something that brought a warm ember of satisfaction to his chest. It caught the vampire off guard - he was a creature of high emotion, and few of the emotions he felt could be described as “warm”. When she spoke he found himself actively listening, enjoying the sound of her voice. When she reached for his hand, he reached out and held hers. His skin must have felt cold, he reflected, as hers felt quite hot - the warmth of direct sunlight, a sensation he hadn’t felt since he was mortal.

Niklaus tilted his head at her little speech, as if observing an animal perform an unexpected trick. She seemed brave, more than willing to make bold - if incorrect - assumptions and to then state them. He drummed the fingers of his free hand on the table and offered a slight smile.

“I do not have dungeons, Ireena. I have no need for them; when I am on campaign or when I defeat challengers, I harvest the blood I need from them. If I were to come under siege, how could I feed dungeons full of non-combatants? I simply enjoy eating - I can still taste, you know.”

The smile vanished and he abruptly ceased drumming his fingers. His grip tightened, ever so slightly, preventing her from withdrawing. “But, more importantly, I told you two things: One, you are safe here. By questioning that, you’re suggesting that I lied. There will not be a second time. Two, I feel that I was clear: You will address me as ‘my lord’ or as ‘sir’. I expect obedience.”

He let the sentence hang there ominously. The scent of wood smoke grew stronger as the fire at the far end of the room rose. Abruptly, it returned to its previous size. When the Baron spoke again, his tone was entirely different - once more he sounded cultured, even pleasant. He even relaxed his grip and brushed the fingers of his free hand across the table as if physically dismissing the issue. “I do not know from where we know each other, Miss Markovik. I suspect that you knew me in a previous life. There are precious few other options. It is a quite unbreakable bond.”

He smiled placidly. “Is that really your only question? We can continue the tour, but it’s uneventful - an observatory, a library, my quarters, your quarters, and a tunnel that connects the two. Do you require any more food, or any comforts? I can arrange for them to be waiting for you in your room.”

 

[LaPieta]

A small smile painted her face as he took her hand, despite the deathly cold of him. Perhaps mere friendly contact was enough to turn her giddy in this state. The news he didn't have dungeons full of thralls likely helped.

"Ah, that's something of a relief, I'll admit."

His hand tightened about hers with the vicious quickness of a trap shutting around the leg of an animal; his voice was as harsh as his grip. One must prod to find the boundaries and allowances, and it seemed his were quite firm. The ego he obviously held in regards to appearance extended to being challenged. She would have to be careful, keep her resistance believable and excusable while not too dire.

"I-yes, my lord. My apologies; doubts—no matter how baseless—are an unfortunately human affliction, and you must understand it is my first time in such circumstances."

The heat of the fire stopped overtaking her after the apology, as if the castle itself responded to his will and emotions; it likely did. His voice took on the comforting warmth of the gentler fire; for a moment she could almost fall back into the lull of it.

Then he so casually discussed past lives as if she were obviously well-versed on so banal a topic.

"Wh-pardon, sir? I'll admit, I have rather more questions now. You speak with such certainty; have you found evidence of the soul? Let alone reincarnation?"

Her eyes widened, blue chips of ice sparkling wildly with confusion.

"My lord, who was I, to you?"

 

[Jaycob]

The vampire gave a slight smile at her apology, waiting for her to finish speaking. He brushed a thumb over the back of her hand; it was a fond gesture, though possessive. Her question provoked some thoughts: Who was she to him, in that past life? Based on his own reactions and her appearance, he felt confident that she was, indeed, a former lover. The afterlife was always difficult to predict or to navigate, though, and it wasn't as though he'd been given a map once he had become undead. He was outside of the system, for the time being, it didn't give him a much better understanding of it. He decided to deflect the question for the time being.

When she addressed him as her lord in her final question, he let warmth tinge his smile once more and the fire danced, casting long shadows. It produced an almost cozy atmosphere, despite the situation. He was in casual dress, she was in a state of casual undress, they were alone in a massive stone feast hall, and he had just flexed his authority. If anything, it should be terrifying, and perhaps it was, but he at least felt compelled to make an effort.

When he spoke, his words were low, almost a purr. "Good girl. That wasn't so difficult. Now, in answer to your question: I can't be absolutely sure. But, I suppose what's important is who you are to me now, isn't it? I wouldn't think on it much. Living in your past is already such a dull way to exist; living in your past lives... Well, that's boring and pointless."

The warlord rolled his shoulders back, an almost catlike stretch, though he kept hold of her hand. "If that is going to be the sole focus of your questions, I suggest we move on with our tour. You're only going to upset yourself and I don't have any fulfilling answers for you."

 

[LaPieta]

Coquettish frissons ran over her skin at his praise and the tone with which he delivered it; why did his pleasure feel so gratifying? Not just his pleasure, but her specifically having pleased him. His low rumble ran up her spine pleasantly.

At least the afterlife seemed just as much a mystery to him as her, though it begged the question: if he did not know who her past self had been to him, why did he suggest past lives so readily?

"It's more what may come next that I find myself preoccupied with. My lord." She managed to avert her gaze, mumbling as she kept herself from staring overlong at the leonine smoothness of his motions. One could become quite captivated by the predator surety of him and his movement: frozen by the sight of a wolf moments before it tore out your throat.

"But you're right, sir; there's no point delaying the inevitable." Ireena set the dishes aside and rose, her fingers melting through the spaces between his. Though leaving the potential tool of the spoon was regrettable, there was no opportunity to swipe it without his notice, let alone stash it safely somewhere. There would be other opportunities to sequester tools, no need to take low-return risks just yet.

 

[Jaycob]

Niklaus watched her as she stood, again becoming very still. It was the stillness of a predator watching its prey, the kind of stillness that suggested a coiling of potential energy. The firelight danced over her nearly-naked form, illuminating her curves and bathing her in soft lighting. Something in him broke as desire sharp enough to be called need abruptly overwhelmed him.

He stood with her, speaking quietly. It was not a dangerous tone of voice, but it was both soft and clear. “You are right, Miss Markovik. There is no point in delaying the inevitable - none at all. You wish to know what comes next?”

Again, the baron’s eyes moved over her. This time the intensity was an almost physical pressure. Subtly, he seemed to change; his posture, initially perfect, suddenly slackened ever so slightly as if he were preparing to pounce. His hands, previously relaxed, twitched once, twice. They were minor cues, but certainly noticeable.

He wasn’t quite sure who she was to him, but he was beginning to develop a suspicion. Not one that he was willing to acknowledge, even to himself, though whether this was due to the fear of hope or of hurt was unclear. All he knew was that it was not a topic that he felt safe broaching, and that allowing himself to be overcome by lust was a good way to put it from his mind. That he likely would have been stricken regardless of this was something he chose to ignore.

Niklaus took a breath, the air hissing through his teeth. “I would be happy to show you what comes next, right here in this hall. Take off what’s left of your clothes and get on your knees.”

It didn’t occur to the vampire that she may disobey, so he did not even consider using a compulsion. He simply watched her expectantly.

 

[LaPieta]

And thus, the teeth were in her throat. Metaphorically, for now. That would not last.

This was somewhat expected—though not quite in this exact instance—but expectation was not enough to ward off fear: quite the opposite.

"I meant. . ." She had meant the afterlife, but it was difficult enough not to balk and flinch from the sheer intensity of his gaze, let alone attempt to correct him. It was terrifying, to be the subject of such potent want, but Ireena could not deny there was an almost narcotic appeal to it as well. Nothing and no one had ever regarded her with anything close to this intensity; it was heady. Perhaps there was a power to it as well, though he held all the cards.

Though his grip was iron, he let her go with a noticeable reluctance when she moved to disrobe. A tremble had taken her, though the smoldering heat of the fire had grown to match that in his eyes. She had never been intimate with another.

The mechanics were certainly known—it would be a disservice to her patients if she could not offer counsel and healing on a matter so inextricable from humanity—but her only experience lay in detached, clinical examination.

Shaking hands moved to pull off the short camisole, a chill peaking beige nipples and raising gooseflesh as her own flesh was revealed. The braies went shortly after, a patch of light blonde curls marking her womanhood.

A faint sheen seemed to mark her body as the lambent firelight highlighted her form with writhing shadows and golden light, accenting her curves and angles. Her breasts swelled gently from her torso, limbs as lithe and shapely as willow boughs. She had hoped for her first time to be somewhere soft, but it seemed it would be either the flagstones or the table. The sparse clothes that once "covered" her were bunched up and placed below her knees as she knelt; they offered little softness, even less protection from the chilled floor.

What composure she had managed to muster thusfar was beginning to crumble; fearful, tearful eyes gazed up at him, his height and imposition all the more prominent from this angle. It was growing harder to maintain the clinician's detachment as the situation drew ever closer.

 

[Jaycob]

The Baron let out a low growl of approval as Ireena obeyed, watching her intently as she sank to her knees. It was a resourceful decision to use her clothes to pad the ground. She seemed scared, tears threatening to fall as her composure and self control fractured under the pressure of the situation. Niklaus was, against his better judgement, impressed by her ability to remain as collected as she was rather than just breaking completely.

“Perfect.” The word was husky, carrying all the weight of his desire in it. “You are doing excellently, Miss Markovik.”

He reached over his head, drawing his top off of himself and discarding it idly. It slid from a chair to the ground, a puddle of fabric that was swiftly forgotten. Lean, lithe muscle rippled under his skin. The warlord had a swordsman’s build under his clothes, with defined, snakelike muscle running along his back and arms. His chest was smaller than his back, but no less well shaped, and his abdominal muscles were evenly set. Despite his violent nature, though, the vampire’s skin was perfectly smooth, absent blemishes or scars.

Niklaus looked down at Ireena again, enjoying the power he held. She looked small, frail, even subservient from her position on the floor - but, abruptly, emotion ripped through him again. Fondness warred with lust and prompted him to reassure her, however slightly.

“I understand this is scary to you, Miss Markovik, so please allow me to set you at ease: It is true that I own you. You are mine to take how, when, and where I please. But this obligation runs two ways. I am your Baron and your lord, and your safety and well-being are owed to you by me. You are in no danger here.”

He paused, continuing to stare at her from a few feet away. They had been holding hands, which gave them only a step or two of distance, and now she was naked and he was almost there. The man was achingly hard, he felt it against his trousers, and he wanted her desperately.

He offered a slight smile, but it seemed tinged with hunger. The dark clouds were threatening his eyes again and, this time, his canines seemed slightly more pronounced, ever so slightly longer and sharper, than they had been prior. Baron Niklaus was a creature of emotion, and his vampiric nature was feeding on the deep well of lust and affection that Ireena was creating. It roughened his voice, making his next words come out a little harsher.

“Now, crawl to me on your hands and knees, and take my pants off for me.”

 

[LaPieta]

Want seemed to roll off of him in vicious waves, the undertow drawing her in in turn. A flush began to paint her cheeks and warm her face as she took in the sight of him: corded sinew lay bound in tight, machine perfection, wrapped in ivory skin. Despite the circumstances—or perhaps partially because of them—he was handsome. The lean hunger in his gaze and features contrasted the softer bent to her own, the blue of his eyes a deathly cold.

His words did indeed offer some comfort, sparse as it was; Baron Niklaus did seem to genuinely believe in noblesse oblige—a rarity amongst rulers, from what she understood.

She served him, and he in turn would serve her—at least in regards to needs. And he did seem to need her terribly, and though not necessary for survival that need seemed as a deep as that of a drowning man for air. A penitent seeking absolution. Inhale.

Keeping her head hung low, she reluctantly bent, planted her palms against the coarse stone, and conducted the rather short crawl. She went back to sitting up on her knees soon after, unbowing the boughs of her limbs. Another chill ran across her at the sheer imposition of him, the intimacy of merely being so close; the veil of golden waves running down her back offered little shelter from the cold.

One hand reached to brush across his chest, over the topography of his abs to the pectoral where she knew a scar once lay. Why was she so certain of that? Ireena flattened her palm over the area, so close to where his heart should be, and found no pulse. Her own paced quickly, driving blood and heat and dripping the stirrings of want through her form.

Slender hands traced lightly over the curves of his hipbones before winding to the sides of his trousers. Servitude granted safety; perhaps going beyond would grant useful allowances, though the rationalization felt hollow the moment it passed through her mind. Inhale.

Ireena brought the pink line of her lips to his waistline as well, fabric poised with a coquettish flare between her front teeth, and with her hands and mouth she slowly dragged down the garment. All the while she kept her gaze pinned to his, a flicker of lust beginning to spark in the forget-me-not blue of her eyes.

 

[Jaycob]

Breath hissed from between Niklaus’ teeth as Ireena ran her hands over him. Her hand rested, perhaps by chance, over what had once been a fatal wound. When she used her mouth to assist her hands in drawing down his pants, he gave a lazy growl of approval. It seemed she knew her place in his household and that she was willing to play her role. The vampire’s lips curved upwards in a slow smile, meeting her gaze. He reached down with one hand, brushing her cheek and jawline with the back of his fingers before she was out of reach.

When she finished her task there was, rather abruptly, nothing between them. They made quite a tableau, the Baron mused: himself tall and proud, lithe as a mountain cat and in total control of the situation while she was petite, submissive, meek, and yet somehow just as powerful as the focal point of his desire. She was on her knees, her lips only inches away from his cock.

“Now, Miss Markovik,” he murmured, his eyes remaining fixed upon hers, “I want you to tell me that you will be a good girl for me, and then I want you to wrap your pretty little mouth around my cock.”

 

[LaPieta]

Her head tipped almost of its own volition into the soothing cool of his fingers, cheek soft as gossamer for that all-too brief moment. But she kept her eyes on him, then closed, even as she rose; it was too difficult to face it, the situation, until ordered.

"I-I. . .I'll be a good girl for you. My lord." The words came out strained, as if this act of submission tore away some part of her, made her less. A part aside from her dignity.

Perhaps she should be fighting back, but in terms of simple logic it just didn't make sense; it would only yield her captor's ire. Maybe this reasoning kept her from it, maybe she just didn't have the hope that anything would come of it like some may cling to. Maybe there just wasn't a strong enough aversion in her.

Ireena opened her eyes again, regarding him, then looking level to his cock. Like the baron, it was imposing, this angle removing it from the detached, professional context that comprised her experiences in sich matters.

This. . . this was just a procedure, she told herself. Unpleasant, but necessary, like debriding a gangrenous wound. Perhaps not nearly that bad.

Ireena took the head of him into her mouth, light, tentative lip movements around him teasing what was likely to come.His scent was rapturous, heady and strong and practically sending a lash of fire whipping through her, settling in her core.

At first it was only the head; she lapped at him with her tongue, circling the glans and flicking against the frenulum. But she knew he would only tolerate a prelude for so long, slowly taking in the rest of him in her mouth. There were a few hitches as she adjusted her breathing, a few attempts to take him deeper, but her throat protested too strongly. Eventually she settled for having one hand grip what the welcoming warmth of her mouth could not take. It'd be necessary to learn to overcome that reflex.

 

[Jaycob]

Niklaus’ breath quickened as she spoke; he groaned audibly as she teased the head with her tongue. His hand slid to her hair, getting a good grip of it; he didn’t force her to take him deeper into her throat, but he kept her from retreating too far. Ireena seemed inexperienced, though not unenthusiastic, based on her attempts to take all of him into her mouth.

“Good,” The word was nearly a whisper, a lust-strained hiss of gratification. “You take instruction well, Ireena. You’ll need some training, but I think you’ll do excellently here.”

He applied a gentle pressure to the back of her head, coaxing her further along the shaft - not too far, just far enough that he expected it would be uncomfortable. “Breathe through your nose, girl, and relax. Let it go a little deeper, and I’ll let you pull back a bit after a count of ten. One.”

The brief pause was stimulation in and of itself; the man could feel her warm, wet mouth, her tongue, even the efforts of her throat to reject him were tantalizing. “Two.”

He rocked his hips slightly - not enough to give her much of a reprieve, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she was trying to breathe between thrusts. “Three.”

He kept counting, fucking her mouth gently as he did, each number coming out a little bit more slowly and a little bit huskier than the last. By the time he reached the final count, his voice could have been better described as a growl. “Ten.”

 

[LaPieta]

Though she could not breathe during the height of his thrusts—air from the nose went through the same channel as from the mouth—she could when he drew back. A rhythm could be found: she'd breathe deeply when he drew back, hold it while her tongue and lips laved affection over him when he pressed forward.

Ceding control like this certainly held its appeal; it was not so much being free of the worrisome burden of thought and choice—though that certainly was a portion—as much as the—admittedly irrational—surety of his control. Intimacy was so often a series of negotiating terms and boundaries no one ended up entirely pleased with, an exercise in scrying unknown or unspoken truths. To have the bounds and path marked so clearly was a relief. And she did seek intimacy, with him, bafflingly enough. With each pleased growl that seemed to come from the guttural depths of him, each gaze at the increasingly-familiar blue of his eyes, longing nested like a knurl of flint beneath her heart, and she so wanted to please him.

Ireena sputtered when he backed away but managed to resist removing herself entirely. Her nostrils flared as she tried to snatch what air she could while she could, inundating her with the scent of him. Why did he have such an effect on her? His heightened senses could very much tell, if not by the musky scent than the slight glisten just-barely visible in the hair around her nethers. Slender fingers moved to wind through his free hand again, eyes and motions desperate for his touch.

 

[Jaycob]

“It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?” The vampire’s words were a mere whisper, “To be desired? To be the subject of need?”

And he did need her. As her fingers wove into his, a spike of lust drove through him, an almost overpowering sense of animal desire. His hips bucked uncontrollably, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth - it wouldn’t be shocking if she coughed or sputtered, though he didn’t allow her to pull back much to do so.

She was becoming increasingly aroused, herself. It made Niklaus want her more, for it was true, what he said: desire begat desire, and their mutual attraction fed itself. It was a little too soon to simply grant her what they both wanted, though - the Baron wished to continue to exercise his control over her, to show her that she was his plaything.

“You’ve been very obedient, Miss Markovik. I’m happy that you understand your role in our… Arrangement. You may begin to touch yourself, but do not remove your lips from me.”

 

[LaPieta]

His voice was hypnotic, a drumming against her that at once soothed and roused and demanded of her. Perhaps it was merely the alien acoustics this place held, but it felt as if he were by her ear, everywhere. It seeped into her like ink on a page.

A groan went through her at the words, combined with a slight nod of the head to send delicate vibrations through him and the teeth that oh-so carefully drew along his length. It was intoxicating, almost narcotic; her form flushed with a pleasant heat.

Ireena squeaked as he pressed further into her mouth, the flesh of her throat shook around him with her cough, drawing away and back to grasping him rapidly. Pulses ran visibly through her throat as she tried to keep on him, unable to draw away. To think it was so chaste a gesture that surged this creature of hunger. The girl was able to right herself soon enough, however, and resumed the bobbing back and forth that slid friction over the steely length of him. Cold as steel, too, though that too held an appeal when with him.

His hand wound about brought chills through the skeins of golden silk that veiled her shoulders and back, resonating through her scalp and downwards. Wide-set blue eyes glinted up at him with a lusty half-lid, her broad cheekbones sweeping down to a small chin to render her face heart-shaped. Above that chin lay a well-lipped, narrow mouth, a rosebud that had unfurled to wrap warm and soft and slick around his cock. Softer than rose petals, even.

His next order—barely framed as a permission—gave her pause, though only a fraction of it affected her ministrations. Could she. . .? Should she? Her only forays into self-pleasure had been relatively rote things, a joyless mashing of a particular area to elicit stimulus; the result was generally just a brief flare of shivering gratification. Nothing and no one had inspired anything even a fraction comparable to. . . this. Still, it was a personal thing to display, somehow moreso than this—she vainly insisted to herself—procedure.

But it would please him, perhaps, and that was enough. Everything felt heightened, with him, the air succulent with possibility. Pierce it, and it may bleed.

Slowly, Ireena brought her the hand that had been at his base to her chest, throat now more able to encompass the whole of him. Slender, deft fingers slid over the hill of her breast, down across the middle of her stomach to draw a line through the flaxen curls to the center of her need. The thumb took its position on one side of her pinkish folds, middle through the other, and the index began to press at the little bulb of nerves that elicited such sensation.

At first, the motions were reluctant, mere twitches and presses of the finger. Petering sparks drew forth only lightly, despite her state. But with each push the flush under her skin grew, pleasure drawing further and further across her body from the area until she trembled with it, was caught in the tide of it. She had begun to rock in time with her head, body drawing forward with her head as needful little whimpers escaped her.

 

[Jaycob]

When she groaned against him, when she nodded ever so slightly, the Baron’s head fell back for the briefest of moments. The sensations and situation were almost too much - this beautiful blonde girl on her knees, sucking his cock. The light flush that was building in her face, the smell of her arousal. The shared desire, and her trust and obedience in him as her lord. Her little cough and instinctive withdrawal didn’t bother him at all - in fact, her willingness and readiness to resume her duties was thrilling.

“Good girl,” Niklaus whispered. He returned his gaze intent upon Ireena, drinking in the sight of her. When she began to rock back and forth, timing herself to the movements of her mouth, he let out a lazy groan of satisfaction. Her whimpers felt incredible.

He stood there, enjoying her efforts, for several seconds before using the hand in her hair to again force himself deeper into her mouth. It felt good and she looked amazing, but the pause in movement helped him form his next words. “Very good, Miss Markovik. Now, I want you to suck on my cock - don’t just use your mouth and tongue for friction, but actually create suction as you move your pretty little head. If you can do that, my pet, you’ll finally earn a reward.”

He relaxed his grip, giving her the opportunity to move again. He knew she wasn’t the most experienced and he had held himself a bit deeper in her throat, so his expectations of immediate obedience were tempered. It was important to train her now, though, if he let her go too long without learning how to take him into her throat then she might struggle to learn or refuse altogether. Best that she understood what was expected of her early in her stay.

 

[LaPieta]

Another sputter escaped her as he stilled, deep and prominent in the back of her throat. A gag flared around him, but the girl managed to focus on her breathing enough to suppress further retching. He was no longer an intrusion there, merely a presence to be accounted for—though it was still necessary to be conscious of her breathing.

His new order gave her a moment's pause, though only about the logistics. It'd likely only be considered a reward for her in his ego-addled mind, but Ireena could not deny the flickers of hope beginning to warm her chest. Nor the force of sheer want to please him.

Her heart pounded like a hammered anvil as she tightened her lips in a more thorough seal and sucked her cheeks in. Niklaus would feel her lips clinging with far more force to his cock, loosening in fear, at first, before Ireena realized it would not hurt him. With each draw back, the suction resisted, the inside of her mouth tugging tightly around him. Forward was met with the slick force drawing him further in, wet and inviting.

Nostrils flared trying to keep breath within her lungs as the pace of her rocking increased, less controlled. Her finger twitched frenetically to try and get the sparks flaring within her built to something tangible, some ephemeral completion; her breasts shook with the movements of her arm between them.

But it was to no avail. Her eyes watered with both the task before her and frustration; the gnawing at her core was still present, pettish and needful and unceasing. A light vocalization punctuated each shift of her hand, buzzing through him with the flares buzzing through her. The tension in her coiled, growing taut as a drumhead under her skin but it will not snap and she is reaching and reaching but it is not there.

A pitiful whine escaped her.