Xana writes (and bitches probably.) Comments Welcome!

He was pleased to see that she was waiting for him, standing casually, one knee bent as her heel rested against the wall. Red lips wrapped a white cigarette, inhaling deeply and then releasing slowly. The nub of the cigarette was stained with crimson evidence of her existence. She was wearing the long black overcoat he liked. He liked it, because it was just for him. Dozens of different men had seen her body every night she performed, but they had never seen her like this.

She nodded to the burly bouncer as he stepped out of the club. They shared no words during that brief interaction, and she was happy to be rid of him, as she pulled her coat tightly around herself. They were now alone, and he was ready to finally make his move.

When he stepped from the shadows, her wide eyes and agape mouth were evidence of how happy she was to see him. The white cigarette dropped from her lips and landed in a puddle, forever extinguishing it’s spark.

“Please…please…please,” she begged him, her voice quivering with lust and her eyes brimming over with desire. He closed the distance between them quickly, having waited so long for this very moment. She expressed some concern that someone would catch them, but he quieted her fears with a finger to her lips and a whisper in her ear, “We are all alone, love.”

Wrapping her in a strong embrace, their bodies tensed and convulsed from years of unrequited longing. She flailed against him, overcome with desire, grasping desperately at his arms, his chest, his face. Whimpers and sighs left her lips, wordlessly beseeching his touch. He didn’t dare disappoint her, holding her tightly against the wall and himself. He marveled at the softness of her neck, supple under his finger tips and he felt the blood rushing through her veins.

“Please…”she pleaded once more between passionate gasps. She was holding him so tightly her nails dug into his skin and he knew she was almost ready to consummate their lust. Her lips were nearly blue without the stage lighting, and as her mouth parted he pulled her into a kiss. She grew weak in the knees, but he was more than happy to hold her up. In her silence,in her stillness, in her stiffness she consented to his every desire. Now she would be his, and his alone. No longer would she have to degrade herself before the men in the club. He would take care of her, and she would always be as beautiful as she is in this moment. The only thing left was to carry her home, her new home, where they could be alone. But first he unzips his pants.

Jiggling a small orange bottle between her fingertips, Iris was disappointed at the sparse sound it made. White pills rolled up and down the length as she twisted her hand expectantly, as though shaking it would replenish her supply. She sighed as she opened the bottle and sifted out a couple tablets, popping them into her mouth in a single fluid motion. Closing her eyes as the pilled traveled down the esophagus, she could hear the door open behind her, and soft footsteps shuffling about.

“It’s fifty for the hour,” she said from rote, in a flat tone that was far away from this place. “Just leave it on the table and we can get ̶ ” She was turning to face him now, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she looked upon him. He wasn’t anything like the men she normally serviced. Unusually tall and slender, clean shaven. His face had a sort of preternatural beauty to it, which was somehow simultaneously grotesque. He had sharped features, high prominent cheekbones, long pointed nose, thin lips. He seemed to pass between angelic and reptilian without ever stopping anywhere in between.

He made his way about the room, paying little attention to her. Soft tsks could be heard as he wondered aimlessly, as though he weren’t intruding on her personal space. He didn’t stop as he walked by the table she had told him to leave his money, but she didn’t protest. Her eyes followed him as he made his way around her dwelling, he moved with such authority and purpose she didn’t dare challenge him.

Finally, he approach where she was still sitting. Fingers ran down the grain, as though he weren’t familiar with the feel of cheap wood. He drew close to her now, not a word had passed his lips yet his hands reached out to touch her face. “Don’t,” she murmured softly, a protest that was as unconvincing to her as it was to him.

His eyes were green or blue, this close to her should could hardly tell, or concentrate enough to differentiate. The most striking thing about him was his eyes, or more precisely, the way he seemed to look past her not registering her as a person but an exhibit. There was emptiness in his expression, an emptiness she had seen often in her own eyes these days and she supposed he was as dead on the inside as she was. Fingers softer than any man she had previously been with traced the scar that ran from her left eyebrow to her right cheek. The wound long since closed up and healed, yet still she flinched into herself as his fingers made their journey, the psychic pain throbbing throughout her being.

“He really did a number to you, did he?” He asked as his velvet fingers cupped her chin, bringing her back to reality as he looked into her eyes. She didn’t answer, but he wasn’t exactly looking for her to answer.

“I could probably fix it for you, if you want,” he continued gently, caressing her cheek in a familiar, intimate way, as though they had not just meet a few minutes ago. She laughed nervously, not sure where he was he was going with this. Despite his overbearing, boundary ignoring behavior, she didn’t feel threatened by him.

“What, are you some kind of plastic surgeon?” She asked with eyebrows raised. She pushed his hand away now, as she shook her head, “There is no way I would let another man cut on my face.”

“Nothing like that,” He said in a melodious tone, stroking her hair. He didn’t continue to explain, however, just staring at her through the mirror. Towering over her, his presence made him seemed larger still, a giant threatening to engulf her.

“Who are you?” She finally asked, even though she hardly expected he would give her a straight answer. He smirked like he had told himself a most amusing joke and bent over to whisper it in her ear.

“I’m the devil.”

She laughed almost instinctively, albeit somewhat nervously still. She almost believed him, wondering if he was even real or some figment of her drug-addled mind. The empty orange bottle lying on the vanity further confused her. Might as well see how far the rabbit hole goes now.

“So what, I suppose you will want my soul in exchange?’ She joked now, standing and turning to face him. Their bodies were touching now, and she quivered powerfully, almost ready to give him anything he asked.

“Your soul?” he scoffed. “No, you can keep that, I’ll be tasking your body in payment” pulling her even closer and whispering in her ear. She didn’t resist, and she didn’t. She knew in that moment that she would follow him straight to hell if he bid her so.

“I killed him,” he whispered in her ear, his breath on her neck. Justicar seemed to be gloating, bragging about his triumph over her mentor, but his voice was rather somber. “ I was the one who got to kill Vincent. I watched the life leave his eyes, as he called out your name with his dying breath. I wish he were still alive, so he could watch as I take the only thing that he ever cared about away from him.” His chest pushed against her, pinning her to wall while his hand ran down her arms and to her neck.

“So you're going to kill me?” She asked him, restraining any fear that threatened to seep out. His fingers tightened her throat for a moment, as he toyed with the idea. He could have killed her before, instead of knocking her out and taking her prisoner. What purpose did keeping her alive serve other than his own sadism?

“No, death is a mercy you will not know.” He lifted her chin to look into his eyes. The mask effectively covered his features, obscuring his emotions from her. His eyes told her very little. “You will be tortured until your mind or body breaks, and then you will be shaped into a lovely weapon for me to unleash on our enemies.” His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he spoke and his eyes lit up with excitement.

“I would never serve you,” she spit back at him, summoning every once of venom in her blood. He wasn't fazed, and why would he be? Her bravado was empty, and she was defeated.

“You have no idea. Everyone breaks eventually. There are many who would take pleasure in breaking you,” he taunted, his eyes never leaving hers.”I am more interested in the goal than the process, however you are a special case. I think I will enjoy watching you succumb to your darkness. Tell me, are you still in love with Vincent?”

His question caught her in an ambush. She didn't speak, averting her eyes from his piercing stare and swallowing her pain. Her silence spoke volumes more than any words could. (more psychological impact there)

“Saving yourself for a dead man? Tragic, indeed.” He caressed her, as though his words were not sarcastic. “By the time all this is done, I will rid you of that burden. This is a promise.” His hands were behind her ears, fingers entagled with her hair as he pulled her face close to his. His lips parted first, pressing against hers with desperate need. Bearing teeth, he bit her bottom lip until she opened her mouth, granting his access. His tongue slipped inside, seeking hers as though it was its purpose in life. One hand moved behind her head, just above the neck to keep her close. The other hand reached around her to release her from the manacles, their bodies pressed against one anothers in the effort. Neither was wearing any armor, and she could feel his muscular form under his clothes. Even now, with her hands free, she didn't put up a fight, she didn't pull away. He melted into her and she nearly succumbed to his longing. When he finally stopped , he was still pressed against her face, the cool metal of his mask resting on her forehead.

“Are you going to force yourself on me?” She managed to ask, her voice almost cracking.
“Is that what you want? For me to take it from you so that you can have all the pleasure and none of the guilt?” He taunted her in a cocky tone.“Why should I take from you, what in time, you will freely offer me?” He had that self satisfied smirk on his face. He placed a waterskin on the ground before her and left without another word.

After some time she managed to fall into a shallow sleep. Mostly it was a battle of being uncomfortable yet exhausted. Whatever light sleep she got didn't last long, as she was stirred by the sound of her cell being opened. She briefly wondered if it was Justicar returning, but indistinct conversation eliminated that possibility.

“So, this is the bitch who thought she could invade us and get away with it?” a voice called out from the darkness. Two figures came into sight now, young men with devious smirks on there faces. They weren't wearing any armor, but a fat one did have a blade at his side.

“What do you think is going to happen now, bitch?” The rotund one spoke, squatting down to her level. She had little doubt as to their intentions, remembering Justicar's words from before, there are many who take pleasure in breaking you. Was this how they intended to break her will? It all made sense, in a terrifying way.

The glint of the blade caught her eye. A plan formed in her mind, as the disgusting pair of men eyed her like a piece of meat. She couldn't dare suffer this indignity, and it wouldn't end with these two. Most likely they didn't know she wasn't shackled. She could get the jump on them, grab the sword , stab one through before he realized anything was wrong. The other was unarmed, she could fight him off as well. If she to fail to get the weapon unnoticed, or if they both attacked at once she might not make it out alive. Even if she did manage to overcome them, she wasn't going to be able to fight her way out with no armor. Not even if she were in perfect condition, and she was still injured from her previous encounter with Justicar. Even at her best she didn't stand a chance against him. This plan was suicide.

It was, however, a suicide of her own choosing. If she did nothing she would lose herself, her pride, her morality. She would be dead in every meaningful way. Was survival worthwhile if it meant a tortured existence? Besides, death was a place where he waited for her. He called out your name with his dying breath. Justicar had intended to torment her with that line, but she found it inspiring now, the push she needed to go through with this fatal plan.

The fat man squatting before her grabbed her by the hair, pulling her face close to his. He reeked of ale and death. She winced, whining for his benefit. All the while her hand moved towards his belt, trying to find his weapon without looking with her eyes or feeling with her fingers.

“Did Justicar break you in already?” he snarled at her, spittle hitting her in the face.

“He kept her pretty,” The other joked, glancing towards the door of the cell. “Hurry up, I want a turn before she gets mobbed.”

“Go stand outside,” The fat one growled, turning briefly to his friend. The other muttered something, but dutifully made his way outside. She took a moment to eye the blade, memorizing it's position. Thick fingers wrapped around her throat, not quite choking her, but intending to hurt her. She managed to find the hilt, as the stout man towered over her. She pulled slowly, fearing she might alarm him to her plan before she had a chance to enact it. The blade slid free of the sheath, and without adjusting to a better position, she sunk it into the soft of his belly. He let out a blood curdling yell as his blood sprayed all over her. He still held her hair in one hand and her neck in the other, and both hands tightened now. She was slammed into the wall with a grunt, but she did not stop thrusting the blade into him, jagged stabs opening him up. He was losing blood and strength quickly now. In his final act of hostility towards he slumped over on top of her, pinning her down with his dead girth and trapping his sword between them.

The altercation caused enough ruckus to alert his partner. “Fucking cunt!” He bellowed at her. Blood drenched her and pooled around her legs as she struggled against the weight of the corpse on top of her. She found it difficult to get any traction as she was slick with blood. She couldn't get a grip on the blade, and her foe was getting closer now. She summoned every ounce of strength she could muster,, pushing the dead man off of her and into the path of the advancing enemy. He stumbled, but kept his balance, giving her just enough time to get to her feet. He throw a wild right hook, which cut her square in the jaw, knocking her back into the wall. Blood began to fill her mouth. She used that, spitting right in his eyes before ramming her shoulder into his gut, knocking his air from him. Pivoting to grab for the sword, she wasn't fast enough, and he grabbed her by her hair and yanked her to the floor. He retrieved the blade from it's gory sheath, blood splattering the wall as he turned to point it at her. She had her back to the wall, there was little she could do to defend herself now. Her eyes filled with tears as she realized this was truly the end.

“...Vincent...” She choked out, letting the tears fall from her face as she waited to be reunited with him.

BANG! The cell door slammed open, and her assailant spun around to see who it was, his adrenaline pumping as hard as hers. Justicar came into sight, and even with his mask covering his face she could see the anger radiating from him. The man in front of her knelt before him, but Justicar ignored him, coming directly to her.

“Did you hurt her?” He demanded in stern tone.

“Not at all, sir! She went for Rickon's blade, and she killed him. I only subdued her, that's it.” he stammered.

“What were you two doing here? Why did you bring a weapon with you.?” Justicar interrogated him, his anger growing with each excuse.

“We came to check out the prisoner. We weren't going to do anything too drastic, just the usual. You know, show her her place in this world.” He explained.

“Your friend brought a blade into a cell of a renowned warrior. He died for that mistake,” Justicar stood now, and approached the man, motioning for him to stand. “ You came to harm my personal pet project. Had you came and asked my permission to see her, I would have said no. And you would still be alive.”

“Alive?” Was the man's last word, as Justicar pulled his weapon from it's sheath in a flash. A clean cut severed the man's head from his body. It was as though the body hadn't yet realized it was slain, standing on it's two feet for some time after the head tumbled along the floor. Alhana still hadn't taken a breath, her eyes wide in some combination of fear and shock. Just a moment ago, she spoke what she thought was her last words, and now the body of her would be killer lied crumpled before. Justicar wiped his blade on the man's clothes and sheathed his blade, finally meeting her eyes.

“Did they touch you?” he asked, coming down from rage. He motioned to her bloodstained shift.

“No, it's not mine,” she managed to say, somehow. She caught a pleased grin on his face, like he was proud of her. Shouldn't he be mad? “Why did you save me?”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “I not about to share you with the likes of these two. I captured you, and that makes you mine. That man died for his insolence, not for your honor.” He looked over the room once more, now that the immediate threat was gone. She watched as he clenched his fists.

“You could have been killed ¬would have been killed if I hadn't arrived in time. How did you think this was going to go?” He asked her, exasperated.

“It would have been a warriors death, better than a captive's tortured existence.” She said with a shrug, meeting his eyes on the last phrase.

“You were going to throw your life away?” He asked, picking her up and throwing her against the wall. She winced from the force of his anger, suddenly terrified about what he intended to do to her.

“Your life is no longer your own. You don't get to end it so easily. Do you understand me?” She hesitated for a moment before answering. He grabbed her chin with cruel power and forced her to look into his raging eyes. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes” she managed to mouth, just loud enough to satisfy him, as her entire body shook with fear once more. He gazed into her eyes for a moment longer, seemingly content with her level of dread, before spinning her around, so that her back was to him. He pulled her arms behind her, eliciting a pained groan from her as her armed were shackled again. He then pushed her towards the door of the cell, walking close behind. She wanted to ask where he was taking her, but didn't think it was wise to provoke him in his current state.

They made their way up the fortress, almost completely silent, save for the few directions he gave her as they moved. They passed many of his subordinates along the way, but none dared to look at her, averting their gaze as she moved with Justicar. After walking up many flights of stairs, they finally came to a floor that seemed deserted of other soldiers. He took the lead now, pulling out a key as they arrived at a sturdy wooden door. He opened it with the key and pushed her inside, closing the door behind him.

The room was sparely furnished, despite it's size. A large desk, and a chair to go with it. A bed strewn with fur blankets, a bookshelf overflowing with tomes, a chest half open with clothes hanging out and a rack with his renowned jet back armor.

“This is your room,” Alhana noted out loud, still piecing together what it meant.

“It seems I have to keep a closer eye on you. So you don't do anything stupid.” He grabbed her arms now, pulling back towards him. A moment later she felt the shackles unlatched, and she rubbed her wrists.

“Clean yourself off.” he said, pointing out a basin on the far side of the room. He retrieved something form the chest and tossed it on the bed, a plain cotton shirt and pants. “You can wear that for now. I'll see about getting you some clothes.” He was almost calm now, as he turned to leave.

“Keeping me here like this...does this mean you're keeping me for a bed slave?” She asked, once more trying to gauge his intentions.

“No, you are welcome to sleep on the floor.” He responded with a chuckle, before leaving her alone once more. She almost called for him to stay, but realized that he intended for her to bathe, and was giving her some privacy. She couldn't deny that he had saved her life today, and she supposed she was grateful to him. He had already admitted he wanted to corrupt her, yet he wasn't overly cruel towards her. He hadn't even punished her for killing one of his men, unless that was still to come. If anything he seemed angrier that she had risked her life than she had killed a man.

She made her way over to the basin, figuring she may as well clean herself off while she pondered Justicar's intentions and motives. She started by peeling the blood soaked shrift from her skin, the dried blood causing the course material to stick to her. The water was cold, and she winced as she brought the wet rag to her body. She had to scrubbed herself for quite awhile to get rid of all the blood, her skin was raw and pink by the time she was done.

While she cleaned herself, she wondered about the water, and why it was here, ready to go. There is no way he could have predicted she would need it, or that he would even have reason to bring her here. Was it always his intention to keep her here, close to him? She would think that he would have brought her here before now, considering what almost happened, and how he reacted to that. Maybe this water wasn't intended for her at all, just a coincidence. As cold as it was, it must have been sitting here for awhile. That must be it, this water was for Justicar, to clean himself off. Just as the realization dawned on her, she couldn't help but imagine him, shirtless, dripping wet, running that same cloth over his hard muscles. She shivered hard, yet somehow not finding herself cold.

Nevertheless, she put on the clothes he had set out for her. They were not as starchy as the ones she had worn when she first arrived here. They weren't luxurious or anything like that, but simple and comfortable. They were certainly too large for her, but not by much.

Sitting on his bed, wearing his clothes, she couldn't help but feel surrounded by Justicar. She wondered if that was his plan, to permeate her mind so she couldn't possibly reject him. Leave her so indebted to him, that there was nothing she could deny him. She thought back to the kiss, the kiss he forced on her lips. Yet, even when given the chance to fight back, she didn't, couldn't. She might not have given in, but she was sure he still counted it a victory.

She supposed that thing that bothered her most about the kiss was the memories it brought up, shaking them loose to bubble up to the surface. The only other kiss she had received to this point in her life, the only other man who had held such a place in her mind. Vincent. Her mentor and the only man she ever loved. After he sacrificed himself for her, she rejected that part of herself, the part of herself that felt desire or longing. She blamed herself for Vincent's death, and further, she blamed her feminine allure to causing his downfall. Yet, after all these years, to discover that part of her wasn't truly dead, just sleeping. Awakened by a kiss from her enemy. Did he know how effective it was at causing her internal conflict? Did he seek to have her question her entire being? Or were his motive more base than that, merely a desire to feel his mouth against hers?

Clean, clothed, resting on a bed and sorting through all the thoughts flowing in mind, she was beginning to feel drowsy. She hadn't slept well before, cold and uncomfortable, interrupted by devious men. This wasn't much safer, in reality, yet, she could hardly resist closing her eyes for just a moment, until a moment melted away and she was too far gone.