Chapter 3. Masked in Beauty

Layla pouted when he made no response.  He remained on the balcony in the misty light of morning, his porcelain flesh aglow with the warm highlights cast upon him by the sun rising over Echovald.  To say he was a beautiful man was an understatement in her mind.  Perfectly proportioned, she admired his nakedness, observing the easy ripple of his muscles beneath flawless flesh the warm color of ivory or freshly drawn cream.  Something of the winter sky lurked in his penetrating gaze, cool and brilliant as gems.  And his hair, like a pool of midnight sky, silky and neatly cropped, but tousled now from their labors.

One of his many dogs invaded their boudoir and she sighed, wishing he would make up his mind and either return to bed or release her.  She shivered slightly from the cool forest air flowing through the balcony door, annoyed that he had drawn the blankets away and left her exposed.

“I told you to stay out of the northern wing,” he replied coolly, not deigning to use speech.  She closed her eyes, thrilling to the scathing intensity of his mental prowess as he perused her emotions.  It was what had drawn her to him, his effortless mastery of the mind.  He had lured her with promises of power, offering to make her his sole student.  The fact that he had taken her into his bed was an added bonus.  His propensity for games, however, often wore thin.

He was toying with her now, his mind lurking on the edges of her consciousness, enjoying her anger and her sense of entrapment.  How he loved to snare and chase.

“I was curious,” she replied silently, “I heard an interesting sound and wanted to investigate.”

“What I do there is no concern of yours.  I will reveal it when I am ready, not before.”

Still gazing out over his domain, she watched him warily, waiting for the telltale clench of his hands upon the railing.  Layla had learned to read his subtle signals and shuddered as his shoulders tensed.  He would punish her, it was one of the few things she could count on.  She cried out in agony, her back arching as his pale eyes locked onto her, his form wreathed in magenta.  He lashed her mind effortlessly, his lips hardly moving as he drew toward her.

“I need another,” he said into her mind, “A warrior this time.  Make sure he is young and pliable.”

Tears of pain poured down her cheeks and yet she shuddered with desire as he grasped her collar and drew her up, half strangling her as he kissed her fiercely.  He had promised no mercy, only power, and the ability to kill her at a whim.  Releasing her carelessly, she fell back upon the pale silk sheets, smiling as she inhaled his sweat and musk.  He returned with the key to unlock her collar shackle.

“Are you going hunting, my love?” she breathed, running a finger along the delicious curve of his hip. 

“Yes, I must,” he replied wordlessly, “Look to the task I have assigned you.”

She rose slowly, lingering at the edge of their sumptuous bed in the vain hope he could be convinced to return to her.  To her annoyance, he ignored her, his mind a wall of blackness that she could not penetrate.  Layla scowled.  Few could keep her out easily when she desired to pry but Ashe did so with chilling ease.  She wanted to know his secret and longed for the day she finally teased it out of him.

“You have a week,” he reminded her, “Disobey me at your peril.”