Chapter 29.  Hunger

ayla awakened to bitter cold and scrambled to drag more blankets over her.  Ashe struggled soundlessly in his sleep, his pale flesh glowing in the moonlight as he tossed and turned.  Biting her lip, she considered waking him, and yet she was intrigued by this seeming show of weakness.  He rarely showed any degree of emotion beyond frigid anger and lust.  To see him struggling in a dream made him much more human.  Vulnerable.

The dogs they had brought with them barked and howled in the carriage house below their second story suite of the way house.  Worried that their captives might have escaped, she rose quickly, draping a blanket around herself against the unearthly chill of the bedroom and pushed through the door into the small sitting room.  The warrior, Tyhric, continued to lay in a mandrake induced sleep lying half-curled upon the dusty carpet near the tattered couch, his arms folded and bound behind his back.  And Armand was still under the control of Ashe’s ensorcelled sleep lying exactly where she had left him, pale and peaceful in the moonlight.  The light steel chain that joined wrists and ankles gleamed reassuringly where it had fallen.

They were a day from Arborstone staying in one of the scattered inns that lay along the route.  Her master was generous with his seemingly bottomless funds, obtaining the finest rooms in the house for them and a pleasant south facing room of his own for Drakkonus.  And no doubt he had spent a good deal more to buy the compliance of the innkeeper when their unhappy captives were forced up the stairs.  Sadly, Layla had not yet had a chance to play with Armand.  Ashe forbade it, insisting upon waiting until everyone was safely ensconced on the island.

She sat beside the motionless figure and watched him breathing, remembering the vicious blaze of his pale eyes while Ashe forced him to eat the morsels of food she dangled before him.  He was a fiery one and it thrilled her to watch Ashe handle him as delicately as a puppet master, giving the man just enough freedom to buck and fight and then sharply pulling back on the strings so that he dangled helplessly.  She longed to have such power and mastery.

Loathe to return to the frigid bedroom, she waited until Ashe grew still, watching the darkened doorway anxiously.  Silent as a ghost, the man’s tall figure emerged into the sitting room, an odd odor reminiscent of low tide and musky corpses cleaving to him.  She wrinkled her nose at the odor, wondering what he might have eaten to cause such a disgusting reek.  Clearly it had not agreed with him. 

He stumped toward the couch, clearly in pain, his hand pressed over his belly as if he had been stabbed.  A cold sheen of sweat oozed from his alabaster flesh and in the moonlight she had a vision of a corpse rotting before her.  Horrified, she rose and moved away, noticing a dark stain of blood oozing from his gut.  Who had stabbed him there?  Had someone come through the high window and attacked  him?

“Go hide in the scullery,” he shouted into her mind, “Now!”

Armand awakened abruptly, released from his enchanted sleep.  Layla floundered away toward the door, gazing momentarily over her shoulder as Ashe lifted Armand effortlessly to his feet and shook him, drawing a cry of pain and rage from the man.

“I will not bow to you!” Armand roared, writhing in the chains as he fought to escape.  Ashe flung him back onto the couch and sat astride his belly, his face lowering as if to kiss his helpless captive.

“Leave!” Ashe roared into her mind, “Do not come back until morning.”

But she was transfixed, watching as the mesmer bucked and writhed beneath Ashe’s pale form.  His cries were suddenly cut off and his struggles became ragged horrified bursts as he descended into palpable terror.  For a moment Layla pitied him, and then she feared for herself as magenta energies burned around Ashe’s form as he dropped Armand’s unconscious form in a rage.  He rose slowly, hungrily, his visage cruel and beautiful even as water and blood flowed from his punctured belly.

“I warned you to leave!” Ashe growled, “I must feed.”

Layla quailed, fighting now with the latch as she remembered herself.  An odor of flowers and sweet wine flowed into her lungs with each breath, making her giddy.  His powerful hands grasped her shoulders and spun her around as lightly as a doll and she screamed involuntarily until his lips engulfed hers.

“Master!  Please, Master, I will do whatever you wish!”

“Fear me!  Give me your breath!”

Struggling to breathe, she strained against him, her heart hammering in terror against her ribs as she tried to break free.  Her fists pummeled his breast and she kicked at him.  He was killing her, feeding off of her blank raw horror as her body realized its eminent demise.

“Don’t kill me!” she pleaded silently, “I serve only you.  Please!”

His eyes were harsh and cruel as he released her, leaving her to slide gasping against the wall.  Exalting in his power, he stood over her for a moment, aroused and gleaming with an aura of chaos.

“I part from you in Kaineng,” he said coldly, “You will go to the island and await me there. Prepare for my arrival, for I must go hunting.”

“But you already have Armand…”

“He is to be my new body.  The other shall give me his knowledge.  And then I will show you all that I have learned.”

Layla swallowed, drawing no comfort from his words.  New body?  By the gods, what was he?  And what had she gotten herself into?

“Having doubts?” he snarled.

“No… no of course not.”

“Then do as I require.  Go back to bed and await me there.”

Layla rose trembling from the floor and slinked passed him, truly afraid of him for the first time since their chance meeting in Kaineng over six months ago.  He was not human.  She saw that clearly now, and the flesh he wore was not his own.

Oh gods.  She had to flee.

“I will find you no matter how far you run,” Ashe laughed into her mind, “You belong to me now."