The Auction

EroticLiteracy

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Deep in the forbidden zone there laid a vast and harsh dessert. It held many names but the common tongue named it as The Valley Of Death. Creatures of darkness populated the lands vying for territory against the tainted. Humanity didn’t often come to these lands not unless they were banished or were trying to do something the All Kingdom wouldn’t approve of.

Like tonight.

The mansion was built against a rocky cliff at one point the metal building sunk into the cliff. Torches of varying height and grandeur dotted the structure casting everything in glows and defined shadows. Security was present everywhere orcs carrying spears and short swords. Every once in a while, one of the floating barges above would descend from the dark clouds dropping off a fresh round of people before quickly moving back up.

“This way!” A man in a hooded cloak called beckoning with a long-crooked finger “The auction is set to begin shortly”

The group mostly humans talked amongst themselves as they moved into the long corridor of the hall. They were met by a host of creatures all dressed scandalously exotic themselves. Elven females in lingerie offered drinks while males wearing nothing but the barest of clothing over their genitals took coats. Fae’s and vampires were also on display each of their bodes posed to show the maximum amount of skin.

“Feast your eyes on our stock” The hooded man said chuckling “the finest bodies procured for you noble lords and ladies. The circle only puts the very best out for you to buy!”

The nobles murmured amongst themselves nodding in agreement. It was well known that the circle could find you anything you needed both legal and illegal. Tonight was one of their many auctions designed to show off the “exotic” wares of the All Kingdom.

The hooded attendant led them through the hallways and into a large expansive ante chamber. Seats ringed the area all facing the center where a small stone stage sat. The stage was empty but there were several devices of exotic nature.
“Please take your seats!” The hooded man exclaimed sweeping his hand “the stock is about to be presented and the bidding begun!”
 
The passage was dark and stifling. Bodies pressed up against one another as the newly acquired slaves stumbled along, herded by orc handlers carrying long handled whips. They were down deep inside the mansion but slowly moving upward at a slight incline. Occasionally, the parade halted, and slaves were pulled out, shortening the line that wound through the mansion's bowels. Eventually, only a score of slaves were left. The air was thinner, less humid. There was more light as the number of torches along the wall increased. At last, the parade of slaves came to a halt before a set of hand carved wooden doors.

The bitter taste of shame and humiliation laid thick in Zahara's mouth. Every nerve was strung tight. The doors opened, and the first slave in the line, a tall, golden haired male of possible elven descent, was ushered past. The doors closed behind him, but not before Zahara caught a glimpse of the brightly lit room on the other side, the interested and disdainful faces, and the stage.

The woman behind Zahara stumbled forward with a sob. Evidently, she too had seen the stage. Zahara's lip curled in disgust at the woman's weak display of emotion. She stepped out of line to avoid the woman who fell to her knees.

"None of that!" A harsh voice of gravel barked at them. A handler grabbed Zahara's arm and shoved her back in line. He grabbed the woman behind her and jerked her to her feet. "Don't break down just yet," he chided the woman with a mirthless laugh. "Give your new master the chance to do it."

One slave, then another, passed through the doors. Each moment was a lifetime containing everything and holding nothing. Zahara's fists clenched and unclenched. She reached out for magic but felt nothing thanks to the golden bands about her forearms that blocked all abilities. Another slave passed through, and they shuffled forward. Zahara was next. She could hear voices on the other side, bidders, the auctioneer, laughter.

The doors opened. Zahara drew back, but a large hand at her lower back shoved her forward. She stumbled onto the stage and into the auctioneer. His fingers grasped her elbow, digging into the sensitive flesh with a thumbnail as he hissed in her ear to watch herself. Zahara froze, feeling utterly exposed in the bright light of the room. The long silky strands of her ink black hair swirled about her but did nothing to hide the gleam of her soft golden skin and delicate features marking her as clearly fae. The silky scrap of a dress they'd allowed her hid nothing in the glow of the torchlights but instead highlighted her slim form and generous breasts. Her piercing green eyes rimmed with amber shouted defiance, but still she did not move as the auctioneer stepped away.
 
The auctioneer admired her for a few seconds before bringing her forward. The torches flickered all around her hiding the many men and woman who came to bid on her and her kind. The auctioneer didn’t move to place her in any of the machines or contraptions set around the stage. Instead he simply let them stare to ogle her before speaking.

“The next stunning creature we have to procure is a Fea from the emerald forest of Kondark” The auctioneer said moving forward and clearing his throat “She is a lovely specimen with her magic currently repressed. She and her kind are becoming more and more rare these days and she is a piece any collector would drool to have. Shall we start the biding at a thousand sovereigns?”

And so the bidding for a life began. Voices of men and woman rang out from the shadows calling out bets that climbed higher and higher. There was comfort to be taken in that she was popular and that the men and woman who wanted her were willing to pay a high price to get her.

The bidding reached ten thousand sovereigns and kept going. When it reached 15 thousand the bidders began to fall off. Soon enough it was two people one man and one woman vying for her.

Then it all ended

“A hundred thousand sovereigns!” A Commanding Male’s voice rang out.
A hush fells over the bidding. The silence daring any person to try and top it. The auctioneer faltered for a second his greedy eyes burning with the thought of taking it.

“Going once” He said in a shaky voice “Twice….”

“Sold!”

A gong rang and just like that the young fae was pulled off of the stage. She was taken back into the crypts below practically dragged into a side room. It was a medium sized room with an assortment of dresses and jewelry. There was a dark magic in the air one that hung on her heavily.

“Dress” The orc grunted as another slave girl came in carrying a simple wooden jewelry box.

“Your master has asked you to wear these” The young slave girl said handing her the wooden box. It was stamped with a strange crest a dragon curling over a sword and shield. A gold latch and hinge graced the box and when she opened them she saw two golden anklets with bells and jewels on them.

“Hurry up” The orc commanded growling and leaving. She was given the chance to change there confidence in the magical wards apparent.
 
The silence before the auctioneer spoke was deafening. It set Zahara's teeth on edge and made her ears ring. Her straight spine stiffened, and she tossed her hair back in defiance, glowering at the blur of faces before her.

When the bidding started, it took all her will to stand there and stare them down, these people who would put a price on a life or more like a body. Zahara wished she could cover hers. Though she could not make out details of the faces before her, she could feel their probing eyes roaming her--speculating on the fullness of her breasts, the slimness of her waist, how warm and tight the opening between her legs would be.

Fear spiraled through her as the bidding climbed higher. Her hands were tight fists at her sides, her nails gouging the flesh of her palms. Was it the magic they believed she possessed that drove the bidding? A mocking smile turned her lips up. More fools they. Zahara's magic was weak, and she was a menace when attempting to wield it. Zahara closed her eyes against the memories of her bumbling ineptitude that had led to this moment.

Her eyes flew open with a gasp as the last bid rang out. She strained to pin point the man, but it was futile. The fear flared. Such a high price. Too high. Her eyes swept over the crowd again with no better luck. She struggled against the handler who pulled her from the stage. Expensive slaves were well cared for and often led easy lives, but they were also closer watched, more heavily guarded. Zahara's heart beat a staccato rhythm. Her best chance of escape might only be before she was delivered into the hands of the bidder.

Zahara stumbled into the new room and immediately felt the change in the air. It was a heaviness, as if the air had suddenly become thick and dense. She recognized the feel of powerful wards, but she was not allowed time to consider them, as the orc barked for her to dress and a slave girl brought her a gift. At least, it was dressed as a gift with its fine box and jewels. She didn't recognize the symbol on the box, but she understood exactly what it meant. Zahara touched a slender finger to a tiny bell and considered the wisdom of hurling these symbols of her slavery across the room. A greater sense of self preservation stopped her.

Instead, Zahara turned to the task of dressing herself. She was relieved when the orc and slave girl left, signalling she'd be allowed to dress without an audience. Zahara rummaged through the racks of clothes with a vengeance to discover it was all garish and mostly outrageous. There were holes where no holes should be, and scraps of cloth masquerading as whole garments. Unsure how much time she had, Zahara pulled on multiple pieces, creatively layering them until she felt sufficiently covered. The result was colorful. Only then did she turn to the box still holding the anklets. She lifted first one then the other out of the box and with only a slight outward hesitation snapped them around her ankles. The jewels winked in the torch light, and there was a faint tinkle as Zahara lifted a foot. Shame washed over her, and she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.
 
The second she was dressed the Orc came for her again. His face snarled as he took in her “outfit” but he didn’t ask her to change. Instead he checked to see if the bells were still on her ankle before he moved to her hands. He unshackled her cuffs tossing them to the side and leaving her without the physical wards since the first time she was captured.

“Follow” He barked in the grunt like speech his kind were fond of. His large scaly hand grasped her delicate wrist as he brought her over to a door at the end of the room. The revelation that this was the antechamber of a larger room hit her as he opened the door and pushed her in. The wards were still present on the other side powerful dark magics that only warlocks and orcs could wield. There was a simple four poster bed in the middle of the room and a balcony overlooking the forbidden lands.

“Good evening”

A handsome man was seated by the balcony drinking from a goblet filled with pure white wine. The man was human with a handsome strong face and thick wavy black hair currently tied back with a leather thong. The clothes he was wearing were non-descript a simple robe that conveyed how large and muscular he was. The robe was open revealing tan skin and a crest branded to his pecs. The crest was the same as the wooden box she was given.

“Step forward my dear” He said his tone commanding but not mean “I would like to get a good look at you”

When she did he rose coming over to see her. He moved around her taking stock of her. His eyes assessed her but gave nothing away nor hint of what he bought her for. He finally stopped in front of her reaching out to cup her face before stepping back.

“Your kind” He said his tone soft “Even the weakest of you can bond yourself to someone correct? Tie your life force with theirs? Make your self-devoted to that person alone?”
 
There was a sense of weightlessness to Zahara's arms once the orc removed the bracelets. She reached for her magic out of instinct but nothing was there. Yet even with the weight of the room's wards stifling her magic, the removal of the bracelets was a small relief. She rubbed her arms to feel the bare skin there.

The orc seemed not to care as he once again manhandled her to make her move. Zahara had not noticed the door she was now ungraciously shoved through, and it took her by surprise. The jingling of the bells about her ankles sounded an angry protest to the orc's careless treatment.

Zahara noticed the bed first, as it was the largest piece of furniture and prominently in the center. For one naive moment, Zahara thought she had been brought to a room to rest for the night, but before the thought could fully form it was swept away by the voice of the man by the balcony. Zahara immediately tensed. Her shoulders drew back, and her spine grew rigid. She wished for her magic, little though it was.

Zahara stepped forward at his command, cringing at the tinkling of the bells. Her eyes found the brand on his chest. Recognition followed, and her thoughts flew a thousand directions. Her eyes flicked from him to the bed and back. Her stance softened ever so slightly as she braced herself for a fight. However, his next words disarmed her completely.

“Your kind” He said his tone soft “Even the weakest of you can bond yourself to someone correct? Tie your life force with theirs? Make your self-devoted to that person alone?”

The blood drained from Zahara's face. "A binding," she whispered in shock, sensing the direction of his thoughts. A magic that was deep and old, simple but everlasting. Her face darkened in rage. "How could some one like you know of such a thing? It is sacred and created only from the deepest of loves!" Her eyes swept over him, but she saw nothing other about him. "It takes two fully willing partners," she hissed. "If you wish for such a thing, you will need to buy another slave."
 
“Nonsense” He said dismissing her claim with a wave of his hand. He moved over to the table grabbing a old tome and flicking open the pages. Images of creatures like her and other supernatural beast were painted onto the pages. He finally stopped on a page that had a picture of her and read from it.

“While taboo in nature” He stated his eyes flickering as he read “The binding can be done without mutual love. The effects of which are dark in nature and twisted and so it is considered forbidden by the Fae nevertheless it can be done”
He turned back to her his expression a little smug.

“I paid a fortune for this book” He said pointing at it “I know it speaks the truth. You CAN DO the binding however it will have an adverse effect on you”

He crossed his arms towering over her as he watched her. They starred each other down for several minutes before he spoke again.

“My reasons are my own for asking this of you” He said leaning against the bed “I bought you paid for you because you were Fae. I do not wish to kill you but you will do this for me. My life depends on it. Will you agree or will I have to find someone else?”
 
Zahara watched with wary curiosity as he brought forth the book. Her eyes followed the pages he flipped with fascination, and she took a step or two closer to see them better. She'd never seen a book so old. The language was ancient and not fully comprehensible to her.

She stared up at him in stunned silence as he baldly stated what he desired from her. Her lips were parted and her eyes huge. Several breaths passed before Zahara could summon a response. Then she laughed, a harsh, grasping sound.

She stepped away, shaking her head. "I can't do It," her voice trembled a little. "My magic isn't strong enough." Predictable enough would be the better word for it, but she didn't think it would matter either way. "You've bought a defective fairy. And you may as well kill me as bind me to you if it comes to that. My life will be over either way."

Zahara's words were strong, but she couldn't quite hide the fear in her eyes or the tell-tale tremble of her fingers. She wondered if he would kill her himself right there or if he'd have the orc brute do it.
 
“No” He said instead his eyes burning as he drew himself to his full height and moved over to her.

His eyes burned with the fires of indignation and something more. There was fear in his eyes as well as desperation for this to work. He grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the balcony without another word. His large hand slammed against the wooden doors thrusting it open and revealing the outside world fully. Above them a full moon hung swollen and fat. Its power reached out to her warming her as the black wards fought to keep her under control.

“We are doing this” He said his tone firm and commanding. He didn’t bother to wait and hear her protest instead pulling off his shirt and revealing his muscular chest.

That wasn’t all he revealed.

His chest was covered in cuts and the telltale bite marks of leeches. His chest was a startling tapestry of great pain and sacrifice. If it bothered her to see it he gave no notice. Instead he pulled out a silver dagger one etched in runes that further gave off the feel of dark magic.

“Do it” He ordered placing the dagger in her hand “I know you know the ritual if you do not do it yourself I will force you to and it will be all the more painful!”
 
Zahara stumbled after him as he dragged her out on the balcony. Her free hand scrambled at his grip on hers. She would have gouged him with her nails if she had any, but they had been clipped since her capture. Still, it was useless. Her heart dropped from her chest as she wondered if he intended to throw her off the balcony.

Light from the moon washed over them. Zahara's fae blood responded, warming to its cool light. She ceased resistance as he released her. It had been 28 days since her capture, and she had seen the moon only twice in that time. She felt her magic stir despite the wards.

“We are doing this”

His words brought her up short. "No, I told you no!" Her words made no difference to him. Zahara sucked in a breath as he pulled off his shirt. The moonlight enhanced every scar on his chest. What was this? How was he so marked? The questions in her eyes went unanswered.

She took the dagger he gave her with trembling hands. It felt hot and wrong somehow, like a sour aftertaste. She couldn't read the ruins. It occurred to her in that moment she might end her life. What difference would death make if she could never be free again? Zahara had little knowledge of what happened after the binding, except that those bound were forever linked in spirit and blood. Her own parents had never been bound nor anyone else she knew, though her circle had been small.

Zahara turned the knife over and slit her palm. The blade left a thin red streak across her left hand. She gave the blade back for him to do the same. Then she began to sing softly in a low voice. Her tongue tripped on the occasional word, but it didn't seem to matter. Her magic swelled inside her. She pressed her cut palm to his. It burned like fire, racing through her veins, but she found she couldn't pull back. The song almost ceased as she fought the pain. Her entire being felt as if it were being turned inside out. Somehow, the words kept coming until there were simply none left, and Zahara blacked out.
 
He stood tall as she tried to resist. His eyes were firm and burning with fire. There was no budging in him no fear about her words or her resisting. He watched as she eventually realized it was pointless and took the dagger. It was enchanted with dark magic, magic that would strengthen the results of the ritual. She cut herself first and then with a trembling hand cut his own torso. He didn’t react to the cut his body clearly used to such treatment.

She placed her palm down on the cut and began to chant. The words of the ancients flowed between them as the moon above seemed to swell. There was a sweet scent in the air but it was tinged with something bitter. He watched as his wounds began to fade the scars on his body healing as well as the bite marks. Relief flooded his body as he realized it was working.

He was going to live.

He opened his mouth to thank her when suddenly things turned for the worse. The scars and wounds didn’t come back but instead black lines began to appear on the fae girl. Her eyes went dark and the dagger in her hand began to glow red hot. He felt intense pain and he gasped falling down to his knees. His hand snaked up to grab her smaller one forcing her to keep a grip as he closed his eyes.

Then the song faded.

He opened his eyes just as she slumped forward. He caught her bundling her into his arms and standing even as a wave of exhaustion flowed through him. He looked at her taking note of the black lines that now adorned her body. He pulled her clothing to the side and notes the black mark on her breast. He starred down and with a start realized he now possessed the same.

“Did it work?”

He turned noting the hooded man in the room. He stood by the fire which now crackled with intensity as if it was angry. The noble man thought to ask him how he entered the chambers but decided not to.

If he was who he thought he was then he wouldn’t get an answer.

“I feel as if it did” He said bringing the girl in and laying her on the bed “But am not sure”

“Caliban” The hooded… man said in a raspy voice “You are cured”

The man named Caliban put a hand on the bed to keep himself steady. His legs sagged as the weight he was carrying for so long ceased. He did it! Crossed
impossible paths and a mountain to find his cure! All it took was one Fae girl….
The girl

He glanced back and looked her. She really was pretty and young for her kind to! Now that he was saved he felt a few tendrils of guilt at what he did to her.

“What’s going to happen to her?” He asked glancing back at the hooded man by the fire.

“Her?” The man asked chuckling “She will take the brunt of it I am afraid. Your connection to her heals you but taxes her. The need for you will start soon the desire to be around you. If you two are apart for any long amount of time she will begin to weaken. Stay apart for more than two days… and she dies.”

“Dies?!” Caliban said in shock “You didn’t say-“

“The book told you all you needed it to” The hooded man said waving his hands and conjuring it from its place on the table “You didn’t want to read the fine print but no one does”

“She can read your mind now so be careful” The hooded man said gliding to the door “The hunger for you will begin as well. She’ll hate you but lust after you. You will feel it as well the burning need to take her and lay with her. I wish you both the best of luck”

With a chuckle the creature left closing the door behind him. Caliban starred at the door trying to make some sense of it all before his exhaustion got the better of him. He moved to the free side of the bed and with a sigh flung himself down and closed his eyes.
 
Zahara stirred on the bed. A strange restlessness filled her. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was filled with images. They were like memories or remnants of dreams. Some she recognized. Others she didn't. She felt lost in a world of half wakefulness, caught between dreams and the waking world. She felt angry and worried and relief and fear . . . and . . . something else. It pulled at her. She was slowly coming awake, but she resisted it.

A quick puff of air escaped her lips. Her body unfolded from its fetal position. Still, the restlessness pursued her. She twisted and turned back on her side. Goosebumps rose up her arms. She shivered and reached out, for a blanket perhaps but instead her fingers made contact with flesh.

Warmth flooded through her. The tension and disquiet suddenly eased. Zahara instinctively turned toward the sudden warmth. Her body made contact with another--a harder, larger body. For a moment, there was a sense of warmth and comfort that Zahara had not felt since leaving her home that fateful day. She drew the warmth close, pressing her body alongside it. Her eyes remained shut. She pressed closer, then closer still. But it wasn't enough. The gnawing restlessness, that strange ache, returned. Her body nudged his and a needy moan slipped from her.

Zahara's eyes popped open. Her mouth snapped shut mid moan as she fully woke. Her mind raced to catch up as she realized she was laying on a bed and attempting to wrap herself around . . . She lifted her head to see clearly who it was she was clinging to. Black hair and a strong face filled her vision. Zahara became a whirlwind of flailing knees and elbows as she propelled herself off the bed. She was brought up short by a pain in her belly, which dropped her to her hands and knees by the bed. Kneeling there, she raised the hand she'd sliced during the binding and traced the sealed line across her palm.
 
He didn’t mean to fall asleep but the exhaustion from being sick for so long and the spell knocked him out. His dreams were devoid of images simply color and sound that rushed in and out of him like waves. Every so often he would hear a voice a female calling through the noise and sound. He couldn’t place the voice but it would haunt him and always sounded strangely familiar. Sometimes he tried running to it but when he did the wave of sound and color would push him back and keep him at bay. Sometimes he would try to call to her but his voice never seemed to leave his mouth.

Finally he awoke drenched in sweat and shooting up in the four poster bed. His hands fisted the sheet his eyes wild as he looked around. He reached for a weapon not sure where he was for several long seconds. He was the sight of a mad man all wild hair and feral eyes.

When those eyes finally landed on her he relaxed slightly. His mind finally caught up to him reminding him of where he was and what was going on. His body began to relax those large muscular shoulders unknotting as he breathed out a slow sigh. He spotted a jug of water sweating on the night stand and reached for it to wet his dry throat. He drank heartily for a few seconds water running down his strong chin and on the curve of his neck before he sighed in relief.

“Here” He said speaking to her for the first time since he awoke. He poured her a glass and sat it on the edge of the bed for her to reach for.

“After the ritual you passed out” He explained pouring himself another glass “I did as well from the energy of it all. I have no idea how long we were out but I have no doubt the members of this group will come to kick us out shortly”
He drank one more glass of water and with a sigh pushed himself out of bed. His bare feet touched the cold stone of the room and he winced slightly before rising fully out of bed. He brushed past her reaching for a traveling bag under the bed and pulling it out.

“I have clothing for you” He said pulling out a simple green tunic with matching pants. He also brought out an emerald green cloak with a hood. He tossed the clothing to her before pulling out much finer red and gold clothing meant for him.
“I am sure you have many questions” He remarked as he began to dress “I will answer them in time but for now we are going back to my home in the continent. I am a lord there and once we get to my estate you will be safe. For now though you must keep the cloak on and be silent.”

He finished putting on the clothing of a lord and made sure she was dressed before turning back to her. He watched her making sure she understood what he was saying. Mere seconds later a heavy rapping sounded out from the wooden door.

“My lord are you there?” A Weasley voice asked “It is time for you to vacate”
 
Zahara jerked and started to her feet when the man shot up in bed. She stopped in a crouched position there on the floor at the opposite side of the bed as he came fully awake. Her pulse raced madly, and she watched him warily, like a mouse waiting for the cat to pounce.

She swallowed hard as she watched him drink, her eyes following the trail of water that missed his mouth. She wanted to follow that trail with her tongue. Zahara recoiled at the thought. Her hands clenched into fists, and her stomach tightened. Her mouth was dry. She was thirsty, that was all. She would drink water from the navel of a troll.

It surprised her when he offered her the glass. She rose fully to her feet then. Perching at the very corner of the bed, she raised the glass to her lips. Her eyes never left him, from the first sip of water until she'd drained the glass. She watched him. It felt necessary, like her survival depended on it. She listened as he spoke but did not comment. She wondered if the ritual had worked. He appeared to think so, but she didn't feel so very different herself. A chill of unease passed through her. At least, she didn't think so.

Zahara caught the clothing he tossed her. She fingered the light linen of the tunic. It was simple but of good quality. Her eyes narrowed. Why had he made her hunt for clothing in that room if he'd had these all along? She looked up with an accusation on the tip of her tongue, but every thought fled as she saw him discard his outer garments. She made a strangled noise and turned away. Heat flooding through her and suffusing her cheeks with bright color. Embarrassment rose as she realized he expected her to be dressing as well.

The Fae were vain creatures, known to be proud of their bodies and uninhibited in showing them off, particularly in the royal courts. But Zahara had not grown up in the royal court. She turned her back on him as well and scrambled to dress. It was not particularly easy. The hodge podge of clothing she had donned earlier twisted together and felt as if they were strangling her as she yanked and tugged to get them off. The simple tunic and leggings he had given her were soft and fit remarkably well. She grabbed the cloak and fastened it about her shoulders, drawing the hood up as ordered.

The color was still high in her cheeks as she turned back to him. "Might I remove your charming gift if I'm to be silent and invisible?" Zahara asked, lifting a foot with a little shake to make the gold bells of her anklet ring, just before the knock sounded on the door.

A small light of hope filled her that they would be leaving this place, and perhaps once away from these heavy wards, a chance for freedom might come. She would give anything to be away from him and the strange sensations curling in her belly.
 
“No” He said to her answering her question about the bells before stepping towards the door. He opened it revealing one of the hooded members of the smuggler ring waiting patiently.

“We’re leaving now” He explained waving his hand at Zahara behind him. He motioned for her to put up his hood and when she did turned back to regard the hooded man. He bowed and stepped aside allowing them access into the long rocky tunnel. Torches crackling with fire illuminated the moist tunnel that stretched out into the abyss of black. The hooded man took one of the torches stepping in front of them and beckoning with one long finger for them to follow.
“I am your guide back across the border” The man explained as they began to walk down the tunnel. In a matter of minutes, it began to sloop downwards into the earth of the mountain. Eventually the tunnel bottomed out revealing a large cavernous tunnel with many other people walking through it.

“Welcome to the highway” Their guide said chuckling as he caught their looks “our roads stretch all over the continent. Please make sure to stick close to me many before you have gotten lost and never returned.”

He chuckled at that and led them down the stone staircase. They reached the rest of the traffic joined the herd moving down the tunnel. Her owner reached for her taking her hand and pulling her closely. He glanced back at her from time to time his expression unreadable but intense as they continued to walk.

After what felt like hours their guide pulled them from the main group and towards a side tunnel. There was a heavy iron door that greeted them that the guide unlocked with an iron wrought key. Once opened he gestured for them to get inside.

“Follow the staircase up and you will find yourself back in your neck of the woods my lord” The guide explained as they stepped in “If you need anything you know how to contact us”

“Thank you again” Her master said nodding his head. The hooded man said nothing more instead slamming the gate shut and locking it. Her master starred at the door a few seconds before finally turning back to her.

“We should have two horses waiting for us” He told her removing his hand from hers “We will go up and take the horses to my estate once we are there you can remove your hood and we can speak more openly for now just keep your head down and stay silent.”

He waited for her to nod in confirmation before taking her up the staircase. The father up they went the more the smell of fresh air became prevalent. Eventually the sounds of the night reached them as well a symphony of bugs and nocturnal creatures. After a few seconds of watching they reached a tunnel that brought them into a lush vibrant green forest.

“Here are the horses” He said pointing at two beautiful chestnut tied to an oak tree.

“You can ride yes?” He asked bringing her over to the horse and helping her climb onto the one on the right.
 
The answer was no. But Zahara donned the face of the obedient, docile slave and mounted the chestnut mare he led her too. She was a beautiful horse. Zahara stroked the horse's velvet neck and ignored the ache that came at the loss of his touch. There had been an unending swirl of heat since he'd taken her hand in the underground. She had found herself glad of his touch. She had never even attempted to pull away from it. The realization burned her and chiselled away at her hope that perhaps the bond had not succeeded.

She remained silent as they started out. Her horse appeared to be well trained, keeping pace just behind his. She left the reins untouched over the pommel of the saddle, occasionally reaching down to stroke the mare's neck or whisper nonsense to it. The moon gave plenty of light to see, even through the leafy branches towering above them. As the horses moved along, Zahara contemplated at what point she should make good her escape.

The thought made her insides freeze up, but she ignored it. She had a lifetime of ignoring unpleasant details, and if she was to keep an ounce of self-respect, the only thing left her, she had to at least try. If they were truly bonded, she wouldn't get far, but she had to try. Her best chance would be while the moon was out and before they reached his home.

Ignoring his rule of silence, Zahara called out to him,"Are we going to travel all night? How much further until we reach your home?"
 
"Sooner than you think" he called back turning to regard her. He nudged his chestnut horse forward reaching out and gripping the reigns of her horse to pull her forward. They rounded a thick thatchet of trees coming face to face with a large expansive manor a few feet away.

"My home" he said gesturing at it. The manor was more a castle than a house with large towers and a wall that hid most of it from view. Fires from the rampart dotted the wall and vague shapeless human guards moved across it.

"They've been made aware of you" he explained nudging his horse forward "you'll find yourself protected here. As long as you don't try and run that is"

He turned to face her narrowing his eyes.

"Our bond allows me access to your moods and feelings" he remarked studying her "you want to run. I suggest you do it not before we get any closer. You're welcome to try at least"
 
At the sight of his home, Zahara's hopes plummeted. She swiftly tried to count the number of guards moving along the top of the rampart, but there were too many or too much in shadow. His words only compounded her disappointment.

She returned his gaze with steely eyes, though a rebellious part of her softened and warmed at his attention. "It would not take a wise man to guess that a slave would wish to run," she retorted. As she spoke, Zahara subtly shifted in her seat, easing to one side. She slipped her feet free of the stirrups. Her eyes never left his, daring him to guess her next move, though she felt he already did. The realization caught her breath and knotted her stomach with fear, pushing her past reason into flight.

With a quick twist, Zahara fell free of the horse. She landed on a run, sprinting blindly back the way they had come. Ten yards. Fifteen yards. Her stride was long and graceful. She ignored the ache in her chest. Twenty yards. Thirty. There was no sounds of alarm or of anyone giving chase. Her throat was tight, and her breath was harsh in her own ears. When she glanced back, the trees once again hid his manor from view. The ache in her chest now burned like a fiery stone. Her feet slowed, but Zahara plunged ahead. She veered off the path, striking her boots on tree roots and pushing through low branches and vines. Her ears strained for any sound following her. Fear nudged her faster.

Her breathing eased when she found the path again. Her heart lightened, and she regained her speed. Zahara turned with the bend in the path and came to a sudden halt with a sharp cry. She was in front of his manor again. Here he was and his two horses. Her eyes welled with frustration and shame as she finally began to accept the truth. She blinked them back. It would not break her.

"We're truly bonded," she said, fixing her eyes on the manor looming behind him. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, to see his mockery or superiority over her. She felt stunned. She hadn't wanted to believe it. "I don't even know who you are," she stated softly, wondering. Zahara took a deep breath and visibly drew herself together. She pushed back her hair that had come loose around her face and drew back her shoulders, lifting her head high. "Who are you?" She demanded, facing him full on.
 
"Of course we are" He said coming over to her and looking her over. Hi handsome older face was a mix of guilt and also relief. He slid down off of his horse and moved over to her as she demanded answers.

"My name is Lancer" He said softly "Lord Lancer Clegane I am a minor lord in the human kingdom and you saved my life"

Before he could say anything more the ground began to vibrate ever so slightly. The pounding of hooves called out through the peaceful forest and a few birds flew up into the sky in protest. A small squad of men on horseback appeared out of the thatchet of trees heading right towards them.

"There with me" Lancer said catching her worried look "Do not worry nothing is going to happen to you"

"Mi Lord!" The lead man said drawing up and regarding the two "We saw her trying to escape and rushed over! Are you in any trouble?"

"No trouble at all Maximus" Lancer said shaking his head "I just wanted to give her a chance to see the bond."

"It was successful then?" Maximus said in excitement.

"It was" Lancer siad nodding his head "Are you ready to go see your new home my dear? Or shall you try to run again?"
 
Zahara watched Lord Lancer Clegane with wary eyes. She turned his name over in her mind. She didn't recognize it. It meant nothing to her, other than belonging to the man she was bound to for the rest of her days, the man who's life he claimed she saved. More was the pity.

Zahara drew closer to Lord Lancer as the squad reached them. Better the enemy she knew, she reasoned. It had nothing to do with the bond. It had nothing to do with the aching desire to lean into him and rest her head against his chest. Pride kept her upright and contained.

The false endearment he used when he addressed her again burned. "My name is Zahara," she stated, though he had not asked. She gave him no more than her first name, guarding her surname and history like a dog a bone as they were the only things left that were truly hers. "I will not run." Instead she would follow him into his home, and she would see what was now expected of her. She pushed back the fear and lifted her chin.
 
"I know who you are Zaharra" He replied climbing back onto his horse and gesturing for her to do the same.

"Did you not think they would give me your name when I bought you" He asked gesturing for the squad of men to go back and leave them alone. They did so albiet with the commander pausing to glance back at her and give her another long look.

"Don't mind him" Lancer said catching her look his way "He lost his father in the first inhuman war. He might be grumpy but he will not harm you so long as I wish it."

He nudged his horse forward with his boots and started making his way towards teh large manor. He turned back to her gesturing with his hands to join him side by side.

"You have many questions I am sure" He said to her "I know your upset about what has happened but there was a reason for it. I siad before I was dying. I had lung cancer and it was untreatable by our doctors. I was desperate to find a cure and through dark magic found the answer with your kind."

While he explained they moved through the large gates and into the manor courtyard. Both warriors and servants stopped to stare at her. Some wore disgust openly on there face while others merely looked at her curiously.

"I know it doesnt seem like it but I did you a favor" He said turning to her "The others wanted to buy you for sex.... I simply bought you to save my own life. In doing so you will stay here and have free reign of the land or whatever you wish."

Lancer wasnt aware of the curse and its affect on her. In his selfish studying he never bothered to look! He had no idea of the needs coursing through her right now.
 
Zahara followed his motion and grasping the saddle pulled herself back up onto the mare. If you know my name, then perhaps you should use it. Zahara wanted to snap at him, but she held her tongue. She felt irrationally angry that he'd moved away from her. She'd almost reached out for him. Her knuckles turned white where she clutched the saddle pommel instead. The feelings churning inside her were confusing and nonsensical. To distract herself, she turned her gaze to observe his men as they took their leave. As her eyes swept over the squad, her gaze clashed with that of the commander, and she instinctively tensed. His eyes appeared dark, angry pits. There was no kindness there. She tore her gaze away, refocusing on Lancer just ahead of her and finding little comfort in his reassurance. Was he really so obtuse? There were millions of ways to make a slave's life miserable without doing them harm.

Zahara listened as he spoke, but as they moved through the gate and into the courtyard, she could feel dozens of eyes on her--poking, probing, assessing. She stared straight ahead, but she felt each set of eyes as if they could bore into her and peel back her flesh. She was tense all over, and the horse beneath her seemed to sense it, dancing a little to the side.

"Whatever I wish?" she questioned him with a sharp laugh. "And if I wish to return home? If I wished to not be bound to you? Those others you saved me from, would have used me and been done. Eventually, I may have been released or perhaps escaped when they let down their guard. But bindings are forever!" Zahara slipped from the saddle when a young boy in livery ran up and grasped the mare's bridle. Her feet landed with a solid thump on the stone courtyard in front of the expansive steps leading up to his home. She glared up at him on top of his horse, crossing her arms over her breasts. Her nipples had hardened into tight little buds and ached for his touch, which only made her angrier. "So, don't expect me to grovel or be thankful for this."
 
“Do you think they would have?” He asked as they entered the stable. Two stable boys ran up to them tending to their horses as Lancer slid off of the saddle and came over to her.

“They would have bought you and used you for sex” He said stating it so clearly that both of the stable boys jumped “They would have continued to fuck you freely. They might have even killed you after they were done or turned you into a house slave. Everything you would have done would be monitored and you might have even been caged”

He offered his hand to help her down and continued speaking.

“You can not leave” He said simply “But you have free range of the manor and the surrounding grounds. I will not cage you and I will not treat you like a slave. Instead you will have free reign to do mostly whatever you want. In exchange for saving my life I will try to afford you every liberty I can”

Once she was down he removed his hands from her and gestured for her to enter the house. He followed after her entering behind her. They entered through the kitchen which was slightly busy as his servants prepared a meal for them both. Warm air wrapped around them mixing with fragrant delicious smells.

“Do you understand the difference now?” He asked her nodding at some of his servants and leading her into the main hall “Zahara I am trying here”
 
Zahara watched him. She studied his eyes as he spoke, looking for the flicker of guilt, a shadow of concealed truth, but he had none. Once again he touched her and then released her. She was flooded with warmth and then left stone cold. Her rational mind appreciated his consideration. Her body did not like it. She was at war with herself.

The busy kitchen was a welcome distraction. The smell of spices and fresh bread made her mouth water and her stomach gurgle. She eyed a row of pies set out to cool and wondered what the punishment for snitching food from the kitchen would be. It was only a fleeting thought as a round man with the air of authority and sharp eyes bustled into view. He greeted his passing lord with a bow, but he eyed Zahara the same way as the commander. She raised her chin and stepped closer to Lancer.

The main hall was still and cool. The door to the kitchens swung shut behind them blocking the noise and smells. Her cheeks were flushed with his straight forward words, not with desire, she told herself. Though she thought she could hear the strong beat of his heart inside his chest and ached to lay her head against it and be sure.

"I understand," she answered him as they moved into the center of the main hall. "I realize you believe you did only what you had to do." Her voice was low and did not echo. She drew closer to him, closing the space between them. "Then will you promise me, by whatever oath you humans hold dear here, that you will not touch me?"

Zahara stood facing him with less than a hand width between them. Her green eyes searched his face. She refused to look elsewhere. Her hands clenched at her sides to keep them from wandering up his arms and along his shoulders, to avoid the temptation of sweeping fingers through his hair or memorizing the shape and feel of his muscles. Heat swept through her. She wanted to feel him up against her, over her, inside her. Was this part of the bond? This aching, melting desire that pulled at her. She didn't know, but she would not give over the last bit of herself she could call her own. "Will you promise?" she insisted.
 
He opened his mouth ready to give her his word. At the last minute however he faltered his eyes flickering up and down her body once more as he contemplated just what it meant to make the promise.

He to was starting to feel the effect of their having bonded. The pull she was beginning to feel, the ache was burning inside of him to. With all the excitement of traveling he hadn't properly realized it until know.

"That's what you want then?" Lancer asked boldly moving forward until they were almost touching.

"That I will not touch you? That I wont act on this pull that we are both feeling? That I will keep my hands to my self even when they shake to touch you? How about instead I swear to you I won't touch you until you ask for it? That I wont until you tell me just how bad you want it"

He moved back his body shaking slightly from having been so close. He turned before his body could betray him moving out of the kitchen just as a servant came over and offered her some food.
 
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