Zakuran sat, legs crossed, on the floor next to her bed.

She had the largest bedroom out of all her comrades, but to her it still wasn't quite large enough. There were times when she felt trapped in this room. This house, even. She became twitchy. Hyper. Full of energy, with nowhere to expend it.

There were various sword slashes etched into every wall of her room. Even the door had been sliced through horizontally. Whenever she pushed or pulled on the knob, only the bottom half of the door moved. The top half had to be grabbed and swung out of the way on it's own.

The door was closed now, with a slight crack of light filtering through the slash, from a lamp that had been left on in the hall.

Moonlight touched the floor in a square of white glow, entering in through the window.

Off to one side of the bed was a sword rack, five different sheathed swords ornately set on display.

There were more in the closet. All kinds of weapons, in there. But mostly swords. She collected them like she collected scars. And usually from the same encounters.

She wasn't allowed to do much collecting, lately. Corloff--that was what she was supposed to call him, never to use his real name, just as they were never supposed to use hers--had forbidden it. Except under strict circumstances. Lately, she wasn't even allowed to leave the estate.

Zakuran's right arm twitched. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, attempting to center herself.

But no, that wasn't the right wording, was it? The center of herself was the part that collected trophies and slashed walls. The part that couldn't get the smell of the new man out of her head.

Did she want to bed him, or kill him? Both desires mingled and intertwined together, impossible to extricate from one another. Magnetically drawing her toward Jacks with the force of both.

It wasn't a coherent thought. Something she could parse through and make sense of. It was a feeling. And it was part of who she was. To deny it was like a form of self-betrayal. She couldn't do it anymore.

She opened her eyes. Within two seconds she was on her feet and creeping barefoot in the hall. She wore stockings, underwear, and a shirt. She wouldn't need anything else. Her dark hair was loose, bouncing and brushing against her neck and shoulders.

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The halls were mostly dark, with the majority of the hanging lamps having gone out or been extinguished. Most would have needed a lamp or candle to navigate the house, but Zakuran's eyes were well accustomed to creeping about in the dark. To catching her victims unawares in the night.

It didn't take long for her to reach the guestroom where Darl had taken the man.

Jacks.

The thought of his name sent a shudder throughout her body. Blood flowed into her neck and face, warming her cheeks. And downward, toward her loins.

The door was shut.

She put her ear to the frame, listening. Her senses were keen, and she was able to make out a pair of snorers. One would be Jacks. The other would be--her lips pulled back into a snarl as she thought of it--the mangy little dog.

She gripped the knob. She lifted, hefting the weight of the frame so as not to put stress on the hinges. The house was well-maintained by the staff, and she doubted it would squeak, but she couldn't be too careful.

She turned the knob. There was a brief, almost imperceptible click.

She waited, hesitating. Listening.

The snoring was uninterrupted.

Perfect.

She turned the knob the rest of the way and cracked the door.

The hallway was dark. No light pooled in at the opening of the door. But Zakuran could see just fine all the same.

Jacks was curled underneath the blanket. His body was light and lean, leaving the barest of depressions in the mattress. She could hear him breathing, over there. Quiet, soft, steady intakes and exhalations.

The dog was a bit noisier. He made little rattles as he breathed through his nose. He was stretched out, flat on his side on the floor.

One of his ears twitched, waving away an invisible fly. Some irritant within his dream.

Zakuran hesitated, looming in the center of the room. Not because she regretted coming here, but because she realized that now might be the best time to do something about that dog. The dog that was the reason why Jacks claimed not to be interested in her.

She crouched down next to the dog. She reached with one hand toward its neck, avoiding brushing the many wiry hairs which poked up on its body like dark little trees. Its chest heaved slowly with sleep, the side of its body stretching and ballooning, before shrinking back down again, with each breath.

She tensed her fingers, blade-like fingernails at the ready. With one strike, the creature would be dead. She would pierce the throat completely. Her nails would catch in the wood floor. She would have to pull hard to yank them out, she-

Suddenly, it came to her that at least a few seconds had passed since she'd noticed Jacks's snoring.

Too late.

Cold metal tapped her shoulder, and pressed hard against the side of her neck. A sharp blade, carving a shallow cut as soon as it made contact. A line of her blood flowed along the top of the blade, and dripped off of the tip, landing just inside the collar of her shirt, on one of her breasts.

She felt even hotter than before. Excited. She had been bested, somehow. Temporarily.

She would definitely have him