Vertigo the drugs had induced made recovery a slow process, and so Apoch laid where he was, coming back to his senses and surroundings one thing at a time. The first realization was that Iscah was tucked alongside and slightly underneath this body, his arm stretching across her marked with the beautiful scrolling glyph.
With every fiber in his body he willed himself to sit up, swaying dangerously as his vision reduced to small pinpricks of light with such a simple motion.
“Shaman, what have you done!?”
The magnitude of his roar astounded even himself, Triki jerking in surprise when he found the Warlord was already awake.
“I will explain if you’re willing to listen.”
“She’s human! You— you bound me to a human!” He continued venomously, attempting to crawl to his knees as he stared in disbelief at the markings that matched the girls own.
Beside him Iscah stirred awake from the ruckus, rolling over to blink dazedly up at him. The sight of her sent him into a rage, and he grabbed his dagger out of its sheath at the same moment he pulled her up by the scalp, forcing her neck back as the blade touched against her throat and stalled. He clenched his teeth and bared down, willing the blade to move, if only a little, and end this catastrophe.
“Shit. Shit!”
Letting both the girl and weapon go he stood up and lurched away, crashing into Triki’s herb rack and breaking it as he fell. Struggling back to his feet he turned his fury on the Shaman.
“Unbind us!”
“You know that’s not—”
His scream was rabid, grabbing broken pieces that had made up the drying racks and throwing them across the cavern, the wood splintering on impact.
“DO IT!”
Triki stared in shock and Apoch turned to his shelves of precious artifacts and bent his fury into destroying them. Iscah cried out as a pot exploded into shards beside her when he threw it blindly, her voice snapping him out of his rampage long enough for him to stumble backwards and nearly fall over again. He caught himself on the shelving, ripping it down so that it toppled over as he swayed, gasping for breath.
She uttered his name pleadingly, covering her ears with her hands. His lip curled in disgust at her pitifulness, and no longer able to stand her presence he fumbled out the cave and into the morning.
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Iscah stared as Apoch fled, her blood still covering his chin as his seed still covered her body.
The words had made no sense again. Whatever he had been screaming she could no longer understand, but the way he looked at her: Panic. Complete and total panic.
He had set his blade against her with the same intentions as before, and once again had been unable to follow through. Death had been in his eyes. A raging, vicious intent, and yet he hadn’t been able to follow through.
Because of the glyph? Because he doesn’t want to die, either?
She looked to Triki who was wearing the same surprised expression she no doubt had plastered on her face. Did this Cambion just save me, or damn me?
A sickening feeling of dread began to chill her limbs, the realization of what she’d done— what they’d done. There was no going back from this. No justifying the tattoo the mages would surely identify, no hiding the fact she was bound to the same cambion whom she assumed had made an attempt on her fathers life.
Triki struggled to his feet, glancing to the debris with a muttered curse before wading into the mess to retrieve a pair of long iron tongs. He grasped a hot stone buried beneath the embers with them, carrying it over to the basin full of water and dropping it in, hissing and spitting as it instantly boiled the water around it.
He repeated the process until steam wafted from the pool, rummaging through more of the area near the herbs to fetch a burlap sachet and jar of oil. Tossing the sachet in he poured a generous dollop of the liquid in as well, setting a brick of soap next to the edge.
“Iscah,” he called, motioning towards the bath before picking up his shawl and knapsack. Without another word he departed as well, though on less dramatic terms than her mate had.
The title hit her like a punch in the gut, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air. Her lungs heaved, chest tightening as anxiety drowned all logic. Curling in on herself she let her head drop, staring at the marks wrapping her forearm. A maniacal laughter spilled from her lips, another one close on its heels.
Truvien had whined about how he hadn't been in control the night he had broken down her door, using the excuse of being drugged. She had judged him so harshly, deemed him weak and beneath her stainless morals and values.
I just bound myself to a cambion who hates me while drugged, Truvien. How ironic is that? Lord Isren’s daughter, brought so low even the peasantry could spit upon me without fear of repercussion. I bet you wouldn't even come to my execution for fear of being seen near me now.
Abandoning the blanket she sat up, touching the dried, flaking semen he had rubbed into her skin. A second mark of ownership and yet here she was, discarded.
Tears slid down her cheeks as she rose, padding naked to the bath and stepping into the water, letting it soften and dissipate his fluids, rejecting him in her own way. It felt like a paltry victory in comparison to the elegant lines encircling her wrist.
He hadn’t taken her virginity, though it had been a near certain thing at one point. Her fingers traced over the bites on her shoulder, surprised to find the tenderness of a fresh wound was not present. Even the scabs covering them felt farther along than what they should have.
Triki had hinted at it, but she hadn’t believed healing could be that accelerated. No wonder the cambions relied on it to fight the monsters plaguing their race. Why did they not just allow them to walk right through to the human territory? It didn’t sound like the wall protecting them from the cambions would do anything against such horrifying beings.
There were so many questions left unanswered, their opportunity wasted. Doubtful he would be amenable to taking whatever drug Triki had slipped in their food just so she could ask. As if she’d want that experience with Apoch again. The first time had seen to it they were now bound more tightly than any marriage could have, Gods knew what would happen on the second time.
For better, or for worse, she thought despondently, unaware she had begun scratching at the marks, as if it could remove them.
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Dawn hadn’t broken the next morning when Apoch returned, stepping out of the darkness and hating himself as his gaze immediately flicked over the girl sleeping beneath his blanket. Jaw clenching in irritation he moved silently past, gathering up his pants that smelled heavily of them both.
Near the fire Triki roused, setting his iron teakettle on the embers as Apoch dressed and checked over his weapons. Snagging a rag he crouched by the fire, retrieving the kettle to pour the warmed water on it.
“Well done,” Triki quipped softly, saluting Apoch with an empty teacup when he froze and looked up warningly. “I expected you back in three days; you’ve surprised me.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Not bothering to respond Apoch took the damp cloth to his crotch, scrubbing at the visible reminders of their previous evening.
“I’d love to hear your excuse for what you did before I kill you, Shaman,” he finally replied, giving one last contemptuous swipe across the laces before tossing the rag into the embers to hiss and burn.
“I bound you two for protection. All of the rest of that, claiming her as your mate? That was you. You sit there wrapped up in your injustice and want to blame me because it's easier than face the truth that maybe you don't hate her as much as you proclaim you do.”
“You drugged us! You took away our ability to think rationally and now you’re trying to tell me how I feel? This isn’t some small slip-up that can be fixed, you’ve fatally tied me to a useless human girl.”
“Who are you trying to lie to, yourself or me?” He motioned to Iscah, who now was awake but listening to their incomprehensible argument in silence. “Deep down you know she means something to you, something important to us all. You tasted it in her blood, that’s why you can't kill her.”
“I can’t kill her because now her death would be my own, you fucking lunatic! She is nothing special,” he snarled, veins rising across his upper body and down powerfully built arms as he gestured towards Iscah furiously.
“She’s just another human whose only worth is whelping children on so they can go die in the fucking desert to protect her spiteful, oblivious race.”
Triki glared at him, trying to decide if Apoch truly was so irrevocably stubborn or just desperate to deny everything he felt. “Nuada draws you two to a destiny—”
“Fuck your God moon, and fuck that word!” Apoch roared, leaning forward to shove an accusing finger at the elder. “I finally had a life of contentment after a lifetime of being everyone else’s pawn.”
“You're not the pawn this time, you're the king!” Triki yelled back, slamming down his teacup. “So stop telling me you can't change!”
“Neither of you can change who I am, what I’ve done,” he replied, voice ragged and barely controlled as his fists clenched.
“That’s who you were, not who you are to become! Or should we go backwards,” Triki’s lips curled back to expose his stained teeth worn from age, his next word flung as poisonous as any viper.
“Warlord.”
Apoch caught himself mid-lunge, fangs on full display and eyes blazing with rage.
Somehow Triki knew the history of that title, knew it had originally been what Zidaii’s conquered Chief’s had called him behind his back. A slander against the fact he looked more human than they, as if his blood was somehow more tainted with humanity than theirs had been.
He had shown the first warrior with enough stupidity to call him Warlord to his face that he bled red too, and then claimed the title to spite them all.
Just as quickly the tension vanished as he reined in his emotions, sitting back down on the stool coldly.
“There is one who may be able to reverse the binding,” Triki finally offered in the strained silence, Apoch’s eyebrows rising as he waited for the rest. “He resides on the Broken Tooth Ridge. Do you know of that area?”
Apoch loosened his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well enough, I’ll head there today.”
“He’ll require you both.”
“Then I’ll bring him here, and in the meantime you can take care of that thing,” he countered, nodding towards Iscah as he rose.
“That thing is now your mate, and your responsibility.”
“My mate,” he repeated, the cabalistic grin crossing his face making Triki recoil in foreboding. Looking over his shoulder at her he took in her wary expression, her eyes widening in alarm.
In a blur of motion he was by her side, pain lancing through her head as he dragged her up by the hair and arched her back across his bent knee.
Grabbing the neckline of her dress he ripped it down to her waist in one savage jerk, exposing her upper body. Apoch paused, cocking his head as his gaze traveled back to Triki who sat frozen in disbelief at the sudden brutality.
“Have you ever raped a woman before, Shaman?” Apoch queried, tauntingly. Iscah cried out when his grip tightened in her scalp mercilessly.
Her legs caught in the blanket as she scrambled to seek relief, arching further until she was contorted over far enough that Triki could see her inverted face.
“You’re hurting her,” the Shaman mumbled, words trembling as Apoch’s other hand trace across the healing scabs at the base of her bared neck, marking her as his.
“Their minds break so easily, but their bodies. Their bodies instinctively know what to do,” he explained, voice ominously patient.
He toyed with her nipple, rolling the peaked tip between thumb and forefinger. Tears filled her eyes and slipped from their corners, dampening the hair at her forehead as she fought to take in a full breath with her spine compressed from below.
“Their cunts get so wet, so tight. Trying to make you come as fast as possible to keep from ripping internally. A survival mechanism predating our existence, one still used not just by us, but by their own men too.”
“Stop,” Triki whispered, spellbound as his touch trailed down her stomach and continued beneath the torn dress. Apoch’s vicious expression was a challenge, never looking away from him even when his fingers found their mark and Iscah made a strangled sound of humiliation.
“Do you want to watch me fuck her, Shaman?”
He shook his head in response, but Apoch could see the truth in his glazed eyes that hadn’t left Iscah’s body. Removing the single digit from inside of her he lifted that same hand to his lips.
“You wagered I'd protect your precious little warlock,” he began, pausing to wet all four fingers in his mouth one by one, hinting at his brutal intentions. “But what you didn’t take into account is, who is going to protect her from me?”
The threat roused the elder out of his stupor, and he struggled to his feet with the aid of his staff, facial expression clouding over in indignation that he would inflict such damage on her.
“I said, st—”
Iscah gasped when he shoved her off his leg, tumbling onto her belly as he stepped into Triki as if to embrace him. The shaman’s demand ended in a light grunt as Apoch buried his blade into his gut.
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Iscah watched in horror as Triki’s staff clattered to the floor, the soft snick of metal entering flesh playing in her mind again.
No, Apoch had stabbed him again.
And again.
She had no recollection of rushing for the staff, but as she picked it up reality snapped back into play as she swung it as hard as she could for Apoch’s skull. On instinct he ducked, letting the old male fall as Iscah stepped through, off-balanced and overcompensating for the attack.
A wet hand wrapped around her throat, painful enough to leave bruises as he shoved her into the wall, his body flush against hers to keep from ricocheting off of it.
The world blurred on impact, muted, and came back into focus of blood red eyes burning with hatred and words being screamed so viciously, spittle flecked her face.
He tossed her like a ragdoll to the ground, her palms skinning as she tried to catch herself on the stone. Before she could even register the pain his knee was digging into her back, crushing the air from her lungs again as he grabbed her arms and wrenched them behind her. The bite of cording at her wrists as he tied them together, and then the pressure on her torso vanished to allow air to return to her chest, barely aware he was repeating the process to her ankles as well.
He backed off and she rolled onto her side, trussed up but able to see as he crossed to where Triki lay crumpled in a heap. Burying his hand in that wild nest of pepper and grays he lifted the elder with a single arm.
“No! Apoch please!” Violent gaze slid to her, both pausing as if recalling the last time she had used the same words. “Don’t- don’t do this.”
Lips pulled back in the mockery of a smile, he turned so that the body was in her full view, and slit the elders throat. Blood splashed mere seconds before her stomach emptied, tears running freely as she keened in terror.
Yet beneath that apathetic facade a storm broiled internally, like something dormant had roused when he had laid his hands on her. That beast sunk its talons into his heart and tore, howling with fury and fighting at the cage that was his chest cavity with every sob of his mate. As if he had betrayed her somehow, as if he was to blame for this. As if he owed her some sort of allegiance, some modicum of honor and respect.
But her kind never had deserved any of those things, and he would be damned if he would give it to this girl now. It was a good thing she finally understood what he was. It was right she be afraid of him.
He was a fucking fool to have trusted Triki, and once more again to believe there really was someone who could undo the binding, but it seemed that hope was even harder for him to kill than the girl.
Apoch left her wailing in grief, stepping into the sunshine of early morning.
Bu’u arrived a moment later, bumping his nose against Apoch’s arm. The denimal paused, sniffing his rider pointedly before stretching his neck to peer over his shoulder, crooning in concern. Apoch made a disgusted noise at his clear infatuation, tossing the saddle and bridle on quickly before turning to lead him back down the trail.
He came up hard against the ends of the reins, looking back in surprise as Bu’u stubbornly stood his ground, one gold eye rolling back towards the cave.
Apoch groaned, rubbing at his face tiredly before glaring at his lovesick denimal.
The Broken Tooth Ridge was too far a trip for him to leave her here alone, and with her only dress now destroyed he needed to get clothing for her. Karcerak had been less than half a day’s ride from Triki’s home, and Apoch knew the Chieftain personally.
“We’re coming back,” he explained in annoyance.
Bu’u yipped, leaping into action and racing past his rider. Apoch caught his saddle and mounted on the run as they began the descent into the laurel oceanic forests below towards the town.