By early afternoon the hills of grass gave way to stunted cedar and pine, their height growing as the trio continued along the now constant incline path.

In just a few hours into the mountains the scenery had changed from the open golden plains into a closed, coniferous forest, the ground cushioned with their needles and air heavy with the scent of vanilla and evergreen.

Apoch sighed with relief as a stream they had been following the scent of finally came into view, squatting down at its edge to scoop handfuls of water onto his face to wash off the sweat as Bu’u submerged his whole head into the icy water to drink. Iscah slid out of the saddle and moved away from the two, crouching down to drink downstream.

When Bu’u coughed noisily she looked up to find the Warlord gone, though by now that was hardly something new. Anytime he could he would break away, as if knowing she needed distance from him to deal with accepting the reality of her situation.

Whatever that was these days.

Rummaging through the packs she found a few sticks of dried meat to chew on as she sat down on a large rock overlooking the waters edge, glad to be out of the saddle.

“Iscah.”

She turned, lunch sliding from her fingers before she fumbled to keep the slivers of jerky from hitting the ground, gaping back at him.

Apoch had apparently found a pool deep enough to jump into, and water dripped from his loosened hair and sparkled off the droplets clinging to the hard lines of his muscles. The now-soaked pants had dragged even lower on his hips, exposing the line of dark hair that cut the two angled lines of his abs in half. Even though she had seen him naked, she still fought to compose her blush and rose to follow him when he motioned to her.

Further up the rocky climb the tinkling sound of water deepened into gurgles, the streams flow slower as it slid from one deep pool carved into the rock to another.

Apoch headed up the hill, finding an open space hidden in a copse of aspen that made a light natural shelter from the wind and sun.

Relieving Bu’u for the day he murmured to him appreciatively. The denimal turned as if tracking prey nearby, and when Apoch gave him a light nudge he took the hint and slid into the forest to hunt.

Iscah suddenly found herself alone with the cambion for the first time in days, and the meat in her stomach churned. As if sensing her unease he turned to look at her, and she tried not to wilt under his gaze.

Returning to the packs he pulled out a blanket and a small rawhide pouch that contained his bar of soap and her silver comb, setting them aside as he dug deeper into the folds to pull out one of the burlap bags holding her dresses.

When he held it out for her to take she almost sighed in gratitude, the thought of a bath and fresh clothes an utter relief until the dress unfolded in her grasp, revealing itself to be nothing more than a long narrow strip of coarse brown material with a hole for her head in the middle and two ties on the sides.

It was a slave garment.

“I will not wear that, you bastard,” she hissed, letting it drop to the ground backing away. Instantly his casual demeanor shifted, picking the garment up and holding it back out to her.

“Ash’tan.”

“No!”

He groaned, letting his arm drop and looking up at the sky in supplication. Shaking his head he retrieved another dress of the same cloth, though it had substantially more material on it than the other. Setting it on top of the blanket and soap, he left it for her and went to go dig a fire pit for the evening.

Iscah took the items and headed back to the stream, using her anger at his attempt to dress her so indecently to face the icy cold currents.

The snowmelt won out, and she raced to scrub a weeks worth of grime off every part of her she could reach. Teeth chattering she dried off quickly, the chill distracting her for a few moments before she turned to pick up the dress.

It was the slave one again.

Iscah gaped, looking around desperately. Her soiled clothes were gone, undergarments and all. The dress she had agreed to as well was missing.

She turned in fury and began stomping up the path, coming up short in only a few steps as fear began to overshadow her anger. What was her plan, storm back to the camp, bash him upside the head and stoically reclaim her clothes?

The last time she had faced him ended with—

She swayed dizzily.

No. Don’t think about that.

The outcome was already known, by both of them. It just depended how much she really wanted to fight uselessly with him over it. If their altercation out in the plains over her attempt to die from thirst was any indication, she didn’t have a choice in this decision either.

Turning she went back to where the dress was, letting the blanket fall and pulling the hole over her head. The cloth didn't overlap, exposing both sides of her body and though the ties low on her hips gave a bit of modesty, it did little to ease the humiliation; it was meant for quick access for the slaves owner.

She shuddered at the thought.

There was movement beside her, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge Apoch as he dipped something in the stream and crouched beside her. When it was obvious he was waiting for her attention she looked at the small block that was running black ink down his fingers.

He motioned to his hair to demonstrate what he wanted, and she looked away from him in response morosely.

[https://i.postimg.cc/ht3bqpkV/blue-moon.jpg]

Heaving a long sigh he let his hand drop, rubbing his tongue against the back of a fang as he studied her silhouette and contemplated what to do. They had run a huge risk of being seen on the open plains, but with all he done he had wanted to give her some time before demanding anything else. Lately his instincts had been whispering a warning, and he could not afford to wait any longer, for both their sakes.

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Moving behind her he knelt, her back stiffening as his thighs braced against the outside of her hips before picking up a lock of her hair. He drew the dye through the long tresses, instantly regretting the fact they would be forever ruined. There was no choice; the white hair was a dead giveaway to who she was, and it would only be a matter of time before they crossed paths with strangers, bounty hunters, or worse.

With her hair thoroughly soaked he rose onto his knees, careful to not press his chest against her back as he leaned forward to brush an edge of the diminished brick carefully over her eyebrows before setting it aside.

Apoch scooped her up and set her down near the waters edge, cradling her neck as she laid back compliantly. He brushed her locks into the stream, letting the current clean the remaining dye out until the water no longer ran dark.

Helping her sit back up he set the comb to her now ebony tresses, until all the tangles were gone and it hung in silky, drying waves down past the small of her back.

Reaching for the soiled garments he had returned with he rummaged through the pile until he found the silk bandages she had used to bind her breasts with. Giving them a quick wash he took her arm covered in their bonding marks, carefully wrapping it from wrist to elbow so they were hidden.

Tying if off he threw the rest of their laundry into the water, the pants he was wearing following suit. He dropped into the pool without a reaction to the frigid temperature, stepping deep enough so that the turbulent surface was at his waist before washing himself while watching her from his periphery in dread.

She had not been happy about the attire, and she was going to be even unhappier about the last part of her disguise. He sighed quietly at his own stupidity for having wasted so much time without continuing to teach her his language. Now he had no way to explain to her what he was about to do, or even why.

Their clothes were cleaned with utilitarian efficiency, and he wrung them out before spreading them atop perimeter boulders to dry out in the sun. Wading back over to where she had turned pointedly away from him, he pulled himself out and reached down in the shallow depths where he had hidden the silver torque meant for identifying a breeding slave.

“I'm sorry,” he rasped, garnering her miserable stare from the scenic landscape for a moment before sliding the open collar around her throat and bending the metal closed.

Her eyes widened, lips parting as her hands whipped up to touch it, jerking it insistently as her breath grew rapid.

“No... No! No, ansuu,” she sobbed, cringing away when he reached to comfort her.

Her temper snapped, and she twisted onto her knees to slap him across the face. His head tipped only slightly from the assault, a deadly warning in his gaze when he rotated back to face her once more. Ignoring the threat, she put her entire body weight behind another strike, the sound of her palm cracking against his cheek echoing in the gulch.

His skull didn’t budge this time, he didn’t even so much as blink as narrowed eyes remained trained on her despite the bloom of a pink hand-print on his skin. As if even her best was nothing more than an annoying bite of a flea.

Baring her teeth in rage at his lack of response she closed the distance between them, her lips slamming into his. Beneath her his body froze in astonishment, but it wasn’t until she bit his lower lip and tasted blood that he finally reacted. He gripped her waist and dragged her fully into his lap, soaking her garment in the water still dripping from his naked body as she pushed herself flush against him.

“Is this what you wanted?” She panted venomously, reaching into his damp hair and pulling as hard as she could. “Was this your plan all along for me? A slave to be used?”

“Iscah,” he groaned, trying to disengage and give them space but she was relentless. She cut off any other useless things he might babble with another inexpert kiss, lashing at his tongue as the dangerous male shuddered. A savage alpha reduced to imploring a virgin for reprieve, it was comically pathetic.

When the cock she straddled twitched, she ground her pelvis against it in merciless retaliation to his plea. His iron control cracked, hands dropping to dig into the juncture between her hips and legs bruisingly, grinding her up and down the back of his erection.

“Ruin me, you bastard. Go on, you’ve ruined everything else in my life,” she hissed throatily, ignoring the way her heart was pounding in anticipation as she reached down to drag the paltry flap of dress aside. Helplessly he moaned at the invitation, the now fully engorged member sliding through the crease of her sex. She bit back the sound of pleasure that threatened to spill from her own lips as that rigid length dragged against her clit, barely aware of his canines scratching gently across the scars on her shoulder.

With an ease that spoke of experience he shifted minutely before lowering her back down, and suddenly that monstrously thick head slicked by both their arousal was applying pressure to her entrance. There was no stopping the cry of shock that ripped from her as her maidenhead stretched, then began to tear.

The sound made him freeze, and he leaned back to take in her facial expression. His gaze sharpened on her, from her eyes brimming with hatred and desire, to her lips covered in his blood. The legs bracketing his hips flexed, trying to goad him into taking the last precious thing she had left to give but he shook his head, the grip controlling her lower body inexorable.

“No, Iscah. Not like this,” he ground out huskily, lifting her off of his weeping tip so that they were no longer aligned. She pounded her fist against his chest with another cursed demand, tears running down her cheeks. Reaching between them he caught her hand and pressed it to his breast, touching his forehead to hers.

“Not like this for your first time, little lamb.”

All the fight in her disintegrated at the tenderness in his voice, and she hid her face against his neck and coughed a sob as tremors racked her body. He held her as she fell apart, her wails muted against the swell of his trap as she mourned everything that had been lost.

From her parents dismissal of her aspirations to selling her off to Truvien, to the nearly overwhelming anxiety of being caught as she fled everything she had ever known and ever cared about.

There was no chance to ever go back, the door to the realm of her people and family forever closed in shame. All options had been ripped away in the artful runes encircling their wrist, marking her His until death. Enslaved, just in a different way than her parents had planned for her.

Damned by choices driven from childish fantasy and naive trust, she had no one to blame but herself. Where she had looked upon it all as some romantic adventure where the Gods were trying to connect her to her one true love, he had been sober to the reality that life wasn’t that simple, wasn’t that beautiful. Wasn’t that innocent.

Now she was fatally tied to a cambion that didn’t even want her. She had seen it in his expression, heard it in the words she couldn’t translate but knew their meaning when he had attacked her: You’re pathetic, you’re nothing. You’re just a fucking weakness, a stupid, naive little human girl.

And Gods, he was right. She had acted on her need to protect Triki all because that old man had shown her kindness. She had drank up that sweet old grandfather routine, had fallen for it completely. Believed their kind could be good, when all Triki had done was use it as a weapon to ensnare them both.

The veil of her innocence had been ripped off and used as a death shroud to cover the corpses left in their wake. Apoch had been so careful not to let a single drop of blood touch her skin, yet she felt it coating her conscience, thick enough to choke on. The guilt of those deaths because of her, and every night it had shredded her soul a little bit more.

Her fingers curled against his shoulders, pressing the edges of her nails into his skin. If he had just left her alone! If he had never cursed her life with his presence, none of those lives would’ve been lost. It had been one disaster after another since he had graced her doorstep. She had thought the dreams so terrible, when truth was reality with him was the real nightmare.

“I hate you,” she whispered brokenly. He pressed his lips against her temple, stroking her hair at the bitter words. She knew he didn’t comprehend, and desperate to make him understand she lifted her head. “I hate you so m—”

He silenced her with a kiss, slow and reassuring. An intimate moment normally shared by lovers after they had found bliss in one another. Every muscle seized in her body initially, affronted he would respond to her anger so dismissively, but then she realized what it truly was; an olive branch. The nails that had curled like talons relaxed as she clung to him, desperate for that connection, for that validation, and he did not deny her.

When her body melted against his he laid back, keeping her draped across his chest. His hands traversed along her spine beneath the cloth, kneading the locked muscles across her shoulders. Working his fingers into the knots ceaselessly until they gave in to his will, leaving her mewling in relief and utterly spent from the emotional disaster the day had turned into.

His body heat enticed her into a sleep only those familiar with heartbreak could enter, yet soothing whispers followed her, and somehow that made it all the more bearable.