Refusing to acknowledge the sentry outside the gates of her dorm as he admitted her through with a low bow, Iscah gathered her skirts and fought the tulle underlayers all the way up the stairs. The guards outside her door gave her pause, and she looked between the two men standing dutifully.
"You're dismissed."
"Apologies, but your father thinks it best for us to—"
"I said leave, Gerard," she hissed viciously, rounding on the elder and standing her ground until he gave a curt bow and headed for the stairwell, the other guard following.
Taking a moment to fortify herself, she shoved the door open and breezed into the maddeningly organized room. Two maids rose from their seats by her fire in nervous curtsies, setting aside their knitting and following her to the bathing quarters.
"We didn't expect you back so soon, my Lady."
"Get me out of this," was her curt reply, not even bothering to try to reach the delicate buttons that ran up the length of her spine. They moved to assist her quickly, one working on the bodice of the gown while the other began to unbutton the voluminous layers of skirts surrounding her. She exhaled in relief when the corset was finally loosened and removed, rubbing at sore ribs before pushing her arms through the white night gown presented to her. As the maid tied the satin ribbon closed she tried to broach the tense silence casually.
"How did the evening go my Lady?"
"I'd sooner throw myself off a balcony than marry Truvien."
"My Lady, your mother—"
"Get out, both of you. I'm not asking."
They hesitated, but her facial expression must have been something to behold because both ducked out with a final bow. Waiting until the door closed, she began removing the various combs until only one was left holding up her hair tenuously. Free from the constricting items that had plagued her entire evening she turned on the sink faucet, letting the cold water trickle over her palms until it was tepid. It was only after washing the light coating of rouge on her cheeks and lips away that she finally felt a semblance of normalcy. Using the folded towel next to the sink she dried her face and pulled the last pin free, releasing the soft waves to cascade down past the small of her back.
With a weary sigh she looked up from the basin to her hazy reflection in the mirror, then up further to a pair of crimson eyes looming directly behind her.
She spun, the counter biting into her backside as he shoved her against it with his hips, pinning her. A high-pitched ringing filled her head, her surroundings fading until the only thing she could see was the familiar face staring down at her.
Long hair of coal was pulled halfway up, a few pieces too short framing sharp cheekbones that angled down to full lips currently tight with the same intensity narrowing his gaze. His eyes widened, callouses scraping along her skin as he gripped her chin and leaned close enough their breath was shared. Still frozen she could do nothing but watch the emotions warring openly across his expression: Surprise. Shock. Disbelief.
As if in a dream she reached, fingers curving over the leather bracer on his forearm, even as his features darkened with finality. The warm body covering her front hardened as muscles flexed, impending.
She breathed his name, and he recoiled as if burned.
A gap between them now, air rushed into the opening and chilled her through the thin muslin. Her body reacted to the cold, pebbling, and she crushed her arms across her chest, horrified at the indecency but unable to move.
If she had thought Truvien the height of male athleticism, then there were no words to describe what stood towering before her now.
His shoulders were easily a hands-width wider, the foreign outfit of black material covering him from throat to split-toed boots hinted at limbs built unlike any man she had ever seen. Matte black weapons and supplies were strapped everywhere; thin knives secured over the ridges of his biceps, small pouches lining the wide belt cinching a narrowed waist. More equipment was wrapped around accessible points down his legs, every item utilized for death or mobility.
It was a momentary distraction, and then her gaze snagged on the blade he held loosely.
Her thoughts felt sluggish, as if she knew she should be panicking, but there was no terror. He had hesitated, still did, a tick in his jaw revealing the depth of his indecision. With an irritated exhale he moved past her with one last glance before heading for the closed window. Just as she was about to speak his steps cut short as a knock sounded at the front door, loud enough to be heard in the bathing chambers.
Iscah held her breath, hoping whoever it was would go away. The way Apoch stood motionless, as if waiting for her to cry for help made her shake her head minutely, more fearful he'd bolt and she'd never see him again rather than having her throat slit.
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He was real, and the part of her that worried if she had slowly been losing her mind felt so relieved. If she could just—
Furious, insistent booms on the door.
She motioned for Apoch to wait before snagging the robe hanging by the bathtub, struggling to put it on in her haste. Heat suffused her face as she realized the entire encounter had been spent in a night shift thin enough that little was left to the imagination.
"Who is it?"
"We need to talk," came Truvien's muffled reply, pausing the imperious knocking.
Iscah glanced back towards the bathroom, her heart skipping a beat when she realized the window was open. Rushing back she looked around frantically, leaning out to find no trace of the cambion.
Truvien began pointedly knocking again.
"Come back tomorrow," she retorted impatiently, gripping the shutter and pulling it closed before scanning the bathroom one last time.
"No, I must apologize."
"I am not fit to take visitors at such an obscenely late hour," she returned to the bedroom, if only so she didn't have to yell. "So please, leave!"
Silence ensued, and she let out a sigh of relief before turning around to check if he had entered the room while she had been distracted.
The door frame shrieked, wood splintering apart as Truvien barreled through it, nearly falling over and managing to right himself before going face-first into her rug. Iscah blinked in surprise, watching as he swayed before clearing his throat and offering her a bow that nearly pitched him forward again.
"I said, I must apologize."
"You need to leave, right now," she said breathlessly, fear chilling her limbs as he ignored her demands and headed towards her.
"You can stop with the offended bullshit," he countered, his hand slipping around her waist when she tried to step back from him. His breath reeked of alcohol, gaze foggy and smile arrogant. "Guards are gone, maids are gone, and here you are, a present ready to be unwrapped. Admit it, My Lady."
Leaning in closer, he tugged at the robe's tie playfully. "You were waiting for me."
His eyes closed as he pressed forward, Iscah realizing with sickening dread he was going to kiss her. Disgust drowned better judgement, and she slapped him across the cheek. Surprise opened his lips from their pucker to a perfect O before the pain hit, and then his eyes blazed with fury.
He drew his hand back far— far enough Iscah knew she would not rise after impact. Whatever his initial motives had been they had now turned violent. The palm descended, a blur of darkness by their side as Apoch intercepted his wrist and used the momentum of the strike to rotate his arm extended. A sharp crack as the larger male slammed his palm into Truvien's locked elbow, leaving his forearm bent at an unnatural angle.
Truvien's initial scream of pain devolved into a spray of alcohol-laced vomit as Apoch twisted, burying his fist in the human's stomach with enough force to lift him off his feet. His knees gave out but never touched the rug as the cambion caught him easily by the scalp.
Without thinking Iscah threw herself onto Apoch's arm as he reached for the short sword strapped at his lower back. Eyes smoldering with bridled hatred and...and jealousy met hers once more. The recognition of the emotion startled her, and in the hesitation three things happened simultaneously at once:
His attention whipped to the broken doorway, the sudden movement breaking her grasp as he turned to bash Truvien's face into the bed post. As she stumbled away the weapon slid free, and he flung it into Gerard's throat before he could even cross the threshold. He scrabbled at the hilt uselessly, garbled cry misting red into the air around the wound as he collapsed.
The other guard behind him lunged for a chain hanging outside the door and jerked it frantically, stammering holy shit, holy shit repeatedly while Gerard's panicked gurgles filled the background as he drowned in his own blood. An alarm began to ring, magnified by magic to be deafening and he rushed into the room and unsheathed a sword that trembled in his gasp.
Apoch sneered when fear made the young man hesitate, facing him fully and spreading his unarmed hands wide. The soldier took the bait, rushing in. Apoch sidestepped the first swipe as if it was child's play, his rasping laughter mocking as he ducked the follow-through and shoulder-checked his opponent's exposed side.
Unbalanced, the guard tripped over Truvien's prone form and went down hard, wasting precious seconds to get back to his feet. Apoch took the opportunity to rip his blade out of Gerard's throat, the body spasming as frothed blood sprayed from the open gash in his windpipe. The red liquid vanished against the black clothing of his murderer, who turned to regard his final opponent with easy confidence.
"I'm going to lure him towards the bathroom," the remaining soldier managed in a shaking voice, not looking away from the approaching male despite understanding the fight was already a foregone conclusion. "When I do, run."
Apoch's smile was feral, exposing inhuman canines. A front set like those of carnivorous animals, backed by another shorter pair no less lethal bared intentionally as he shifted the entirety of his focus onto her brazenly. For the first time and yet not the first time, she heard his voice. Low and ominous, the rolling thunder that hailed a summer storm, and the single word eradicated any doubt she had in her mind that the dreams were only hers and hers alone.
"Iscah."
Her eyes widened, staying locked with his as the world turned too bright. She was breathing too fast. She wasn’t breathing enough. She didn’t know if those wheezes were coming from Gerard, or from herself.
The man charged one last time, a valiant effort to defend the girl. A doomed attempt to save her life by sacrificing his own, to buy her time to escape without realizing fate had already claimed her.
How did this go so wrong, she thought to herself, backing against the wall to sink to the ground as everything went white and black at the same time.
The resounding ring of blade striking blade, the tearing of flesh and squelched thud of a metal-encased object rolling across the floorboards, and then she knew no more.