Rite of the Omega Page 10

  “All of me, princess,” he ground out once Aida guided his foot back to the tub floor.

  Wrist caught in a punishing grip, Aida hissed when he pushed her hand to the hard plane of his lower stomach. Sucking her lips in between her teeth, brows knitting a furious cadence of equal parts dread and anticipation, she skimmed the bar over his length. Shivered when he made a low sound that ended on a deep rumble. One stroke became two, the heady scent of him growing stronger. Overpowering the scent of cedar and herbs, coating her tongue as the swollen red crown of him glistened with something far more potent than water.

  The hand braced at his calf came up against her volition. Encircling the pulsing thickness, her eyes grew wide as she realized her fingers could not even touch. Holding him firm at the base, the soap slipped from her slack hand as she did the same with it. The barest squeak of sound escaping as his palm covered the back of her head, pulling her in. Aida didn’t struggle, lips parting as her tongue reached out to touch glistening flesh. Her quiet moan cut off as he shoved forward, choking off her breath.

  Tongue smeared with bubbles, she sputtered and slapped at his thighs. Wrenching away with twisted lips, mouth pooling with saliva as she gagged on the disgusting taste. Even the intoxicating flavor of him became lost in the thick slime coating her mouth.

  Aida keened as he bent over, ducking to protect against a blow as he reached for her. His snarled words slamming against her ears, stabbing along hunched shoulders, a miserable sob threatened to burst from between her lips.

  “Spit it out, kou’va,” he said through a low growl, gathering her hair in his fist, twisting the strands as he jerked her head up.

  Cheeks aflame, Aida jerked her head in denial. Mortification turned her stomach into a molten, churning mass. She’d never done something so demeaning and crass as to spit as he demanded. Attempting such a thing in front of him was beyond her tolerance to remain passive to his orders. Clamping her lips together, she shook her head again even as he grabbed her around the middle and pinned her arms at her sides when she tried to cover her mouth. Bent over the side of the bath, he slapped her in the middle of the back. Aida refused to comply.

  There was no stopping her open-mouthed scream when he changed his target. Kicking her thighs apart, his hand came up between them, the loud smack of wet skin coming together sending the shrill noise clawing up her throat. The frothy mess spilled over her lips as she hung over his arm, coughing and gasping in turns as she tried not to swallow the bitter stuff down while sucking in pained breaths.

  Dumping Aida back into the water, he wasted no time climbing out. Lips twisted into a menacing snarl, he looked her over before he quit the bathing chamber, slamming the door hard behind him. Leaving Aida to her quiet sobs as she scraped the soap from her tongue.

  Not willing to inspire more of his anger, she took up the soap before she could silence her weeping all together and scrubbed away the tacky film that still coated her. Digging the hard bar into her skin wasn’t enough. Snatching up the coarse pumice stone she’d always hated, Aida scoured away the imagined layers of filth until she glowed bitter rose. She heard him stomping through her rooms as she dragged the wooden comb through her tangled hair, the hollow crash of trunks and the shuddering boom of drawers in her armoire being slammed seeping under the door. The muffled sounds and what she imagined they could mean infecting her movements, making them swift and jerky.

  Scraping her gums with the coarse cloth and powder as her gaze slid unwilling to the door again and again, mindless of her action, Aida gave in. Sure now that she would be punished, every horrible act she could imagine played out and repeated half a dozen times in her thoughts, Aida spun around to search for a towel. Fidgeting fingers grew more animated by the thundering heartbeat, seeing nothing of the usual accessories Immari laid out. With a hard sniff, she snatched up the nearest bit of cloth and dragged it over her head.

  He didn’t note the creaking door, or if he did, he ignored it. Edging through the narrow gap, Aida slipped out of the bath. Hands twisting in never ending circuits, she lingered by the heartless stone and let their cold sink into her skin. With head bowed, she watched through the thick fringe of her lashes as his boots made another journey from the sitting room to her bed chamber before they came to a stop. Leagues away and yet too close by half, she felt the bitter wash of heat from his glare searing over her. Focusing on the length of her legs and the rounded edge of a shoulder peeking out from the far too thin material of his shirt. Fine linen turned gauzy, clinging to the water damp patches of her skin. The only thing that had come to hand, she now regretted the decision to cover what she could as his slow strides brought him ever closer.

  Twining a curl around his finger, he gave a sharp tug. Pulling her closer by that weak grip alone until she basked in the heat of his shadow. Never having known such warmth, her skin soaked it in. Banished the prickling bumps along the backs of her arms and legs brought on by her unease. A shuddery sigh slipped over her lips as it seeped deep into her bones, loosening her joints until she swayed.

  “You will pack, princess,” he ground out, the serrated edge of his voice clawing through the thick air between them, a bare breath that roiled with invisible tension and a musky sweetness. Hand raised, his fingers delved into her hair. Clenched her tresses in his fist as he brought her head up until his lips hovered over hers. “Necessities only. If I find one bauble or sentimental souvenir, I will thrash you so well your very breath will pain you. Understood?”

  Despite the languid heat tangling around her spine, his aggression flowing over her tongue, Aida managed a curt nod. Her attempt to give a further response lost in a sigh as her lashes fluttered. Hating the swelling, liquid pool low in her belly, she should have been grateful when he released her with violence. Shoving her back so her head bounced off the stone, the only sensation registering the awful loss of his presence as he left amid the clatter of armor and his shouting order in that strange lilting tongue.

  Leaving her lost and confused as she looked to the scattering of small packs and trunks. Shuffling towards a pile of rough woven sacks, she worried at the coarse fabric. Tried to resolve their use as she poked and prodded at them, wondering how in the Abyss she was to put anything at all in them. She needed help, and not just with figuring out what this man might consider sentimental.

  It took her an age to find the old gown hidden in the back of her armoire. Too tight now, it hugged every inch of her torso, drifting high on her ankles. The brushed wool warm in a way she appreciated even more now, she rummaged again to find an apron she hadn’t worn in twice as long. It at least suited better, covering much of the gown’s ill fit as she cinched it tight around her waist. As presentable as she could be on her own, she found her slippers from the evening before and tiptoed towards the door. The very real terror of his anger outweighed by the slimmest margin of frustration at these new circumstances. Forcing each shuffling step to bring her closer to the portal leading out of her rooms, she bolstered what little courage she maintained that he had not demanded she remain locked away. There had been no threats or warnings as Otaso had done. She could do this, would travel the halls and corridors to find Immari or someone else who could aid her. Raising her chin, she took a calming breath and grasped the handle to tug the door open.

  All of it scattered to oily dust on her breathless scream as she opened the outer door to a rank of armored men and the grinding peal of metal barring her path. Falling back, she tripped over her feet to land with a shattering jolt. The soft soles of her shoes scuffed over the floor, finding little traction as she tried to scuttle far away from the unfamiliar men who stared down at her with more than a little interest.

  “I-I’m sorry, I just… I needed,” Aida swallowed back the rising bile scalding the back of her throat as she bowed her head. Continuing to inch further away as the heavy tread of dreadful boots and the clink of armor filled her doorway.

  “What’d you need, girl?”

  “Where you going now? Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Come back here, sweetling.”

  The rough cadence of soldiers swarmed through the room, gnawing at the back of her neck as she curled closer around her middle. Whine thin when footsteps came nearer.

  “What are you doing, Taid,” one of them asked in a growling murmur.

  “Shut up, Yer'ard,” the other said over his shoulder, before this Taid turned to Aida. Brushing the tips of his fingers under her chin, he failed to bring her head up as she continued to cower before him. “We’ll not hurt you, sweetling.”

  “She smells…” Another made a sound too close to a groan, armor rattling, pinging against the others as he shoved past to come closer. Tasting the air with hard inhales.

  “Incredible,” Taid husked.

  He took her wrist, pulling Aida’s arm out to unfurl her from the trembling ball. Yet more rushed forward as if given some signal. Pulling at her curls to rub the strands between their fingers. Tugged at her limbs, forcing the wooden joints to unlock so they might breathe in her scent right against her skin. As they petted Aida’s back and thighs, urging her to move this way and that, she remained stiff. Unresponsive to the growling sounds they made and the none too gentle demands, though she did not fight. Suffocating terror keeping her silent, a viscous ball of it lodged thick in her throat to stifle all air not tainted by the thickening fragrance of bitter musk and rank urgency.

  Through it all, she heard Otaso’s admonishments. The cruel things he would threaten her with to keep this very thing from happening. Even as they lifted her skirt to bare the stockings they began tugging down, with her eyes so wide they hurt, she heard him in the back of her thoughts. The awful things he’d said in the darkness of the dungeon, of what she was and would forever be now.

&nbs
p; Another scent cut through them all. Overpowering as it swept over her, ravaging her senses even from a distance. It sent an icy wash of dread churning in her stomach at the implications. What he would do upon seeing her like this, his men, all of it. Now she did move. Jerking from their grasping hands, uncaring of the hair pulled free. Letting it tangle in their fingers in fine, gossamer strands as she scrambled on hands and knees towards where the roiling heat of his presence already darkened the doorway, long before his hulking form filled the space.

  Throwing herself to the floor, debasing herself in obeisance, he didn’t even let her stammer out the words of apology for having made such a spectacle. For whatever it was she’d done to entice his men so, she hadn’t meant to do it, did not wish it. Not that it mattered as he grabbed the back of her neck with a roar that rumbled through her in a thunderous tumult, scraping her nerves raw. Shoved against his chest, held there by that cruel grip as the meaty thumps of fist and flesh coming together tangled around her spine alongside acrid fear.

  “Er’it,” someone shouted, the burly shape of another male wading into the fray. Grabbing the one who had touched her up by collar and belt to hurl them out into the hall. Far from the bellowing king and into some measure of safety.

  “Get them out of here before I have their heads,” her new master yelled, dragging her further into the suite. Fingers digging deep around the delicate vertebrae of her nape as he clutched Aida against him.

  When the door slammed shut behind the others, he pulled her away. Now she had a name for him, one she didn’t dare utter aloud as he sucked violent breaths through his nose. Chest heaving as he strangled her neck further, he growled.

  “What are you wearing?” Each word enunciated to painful clarity, the razored edge of them shaving away thick cuts of her flesh to flay her alive before his flaming gaze.

  “It’s the only one that doesn’t lace up the back, sir,” Aida mumbled through trembling lips, hand twitching towards her armoire.

  “They…” With a rumbling groan, he shoved her away. Tossing her onto the bed either by chance or design so that Aida sprawled limp across the edge before him. “I see now that I cannot trust you.”

  No matter how hard she blinked, Aida couldn’t stave off that first tear, though it was the only one that escaped her miserable will.

  Chapter 7

  Aida

  He didn’t speak to her again through the entire day though he made her follow in his shadow. Kept well within arm’s reach as he bustled through the haunted remains of the castle and all its darkest secrets, he deigned only to snap his fingers at her. Directing her to sit, to stand, eat, drink. Every movement controlled to his whims.

  It hadn’t been easy, either. For he’d chastised her every time the clamoring tide of armored men stomped towards him and she’d flinched. Grabbing her arm to pull her back into place. Not even looking at her as he snapped and pointed for her to retake her position when she tried to hide from the horde of robed figures who stared. Even when the dark eyed beauty in flowing azure robes trilled her fingers over his arm, smiling up at him. A familiarity there, the woman’s hands knowing the shape of his body, and with far more emotion than Immari had ever shown Aida.

  Not understanding the sickening thrash of emotions twisting through her stomach, Aida crawled deeper inside herself. Hiding away from this new and strange world he thrust upon her with as little regard as he’d treated her body. The same body that ached and stung in a myriad of ways. From the throbbing bruises on her thighs to the stabbing pain between them when she sat without enough care, she felt as if she was alight with injuries. Bloody red bites and the yellowing edge of bruises, she was an artist’s rendering of agony.

  By the end of the interminable day, as she trudged in his wake towards the great hall and all its horrors, she was weary in soul. Forcing each leaden step, the raucous crowd of his people registered as little more than a roiling mass of sound as she wound her way through them. Slumping into the chair he pointed at, Aida remained dazed. Exhausted and wrung to the last tenuous strands of her sensibilities, she stared at the array of food that seemed to appear between one slow blink and the next.

  Aida’s distress grew, pumping life back into numbed bones, when he snapped just before her nose. Flicking the edge of her plate so it shivered across the fine white linen draped over the umber hued table. She couldn’t eat. The very thought made her stomach lurch, a violent cascade of denial burning its way up her throat as she hung her head over the overflowing china. She didn’t recognize half of the fare, the spicy scents as strange as the rich colors and blackened skins.

  Her new master had no such dilemma. Fingers slicked with grease and spice, he ate with gusto from the plates arrayed before him. Slicing off sizeable chunks of dripping meat and dunking them into small pots of gooey substances, he acted as if every bite was more delicious than the last.

  “It is only lamb, fair Lady.”

  Aida jumped at the male voice whispering at her shoulder, the frantic creature of her heart attempting to thump its way free of her chest. She didn’t dare to turn, clenching the table edge so hard her knuckles paled. After the incident this morning, Aida was even less sure of what to do. Remaining still and silent had only brought her master’s anger down upon her head. Speaking seemed to be something he was not fond of either.

  “Do not worry so,” the man said, and now he pulled up the chair beside Aida, in full sight of everyone. Crooked arm resting on the table, he pointed at her plate as he named each. “Lamb stewed in a thick sauce of peppers and cream. This is just one of your chickens, braised with root vegetables. And this is but goat, skewered and roasted over the flame.”

  “What are you doing, Ath’asho?” Anger crackled through the air as her master leaned over, casting Aida in his heated shadow as he addressed the other male.

  “You want her to starve, Er’it?” Ath’asho snorted and pulled a woven basket of fluffy yeast rolls, golden and warm towards Aida.

  “She will eat because I command her to.” Grabbing Aida’s chin, he jerked her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. To see the curl of his lip that held contempt and anger in equal measures.

  “Yes, and we all saw how well that worked last night,” Ath’asho muttered as he leaned over Aida, sliding her plate closer to nudge one of the tiny metal pots closer. “Now this is a Denathi specialty, honey spiced with peppers. I find it exceptionally good on the rolls.”

  “Now eat,” Er’it said on a low growl, the hilt of his knife meeting the table with a decisive wallop.

  “Try it, fair Lady,” Ath’asho murmured, a ragged piece of steaming bread held in offering to her.

  Gaze skittering from Er’it to the bread, Aida swallowed back her refusal. Dry of tears for the moment, she took the torn roll with care. Keeping her fingers as far away from Ath’asho’s as she could, lest he act upon it. At his insistence, she dipped it into the spiced honey and placed the whole lot in her mouth. Chewing as fast as she could, swallowing it down before she could even taste any of it, Aida hoped it would appease them all. Except Ath’asho wasn’t content with a single piece of bread and, it seemed, neither would her master.

  He gave Aida no choice, forcing bite after bite upon her. As soon as she set aside her fork, he offered another morsel. A single glance at Er’it proved begging off would be nothing short of rebellion. It was long into the meal before Aida realized the vicious sloshing of her stomach abated, every small portion settling the tangled threads of her nerves until she didn’t have to choke down every bite. Now she ate with genuine desire, pausing to savor the food both strange and familiar. Even the crowded tables laid out across the hall failed to bother her over much as she filled her belly. The long benches filled to the brim with strange faces and colors, styles of dress both known and exotic, were a strange background to the languid calm seeping through her veins.

  Ath’asho leaned closer, plucking the linen napkin from the table to blot at Aida’s lips after she sampled the sauced lamb. Lips curving with the ghost of humor, she gave a small nod of thanks. Didn’t flinch when he patted her hand, though a line appeared between her brows when he picked that same hand up. Running his thumb over the hills of her knuckles, the rough scrape of it odd in its soothing.