The Seeker Ch. 08

Hi guys, thanks again for sticking with me! I'm releasing this chapter so close to the previous one, I won't have had a chance to read your feedback, so I hope you'll just stick with me. This chapter gets really dark and has lots of triggers, so please skip if it's not your thing. As always, thank you to everyone who is following this story, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

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The blue-eyed guard came to bring her up through the many layers of hell. Concern and fear washed over his face as he clamped chains around her wrists and led her through the darkened passageways. Her legs felt wobbly and weak and by the time they had reached the room she would be prepared in, she was breathing heavily. He steadied her with two gentle hands at her elbows. Kind eyes searched her face. Just before he pushed her through the door, he lowered himself and whispered into her ear. "Just hold on," he'd said.

Hold on.

Hold on to what?

There was no hope for her. All that she had left was revenge. Revenge and the distant chance that she and her child would survive. She didn't see that as hope. She saw it as reality.

Gently, the blue-eyed guard pushed her through the thick wooden door into a room filled with delicious smells. Compared to the rot and the filth of her cell, this place was heaven. A brief escape. A large clawfoot tub sat in the middle of the room. Three scantily clad girls stood around with various vials and containers, waiting for her. Tendrils of steam twisted and swirled with their magnificent scents from the water, the pure clean water, waiting for her in the tub. The guard removed the chains from her wrists and rubbed her skin where they had dug into her wrists. She looked up questioningly at him. Why was he being so gentle with her, so kind?

A girl appeared at her side and handed her a cup of water. Trembling fingers gripped the cup as she gulped it down and handed it back to the girl, thanking her. She wanted to cry. It was the most delicious water she had ever tasted. Clear. Clean. Nothing like the muddy water she was given along with the moldy bread for all the time she was locked in her cell. She circled Laiyla, grabbing hold of the knot at her back that held the fabric binding her chest. With a tug, the knot came apart and the fabric fell to the floor. She helped her undress the rest of the way, her tattered and torn garments falling in a dirty pile at her feet. When she took her boots off, she insisted that she hold them with her, protective of the dagger hidden in the fold.

The girl took her by the arm and led her over to the tub. She looked down at herself. The second she stepped in, the water would be dirtied, turn brown and muddy. She almost didn't want to climb in. At the gentle urging of the girl at her elbow, she reluctantly placed her boots on the ground and hooked a leg over the tub, groaning with pleasure at the feel of the silken scented water.

She quickly got the rest of the way in and completely immersed herself. The girls got to work at once. Suddenly, three pairs of hands were on her, scrubbing and brushing and rubbing. Her hair was detangled and scrubbed. Her scalp was massaged, and she leaned into the feel of it, sighing and moaning. Finally, when they had decided she had been scrubbed clean enough, and the water had turned a murky brown, they pulled her up out of the water and wrapped what she thought was the most luxurious, softest fabric around her body, rubbing and drying her off. Her hair was brushed and braided. The girls massaged scented oils over her skin.

She was led to a table, and the girls gestured for her to lay down with her knees up and legs spread. An uneasy feeling formed in her gut, for more than one reason.

Why haven't they spoken?

The girls remained completely silent, communicating only with gestures and body language. "Can you talk?" she asked them before she climbed up on the table. All three of them shook their heads slowly. One of them looked down at the floor, and Laiyla saw that she was crying.

Anger slammed into her, taking her breath away. I'm going to fucking kill him, she thought, gritting her teeth as she looked over the silent, broken girls before her.

After a minute, they gestured her to the table again, and deciding to trust the silent trio, she climbed up and spread her legs like they wanted. One of them, the shortest of the group, a pretty thing with brown hair and wide doe eyes went over to a small table where a torch had been heating a bowl of a thick, forest green substance. She took it and came back over to where Laiyla lay splayed out on the table. The girl looked at her pleadingly, and Laiyla knew she was asking her for forgiveness, for what she was about to do. Slowly, Laiyla nodded.

The girl reached down and stroked the soft curls on her mound. She stirred the green liquid and with a thick spoon, smeared some of it over the place where hair covered her. It was hot, but it didn't burn, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. After a while, when the wax had cooled, the girl took hold of an edge of it. She looked at Laiyla apologetically before she yanked hard, pulling the hair under the green stuff out with a painful jolt. Laiyla yelped in surprise and narrowed her eyes at the short one between her legs. Again, she gave her that look, the look that told her she didn't want to be doing this as much as Laiyla didn't want to have it done to her.

The game continued, the green substance was smeared hot on her sex, it cooled, and the girl yanked. Over and over and over, until she was completely bare. Her skin was red and sensitive. The girl rubbed cooling oil over where she had attacked her. Laiyla sighed at the feel of the soothing rub. The trio led her over to an area with two chairs and a couch, all of them plush and incredibly comfortable looking. Draped over one of the chairs was a selection of outfits that truly didn't deserve to be called clothing. There was hardly enough fabric to them to justify the label.

The three silently gestured for her to pick out one of the flimsy things. She ran her palm over the thin fabrics. She chose the one she thought would cover her the best, a short dress with a pearlescent sheen to the silken, comfortable material. She slipped it over her head. Despite her objection to the way her breasts were clearly on display through the thin slip and how it barely covered her naked ass, she couldn't deny how good the fabric felt against her skin. Gold threads were woven through her braid and around the top of her head. Rouge was rubbed onto her cheeks and lips, and something dark was smoothed over her eye lids. She was directed toward a mirror at the center of the room.

She did not recognize the young Fae staring back at her.

She was too thin; the toned and lithe muscles of her body had wasted away to skin and bone during her endless days in the cell. Her eyes were darkened with knowledge and pain beyond her years. The rouge on her cheeks and lips gave her color against pale skin, the honeyed tone having been slightly washed out by what felt like years in her dungeon. The collar sat firmly on her neck, the closed eye gleaming in the torch light.

The collar from her dream. Interwoven with a delicate tiara.

The branch.

A figure darkened the space behind her. Damien towered over her shoulder, staring greedily at her reflection in the mirror. Clammy, pudgy fingers rested on her shoulders as he looked down approvingly at her smoothed, oiled skin and tiny, revealing outfit. She shivered involuntarily at his touch, disgusted by the feel of him. He must have mistaken it for a sign of her fear, because he chuckled softly and dug his fingers into her shoulders. "Are you ready to have some fun, Laiyla?" he asked, his voice the same gravelly and venomous tone she had first heard in the throne room.

"I'm always ready, Damien." She knew she faced hours of torture and humiliation, but she was not afraid of the man pressing his erection into her ass. She knew that, sooner or later, his blood would coat her fingers, and his terrible eyes would dull as she stared into them, making him know that it was her who had ended his life. That was all that mattered now.

All the whispers in the night, the things Eila had told her during that precious time with her after all the pain of the bonding, all of it circled around in her head and fell firmly into place as he smiled wickedly at her reflection.

The moon rises. Do not hesitate. Wait for the dagger to sing.

At the time, she had thought the whispers were about Venlen. Now she knew better. She was supposed to kill the devil at her back. It was her fate, her purpose. She would not back down now.

Two men appeared at her side, the blue-eyed guard and the brute, Malich. The one who had held her as the collar was put around her neck. If they expected tears and a pleading struggle, they would be disappointed. Instead, through the mirror, she gave them both a look of pure hatred. She stared them down before they spun her around and walked her out of the room. Frantic, Laiyla looked back to where her boots still lay on the ground beside the tub. One of the girls stood by them. She picked up the boot with her dagger, giving her a knowing look and an encouraging smile. She cocked her head at the girl, something dangerously close to hope creeping in. Perhaps she had an ally in this wicked place after all.

Damien followed leisurely. Malich smiled at her and gripped her arm so hard he would leave bruises. The blue-eyed man looked stricken and pale. They walked her into a room larger than the whole cabin that had once been her prison and led her over to a bed three times the size she had slept in. Above the bed, attached to the wall, were two metal rings. Thick leather straps hung threateningly from them, sprawled out across the soft white pillows in terrible juxtaposition. She snapped her head to the blue-eyed guard, accusation and malice in her eyes. He hung his head.

They walked her over to the bed and forced her onto it. Together, they held her down and caught her wrists, slipping her hands through the straps and tightening them. Malich was rough and tugged on the straps so hard her fingers blanched, and she bit her lip to hold back a scream. The other guard, the one who had whispered such soft words of comfort, all of them sick lies, was gentle and tugged on the restraints lightly. She glared at him. She had expected this treatment from Malich, but to have someone who had been so kind to her tighten the restraints she knew would be her undoing was beyond redemption.

Malich stood up, glaring down at her with a loathing she did not understand. Did he hate her because she was a seeker? Did he resent that she had escaped the fate her family had suffered? She didn't know. She didn't care. When the time came, she would kill him too.

He stomped off into the hallway, leaving the blue-eyed guard alone with her for a moment. He tugged once more on her restraint, looking at her with devastated eyes. She didn't care. He might regret it, but he was still participating in her ruin. He inched closer and whispered in her ear. "Just hold on. We're coming for you."

Coming for me?

Before she had a chance to ask who was coming for her, he was gone, and Damien was in the doorway, his massive frame blocking out the light of the torches lining the hall. He licked his lips as he stared down at her bound wrists, at the slip that barely covered her, at the fresh bruises the brute had left on her arm.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Let's just get this over with, Damien," she growled.

He just smiled maliciously at her, crossing the room to where she sat bound on the bed. She sat on the white pillow, the hard wood of the bedframe pressing into her back. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, blocking as much from his view as she could. He sat on the bed next to her and dragged a long fingernail down her calf, then up again to the inside of her knees. She pressed them together, but her strength had been drained from starvation and inactivity, and he easily spread her legs apart.

"Oh Laiyla. I don't want you to worry. We have plenty of time." He caressed her now hairless mound, then slipped a pudgy finger through her slit and up to her clit. She gave him no reaction. He disgusted her. His lips pulled up in a sneer when he found her unresponsive to his touch.

Pulling away, he stood up and crossed the large room to a polished oak table. He pulled on a handle under the smooth surface and took something out of the drawer.

It was a whip.

"I have a surprise for you, sweetheart. I think you'll really enjoy this." His voice was thick with arousal. "Bring her in," he barked at the door. A guard she didn't recognize appeared and pulled a large, round figure in, passive and afraid.

It was Sonya.

She spun around to Damien who was smiling wickedly at her, toying with the whip in his hands. "Now, I'm used to making the decisions around here, sweetheart. But tonight, I'm making an exception. I'll leave this up to you. Either you participate in all the fun I have planned for you," he paused, and let the whip unravel to the floor where it made a soft slap. "Or your dear friend here will suffer for your obstinance. You see? I can be a reasonable man. So what will it be, sweetheart? Will you play with me? Or do I get to have some fun with Sonya here instead?"

He walked over to the wide-eyed cook, rubbing the handle of the whip up and down her arm. Sonya struggled in the grip of the guard, a fearful, high pitched whimper escaping her throat.

"STOP! Stop it! Leave her alone!"

Damien turned to her with predatory eyes. "Say it, Laiyla."

She leveled a fatal look at him. "I'll play your games, you sick fuck. Just let her go."

With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed the guard without looking back. Sonya was dragged out of the room, and although she had no reason to, she prayed that he would be true to his word, that Sonya would be safe.

"Send them in," he barked again at the door. Two of the girls who had prepared her in the other room appeared and walked over to the bed, stroking Laiyla and nuzzling into the nape of her neck. Their soft lips bit gently at her ear and down her throat, their hands slipped up the flimsy fabric she wore, running slender hands up her side and fondling her breast and nipple. Laiyla kept her eyes on Damien, the same murderous look on her face as she stared him down.

He took a chair from the table and sat down, crossing his legs and setting them up on the bed, his hands behind his head.

"Enjoying the view, Damien?" she snarled as one of the girls slipped two fingers inside of her, pumping in and out as she played with her clit.

"Very much, sweetheart." His voice was quiet, almost gentle. Laiyla gripped the thick leather above where her wrists were bound, determined not to let him see the shudder that was building inside of her. The girl whose fingers were fucking her glided up to press her velvety lips to Laiyla's. Damien saw that she did not react and growled. "You said you would play, Seeker. Do I have to bring Sonya back in?"

Laiyla bit back a cry of frustration. Reluctantly, she returned the kiss, parting her lips as a little pink tongue darted into her mouth. If this was the worst he had, she could deal with it. These girls were just as much a captive as she was. The second girl, who had pulled the fabric down to expose her breast and was now sucking gently on her nipple, was the same girl who had held her boot knowingly. She could give herself over to them. If she lost herself in the pleasure, she could forget that he sat watching. She moaned when soft fingers pressed on her clit and rubbed it in circles as she added a third finger to thrust inside of her. The girl pumped her fingers faster, drawing little gasps and moans from Laiyla as she explored the Fae's mouth with her tongue. The leather straps were long enough that the girls could lay her flat on the bed, continuing to suck and thrust and kiss.

She felt an undoing below her hardened surface, a tight coil unraveling as fingers continued to violate. Just as she was nearing the crest of that terrible wave, wet fingers slid out of her and left her empty and aching. The girl brought her fingers up to her mouth, breaking their kiss to slip them past her lips. Laiyla tasted herself, sucking gently at slender fingers. The one fondling her breasts suddenly moved down the bed and hooked Laiyla's leg under her arm, positioning herself at Laiyla's wet opening. Before she could move, a hot mouth was on her. Laiyla let out a gasp as a soft tongue swirled and sucked on her clit, another pair of supple lips covering her cries and mewls. Small teeth gently bit down as she slipped two fingers inside her wet entrance, and Laiyla bucked her hips to get closer to the sensation.

She heard a snap of fingers, and suddenly, the girls were gone, leaving her empty and cold. She almost cried out in frustration, but she bit her lip as Damien crawled closer, climbing over the foot of the bed to where she lay, exposed and aching. He covered her small body and pressed into her. His hand reached between them and he shoved a finger into her. "Now that's better, isn't it, sweetheart? Now you're ready for me. I didn't want to ruin you before I got the chance to fuck your wet, tight cunt."

He flipped her over onto her stomach and she heard him undoing his buckle and pulling his pants down. He slid an arm under her hips and lifted her, forcing her onto her knees, her forearms bracing her on the bed. The leather straps twisted and cut into her wrists painfully. She tried to look over her shoulder at him, but he grabbed her braid and yanked hard, making her back arch and her hips open wider for him. He growled in satisfaction and pawed at her ass. She felt the head of his cock at her entrance. Everything in her wanted to struggle, wanted to fight. She bit down on her lower lip hard, drawing blood. She moved away from herself, thoughts of Sonya circling her mind. When he shoved into her, violently, all at once, she wanted to scream, but she didn't make a sound. He pumped in and out of her, and she knew that he was trying to make this painful, that he wanted her screams and whimpers and tears. He would get none of that from her.

She gripped the leather straps and gritted her teeth as he continued pound into her. The sound of wet slaps as his hips met hers were lewd and brutal. When the urge to cry overwhelmed her, she thought of the collar around her neck. She thought of the arrow digging into Venlen's shoulder, the knife shoved deep in his gut. He thought about his threats to Sonya, about his plan to use her for her magic and his desire to have an heir. She thought about what he would do to her daughter, to her, if he ever found out. She held onto the straps and let the anger and hate consume her. As he split her apart, as he tore through her, breaking her from the inside, she gripped onto that hate like nothing else in the world mattered. She drifted away, wrapped in the heat of her revulsion, thinking of nothing but the look on his face when she would plunge the dagger into his cold, black heart.

She felt him jerk and grunt, and she was suddenly filled with a fire that burned her from the inside. His sweaty body fell onto her back as he reached around to tug sharply on her nipples. She didn't flinch. He growled low in her ear as he twisted and yanked. "One way or another, sweetheart, I'll make you scream." Her blood boiled. Her hate twisted. She grabbed onto it, gripping it like she gripped the leather straps under her palms.

He tugged on the leather attached to the rings over the bed, undoing the knot that held her tight. They were released, and he pulled out of her and yanked on the straps, tugging her off the bed and across the room. She saw a hook hanging down from the ceiling in front of a wooden post in the middle of the room. He pulled the leather bindings up to knot them around the hook, so she was facing the post, her back exposed to him. He jerked on the flimsy slip she wore, tearing it at the shoulders. It slid down her body and dropped at her feet. He reached around to roughly fondle her breast, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.