The Game (A Dark Romance)

“Bath time.”

Twelve

Take Her. Use Her.

He had never seen her completely naked before.

Hail was lying in his bath, a copper vessel which Bryn had to bring his knees almost up to his nose to fit comfortably inside, but which she somehow seemed to lounge quite comfortably in.

Her cheeks were flushed pink. It might have been the warm water, or perhaps the after effects of his lash, but he thought it was neither of those things. It was her maidenly embarrassment at being seen so nude by him. He was glad to see her blush. Only the innocent blushed. If the Dark had left her the capacity for shame, then he had left her some of her innocence as well. It made sense. There was no fun in complete corruption. The demon did not want her entirely mad. He wanted her on the blade’s edge between sweetness and insanity.

“Must you look?”

“Yes.”

Her blush deepened, and so did his hope.

“Why?”

“Because I do not want anything happening to you that I am not aware of. My eyes will remain on you every minute of every day until I am satisfied that every bit of that thing has been purged from your body.”

“Will a bath absolve me of the Dark?”

“No. The bath is because you stink.”

“Rude,” Hail laughed. She splashed a little water at him, and he laughed too. These were good and rich sounds. More hints of innocence and joy. Bryn began to think that this might not be as difficult as he had imagined. Perhaps she was somewhat resistant to the Dark. Or maybe the beast had not made as great an impression as Bryn had feared.

“I don’t think I’m getting clean,” she complained. “There's something wrong with the water.

Bryn looked back down and to his horror, saw that she was no longer floating in grimy, soapy water. Instead she was floating in a sanguine brew.

He pulled her out of what had been water, cursing. How typical that it should come at the moment of supreme arrogance on his part, the reminder that the Dark was never as far away as it seemed.

“What is that!? Is it blood?” Hail clung to him and he held her close. “Am I bleeding?”

“No, lass. You’re not bleeding.”

It was not blood. It came from the Dark. It came from corruption interacting with common material.

“It’s a trick of the Dark,” Bryn sighed. “We’ll have to bathe you during the daylight hours. Let me sponge that off you.”

This was even more intimate than the bath had been. He was touching her all over, a cloth between his palm and her skin as he soothed away the red liquid which was already forming a crust. The Dark was not going to let her go so easily. A spanking and a bath was not going to cut it. But this was only the beginning.

“Do you like touching me, Bryn?”

Her voice was soft and genuinely curious. He expected it to be arch and seductive, another trick of the Dark. He had a tendency to turn those he touched into seducers, and if the tales of her antics in Old Rahvin were anything to go by, then she knew how to play that game.

“I’ll be happy when you’re cleaned up, lass.”

He was retreating into his old, sanitized role. The one where he was a protector and a father figure. The one where any impropriety was simply impossible.

“You’re afraid of me,” she said, more perceptively than he expected. “Not that I’ll hurt you physically, but that I’ll make you be something you don’t want to be. That’s why you’re doing this. Not to save me. To keep you from admitting you want me.”

His hand lingered at her hip for a moment. She was right. He wanted her, but he did not want to give in to that wanting. It was the work of the Dark, and once he let himself be influenced by that, he was as lost as she was.

“I’m not afraid of you, lass. You’ve been a whelp of mine since you can remember. I don’t touch my girls.”

“But I’m not your girl anymore, if I ever was. And you’re touching me now…”

He was. But not in the way she wanted. Her nipples were hard, two little nubs of desire indicating that there must be even more desire leaking from between her thighs.

Bryn felt an answering stirring, but he kept himself in control. She had been violated by the Dark, of that he was certain. Then she had been accosted by men who had tried to violate her. Her desire was not his to exploit. It was not being given freely, and it was not being given out of anything resembling affection.

He slid the cloth into her hand, and presented her a fresh jug of water. “Finish washing yourself,” he said, retreating a few steps.