She pouted, but complied. He had thought that it would be less intimate to watch rather than touch, but now he was being subjected to a show. She squeezed the wet cloth over her breasts and let the water run down over her body.
“Why did you come for me if you didn’t want me?”
“I will always come for you.”
She smiled a little, a delicate twist of her lips. She had been changed. She was more fully herself now. More in possession of her body and her expressions, more aware of what they could do. Did the Dark teach her that? Did he school her in the ways of feminine seduction?
“You’re sweet, Bryn.”
The red lines trammeling her ass said otherwise, but he did not point that out. She had accepted her punishment with something like grace. He was not so gullible as to expect that she was truly accepting of it. It was likely not nearly as bad as anything the Dark had done to her. It was also only the beginning. He could not be sweet for long.
The long day had waned. Hail was asleep in the bed which had always been hers. It was the one room which had not been emptied out from the den. Bryn had never been able to bring himself to do it. He had been through it lightly once, and found store upon store of forbidden items and contraband. He would have expected nothing different.
Once Hail had taken to her bed, Bryn locked her door from the outside and left her to sleep. He would have returned to his own bed, but for the uncomfortable feeling that she was not safe. Not even here, in the den. Not under lock and key.
She might have been safer in his bed, arguably, but in his bed she would be in danger from the lusts of the one sworn to protect her. So he put his back to her door, and he slid down to the floor. He sat in vigil through the night until he heard sounds coming from within the room. Waking from what did not begin to resemble sleep, he stepped into Hail’s room.
Bryn had left a light burning in the hopes it would drive back the Dark, but it had not. Hail was naked and writhing, her eyes open but not seeing. Shadows wrapped themselves lovingly around her, plunging between her thighs. The effect was eerie. He could not see the form of the Dark but he could see what the beast was doing to her, wrapping her in tendrils which pleasured all the sensitive parts of her form.
The beast knew he was there. It spread Hail’s legs wide and retreated from her cunt, allowing him to see that dripping hole which pulsed with internal need. The dark smaller aperture beneath winked for him as the young woman was spread in invitation.
Take her. Use her.
This was the Dark's invitation. Unspoken and yet as loud as a war cry.
“Bryn…” she moaned his name. “Bryn, make me feel good.”
It would have been so easy to stride forward and sink inside her. But Bryn knew a trap when he saw one. The Dark had turned Hail into a living, writhing, dripping, begging fuck-ambush.
It was an appeal to the monster which lay at the heart of every man, and which was strong inside Bryn. Hail was beautiful, and realized in this carnal way, she was almost impossibly appealing. He wanted her. Of course he wanted her. The Dark was counting on his desire, and hoping it was stronger than his sense of morality.
“Begone, demon. You are not welcome here. This girl is not yours. You abandoned her here, cursed and lost. She is not yours to touch.”
He kept his voice even, but strong. It worked. Not because of him, but because the Dark was done for the moment regardless. It had put on its little show. It had demonstrated that its essence was inside her and that it could continue to manipulate her. Bryn had to keep himself calm, not give into anger or horror. Not allow himself to be manipulated. It was not easy. He heard a chuckle as the beast departed to torment elsewhere.
Hail settled down against the bed, her need-streaked inner thighs slowly closing of their own accord. Her pink face and her equally flushed breasts were alluring and beautiful, still begging to be caressed even though she was asleep, exhausted by the use of the Dark. Bryn drew the covers back over her. Instead of leaving the room, he sat down beside her bed. She could not be trusted alone.
Could he?
Thirteen
Master or Hound
“Bryn?”
Hail peered over the edge of the bed to see him asleep on the floor like a dog. No, like a hound, guarding her. He looked good down there, his leather armor showing the lines of his body. Bryn was well made by any measure. He was broad shouldered and lean hipped. His stubble was coming in thick. He had not stopped to look after himself since he recaptured her.