Private Tales Pact of Flame

[Saeris]

She recoiled from his touch, a sharp tremor running through her as she expected to feel the searing heat of the hands that still branded her skin. Tears threatened but she forced them back, squeezing her eyes shut until stars sparked behind her lids. Her body betrayed her, shuddering despite her desperate stillness.

When he yanked her upright, a strangled sound tore in her throat, pain more than protest. Her legs refused her, and she sagged in his grip, knees buckling before she could catch herself. Every breath hurt. Every muscle and nerve screamed.

She opened her bloodshot eyes at last, and they stung. The world swam, but she fixed her gaze on him all the same. Her brow furrowed, a faint twitch of confusion at the shape he wore now. For a moment she didn’t recognise him, only the towering shadow from the night before, the thing that had broken her. It was him, though, there was no mistaking it, and her eyes burned with equal parts fear and hatred as they blinked heavily at him.

She refused to move, to speak, and to look at him for a moment longer as her gaze fell to the floor.

 

[Azrakar]

Azrakar tightened his grip as her knees buckled, lifting her weight with insulting ease. Her body sagged against his hand, trembling, but he refused to let her crumple to the stone. He wanted her upright and staring into the truth of her defeat.

“Good,” he rumbled when her eyes at last cracked open, the word thick with dark satisfaction. “You will not hide from me forever.”

Her gaze wavered, burning with confusion, fear, hatred. He drank it in, savoring every flicker of rebellion that still dared to live behind her ruined stare.

“You look at me as though I should be the same as last night,” he said, his free hand tracing the inked lines across his chest, smearing blood from the cut she had given him.

“Do not mistake flesh and blood for weakness. This shape…” he gestured down at himself with something like mockery, “…is just another choice. The demon you faced still stands before you, Huntress.”

He released her slowly, letting her fall back to her knees.

“Do you feel it?” His voice was low, dangerous, circling her like a predator. “The pull of the prophecy? It binds you to me.”

He crouched before her, bringing his face down level with hers. She could not avoid his gaze now; his fingers caught her chin and forced it up, burning eyes pinning her in place.

“You will learn, Saeris,” he murmured, voice like velvet over steel. “Your fear feeds me. Your hatred amuses me. But your surrender…” A cruel smile flickered. “…your surrender will remake you.”

With that, he released her chin, standing tall again, looking down at her as if she were already claimed.

"I expect if I left you to my servants you would kill one and then kill yourself. So it falls to me to get you cleaned up and your wounds tended."

"Now..." he strode around her and grasped her arms to lift her up.

"...tell me about that shard you brought here."

 

[Saeris]

"All I feel is revulsion," she said hoarsely, her voice raw but steady. The words scraped her throat on the way out, tasting of blood and defiance.

"I do not fear. I do not hate. And I do not fucking surrender."

It was a lie, and they both knew it, but she forced every syllable through clenched teeth as if sheer will alone could make it true.

The shard at her throat pulsed faintly, a flicker of shadow creeping across the stone as if it drank in her words. Liar, a voice hissed, silken and cruel, drifting straight into her skull. You taste of terror and spite. You cling to them like a starving child clings to crumbs.

When he hauled her upright again, her body protested with a sharp, involuntary hiss of pain. She bit down on it, jaw locking until her teeth ached.

Her eyes fixed on the ground, cold and unyielding despite the tears that burned at their corners. Her silence after that was deliberate, calculated. The only power she had left was to deny him the satisfactions he spoke of.

Inside, her thoughts were a litany. Just bide your time. Wait. Watch. Endure.

The shard laughed.

 

[Azrakar]

Her words hit him like sparks against iron: brief, bright, and utterly harmless. He could smell the lie clinging to them. He let the silence stretch, savoring the way she clenched her teeth against the truth.

He felt her bite down on the sound of pain, stubborn even now. It drew a low growl of amusement from him.

He turned and dragged her with him. His stride unhurried and absolute. Iron-collared goblins scattered from their path as he marched her down a narrow corridor. They stopped and bowed.

Not to Azrakar, but to her. Their new queen.

Heat seemed to gather in the stone as they descended. Ahead, a door of blackened bronze exhaled steam. The hinges groaning as he forced it open.

The chamber beyond was heavy with mist. Warm rivulets of water streamed down dark stone walls. Just like the other corridors, orange crystals had been forced into the walls and bathed the room in a dull light. The air clung thick to the skin, beading his tattoos with sweat. It smelled of iron, earth and something almost cleansing.

Azrakar shoved her forward into the room, letting her stumble before him. He wasn't as monstrously large as when he had picked her up and toyed with her. He still stood above her, his hands large against her back.

“Your body breaks. Your spirit lies.” his gaze fixed on the faint glow at her throat, pupils narrowing with something more than hunger.

“But I don't understand that. I would see how deeply it has sunk its claws into you.”

He stepped in after her, the door thundering shut behind them. Steam curled around his horns, his size filling the chamber until it felt smaller, suffocating. It was awkward work but he removed the tunic she had been provided with.

From a niche in the wall he pulled out a wooden bowl of water, already warmed by the chamber. He dipped a cloth into it, wrung it out with fingers that could crush stone

 

[Saeris]

Saeris stumbled but refused to fall, forcing her shaking legs to lock and keep her upright as the door boomed shut behind them. The sound made the small, mist-choked chamber feel even more like a trap.

Her wounds were raw and bleeding, her body broken and bruised, but she grit her teeth against the pain of his touch, of every step she was forced to take. She glared at the goblins as they scattered, her frown deepening when they bowed, assuming it had been for their demon king. She'd have their heads off their shoulders, if she could.

The heat in the room prickled against her skin, mingling with the blood and sweat and ash that clung to her like another layer of clothing. She took in everything, cataloguing it in silence, her jaw ached from how tightly she kept it clenched as he spoke to her.

When he stripped the tunic from her she jerked back as far as the ropes would allow, teeth flashing in a snarl. The struggle was weak, her body too battered to put up much resistance, but she refused to make it easy for him.

Her chest heaved, her breath shallow and sharp as she glared at him through the damp strands of her hair, face streaked with sweat and blood.

“I can wash myself,” she rasped at last, voice hoarse. The words were not a plea but a command, as if she still had the right to decide anything for herself.