by Cebelius
I should be able to ignore this. I am a grown woman, this sort of ... voyeurism, is beneath me.
Shy's every breath was a half-sob now and the sounds had grown more pronounced. Mila could hear the way their bodies collided. Her nostrils opened as she inhaled deeply and caught the faintest traces of a citrus tang mixed with the heavy masculine scent Terry was giving off.
This is so unfair ...
One of her hands slid involuntarily between her thighs. She cupped herself, squeezed, gasped as the tingling pleasure radiated through her. She had long since come to the conclusion that sex wasn't going to be part of her life. Those few times she had felt arousal with her master, his callous disregard had served to effectively quell her desire. She had never wanted anyone to look at her the way he had — as an object of visceral satisfaction and nothing more — ever again. Now, listening to Terry and Shy only feet away, feeling the tingling warmth that spread through her as she replaced the dryad in her mind's eye with herself, the want of him grew so acute that her fingers moved on their own in a desperate, second-best bid to satisfy her craving.
She had no experience pleasuring herself and her claws kept unsheathing, poking her and constantly disrupting her efforts. Curled in as she was, she found establishing a rhythm that would get her closer to the relief she needed more difficult than it should have been. If she rolled onto her back, spread her legs, it would be both easier to achieve satisfaction ... and completely impossible to even hope that her scent wouldn't cover the whole room. As it was her arousal was seeping through her blankets.
The sounds beyond the wall changed abruptly, and Mila heard what she imagined to be a hand clamping down over parted lips. A heavily muffled groan. Satiated panting.
This is so unfair!
Her frustration at her own efforts finally made Mila jerk her fingers away from herself, clamp her thighs tightly together, and begin a centering mantra she hadn't needed to use in years. It was a long, agonizing ten minutes of strictly exercised mental control before her physical cravings receded, leaving behind a dull ache that made her curl around herself and want to cry.
It is not fair that he does this to me ... I should not have to deal with this, why did he let Shy have her way here in a dungeon? It is unprofessional!
She could still smell him, smell them. She knew if she had to lay there in the dark, inhaling that heady, erotic, slightly citrus scent all night, she would go mad.
Mila had resigned herself to chanting her mantra under her breath until she passed out when a voice almost too quiet to hear sounded from just next to her.
"It's frustrating, isn't it."
It took her a moment to place the voice, but by the time she'd recovered from the shock of it, her ears flattened and she whispered, "Prada, what are you doing here?"
"Asturial is asleep. She doesn't need a face while she's sleeping. You don't have to pretend, Mila. Tremor-sense, remember?"
The insides of her ears seemed to catch fire, and she squeezed her eyes shut. In the dark it made no difference, but she did it anyway as she hissed, "So? You have come to make fun of me? I have had quite enough trouble because of you!"
"May I join you?" Prada asked quietly. "We could speak with no chance of being overheard."
"In my blankets?" Mila was confused.
"Just say 'yes,' Prada said.
"Fine, yes. Join me. No funny business!"
Mila felt her then: Prada slid across her head and around both her ears, covering them completely. When she spoke, it sounded as though she were speaking at normal volume as she said, "Simply sub-vocalize what you wish to say. Do not open your mouth or whisper."
"Like this?" Mila said, keeping her lips closed but forming the words with the bare minimum of breath.
"Perfect. Now perhaps we can chat. Yes, I influenced the way Terry fed you mana. I have watched you through his eyes, and I know all his thoughts. I examined his memory of you, of your time with him. I know you want to be with him. I suspect you have two concerns. The first would be what happens to you if you bond with a template ... the second would be his other bonds. Correct?"
Mila was equal parts irritated and interested. She suspected Prada was about to make her an offer. That was what devils did, after all.
"Go on," she said.
"I have spoken with his bonds concerning you. Laina, Shy, and I all agree that you would be welcome. Knowing what I do of Euryale, if Terry wants you, so does she. That makes it unanimous among those of us who remain with him."
Mila digested that, trying to decide if she should be offended or relieved that Prada had taken the initiative away from her. A fresh waft of Terry's scent tickled her nose and both distracted her and helped make up her mind.
Relieved. In the depths of a dungeon is no time to get prickly with teammates. LATER, I will be offended.
"That still does not solve the other problem," Mila said, trying to focus on anything other than how easy it would be to let thoughts of Terry, the scent of him, distract her further.
"Is it a problem?" Prada asked. "Do you genuinely believe a bond with Terry would be to your detriment?"
"What if it turns me into a monster?" Mila asked. "Terry would not want me."
The tigress was startled to hear Prada laughing. It sounded natural to her, and she glanced around in apprehension, certain everyone else should also be able to hear, but no one stirred. Eventually, Prada's laughter subsided, but her voice was still richly amused as she said, "Do not take this the wrong way, Mila Kolenko, but my husband already considers you to be a monster, and not just you. Everyone on Celestine."
"But that is ridiculous!" Mila said. "How could he live ... in such a world ..."
All at once, it made sense. The way he always felt like prey to her. She knew now where that feeling came from. It wasn't because he was inherently weak, it was because he saw himself constantly surrounded by monsters, not people.
"With great difficulty." There was no amusement in Prada's tone now. "My husband is surrounded by monsters. Everyone he meets has some natural weapon or innate ability that can kill him. The world he comes from is dangerous, make no mistake, but he spent his young life preparing for those dangers. He is accustomed to dealing with other templates who wish him harm. He can read their faces, interpret their body language, knows what to expect and how to react. He knew where he fit in that society, and how to handle himself there. Here? Not so much."
"No wonder he always feels like prey," Mila said.
"Yet he voluntarily bound himself to one of the most terrifying monsters in all of myth, a woman no one in his own world believes ever actually existed. A woman who could kill him in a fit of pique, or even accidentally. One bite from one strand of Euryale's hair, and he would be dead in only a few moments if I am not there to strain the poison from his blood.
"Then there is my own case. To borrow the rudest phrasing from his own mind, he took a 'blob of blood' to wife. Do you honestly believe then that he could abandon you, once he accepts responsibility?"
Mila thought about that, then admitted, "I still fear for myself."
Prada hesitated, then said, "There is a theory among those of us who have bonds with Terry. I warn you that this is only a theory, but I feel it may help you make a decision. Shy, Laina, and I all got what we most wanted out of our bond. It may be that Shu got what she wanted as well. Cecaelia almost certainly did. So the question is, what do you want most, Mila Kolenko? And if you got it, what would that make you? Some wishes are self-destructive, after all."
As she said that last, Mila detected more than a hint of rueful acceptance, and wondered what a blood devil wanted more than anything else. Since Prada had been so invasive of late, she decided to do likewise.
"Tell me what you got from Terry," Mila said. "I need to know."
For a long moment, Prada said nothing. It may have been a few seconds, it may have been a minute or more. In the dark, time was fickle. Finally though, Prada asked, "Will you promise to keep this a secret? I w
ill not bargain with you, my vows forbid it, but I would appreciate it if what I tell you next remains between us."
"I can do that."
"But will you?"
"No bargains."
Mila didn't know how a 'blob of blood' could sigh, but Prada managed it as she said, "I suppose that's fair. I wanted to be Terry's ideal woman."
Mila's ears flicked, and she tilted her head despite the fact that here in the dark the gesture was useless. "But why? He accepted you on your own terms."
"Template blood is far and away the most potent blood on Celestine. To me, absent any intellectual or emotional considerations, he is still an eternal, divine feast that I would be foolish to surrender or risk losing access to. I wanted to make sure I could stay with him no matter what. I can now be any woman he wants, Mila. I could be Shy. I could be Laina ... I could be you."
A chill settled into Mila's spine and her limbs grew weak as she remembered what Yuri had said about how a Doppelgänger could become someone else.
"I sense a drop in blood pressure ... I am confident given that reaction that you understand. Any woman he wanted, I could be ... but at the cost of losing him if he ever found out. The only woman I can ever be, and stay with him, is myself. The irony is a bit thick, yes?"
"Just a bit."
"I'll take the scent of him out of your nose if you like, and you can sleep. Once you're out I'll leave you. Think on what I have said ... and you are right. He accepted me on my own terms. That in itself is worth more than what I wanted, is more than I could ever repay. My husband has grown me in so many ways, and I will stay close to him, as myself. Sleep well."
A sudden thought occurred to Mila, and she asked, "Prada?"
"Yes?"
"You can mimic anything, and you've seen Terry's memories."
After a moment's hesitation, Prada said, "I'm not sure I like where this line of reasoning is headed."
"I want ... to hear his favorite song."
"No. For many reasons, not least of which is that it has not occurred to Terry that I can do this. I do not want him to know ... I do not want him to lose himself yearning for what he cannot have. Perhaps someday he will accept Celestine as his home. Then I will bring his music into this world, but now? No. I refuse. I will do nothing for you that I would not do for him. He is my husband, Mila Kolenko. If I share this part of him with you now, it would hurt him."
"I might tell him if you do not."
Mila immediately regretted the words, but she couldn't take them back. They had left her without a conscious will behind them, formed from her selfish desires. She hastily said, "Forget it, Prada. I will not tell him."
"I trust you ... but I thought better of you, Mila Kolenko. Deal with his scent and your desire for him on your own. Sleep well."
Prada left her then, and regret assaulted Mila until she felt she wanted to scream.
Sleep was a long time coming, and her dreams were fitful and darkly erotic.
24
Down for Stranger
Terry had woken twice during the night, both times shivering with the aftereffects of nightmare. The first time, Shy had been dislodged from her place on his shoulder. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep in company, but after that he had curled up in one of the corners despite her protestations. Laina had said nothing, but Terry had heard her breathing change and she wasn't exactly good at hiding things from what he could tell.
He'd woken them both.
The second time, he woke because his head jerked in his sleep and he brained himself on the wall he was resting against. At least that time there'd been no one close to him — no one else would know.
Intellectually, he knew that his nightmares weren't something he could control. He knew they weren't his fault ... but that didn't mean they didn't have consequences. It didn't mean he wasn't ashamed of them, angry at himself for his inability to keep his shit together. As the days passed, he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever get a good night's sleep again.
He'd begun to doubt it.
As it was he startled awake as he felt movement near him, and saw that beyond the wall Mila had erected, there was a soothing green light. The tiger woman was up at least, and so it was likely others were as well. Laina certainly was, though in the dim light he couldn't tell much about her expression.
"Let's get this out of the way now, yeah? Folks are just getting up, and I'd like to make sure everyone has a good breakfast."
Whatever she might have thought of having her sleep disrupted the night before, she said nothing about it, and Terry was grateful for the omission. He milked her in silence, and then took the produce out to the rest of the group once he and Shy had their fill.
As he set the pails down, Laina stepped out behind him and said, "Drink up, everybody. I ran out of bottles last night. What we have will keep as long as they're in the bags, but ... I still produce, and you folks are welcome to it."
Everyone thanked her, even Asturial, which surprised Terry more than a little.
Conversation over breakfast was desultory and Terry wasn't the only one casting glances at the trapdoor they'd be going through once it was over. Like all the other portals they'd seen in the Labyrinth, this one had a light blue glow associated with it, at least to his eye.
When they opened it, they would be following the last of the instructions in the riddle and — presumably — would enter the next phase of the Labyrinth. Given where they were currently, no one had any real idea what would happen.
They packed their gear, Terry and Marcus reallocated the number of bottles of Laina's milk between them in the event they were split up, and everyone filled their water-skins from the bottomless flask Marcus kept in his pack.
When all was prepared, Terry squatted next to the trapdoor, took a deep breath, and looked back at everyone, getting a nod from each.
Last of all was Yuri, who added, "Stay where you appear, and survey the area. When we arrive, we need to know immediately if there is magic around and if so, what color it is. Mila will do the rest. I hate to put this on you, Boss, but given you are the only one who has a skill like this ..."
The tiger shrugged. "Mila's spell only lasts a few seconds, and it only works on her."
The implication was clear, and Terry not only understood, he agreed. There was no way they'd be sending Mila into the unknown first.
"I got you," Marcus rumbled. The big man had his shield on one arm and his mace hung loose in his other hand. He was ready for anything.
"Oh-kay ... here we go!"
Terry hauled on the ring, and found himself in another place.
They had discussed the probability that all of them would be sent at the same time. It had happened that way through every other room on the first floor after all, but as he looked around, Terry found himself alone.
He stood in a room with a single long opening that comprised what would otherwise have been the upper half of the wall, and left a solid stone barrier between him and whatever might lay beyond. As it was, darkness was all he could see. A single torch was centered on the wall opposite the opening, and he stood directly under that.
"Hello, Terry Mack."
Terry tilted his head, glancing down and to his left to look at a woman leaning against the wall just next to him. She had her hands folded behind the small of her back with her shoulders pressed to the stone, and she wasn't looking at him. Her profile was of a woman of Mediterranean descent, and no more than average looks. If Terry were asked to be completely honest, he'd have pegged her at a four on the ten scale. Not hideous, but truly unfortunate.
The woman's eyebrow was bushy, thick, and singular on her forehead. Her nose was a few sizes too large for her face, and her olive skin had a sallow cast not at all helped by the firelight.
One thing that instantly set her apart from every other woman he'd met since coming to Celestine though; she was — to all appearances — human.
He paused, considering her more carefully. She wore a gown of white under a dee
p red toga that concealed her figure almost completely. Almost, as Terry could still tell that she was lugging around a spare tire. Or two. Exercise was clearly not part of her daily routine. She wasn't the Michelin Man, but he wasn't exactly eager to see her in a crop-top anytime soon.
I don't know what I expected, but this isn't it, he mused silently to himself.
She seemed to be letting him look, and her expression in profile was resigned if anything.
"Not what you were expecting, I take it?" she asked.
"Nope."
Terry didn't go any further, and after a moment she swallowed visibly and shook her head once as though she'd had confirmation of bad news. She said, "I'm Ariadne."
"Yeah, figured that much," Terry said. "I also didn't expect to meet you alone under a torch in a room with no doors. Is this the next puzzle?"
"No, Terry. This is not the next puzzle. I just wanted to talk. You'll still be required to move forward, but I thought giving you some context might help motivate you."
"Survival is already a pretty damn strong motivation," Terry pointed out.
Ariadne didn't smile. Her lips didn't even twitch. She said, "Give it time. You're young. Live long enough under the right conditions and survival becomes a disincentive."
"You want something specific from me? Is that why we're talking?"
Terry watched Ariadne carefully as he waited for her answer, but there was almost nothing to see beyond her appearance. Whenever she wasn't actively speaking, she looked as though she were a wax mannequin. Her dark eyes showed nothing, and she had yet to even look directly at him.
"I have no idea what you must have been through so far on Celestine, Terry Mack, so I will try and keep this short and simple. I am trapped in circumstances of my own making, and yes, there is something I want from you."