by Nero Seal
Resuming a basic warrior stance, with one foot in front of the other, Salik went for a forward slash, aiming for Talha’s neck. Leaping aside, Talha drove his hand into the top of his boot and drew out a black, curved knife with the prominent sawback and inner curve covered with shark teeth.
Seeing the knife, Salik shrunk aside. The air of dominance dissolved around him as he pulled off his muddy shirt. Instead of wrapping it around his spare hand he clothed it around his armed one, giving Slater a ‘tell’ that his second hand wasn’t nearly as good as his dominant one, and he was scared that Talha might cut his fingers.
Interesting. Slater’s nerves vibrated with elation; his fingers curled around the branch beneath him as he leaned closer to get a better view.
Talha didn’t move, giving the privilege of the first attack to his opponent, except, now Salik wasn’t eager to cut the distance. Moving in small, tentative steps, he kept his eyes glued to Talha’s weapon. Opposing the way Talha held his knife, Salik flicked his blade tooth down.
Slater patted his pocket, looking for the paper bag full of sweets. It rustled under his touch.
Salik’s black eyes flickered on his mud-covered face. He hurled, zapping his hand through the air in wide, half-circling movements. With easy grace, Talha bent backward avoiding the first and second swooshes, before ducking beneath Salik’s left arm.
Salik spun, and his knife rushed in a high downward diagonal slash, aiming at Talha’s unprotected chest. Slater swallowed as the scrawny figure eclipsed his master. Pulse speeding, he fidgeted. His eyes grazed into the blade, watching for signs of blood, then into Talha’s shoulder, visible behind Salik’s back.
Did he cut Master? Weirdly nervous, he counted seconds. Why doesn’t Master defend himself? Why is Master being useless? C’mon Master, show Slater what you are capable of.
Salik struck again with a forehand stroke, informing him that it wasn’t over. Talha shifted, letting the knife skid along his naked arm but not cutting it. Master’s knife flew up and sliced off the bottom part of Salik’s earlobe. Blood gushed from the wound, mixing with dirt.
Noticing that Master was unharmed, Slater’s lips curled in a prideful smile.
“You can still stop, Earless, before you become Noseless or Eyeless. Accept my mercy. Drop the knife, and I’ll end this fast.” Talha said, his voice void of emotions, and for a moment, Slater was envious of Salik. The all-consuming desire returned, smoldering him from within. He yearned to spar with Master too, and catch the gaze full of attention on himself, to feel it glide down his body, anticipating his every move.
Despite the rage deforming Salik’s face, he didn’t rush forward but went for a controlled, clean jab, aiming for Talha’s stomach, then snapped his wrist, going for his inner arm and then throat. The quick exchange of blade flares left them moving in small side steps, circling each other.
Backs curled, eyes locked, they circled each other like wild animals fighting for territory. Jealousy took over, as somehow it looked intimate. Slater wondered how hot it would be to fuck after a sparring, with his body throbbing with fresh cuts and bruises. He itched to find out. None of his masters ever sparred with him, and he wondered if Talha would be an exception. He scratched a mosquito bite behind his ear, feeling a growing dissatisfaction as now he hated how Master looked at Salik. It felt like a waste. Master shouldn’t be looking at pigs. Only at him.
One leg forward, Salik’s knife zigzagged in the air, making it nearly impossible for Talha to retaliate. Choosing to use microseconds for a counterblow, Talha dodged the knife with his shielded hand as his blade sliced Salik’s left forearm.
A step back then a lounge forward, Salik whipped his wounded arm up. The black blood from his slashed arm spurted in Talha’s eyes, distracting him for a fraction of a second. He flinched with a blink, and Salik’s armed hand dove under Talha’s cloth-shield, changed the trajectory, and rushed up.
Slater’s breath caught. Slater was right, Master is stupid after all… How careless.
Red flaring on Talha’s chest he skidded away. Slater’s eyes strained. The thin vertical slash that stretched from the bottom of his ribcage up to his left collarbone. The blood didn’t gush out; it merely seeped, meaning it was a scratch. Hopping aside, Talha glanced at his chest, then scowled up at Salik.
“I offered you an easy death twice. Now you will die in agony and disgrace.” Raising his clothed arm to his chest, Talha flicked the knife left and right, waiting for another attack.
Salik struck down, and Talha dove under his arm. His hand aimed for Salik’s Achilles’ tendon as he tumbled forward. Mud splashed, as he completed a basic roll and got to his feet. Covered in mud, Talha looked savage, irresistible. Slater wanted to serve him, to wipe his body with a warm cloth, then lick it clean.
Slater clicked his tongue, watching Salik struggle for balance. Blood, mixing with dirt, streamed down his foot. Robbed of mobility and ears, he presented a pitiful picture. Dragging his leg, he tried for a low horizontal slash, but Talha dodged.
The game was over. Salik had already lost, and now Master didn’t need to engage, just wear him out. Wait till the bloodloss took its toll and finish the traitor.
Master’s stance relaxed, the flicks of his knife became playful, teasing, provoking. Movements almost lazy, he let Salik closer.
Slater didn’t approve. After all, people were arrogant and stupid. This meaningless show off could cost Talha his life, yet achieved nothing. Master was careless again, and any clean attack would now result in a blood-thirsty blade being driven under his ribs.
Lips twitching, Salik roared, trying to stab Talha’s eyes with his fingers. His other hand flying forward in a mix of a jab and stab. The metal clanged as Talha dodged and captured Salik’s blade with the sawback of his own knife. Shoulder going down, Talha wrung Salik’s hand. The knife, wrenched from weakening fingers, landed in the mud.
Moving with impressive speed, Talha painted Salik’s chest in red with a few easy strokes. The cut he left under Salik’s arm glowed with flooding red. Slater scrunched his face, realizing that Talha severed his tendon as the arm hung loosely. The remaining hand jolted in the air begging for mercy, as Salik mumbled something.
Squeezing the handle in his hand, Talha finished the final attack with a straight punch to Salik’s massive nose. Blood bursted out as the man swayed on his feet. Eyes rolling up, he stumbled back before slumping down in the mud.
Talha gushed out the air, raising his eyes to the sky flickering above the thick foliage, before he picked up Salik’s knife. Concern hardening his mouth, he gave the weapon a long, scrutinizing look, before tucking it behind his belt.
Running his clothed hand down his bleeding chest, Talha wrestled a signal gun out of the thigh pocket of his cargo pants and fired in the air. After putting it away, he collected his bow and the quiver, grabbed Salik’s foot, and hauled him back the way they’d come.
Slater jumped to the ground, his hands shaking with adrenaline when he crawled after his master. About seven minutes later, he caught a glimpse of his naked, mud-covered torso. A motionless body sprawled on the ground by Master’s feet.
Huffing with effort, Talha hooked Salik under his arm and seated his motionless form against a tree. Lifting Salik’s hands, he pulled a small spool of fishing line out of one of his belt pockets.
Slater couldn’t see the transparent cord, but he saw Salik’s hands swell with decreasing circulation. Heavy folds formed around the places the cord bit into his flesh, making his pink hands look like tied sausages.
Hunger gnawed at Slater, making him wish Talha would hurry up and finish. He hadn’t eaten properly in three days and now was starving.
When Salik’s hands were tied, Talha drew out his knife. Pressing the tip beneath Salik’s ribs on his right, Talha drove the curved side into the flesh.
Salik convulsed, shrieked, and thrashed against the tree, kicking the ground beneath him as Talha’s hand kept digging the blade into the wound. Slater swallowed, watc
hing ‘shark teeth’ tear through the flesh, coming out crimson. When Master yanked the knife away, a massive, bleeding wound gaped in Salik’s stomach.
The ground beneath Salik came to movement, and Talha stepped aside, revealing his victim was seated on a huge anthill. The ruined colony bled out with live black streams that instantly attacked the invader.
“No, Reis, I beg you!” Salik slurred, his feet kicked the anthill which only maddened the giant black ants. “Please.”
“I promised to feed your liver to ants. I have to keep to my word, because no one will respect a man who doesn’t respect his word. Isn’t that right?” Talha wiped the knife against his pants before sheathing it.
“No, Reis, I beg you.” Salik’s legs beat against the ground in a useless attempt to shake the insects off. Mesmerized, Slater watched Salik’s mud-covered body turn black under the living carpet.
“I’m afraid, I can’t help you. You betrayed me, yet, I was merciful. I offered you an easy death. Twice. You rejected it. Twice. Now you will die in agony, and ants will feast on your liver.” Raising his voice, Talha added, “I don’t forgive betrayal. No one can hurt my family and walk away.”
Goosebumps erupting, Slater feasted on Talha’s emotionless face. Cold and cruel, Master is so hot.
“Reis?” someone called, as people cut through the bushes using knives. Two men, then two more. Slater retreated into the shadows, watching them approach Talha and Salik. Someone gagged and turned away.
“Oh my… You okay?” Dinçer cringed, giving Talha’s wound a long look of concern, then glanced at Salik, disapproval darkening his face. “Was it necessary?”
Ejder stood behind Talha with his eyes wide as he watched the maddened man writhe in panic. Salik’s hoarse panting mixed with squeals as his eyes flared with whites.
Talha stepped away from his victim. Noticing his brother’s pallid face, he cupped Ejder’s eyes before U-turning him.
“Yes, it is. It’s time to set an example. Anyone who harms my family will die a horrifying death. People should remember it well.” Glancing over his shoulder, he added, “If you feel sorry for him, you can stay. If he doesn’t die by the night, you can finish him.”
SUCCUMBED TO BOILING magma of awakened emotions, Slater barely registered the road back. He wished for Master to come home sooner, to experience that cold, cruel dispassion directed at him as Master would order him to suck his cock.
The footfalls echoing through the mansion brought his every cell to attention. Controlling his emotions became hard, nearly impossible, yet, he steeled himself. Sprawling on Talha’s bed, he kept crunching a long tulumba stick. His hand froze halfway to his mouth when the bedroom door flew open.
Disheveled after a long drive, Talha still looked hot. He carried that titillating smell of blood, dirt, and pine.
“The syrup is dripping,” Talha said, placing a dirt-covered bow on a small wooden stand. “Make sure you change the sheets before you get the hell out of my bedroom.”
He took a step toward the bathroom, but stopped, facing the reaper. Expression puzzled and dark, he drew the knife from behind his belt and tossed it on the bed.
“You left it in the forest.” Slater’s cheek twitched, as a wide grin stretched his face. Lust blazing through him with all-consuming fire.
Talha wavered for a moment before disappearing behind the doors.
“Tonight, Master can’t escape.”
PRESENT
THE METAL DOOR SCREECHED OPEN, and Talha faced the noise. Shoulders hunching forward, Slater stumbled through the threshold. Slapping the wall with his palm, he made a few uncertain steps toward his prisoner before dropping to his knees by Talha’s side. The stench of blood and death preceding the airwave, making Talha hold his breath. In the dark, he couldn’t make out Slater’s face but the frequent flashes, breaking in from the outside, outlined his silhouette.
“Is Master cold?” Talha’s heart sank from the sounds of the low, barely above a whisper voice. “Slater is cold. Chest hurts… Why does it hurt so bad, Master? Slater killed, but there was no pleasure. Is Slater broken? Is this why Master threw Slater away? Because Master knew it?”
Fuck… Every word, aggravating by the dull, listless intonation, pierced Talha’s chest with a needle of frost. The air whizzed leaving his lungs as he smacked his head against the ground and squeezed his eyes. He’d never seen Slater this broken. He’d never heard such despair in his voice, and now, lying on the floor, he was powerless to fix it.
Slater didn’t wait for his reply. Dropping down, he nested his head at the crook of Talha’s shoulder, his sweaty forehead brushed against his skin scalding it with incandescent heat and freezing ice. Snuggling up to Talha’s side, the ripper wrapped his arm around his torso, and Slater’s stomach pressed against his side. Talha’s breath hitched, as Slater’s wet shirt clung to his skin.
Mind paralyzed with fear, he concentrated on the sensation. A part of Slater’s shirt stuck to his body above his hip. It was hotter than the rest. His pulse spiked as he felt a hot trickle snake down his hip.
“Ught-ugh!” Pushing the order into the name, Talha called, demanding attention.
“It’s okay, Master.” A sultry whisper washed over Talha’s neck. “Master won. Master can have everyone. Slater will go nowhere. Slater belongs to Master, so does Hanım. Slater will forever guard you and your Mistress. Even in Hell.”
Slater’s fingers sank into small grooves between Talha’s ribs, slid up his chest, trailed up to his face. Sticky and wet, they outlined his jaw, brushed over the stripe of the tape.
“Slater was weak. Slater was scared to hear Master’s voice, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” He picked up a corner of the duct tape and tore it off.
Talha hissed. His mouth and the skin around it burned. He moved his lips to one side, then to another, before he croaked, “Slater, untie me now!”
“Don’t, Master.” Slater’s low, liquid voice dripped with a hidden warning. “It’s no use. It’s too late.”
“Slater!” Talha growled, but the blood smelling fingers pressed to his mouth, hushing him.
“Master, stop, or I’ll gag you again.” His cold nose brushed against Talha’s neck. “Talk to me… Slater is cold.”
“You are bleeding. You need a doctor.”
The ripper jerked his head. “Slater has always wondered; why did Master kiss Slater when Master thought Slater was asleep? Tell me, Master.”
“Release me, and I’ll tell you.”
Slater’s body shook with the silent laughter. “Master is funny. Slater isn’t stupid. Master will leave Slater as soon as Master is free. Then Slater will be alone in Hell. Only Slater and Hanım. How fair would it be, Master? You can’t send Iblīs to the Hell of your broken toys, Master, if you aren't ready to follow.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“Master liesssss.” The snake-like hissing escaped Slater’s mouth. His fingers sank into Talha’s ribs. “Don’t insult Slater with liesssss.”
Taken aback, Talha swallowed the filthy taste in his mouth, considering what to say next. “Indulge me first, Slater. Tell me, why Behçet never used you against me.”
“Simple, Master. Slater didn’t want to kill for Behçet anymore.”
Talha frowned. “Why?”
“Behçet was relying on Iblīs too much. Behçet forgot how to be strong. Slater tried to remind him. But once weak is forever weak, Master. Weak should die. Slater is weak. Slater should die. Slater thought Master is weak, that Master loves Slater. Slater was wrong. Slater thought Master loves Hanım. Slater was wrong again. Slater isn’t very smart, after all. Master is strong. Master loves no one.”
Talha’s heart shrunk as he listened to Slater’s listless voice. He raised his head to have a better look at the face, drowning in the darkness, but the decreasing flashes weren’t enough to illuminate anything, but the contour of his head. “Slater...”
“Shut up, Master. Enough. Slater doesn’t want to hear a lie. Slater doesn�
�t want to be insulted. Master will say anything to live. Don’t… It doesn’t matter anymore. Slater will kill Master when Slater can’t go on.”
“Slater, I…”
“Silence, Master. Slater is tired. Slater wants to sleep. Say another word and I will gag you again.”
Talha’s heart drummed in his chest as the hot liquid dripped a small pool beneath his back. He waited a few minutes before nudging Slater with his hip. Slater didn’t move.
Licking his lips, Talha rolled to his side. The chamber lightened a fraction, as the dull gray light crawled in, and soon enough he was able to recognize the pale face, glistening with perspiration, half-opened mouth, closed eyes, and chest rising and falling in deep, rhythmical breaths.
Talha’s gaze darted all over Slater’s body, making out his wrist straps and military boots.
I need to move him…
He wasn’t sure he could position Slater’s body high enough for his fingers to reach the karambit or a throwing knife, but he could roll Slater’s arm high enough for him to grab a throwing needle. As soon as the idea formed, he chased it away. He’d spent what felt like hours rubbing the rope against the floor but caused no damage. Stabbing it would not result in an immediate release.
Biting his lower lip, Talha inched his hips up and left, moving Slater’s body toward his tied up arm. Slater didn’t flinch, and he repeated the process. Slowly, inch by inch he pushed his lower body up, completing a forty-five-degree angle. When Slater’s back thrust against his arm, Talha stretched the ropes and extended his fingers. Swallowing, he traced up the tactical belt, looking for the sheath. The limits of the bonds, when his middle finger hooked a metal ring of the knife handle. Pushing out a long, controlled exhale, Talha tugged the karambit out of the sheath. Flipping it around his fingers, he gripped the handle and glided the edge against the rope. The evil grip tightened around his wrist, as the bonds bit into his skin. The blade nibbled at the rope, slowly gnawing its way through it, and Talha realized that Slater must have used a durable climbing rope to tie him.