by Sara King
“Have I touched you or otherwise assaulted you in any way, aside from simply hold you down so we could talk?”
Victory narrowed her eyes at him, much too aware of every inch of him, and where it was touching her. “You didn’t have to hold me down so we could talk.”
“Oh?” He raised a single ebony brow, looking amused. “Then you are going to tell me that you were being perfectly reasonable, just now.”
“Perfectly,” Victory growled.
He grinned at her, his blue eyes twinkling. “Good. Then maybe you’ll hear me out, instead of screaming and thrashing like I was coming in here to molest you.”
“You’re not?” Victory sneered.
Dragomir sighed deeply and rolled off of her, staring at the ceiling. “Gods,” he whispered as Victory scrambled away from him, “How the Fates must laugh at me.” He cocked his head at her, still lying on the bed. “Do you remember when you first discovered I was an Emp, and I told you about ramas, and how yours were frozen shut?”
“Why did you chain me to your bed?” Victory demanded. She tugged on the chain, trying to get more distance between them, but he was laying on it, pinning it to the thin, lumpy mattress with his big barbarian body.
Dragomir rolled onto his side, still lying on the chain. He propped his head up on an elbow and watched her. “Well, for one,” he said, “I’m going to work on your ramas tonight, and I don’t want you running off.”
“I command you to release me!” Victory cried, tugging on the chain in frustration. “I am a Royal Princess of the Imperium and you are nothing but a sla—” Victory choked off the rest as Dragomir’s face darkened.
The Emp grabbed a fistful of the chain and dragged her inexorably closer. With their faces almost touching, he said, “What was that, Princess?”
Victory tried to lean away from him, but there was nothing she could do to avoid his penetrating stare. “Um,” she whimpered. “Please…”
He leaned back on the bed, dragging her with him, until her body was stretched out over his. Victory froze, suddenly aware of where their bodies were touching, and how. It sparked something within her, something long-buried and forgotten, and she quickly squashed the sensation, refusing to feel anything like that for a man, ever again.
Like a panther, he lay beneath her, his gaze sharpening. He knows, Victory thought, horrified. “Um…” she said, trying in vain to pull away from his iron grip around the chain.
“I take that back,” Dragomir said. “I’m going to work on your ramas right now. Starting with your core.” He closed his eyes and leaned back into the bed.
Victory grunted and stopped struggling when she felt heat building between her thighs. What in the hells? She hesitated, feeling the warmth in her groin spread outward, until it felt like someone had set hot rocks against her mound. “What are you doing?” she whispered, trying to pull away.
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Dragomir said. “I’m opening your core rama.”
Victory suppressed a moan as the heat reached her abdomen, caressing her thighs, slickening her—
“No!” she cried, realizing what he meant. She renewed her struggles to get away from this strange new sensation building in her groin. When the sensation continued to build, heat pooling between her legs, Victory started pounding at him in her desperation to get free.
Dragomir merely rolled on top of her, once more pinning her to the bed. And this time, with no way to escape the building pressure, Victory felt like she was going to explode. She bit down a gasp, panting.
“It’s about to go,” Dragomir warned, his eyes still closed. “When it does, think of it like a dam breaking. Everything that cluttered up the dam is going to flood outward, and you’re going to re-experience everything that shut the rama down in the first place. This time, though, instead of bottling it up and keeping it inside, you’re going to let it go. It will only be like this one time per rama. Understand?”
Victory frowned, wriggling beneath him as she tried to inch away from the building warmth. “I don’t know what you’re—”
Then the feeling detonated within her, and Victory revisited her last moments of virginity, saw again every horrible time they used her for their pleasure. She let out a low, wretched wail as the disgust overpowered her, as men lost all interest for her, becoming nothing but depraved animals that wanted what she carried between her legs. She saw it all over again, every rape, every act of violence. She felt her hatred wash outward, brought under the microscope of her awareness, then dissipate as if it had never been, flooded away by the golden wash of energy behind it.
Sometime afterwards, Victory found herself sobbing in Dragomir’s arms, clinging to him as she cried into his chest.
“There,” Dragomir said, looking down at her. His blue eyes were gentle. “Feel better?”
“No,” Victory whimpered. “What did you do to me?”
He released her slowly. “I opened your core rama. The place where all your sexual hatred is stored…as well as your ability to feel physical pleasure.”
Victory peered at him, wiping away tears. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Dragomir considered. Then, softly, he said, “Perhaps a demonstration would serve better. You once craved the touch of men, yes? As a young woman, you would fantasize about being whisked away by the man of your dreams and giggle with your maidservants over the well-built Praetorian in your House guard?”
Victory frowned, vaguely remembering such childish antics. Reluctantly, she said, “I suppose…”
“Yet since your abduction, you have felt no sexual urges, right? Absolutely no longing for the male form?”
Victory didn’t like where this was going. She tried to inch away.
Dragomir surprised her by setting her aside and…
..taking off his shirt.
Victory watched the muscle move in his chest and shoulders and immediately felt a warmth pool between her legs. Her eyes widened and she looked down, stunned.
Dragomir was grinning like a fool as he pulled his shirt back over his head. “See? Fully functioning, now. Probably better than you’d like, even, but you’ll get over that.”
She jerked her head up, frowning. “But I’ve seen you naked for weeks!”
He shrugged, and it brought with it a tingle of appreciation at the crux of her thighs. “Your rama was blocked.”
“Oh my gods,” Victory whispered. “You take it back. Take it back now!”
Chuckling, Dragomir caught her by the chain and pulled her close, and instantly Victory felt herself throbbing down there, aching for…
“Let me go,” she squeaked.
“And what if I don’t want to?” Dragomir asked, rolling back atop her, pinning her yet again with his huge body. Softly, into her ear, he whispered, “You are my captive, after all.”
This time as their bodies touched, Victory gasped at the sudden building of pressure at the place where their groins met. “Oh,” she whispered, as the heat increased between them.
Then Dragomir bent to sweep her away in a kiss. His tongue met her lips, parted them, seeking. She moaned as he explored her, the aching between her thighs becoming an unbearable, throbbing agony. By the time Dragomir retreated with a groan, she was panting.
“Gods how I want to open the rest,” Dragomir whispered huskily. She saw the desire in his blue eyes, felt the need he carried there.
He kissed her forehead and sat up. “Tomorrow, though. I try to do another tonight and I’ll be useless for a couple days.”
As she was still gasping for breath, he stood and, with one last longing-filled look at her, disappeared back through the hallway to the rest of the building.
Victory slumped back against the bed, staring at the ceiling in both shock and horror. The feeling in her womanhood was a hot, throbbing ache, and it was leaving her heart pounding, her face flushed. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved he was gone or anguished he had left.
This isn’t possible, she thought, trying to sort
through her thoughts. What did he do to me?
Dragomir walked past the sleeping Praetorian and out into the yard. It had started to rain while he had settled the Imperials, and he welcomed the cold, grounding droplets as they showered his skin and drenched his clothes.
You fool, he thought, slumping against the fence. He had done it all wrong. He had meant to open up her heart-rama first, so that she could love him before she could desire him in that way. He was a healer, not an abuser of women.
Yet his passion had gotten away with him, and he had almost taken her. Right there, chained to his bed, he had almost pushed up her shift and taken her as she moaned and squirmed beneath him. Even now, his manhood was so hard it hurt, stretching tight against his borrowed silk pants.
Knowing how close he had come, he felt sick.
An Emp had certain responsibilities in the Karmic cycle of things. One with the ability to create certain desires in others had to exercise the greatest restraint, lest he find himself being used in such a way in the next lifetime. There was a line, and Dragomir had almost crossed it. When he should have been opening her heart rama, so that she could begin to trust him, he had gone directly to her core, freeing her sexual inhibitions so she could lust after him, instead.
Groaning, he let his head come to rest on the wet wood of the fence. You fool, he thought. Why the core first?
Because he had felt that spark within her, seen the barest hint of desire rise in her core for the first time, and had forgotten himself. In an act of childishness, he had wanted to see what she felt for him without the inhibitions forced upon her by her past.
Now, when their bodies touched, she was going to respond. As long as she experienced no other horror to shut the rama down, she was going to enjoy his touch, whether she wanted to or not.
It was going to make it a thousand times harder for him, when it came time to release the other ramas. Now, it was going to be everything he could do to keep from taking her innocence a second time. Every contact, every brush of skin, every gentle touch… All of it would make her ache to have him. And, having been so long without a woman, seeing her passion arching throughout her body, Dragomir wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself.
Dragomir closed his eyes, brutally letting the icy rain cool his passion. Not yet a day, and he had already failed her. He thought of Meggie, remembered her broken sobs under the Praetorian’s body.
That had almost been him.
Realizing it, his disgust was so thick that he automatically glanced at the barn. His eyes found the dark shape of the rope hanging against the wall. In misery, he considered. A few minutes of panic, a headiness in the brain, and then nothing…
Village Life
The sun had gone down outside the window when the Emp came walking into the bedroom with a tray of steaming food.
Victory grimaced when she saw potatoes and a green mass of vegetables. When he set it into her lap, she sniffed. As far as she could tell, it wasn’t even spiced. “Where’s the main course?”
Dragomir, who had sat down beside her, stopped, potato between his teeth, the fork spearing it still in his mouth. “What?” he asked around the potato. He honestly looked surprised.
Victory gestured at the plate. “Where’s the meat?”
He glanced down at his plate, then at hers, then back up at her. He took the fork out of his mouth and swallowed his potato. “Um, Princess, welcome to the real world.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, let’s see,” Dragomir said. “Between the hawks, the coyotes, the wolves, the martins, the bears, and the neighbor’s dogs, I have about thirty chickens I can eat in a year. Any more than that, and I’m eating next year’s food supply.”
She scowled. “I don’t want chicken. I want real meat. Beef. Elk. Bison. Something with substance. I’d even settle for a moose or deer.”
He stared at her, another potato speared and halfway to his mouth. “…you’d…settle,” he said, sounding utterly flabbergasted.
“Yes,” Victory said. “Go get me some steak or something. Doesn’t have to be fancy.”
Dragomir stared at her. Slowly, the Emp put his fork down and set his plate aside. When he responded, it was slowly, as if talking to a small child. “Princess, this might be a shock for you, coming from a fancy palace where you have people waiting on you hand and foot, but most of the world doesn’t eat steak each night.” He gestured soberly at the vegetables. “We eat what we can find, and are thankful for it.”
Victory snorted. “Surely you have some pork. I’d even settle for duck.”
He blinked at her. “You’d settle?” he repeated, like a brain-dead ox.
She nodded.
Snorting, he picked up his plate and started stuffing his face again. Victory narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m waiting, slave.”
Dragomir looked at her over a forkful of green mush. “If you’re not hungry, I’ll eat it.”
“Please do,” Victory said, disgusted. She shoved it across the bed at him. “Better yet, go feed it to your pigs.”
Dragomir laughed. “If I could afford to own pigs, Princess, then we’d be eating pork.”
Victory scowled at him, sure this was some sort of trick. When he continued eating, however, apparently savoring every bite, she finally began to lose confidence. “You really don’t have any meat?”
“Meat’s a liability,” Dragomir said. “It’s the first thing the Imperials take, when they raid a town. Why spend half your yearly income on a flock of geese, when the Imperials are simply going to wring their necks and take them home for dinner?”
Victory frowned. “You said you needed to check on your livestock.”
“I have a few goats,” Dragomir said. “Turns out, the Imperials generally leave them pretty much alone.”
“Goat.” Victory scrunched her face. “Goat is unclean.”
“And that’s probably why,” Dragomir said, chuckling at her reaction. He took another bite of potato. “Why’s goat unclean?”
“Its flesh is the flesh of demons and succubi,” Victory replied. “To eat it is to be inviting the Horned God’s Curse.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” Dragomir said. “I was thinking of butchering a buck here in the next couple days, in honor of my guests. Come second thought, might be better not to waste the meat.”
Victory shuddered. “Trade it for some pork. Or some beef.”
Dragomir eyed her thoughtfully over his meal. “I happen to like chevon.”
“Ugh!” Victory cried. “You uncouth barbarian!”
Dragomir shrugged and finished his plate, then started on hers. Victory watched him miserably. “You don’t have any cheese?” she asked. “Or bread? Fruit?”
Dragomir grunted and finished the vegetables, then got up and strode from the room, his massive body moving like a big cat. Victory watched him go, mouth open, heat pooling in her groin as she thought of the power that his body commanded…
…and what he looked like underneath the Imperial silks.
Dragomir came back a couple minutes later and dropped a wedge of cheese in her lap. “There,” he said, gesturing. “Cheese.”
Victory sighed in relief at seeing real food, then frowned. “Where is my knife and fork? My plate? And crackers?”
Dragomir stared at her, obviously trying to determine if she were serious.
When he realized she was, his mouth fell open.
When she continued to wait patiently, he cried, “Oh for the gods’ hairy balls.” He rolled his eyes and went to retrieve knife, fork, and plate.
“Cad,” Victory muttered at his back.
When he returned, Victory delicately cut herself a slice of cheese, wincing at how soft it was. She wondered if peasants even knew how to make cheese properly, and if it was going to give her diarrhea. She tasted a tiny portion between tongue and palate, swishing it around in her mouth warily before swallowing. It had a faint aroma, like the smell of a barnyar
d. She grimaced, but took another bite. Even a peasant’s crude, barnyard cheese was better than plain, unspiced vegetables.
“Well?” Dragomir demanded. “Does it pass with your approval?”
“It’s acceptable,” Victory said reluctantly, “Though it tastes of tainted milk.” She ate quickly, then swished it down with the glass of plain, non-distilled, non-carbonated water that he gave her, barely able to swallow the wretched stuff. Scowling at the empty cup, she said, “That tasted of minerals. Have you put a filter on your well?”
“I got it from the stream an hour ago,” Dragomir said. “I don’t have a well.”
Victory thought she was going to be sick.
“So,” he asked, looking at the empty rind. “The cheese was good, then?”
“Like I said,” she replied, sliding the plate away from her, “It was a peasant’s poor imitation of cheese, not the real thing.”
His face darkened. “I made that cheese.”
She looked him up and down. “Are you not a peasant?”
“From goat’s milk.”
Victory felt her gorge rise. Giving him a sweet a smile as she could, she said, “You’re lying.”
Dragomir gestured at the window outside. “Do you see any cows out there, Princess?” To accentuate his words, she could hear the distant sounds of goats bleating.
I just ate from the body of a goat, Victory thought, staring down at her plate in horror. She waited for the gods to strike her down. When it didn’t happen, she cleared her throat. Very politely, she said, “You are a monster.”
He chuckled and picked up her plate. He was still laughing as he walked from the room and disappeared down the hall.
When he returned, Victory was still fighting the sick sensation in her stomach. She gave him a sour look as he moved to the dresser and—
Her eyes widened when she realized he was taking off his clothes. “What are you doing?!” she cried, scrabbling away from him.
He paused, his shirt half off, arms suspended above his head. “Huh?”
“That!” she cried, gesturing at his rippling stomach.