The Trial

by James Hunt

  When he came to her door, he gave it a loud rap. When there was no answer, his cheek twitched in aggravation right before he threw it open wide. Inside he found her curled up in bed in the dark.

  "You missed your lesson," he growled sternly. She lifted her sleepy-eyed head to look at him with the oddest expression of confusion he had seen. It melted his sternness for just a second.

  "Fuck off..." she muttered before dropping back down into her pillow.

  Trent bristled. With one step forward, he quietly closed the door behind him. There was no mistaking the heavy smell of blood in here. His brow scowled as he tried to understand the situation. The conclusion he came to was not a pleasant one. He thought about his words carefully; the silence was filled by her rhythmic breathing in the darkness.

  "I understand the female body has certain... rhythms." He started to say delicately. The Mischevious pulled the spare pillow over her head. "But that does not excuse you from your lessons. We had hoped to talk to you about some of the visions you were ha..."

  A pillow flew across the room and pelted him in the face.

  "Go. Away." She growled from under the blanket. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have pushed so far into her territory. Ordinarily, he would have just let her be and let her face the punishments later. But, ordinarily, he would never get this pissed.

  "Listen, you," he growled back and flung the pillow to where he thought her head was. There was a muffled grunt from the covers as his hit scored. "If you're going to ditch lessons, I need a better explanation than 'fuck off'. I'm responsible for you." He made his way through the darkness to stand over her bedside.

  "Are you?" she retorted with a sarcastic tone, and buried her head under her other pillow.

  "Yes!" he protested. "Even if it's just a woman's cycle, you could at least let me know so I don't spend the day wondering where you ran off to." Trent reached down to snatch her pillow away, but she snatched his wrist in the darkness and dug in with her nails. He didn't so much as grunt as they pierced the skin and drew blood. Her grip was strong. Trent let her vent her frustration on his wrist, and silently took the pain. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she could hurt him.

  "Are you through?" He finally said after awhile. She got his wrist good, and blood was running down his arm and hers.

  "Almost," she growled and attacked his wrist with her teeth. Her lips latched onto the soft underside and her teeth dug into his skin as she drank his vital essence. Suddenly the strength started to go from his legs, and that startled him. A swift backhand across her temple knocked her loose and free.

  "What in the hells is wrong with you," he snarled and took as step back. The wound wasn't bad, but it would make a mess if he didn't clean it up. What bothered him was the sudden loss of strength; did she do something to him?

  "Oh I just thought if I made you feel like I do, you'd realize I'm not in the mood, and fuck off!" She shot back with the same sarcastic flair. She was on him before he could respond, her nails aiming for his throat. He seized her hands as they tumbled backwards against the desk. In the dark, he couldn't see her face as well as he would like, but he could hear the hissing of her breath through clenched teeth. A swift knee between his legs took the strength from him. Her aim was a bit off, and he got away with a grazing blow to his genitals. But it did enough damage to make him loose his grip and her hands wrapped around the back of his head and brought him down, just as her knee rose again to connect with his forehead. The impact knocked his senses loose and bright dots of light flickered in the darkness. Trent crumpled to the ground.

  She was on top of him before he could recover, straddling his chest just as he had done to her earlier. Her knees pinned his arm down, and her hands around his throat kept him from squirming.

  "Take your time," she said coldly. Taunting him with the same phrase he used to give her time to catch up. "I want answers... Why am I here?" Trent's consciousness started to focus with all the blood rushing to his head from her strangle hold.

  "No clue," He spat unintentionally. "One day you showed up with a portal rune that was supposed to bring our comrade back instead."

  "Why can't I leave?"

  "We need to know why you came first. Are you our enemy?" At this point Trent had no need to hide anything he didn't know himself. He wasn't sure she was going to do real harm to him, and he felt his feet get some good leverage just in case he needed to toss her, so for now he was going to play it her way.

  "Do you want me to be?" She seethed and positioned her nails into his neck.

  "No you idiot!" He shot back. "Not as if I care, but I would have just killed you if I wanted you to be."

  "Then why did you send assassins after me?"

  "What?" Trent was confused now. Something wasn't right here anymore, and it was time to end this. He slammed his knee into the small of her back and she screamed bloody agony. The successfulness of his strike surprised him, but he took the opportunity to put some distance between them.

  "What assassins? What the hell are you talking about?" He muttered in disbelief.

  "Now, I know you know," She winced as she clutched her backside, "you're not as good at using people as we Zecarins. You leave too many coincidences." She snorted at him and tried to get up, the pain in her backside made her fall back down. Her voice cracked and a whimper of pain escaped.

  "I didn't hit you that hard, so stop the faking." Trent snorted. "If this is one of your moments of not being able to tell reality from your dreams, I can forgive it. But you're not acting your usual self, so I think that means you remember now. Or was that an act too?"

  "Fuck off!" She snarled. "I'll kill you!" The Mischevious could barely stand, and just slumped against her bed on the floor moaning in short breaths. Trent could see her naked skin glinting with sweat in the starlight from her window. She was shaking, and her breathing was growing more and more labored. It was the cold sickness right before death, he'd seen it before. Helrith called it 'body shock'. Something was certainly wrong here, there was no way she could force her body to fake that.

  Trent gave in, and against his better judgment he went to her. She swung for his head the moment he got close but there was no coordination in it, and did little more than rustle his hair.

  "Something isn't right here, what aren't you telling me? What happened to you?" He asked. She looked up with pained eyes and tried to read him in the darkness. Trembling hands touched his cheeks, and he didn't fight them. Her skin was cold, and her palms sweaty. "You need to see Helrith. I'll take you..." he was cut off by a vigorous shaking of her head.

  "No more," she sighed. "Truth.... Only."

  "What? You're not making sense." She silenced him with a kiss. It was soft and weak, her strength was going. But through it, something was happening. Trent was getting light headed, and his feet went numb. He was about to push her away when she broke it and held him tightly. Her breath came in quick heavy pants, and her cheek felt warm to the touch. What ever she was doing, it was taking his stamina and making her better with it.

  "To complete the spell," she whispered in his ear as she tried to form sentences. "My magic will take some of your health, to heal me." She placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Please?"

  "Do it." He growled. "But I want answers." She wrapped her body around him, her legs slid under his crumpled up robe and around his waist, and her arms cradled his head. It happened in an instant, all the life in his limbs was suddenly sapped away. The feeling in his body was like he drank a whole tankard of stout in one gulp without eating anything all day. The room spun; he couldn't tell up from down and suddenly his stomach knotted up and threatened to release its contents all over her.

  Gradually, his bearings returned. He was on the floor staring at the ceiling. The Mischevious was gone. He sat up and his head spun.

  "Like eating bad mushrooms," he snorted. A short chuckle came from the far side of the bed --she had sought comfort back under the thick blankets. Trent could make out her silhouette under t
he covers as she was turned away from him.

  "I'll see if I can find some of those tomorrow," she muttered against the pain. Trent sat down on the side of the bed, and rested his head in his hands. He wasn't given to uncomfortable silences, he always had to say something to make it go away, but this time there were no right words. All he could do was wait for the ringing in his skull to go away.

  In the mean time he berated himself for dropping his guard. It was obvious now that she couldn't have made their appointment because she was injured. How it had happened would wait, for now his mind couldn't forgive himself for not seeing any other explanation other than she was ditching her responsibilities. They weren't even truly hers, she wasn't a steward, she wasn't a Huanguard, she was a guest here... he had started to treat her like an apprentice Huanguard. It wasn't his place to put that on her shoulders.

  "Let me see," He said at last and put a hand on her shoulder.

  "No," she said angrily. "Fuck off until I can deal with you." Her abrasiveness undid all the compassion and guilt he had quickly built up.

  "No." Trent snapped back. She flung her arm out to clock him across the face, but this time he was ready for it and caught her wrist. The Mischevious tried to pull it back, but he held on with a strong grasp. His rough grip turned, and he entwined his fingers with hers and held her hand firmly. "Please." He said roughly. Asking permission wasn't something he was accustomed to doing, but he got the impression that asking for help was even harder for a Hekarim.

  His reply was that she rolled back over onto her side. Trent took it as consent and lifted the blanket up to see her backside. In the darkness he could feel the tender flesh from the entry wound. It was scabbed over but still very tender and she hissed every time he touched it. She had a death grip on his hand as he explored the damaged tissue carefully.

  "Did it knick anything?" Trent said sternly. His rough manner of asking betrayed the worry hidden behind it -- it was a precise strike straight into the liver or a kidney.

  "Yes, but I took care of that first," she sighed. "It left me almost too weak to deal with them, or crawl my way back here." There was an emotion in her voice Trent couldn't place. Fear? He reached down and touched a fingertip across her cheek; it came away wet from her tears.

  She slugged him in the jaw.

  Twisting in place to hit him was reflex to her, but with her wound, it came with a painful price and she yelped as she collapsed. Trent rolled with the punch and slid one arm under her to grapple with when she crumpled, he was just in the right position to catch her on top of him and grab hold of both wrists.

  "Let go, or I'll rip a chunk out of your neck with my teeth." The Mischevious hissed at him.

  "I believe you," Trent said coolly and eased up his grip on her arms. The starlight caught her face in that one moment and he could see the wear today's ordeal had taken on her. Ragged though her appearance may be, there was no denying the confident gaze of victory at a price in her eyes. Trent saw something else... she had done murder. Whoever had attacked her hadn't gotten away with it. It surprised him to see it, but he felt a sense of pride in her. Indeed, he had been training an apprentice to the Huanguard all along. So he smiled at her.

  "Let go," she repeated with a cold steeliness to her voice.

  "No," Trent said defiantly and kissed her.

  Her body locked up, confused and surprised, but she didn't fight back. Instead a soft whimper of release echoed through her being and into her kiss. Her fingers immediately went to his face and held him. There they affectionately stroked the prickly stubble and soft patches equally. In that one moment her defensive posture melted away, and gave into his embrace.

  Her lips became more vigorous as they sought out more of his flesh - his cheeks, his neck, his ears. Her hunger was apparent, and it was as if all fatigue and pain from the day was suddenly lifted. Trent wrapped an arm around her waist and in one fluid motion rolled them both over onto her side of the bed. She went to protest but it was over before she could register any discomfort. He sat up, and in the faint light of night stripped off his robe and tossed it to the floor. Her fingertips slid up his chiseled torso, taking in every contour of muscle and sinew, before sinking her nails in and scratching her way back down. Trent hissed, but didn't protest, there was a hidden ferality to him behind those eyes. She was the only one that saw it, so controlled, so dispassionate, so unreadable -- all to keep the animal inside locked up and out of sight.

  He bit into her neck. His teeth dragged pleasurably across her skin as his lips drank her in. Up her neck his tongue trailed a line to her jaw, and she tilted her head with a sigh of pleasure to accommodate him. His lips found her long ear, and his tongue caressed her outer contours. Unknowing of the sensitivity of elven ears, he bit into the tip and she whined in pain but didn't make him stop. She liked it.

  Each bite and nibble on that sensitive cartilage made her body tense and shudder. The Mischevious had trouble focusing and her hands just lazily caressed his flexing back muscles as they held him up over her. They traced the contours of his bulging lateral muscles all down his spine. They ended on his toned ass and dug into the thick mounds of his flesh with her nails.

  Her lover returned the affection by digging into her breasts with his fingertips as he kneaded them. She arched her back into him with a cooing moan of pleasure; this was just how she liked it. His teeth went from one nipple to another, pulling and teasing to her moans of lust and whimpers of pain. It was quickly driving her into a frenzy.

  Long denied this, she reached between them and grabbed a firm hold of his already engorged member and stroked it. He didn't need any cues. Trent was already worked up from denying her for days. He carefully lifted one of her legs up to his shoulder as he rolled her onto her bad side. The position put her injury under her where it wouldn't be disturbed much. His cock pressed against her wet sex and with one forceful push, she gasped sharply as he entered her.

  "Yesss!" she whined through clenched teeth, feeling him spread her open with his girth. There was no finesse or sensuality to his movements, just raw unrelenting power as with long fluid strokes he pummeled her starving sex with his thick meat. His mouth wrapped around her calf as he held it in the air, his teeth pulling the skin ever so slightly and his tongue tracing the contours of her leg. He found her ankle to be more sensitive and when he bit it lightly her toes arched and she squealed.

  Each forceful thrust brought a moan of pleasure from her lips. His unrelenting stamina soon made her short of breath, and those moans turned to gasps and pants. Sore and weary though she may be, The Mischevious was not going to let her fatigue interfere with her enjoying this moment. With one final, forceful thrust he stopped. Sweaty from the frantic exertion, Trent felt the effects of his sapped strength and it quickly made him light headed -- he needed a change of pace. Gently he lowered her leg, and rolled her onto her stomach. His wet cock parted her drenched thighs and reclaimed its territory inside her cunt. Propping himself up with his arms, he slowly thrust in, burying himself to the hilt against her soft curvaceous ass. Slow and constant, he resumed his pleasure pace, this time without overexerting himself with feverish pounding.

  The Mischevious grabbed her pillow and sank her teeth into the down filled case. It muffled her squeals as her body was wracked by a vigorous orgasm. Her thighs quivered underneath him and flooded his undulating cock with her juices. The added sensation was enough to make his end draw near. With one final thrust in, he leaned on top of her, sank his lips onto her neck, and bit lightly into the skin of her shoulder. This last burst of stimulation sent a second wave of tremors through her and prolonged her climax as he flooded pussy with his seed.

  Together they collapsed in a sweaty mass, panting and moaning in pleasure. She reached up behind her and caressed his head. Trent seemed unresponsive, but the hot breath on the back of her neck meant, at worst, he had only passed out. In truth, his mind was suddenly coming to terms with his actions. The touch of a woman had been a stranger to him for so lo
ng his instincts had taken over in their heated argument. Purged of his need, his conscience was suddenly returned in full force. He had lost the battle of wills; he hadn't kept his distance, and had now crossed a boundary. The Hekarim elf underneath sensed his distress and moved out from under; she took care of her injury and rolled to one side to face him.

  "Trent," she watched him in the dark as he settled down on his back. "Trust is a hard word for Zecarins. Mating does not mean trust. Our guard never lowers completely, so we take our pleasure behind a mask." She hoped these words would help him, but she watched his brow scowl. In the darkness his chest slowly stopped heaving as the exertion receded. "I do not know why I'm here, nor do I trust you humans. But you at least, I've determined are just as much a pawn in all this as I am. Should I trust you? Will you take my secrets to your masters? Will they kill me when you've learned it all?" Trent sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, the cold floor on his feet cooled his hot blood. He was seeing her true self now, the person he had spent days with before was just a shadow of the woman next to him. His mind saw the words behind her words -- she would never tell them whatever it was The Father wanted. That knowledge was all the kept her alive from her point of view, if she gave it up she would be at their mercy.