Knight (An Impossible Novel) (31 page)

Encouraged by my lustful reaction, Master altered his style, and just the tips of the falls kissed the sensitive flesh at the lower curve of my ass, raking burning lines across my upper thighs.  It took a heartbeat for my brain to register the pain, two more heartbeats to accept it.  When it pulsed for a fourth time, I blew out a long sigh as my mind floated into bliss.

Master escalated, and each stinging blow drove me higher as I happily embraced the pain and the endorphin rush that came along with it.

I was so far gone by the time the blows stopped, I barely registered it.  Master was suddenly at my back, the heat of him mingling with the warm glow emanating from my burning skin.  His fingers found the wetness that coated my inner thighs, and my head dropped back against his shoulder at the sound of his darkly pleased chuckle.

“It seems my little sub does like pain.  I wonder how much she can take.”

He traced a circle around my pulsing clit.  Unable to form words, I mewled and pressed back against him, grinding my ass against the hard evidence of his arousal.

Laughing, he pulled away from me, and I whined at the loss.  “I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The next hit came hard and fast, and I let out a surprised shriek.  Master had switched to a different flogger, and it
hurt.
  The falls were thinner and crafted of smooth leather rather than suede.  While the earlier hits had been hot, the burn that accompanied the louder
snap
was fire.  I gritted my teeth as the new, more intense pain cleared some of the warm fog that blanketed me.

Breathe.

The breath was my final gasp before the fog condensed to heavy waters that sucked me under.  I became weightless in the dark depths, the sound of my sharp cries hardly penetrating the warm sea.  I had no worries, no thoughts, no control.  Master kept me in this blissful state because that was his will.

The touch of his fingers returned to me, trailing down my belly to tease my pussy.  Animalistic sounds of need and pleasure issued from my throat.  I was in a base, primal place.  Or was it a higher plane of existence?  My mind was too far gone to puzzle it out.

“I’m going to hurt you now, girl,” Master informed me.  “I want you to focus on me and know that I won’t harm you.  Trust me.”

I rubbed up against him in response, physically demonstrating my devotion.  Of course I trusted him.  I had put myself completely at his mercy, had given him everything.

The fear that exploded in my brain at the sharp crack of the bullwhip shocked me to my core.  It didn’t touch my flesh, but my terrified scream echoed through the dungeon.  Unconsciously, I found the ability to form words again.

“No!  Please, no.  Please
please please please…”

They want to break me.  They’re going to break me.  They’re going to slice my skin, make me bleed.

Strong fingers closed around my jaw, and I struggled to twist away, jerking fruitlessly against the chains that held me suspended, vulnerable, helpless.

“Open your eyes, girl.  Look at me.”  The calm command tugged at something deep within me, eliciting my obedience without a thought.  His silver eyes filled my vision.  “Who am I?”

The molten silver pooled into my being, sending liquid warmth pulsing through my veins.

“Master,” I whispered.

“That’s right.  Stay with me.”  His breath tickled across my lips as he pressed his forehead to mine, anchoring me to him.  “One, sweetheart.  I just want you to take one.  Can you give that to me?”

I would give him anything; I had already given him everything.

“Yes, Master.”

He stayed with me for a minute, running his hands over my body, through my hair, stroking me, calming me.  He didn’t leave me again until my trembling had stopped.

The whip snapped behind me again, and I couldn’t help stiffening.

“I’m here, sweetheart.  You’re safe.  Remember that.”

I had barely finished nodding when the ominous whisper of the tail cutting through the air registered.  I heard the
crack
of the tip breaking the sound barrier just before the pain hit.  The line of fire seared into my flesh with branding heat, and my wail of pain and despair resounded in my ears.

Master was before me instantly, his arms enfolding me as he pressed soft kisses against my wet cheeks.

“Shhh, sweetheart.  You’re okay.  You’re safe.”

I pressed my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in desperately.  As his rich scent enfolded me, my fear evaporated.  Not just my fear of his whip, but all of the terror that had assailed me on the day when that Bastard had thought he had broken me.  I had dealt with the memory, had numbed its power over me.  But that fear had lingered where it had taken root deep in the most primal corners of my mind.  With one harsh lash, Master had ripped it out of
me.  That unique form of pain was no longer wielded by that Bastard.  Master had taken possession of it.  And Master would never use it to harm me.

My fresh tears were borne of gratitude, of soul-deep relief.

“Thank you, Master.”

He gently gripped my chin, drawing my face to his so he could kiss me sweetly.  The demanding, possessive strokes of his tongue reassured me of his love and devotion.

“That whip will never touch your skin again, Lydia,” he promised me when he finally released my lips.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The strained lines around his eyes told me how difficult it had been for him to inflict that pain on me.

“I needed it,” I assured him quietly.  “Thank you, Smith.”

He kissed me again, long and slow and deep.  When I had relaxed into him completely, he began the process of freeing me from my bonds, gingerly rubbing the red marks on my wrists where I had rested my weight on my restraints.  He helped me back into my dress, smirking as he tucked my underwear into his pocket.  I shivered as lust began to stir to life within me once again.  The hungry light in his eyes told me I would receive a very nice reward when we got home.

Once I was covered, he slung his gear bag over his shoulder and scooped me up into his arms.  I was grateful he was carrying me out to the car; I wasn’t at all sure I would have been capable of walking in a straight line.  I was still drunk on endorphins, and my reawakened lust only further weakened my knees.

Decadence’s exit let out into an alley to provide an extra layer of secrecy for patrons, and I was glad of the shelter from the chill wind.
Master kissed the top of my head as I snuggled into him.  The night air was turning cooler with the changing seasons, but his warmth cocooned me. 

Master grunted and his body jerked.  It took my fuzzy brain a few seconds to register alarm, but panic hit me hard at the sensation of falling.  Master had dropped to his knees, but his arms tightened around me, holding me close.  I blinked up at him stupidly, confusion and shock coating my brain like molasses.

The fear I saw reflected in his eyes made my heart stop.  Master wasn’t afraid of anything.

He shoved me away from him, and I dropped to the pavement.

“Run.”

The command was garbled, and it didn’t hold the usual ring of authority.  He blinked rapidly and his muscles tensed once more.  Then his eyes closed, and he collapsed beside me.

Panic flooded my system, and I gripped his shoulders, shaking him hard.  Something small and silver protruded from his neck.  I plucked it out, and a droplet of blood oozed to the surface of his skin where the dart had pierced him.

“Master!”
  I shook him again.

He had ordered me to run, but I couldn’t leave him.

Something sharp jammed into my neck.  The large hand that closed over my mouth muffled my scream. 

Just like the first time.

“That’s right, whore.  Master is here.”

Insidious warmth oozed into my veins, and my fingers loosened where they were fisted in Smith’s shirt.

No!

I couldn’t let him go.  I couldn’t.  I couldn’t…

Chapter 27

I recognized the smell first: earthy damp, stale sweat, and the metallic tang of fear.  Or maybe the fear was a taste on my tongue.  The burn of bile in the back of my throat flooded both sensory areas, so I couldn’t be sure.

My mind was stumbling, stalling, engaging in internal babbling to avoid the terrible truth.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, willing myself to go back to sleep so I could wake up in Master’s bed.

Chains clanked above me as my body shifted.  Maybe I was still in Decadence.  Yes, that was it.  I had drifted off into subspace.  My body was still stretched taut where Master had positioned me so he could flog me.  The crack of the bullwhip had hurtled my mind back to this place, back to my prison.  It was just a visceral response to the scene Master had re-created for me.  Any second now, he would embrace me, would reassure me that everything was alright.  That I was safe.

It’s not real.  It’s not real.  It’s not real.

Pain exploded across my cheek.

“I know you’re awake, slave.”

My eyes snapped open at the sound of that chilling, cruelly pleased voice, and my entire world crumbled to dust.

His muddy green eyes gleamed with the sick light that always made my stomach turn.  His lips curved in delight, and the back of his hand cracked across my face again.

Everything slammed back into place with the burst of pain.

This
was
real.  I was in my prison.  I had never left.

God, the heroin was crueler than I had ever realized.  In the grip of its sweet bliss, I had spun a rich fantasy for myself, a lucid dream in which I had escaped this place.

An inhuman, despairing wail clawed its way out of my soul, ripping up my throat.  It went on and on, drowning out the sound of his insanely jubilant laugh.

“Lydia!  LYDIA!”

Smith’s booming voice slashed through my terror, gripping my faltering sanity and keeping me from going completely over the edge.

I choked on a relieved sob.

I hadn’t dreamt him up.  Smith was real. 
Lydia
was real.

The Bastard’s face filled my vision, but I could hear Smith.  His string of harsh expletives clashed with the jangling of chains.

Dread suffused me.  If Smith was here, the Bastard should be dead by now.  The fear that coiled in my belly this time wasn’t for myself.

Before my brain could process anything more, the Bastard’s fingers gripped my jaw.  Steel flashed before my eyes, and I went utterly still as the flat of the knife pressed against my lips.  He shifted so that he was standing beside me, and my field of vision was clear for the first time.  My cry of alarm at what I saw was stifled behind my closed lips.

The sight of Smith in chains was so disgustingly wrong that I wanted to vomit.  Like me, he was suspended by his wrists, but while my restraints were soft leather, iron cuffs had already cut crimson lines into his skin.  His hands were fisted around the chain above him, and he jerked at it ruthlessly, fruitlessly, as he struggled to free himself.  His face was a mask of savage fury.

“Quiet,” the Bastard ordered loudly.  “Or I’ll cut out her tongue.”

Smith’s eyes focused on the blade at my lips, and his teeth snapped shut, silent but bared in a rictus snarl.

The Bastard grinned.  I recognized the sick, feverish light in his eyes all too well.  When he wasn’t hurting me, his features shifted in a conventional fashion but his eyes were blank, expressionless.  It was only when inflicting pain and misery that they betrayed any reaction at all; a twisted parody of human emotion.

“Good.”  His soft voice dripped with perverse pleasure.  “It would have been a shame to take her tongue.  I like how it feels on my cock.”

Smith twisted the chain around his hands and dropped all of his weight onto it, yanking at it.

“You motherfucker!  Don’t touch -”

He stopped speaking abruptly when the Bastard applied pressure to either side of my jaw, forcing my mouth open.  The cool blade touched my tongue, threatening but not cutting.  Every muscle in my body went rigid as I froze.  The Bastard’s attention turned back to me, his eyes following the trail of my tear as it slipped from the corner of my eye and fell down my cheek.

Smith said nothing, but he was far from silent.  The metallic clanging as he wrestled against his bonds filled the room in a jarring cacophony.  His wrists were already torn and bloody.  He was going to hurt himself if he kept struggling so violently.  I couldn’t let the Bastard hurt him.

The blade lifted from my tongue, but rather than retreating, the Bastard eased it further into my mouth.  I stopped breathing.

“Isn’t that pretty?”  He asked softly, watching in rapt fascination as he slowly, incrementally, moved it back and forth in a horrific imitation of penetration.  It never touched my skin, but if I moved in the slightest, the knife would slice me open.  My lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen, but I didn’t dare draw in air.

Black spots were dancing across my vision by the time he released me.  As soon as the knife left my mouth, I sucked in a breath, and all of my weight fell on my wrists as my muscles turned to jelly.  I blinked hard to clear my vision.  Gathering my courage, I looked up at the Bastard.

“Please,” I rasped.  “Let him go.  I’ll stay here.  I’ll be good.  Just please, let him go.”

Smith snarled his objection, but I resolutely kept my focus on the Bastard.  Now that he had me back in my prison, he would never give me the chance to escape again.  My life was over.  Everything in me screamed at me to fight, to defy him.  But I would do anything to get him to release Smith.

I realized with hollow clarity that I had always been meant to waste away and die in this place; the Bastard would never have allowed me to walk free forever.  In my brief period of freedom, Smith had shown me greater joy than I had ever known.  I could live on that for the rest of my life.  However long that might be.  Even if pain pushed me to that empty, shattered state once again, I would bury the memory of him deep inside me, providing my soul with sustenance.  The Bastard could never take him from me that way.

But he could take him from me if he killed him.  He had killed Tucker for being with me.  Why else would Smith be here if the Bastard didn’t intend to make him suffer?

He studied my determined expression and shook his head ruefully.  “All of my hard work undone.  I’ll have to break you in all over again.”  His smile was hard-edged.  “You’ll be punished for trying to run from me, fucktoy.  And Agent James has to be punished for taking you from me.  His death won’t be as easy as your husband’s.”

The chain that held me jerked as I lunged for him, my body instinctively seeking to hurt him, to mangle him.  My pain and fury and desperation left me in a crazed shriek.

He stepped back and watched me with amusement as I writhed and screamed.  He had killed Tucker.  And now he was going to kill Smith.  I couldn’t let that happen.

Mastering my instincts, I stopped fighting.

“I’ll do anything,” I forced out.  “Anything you want.  I’ll be your whore.  I’ll be your slave.  Just don’t hurt him.  Please.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,
Lydia!”  Master snapped as he pulled against his chains with renewed ferocity.  “You’re mine, goddamn it!”

The knife was back at my lips.

“Shhh,” the Bastard practically cooed.  His eyes gleamed as he looked from Master back to me.  “You think
he’s
your Master now, don’t you, whore?”  The knife lowered, and his fingers touched the tourmaline pendant at my throat.  I couldn’t help snarling at him as I jerked away.

He scowled.  “That’s what I thought.”

The necklace’s delicate silver chain cut into my skin as he yanked down on it.  The sound of it snapping was drowned out by my scream of pained protest.  He flung it across the room, where it disappeared into the shadows.  Although I was still wearing my dress, I suddenly felt as though he had stripped me naked.  I was exposed, more vulnerable than I had been since Master had first taken me into his home.

“While your offer is interesting,” The Bastard said calmly.  “I don’t need you to be a willing slave.  But we might have fun seeing how far you will go to keep me from hurting him.”

Master’s inarticulate roar elicited a pleased grin.  “He doesn’t like that at all, does he?  You see, his punishment is to watch me break you.  However long it takes is how long he will live.  As soon as you call me ‘Master,’ he dies.”

“I will never call you that,” I hissed.

His sly smile was his only response.  He reached over to the bondage table beside him and picked up an object I didn’t recognize.  It was about the length of my forearm.  The lower half seemed to be some sort of wooden handle, with a metal bar protruding from it.  There was a thick, rectangular block of coppery metal at the end, and a long cord ran from the butt of the handle to an electrical socket in the corner.

Fear spiked in my gut as he lifted it to my face.  I flinched, anticipating that he would strike me with it.  But instead he held it stead
ily in front of my eyes so I could study it more closely.  Artfully styled letters were embossed on the metal block in high relief, protruding from the surface by about half an inch: CM.

“It’s an electric branding iron.”  The Bastard answered my unspoken question.  For a moment, the horrific implication of the words didn’t quite penetrate my brain.  “I’m going to mark you until you accept that I own you.  Once you beg me as your Master to stop, you’ll get your reward.” 

He flicked a switch on the base of the handle, and soft heat almost instantly began to pulse from the metal.  The sounds of Master’s furious shouts and the rattling of his chains faded into the background as all of my focus honed on the terrifying device that was hovering only inches from my eyes, growing hotter by the second.

“I wonder how many you’ll
take?  I’d hate to mark up too much of your pretty skin.”  The Bastard’s gaze roved over me, assessing.

A strangled cry shoved its way past the fear that crushed my windpipe as he reached up my dress and roughly grabbed my naked sex, pressing his thumb into the flesh above my womb.

“We’ll start here, whore.  You’ll never again forget that your cunt belongs to me.”

My raw scream of terror clashed with a deafening crash.  The Bastard’s eyes barely had time to widen in surprise when he was jerked back from me.  A heavy chain was wrapped his throat, and Master’s hands gripped it tighter.  The iron cuffs still encircled Master’s wrists, but the ringbolt that had held the chain to the ceiling was no longer embedded in the wooden beam.  The Bastard’s restraints had never been tested on someone with Master’s strength.

The Bastard’s hands scrabbled at the chain, clawing at his own neck in a wild attempt to free himself.  His face began to darken, rapidly turning from red to purple.  When his body sagged, Master released him.  He hit the floor with a gasp, but Master was on him before he could finish drawing his first breath.  With a feral snarl, Master drove his fists into the Bastard’s face over and over again, every hit punctuated by a sickening crunch.

The Bastard’s body
twitched, and blood gurgled in his windpipe with each desperate breath.  When Master pushed off of him, his face was a gory, unrecognizable mess.  Master pulled back only long enough to grab the branding iron where it had fallen at my feet.  With a vicious, vindictive snarl, he pressed the metal into my tormentor’s throat.  The Bastard’s agonized scream quickly died as Master applied pressure.  The brand burned through his flesh, the metal disappearing as it carved a gaping hole in his neck.

Everything went silent and still
save for Master’s ragged breaths as his chest rapidly rose and fell.  The scent of charred meat permeated the room.

Acute fear and shock at the sudden, gruesome turn of events had immobilized my brain.  My senses had absorbed everything that happened in sharp detail, but I had yet to process any of it.   Now my mind moved sluggishly as my ability for coherent thought slowly coalesced.  Disgust, relief, and vindictive pleasure all rose up within me at once, overflowing from my system in a harsh sob.

Master jerked at the sound, but he didn’t look at me.  Instead, he fished a key out of the Bastard’s pocket and unlocked the cuffs around his wrists.  As soon as they clattered to the concrete, he stood and strode purposefully away from me.

“Master?”
  I rasped his name questioningly as alarm tainted my relief.

He said nothing.  Bending, he retrieved something from the shadows.  When he turned to me, his eyes were wild with possessive fury.  Any sane person would have shrunk away from that look, but it made my heart swell.

“It’s okay,” I said softly as he approached me, trying to soothe him.  “I’m okay.”

He stopped before me, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he ground his teeth together.  He lifted his blood-soaked hands to my throat.  Silver and green flashed in the dim lighting.  Master stared at the necklace intently as he knotted the broken chain together at the nape of my neck.  Tracing his fingers along the line of it, he drew in a shaky breath.

When his eyes met mine, much of the wildness had faded.  A sense of completeness, of safety, settled over me as well.  The Bastard was dead.  He could never hurt me again.  Master had protected me, just as he always would.