24 comments/ 237078 views/ 328 favorites The Rebellious Slave Ch. 01 By: HisPet21 You fucking idiot! Kara cursed herself, her breathing frantic. You stupid, gullible fuck! With purpose, Kara fled, scraping her already bloodied hands on low hanging branches as she pushed them aside. The foliage was thick, forcing Kara to leap over rotten, fallen trees and occasionally crawl under dense tangles of vine and brush. With the sound of every snapping branch and with the crunching of leaves under her feet, Kara instinctively cringed. For the past three weeks, survival had depended upon silence and stealth. But now, in this moment, her survival depended on being fast, on gaining ground, on widening the gap between herself and the hunters she'd stumbled upon. Her heart pounding loudly in her chest & her legs aching, Kara gasped for breath. As she ran, it became harder and harder to breathe, and tears blurred her vision. In the onslaught of fatigue, Kara tripped over a thick tree root, and hit the ground hard. Her knees scrapped against the debris of the forest floor, opening up fresh wounds as Kara scrambled to her feet and hurriedly searched about for a place to hide. She just couldn't run anymore. In the darkness, she heard blood curdling screams of terror, and despite her panic, managed to find a hollowed out trunk just a few feet away. Hurriedly, she made her way to the hollow tree trunk, thinking encouraging thoughts. You'll be fine, she told herself. You've been in much worse situations before. Just a few more feet...it's the perfect hiding place, you'll just have to wait this out...But her mind froze. From the corner of her eye, Kara spotted a human form. Shit! Surely, she hadn't run all this way, only to bump into one, completely by accident? There was still the tiniest twinge of hope. Frozen in place, not daring to breath, she turned slowly, praying that what she saw was a hallucination, perhaps made by the juxtaposing darkness and moonlight. Perhaps the cloaked man was an irregular rock formation, or an oddly growing bush, which had morphed into a man as a result of the adrenaline in her veins and the eerie darkness of night. But to her horror, the form only became more fully human as she turned to face it. It was tall and bulky, with the build of your typical hunter, and all dressed up in full hunter's gear: a dark, concealing cloak, stealth boots, a hood, and an array of cuffs, rope, and weapons hanging about a belt. "Sorry, sweetheart," the dark figure cooed, stepping toward her into a solitary ray of moonlight, piercing the canopy above. "Looks like tonight is the night. Do me a favor and turn around. Knees on the ground, hands behind your head, fingers inter-locking. I'll be most off put if you make me scramble around in the dirt to cuff you." Kara didn't move. It wasn't over yet, was it? Certainly, there was some way out. She'd had a few close calls before, perhaps not this close, but still...Her eyes darted about, looking for something. Anything. She didn't know what, exactly, she was looking for, but would recognize it when she saw it. But there was nothing. Only more dense, dark forest. Fine, then, she thought. Still pumped up on adrenaline, she carefully drew a small, silver dagger from her belt, wishing she hadn't wasted the last of her ammo on a couple of rabbits and a fast lunch. She'd lose a fight like this at close range, but if she had to go out, might as well draw a little blood first. The hunter sighed, irritable. "Do we really have to do this?" he grumbled, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "We both know how this ends." The hunter was tired, which meant this was probably one of his last chases in a month long hunting expedition. Good. Make the tired fucker catch her. "I'm sorry," she replied, preparing herself to lunge. "Coming quietly isn't my policy." The hunter, glaring hard at her, tried one last time to make his prey see reason. "You're coming with me tonight, and we'll be traveling for a good while afterwards. I can make the trip comfortable, but I don't have to. I could go out of my way to make the next week hell." "And damage your merchandise?" Kara sneered. "Wonderful. I finally get caught, and I have to get taken in by a low quality distributor? No wonder you're in such a poor mood. Third tier hunters don't get the same cushy commission the big boys get, do they? Most hunters would be thrilled to have another head on the roister, but I bet you've got a commissions cap, don't you?" The hunter frowned, and Kara knew she'd hit a nerve. So he was from a lower tier slave distributor, probably Xnon or Captly Inc. Fantastic. That was a hard blow to Kara's ego. A solid two months of evasion, and she was going to be taken in by a low paid, second rate hunter working for a notoriously cheap, corner cutting slave distributor. The insulted hunter reached along his belt for a night stick, and Kara lunged. Already exhausted from running, Kara didn't last long. She dodged a couple blows from the night stick and made a small, red cut along the hunters left forearm, but a moment later rod hit flesh, and she fell, sharp pain running up her right side. The hunter cursed profusely as he knelt into Kara's back, wrestling the dagger from her grasp and pushing her into the dirt, making sure she couldn't wriggle away. "You stupid little cunt! You're proud of yourself are you, fucking up my arm?" He wrestled Kara's arms behind her back and, taking a set of metal cuffs from along his waist, shackled her wrists together. "Big mistake, sweetheart. That little ego boost won't feed you for the next week, will it? Will it keep you warm at night? Give me a few days, and you'll be licking my boots for my food scraps and a chance at a blanket, or a coat." Kara struggled in the dirt, making every effort to twist around and bite or claw at the bastard, but he was much stronger than her. Soon, her ankles were cuffed as well, and she thrown over his shoulder and carried through the woods back to camp. The camp was well hidden in a clearing surrounded by dense brush. Kara wasn't surprised; it'd be unwise to alert any prey to your presence. There was a single, solitary pick-up truck parked along side a series of tents and a wooden picnic table, probably used to transport newly acquired merchandise out of the Middle River Forest and to a more sizable eighteen wheeler. The vehicle was far too tiny to carry a month's worth of work. In the back of the pick up truck were a few measly cages, and inside a few miserable souls, shackled and gagged. There was also a roaring fire, at the center of camp, encircled by a couple of downed logs, sectioned off to make benches. And a couple of motorcycles, for the hunters to get about. As her captor carried her into camp, Kara began to make out the words painted on the side of the truck: Captly Inc. Kara didn't know too much about Captly Inc, but she knew enough. They were a large, low quality slave distributor working out of Isleydor. And, more importantly, they were notorious for their "Quantity, Not Quality" business strategy. In other words, Captly made most of its money by cutting corners. Slaves were transported in bulk, in unsafe conditions, usually resulting in numerous nasty wounds and possibly diseases. The medical inspections and work ups were sub par for the market, keeping only up to government regulations and nothing more. Furthermore, the handlers were low-paid, poorly trained ruffians hired for sheer strength rather than their capacity for tracking and safely acquiring high quality product. They used night sticks instead of tazers, and metal cuffs instead of leather. There were down sides and up sides to being transported by Captly. On the one hand, she'd surely be kept in unsafe and unsanitary conditions with low quality food and little water. She risked malnutrition, potential skin rashes, and illness. On the other hand, if the transport period was short, she could avoid most of these potential problems through basic hygiene practices. And, on the bright side, Captly's clients weren't the wealthiest people in Isleydor. Whoever bought her wouldn't be able to afford fancy tracking implants, an official slave registration number, or decent training equipment. Escaping from a Captly's client would be easy. She'd just have to deal with the unpleasant trip to an outlet, and bide her time. Kara's captor moved her from her resting place on his shoulder to the forest floor, and none too gently. "You see those god awful cages, sweetheart?" he hissed, motioning to the Captly's pickup truck. "That's where you're going." Kara didn't say anything. Irritated by the lack of response, her captor leaned in closer, his breath hot. "You could be in there for a solid week, maybe even two. That's what you get for fucking up my arm." But Kara didn't bother to acknowledge the sinister sneer on her captor's face. They both knew that the wound she'd inflicted had nothing to do with Captly's sub par transport practices. She'd be crammed in a tiny cage even if she'd skipped her way into the damn camp herself, and begged for a pretty set of cuffs to be locked around her wrists and ankles. "Got another one, Calvin?" Out of the darkness, another hunter approached, but with two women slung over his shoulders, hog-tied and gagged. "She doesn't look too bad. I might be able to pull twenty grand out of her." With no ceremony at all, the new hunter dumped his cargo onto the ground and his prisoners groaned. "Why don't you put these two away for me?" he asked, motioning to the bundled girls by his feet, and then back at the truck. "I'll look this one over, and then we can log 'em." Without hesitation, Calvin went away to do as he was told and Kara, who was getting bad vibes from the new guy, sat up as best she could onto her knees. This new one wasn't quite as tall as Calvin, and he was certainly a more nimble man, but he had an aura of self assurance and self confidence that made her skin crawl. He crouched down so that the two of them were eye level, reached behind her head, and grabbed a fistful of hair, which he used to tilt her face into the light. She'd always been told that her blue eyes, deep and dark, were her most attractive feature. The light caught them, and the new guy paused. "You have a name, sweetheart?" he asked, quietly. Kara shook her head. "No, I don't." The hunter was not satisfied. "Really? Is that so?" He pushed her, head first, into the dirt, and pulled at the small pack she'd had wrapped around her waist, freeing it. Being tied up, there was no way she'd be able to get free, so she decided to lay out on the ground until he saw fit to let her up again. She could hear him undo the drawstring of the pack, then reach in among her belongings. He'd mostly find survival gear: rope, matches, a portable radio, a few loaves of bread, her last can of soup. But if he felt along the lining of the bag, and found the hidden seam...."Well, look what I've found? A little pouch. Who wants to bet I'll also find some ID?" Dammit. She'd only kept the damn license to prove to other escaped rebels, also in her situation, that she wasn't from Isleydor, that she could be trusted. "Kara Chrystein. What a lovely name. Kara. I like it. You can keep it." And he left her, lying on the ground. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 02 To my readers: Thanks for all the comments and feedback! Please continue to let me know if you enjoyed the story, or if there is room for improvement. As long as I know people are enjoying the story, I'll be sure to write each week! -------------------------------------------------- Kara was grateful when, early the next morning, the Captly's pickup truck began to move out of camp, and back toward the outskirts of the Middle River Forest. She had not been able to sleep the previous night, mostly due to the unbearable cold. Kara and her fellow prisoners hadn't been given any blankets, although she was grateful that they'd been allowed to keep their clothes. The other inmates, crammed into two metal cages, had managed to stay warm by bundling up close together and sharing body heat. But Kara had been tossed into her own cage. Being claustrophobic, she felt lucky at first, but as the night got darker and a horrid wind began to blow through camp, she had changed her mind. Although, with her wrists shackled above her head and her ankles shackled together, Kara found it impossible to get comfortable. Even if she had been warm, she wasn't sure she'd have been able to fall asleep. Eventually, she gave up on the endeavor entirely and simply sat in her cage, hoping that the transport period to an outlet wouldn't be as bad. But it probably would be. The pickup truck slowly rode through the forest, along a well hidden trail bordered on either side with thick brush. Daylight had just begun to pierce the overhead canopy, and the early morning birds chirped and called noisily through the trees. It would have been a beautiful morning, if the view weren't bordered on either side by metal bars, a constant reminder of Kara's captivity and the troubling weeks ahead. The trip was long, and it was a solid two hours before they finally made it out of the Middle River Forest and onto the main road, which lead into Calihistra's capital city, Gardok. It had taken Kara weeks to make it as far as she did, in part because she'd gone on foot, but also because she'd intentionally taken mountainous routes, so that it would be more difficult to track her. Two hours later, and it was as if she'd never even made it out of Gardok and into the Middle River Forest. She might as well have been caught back in September, when Isleydor had finally captured Gardok, Calihistra's last standing city. After Isleydor's military operatives had tracked down the most wanted "Wartime Criminals" for trial and execution, Isleydor's slave distributors had been allowed to come in and clean up the rest of the White Horse Rebel Alliance. Kara had barely made it out, spending a week hiding out below the city streets, in the winding network of Gardok's sewers. And now, here she was again, back on the outskirts of Gardok in a now conquered country. She could see the capital's skyscrapers from here, or at least what was left of them. A few were still smoking from Isleydor's air raids. The pickup truck made its way down the main road, ever approaching an ominous eighteen wheeler with the familiar "Captly Inc" written on the side, in dark red. Despite all her bravado, Kara's heart sank. In her minds eye, she could see herself, shackled to the interior of the truck, wallowing away beside other miserable souls, forced to sit in their own filth, eating sludge-like "Nutrition Compound" out of a fucking pouch. As they got closer to their destination, Kara could make out hunters on motorcycles, guarding the eighteen wheeler, a few empty metal cages, already unloaded, and a small silver van. Standing along side the van, wrapped in a brown trench coat and smoking a cigarette, stood an older gentleman, maybe in his sixties, scrunching himself up against the morning chill. A tall, broader man stood beside him, stiff and at attention. The older gentlemen was a Captly's Inc. Inspector, do doubt, or maybe an Evaluator, come to calculate the new load's total worth. The pickup truck came to a stop, and the hunter who'd ransacked her pack, who Kara had learned was called "John," exited the vehicle and approached the man in the brown trench coat. "Morning, Mr. Charthe! We're glad to see you again!" John grinned, and stuck out his hand for a vigorous shake, but Mr. Charthe ignored it, opting to light up another cigarette instead. "Johnathan, with all due respect, I'm in a hurry today. I've got a couple more slots open for tomorrow's auction. You've got anything worthwhile, or not?" Mr. Charthe took an inhale of his cigarette and peered over at the pickup truck, looking less than happy with its contents. "I hope they're not too bruised and bloodied. You've only had them all for a day, right?" His tone dripped with condescension. Clearly insulted, John furrowed his eyebrows and reluctantly withdrew a small, black leather wallet from his cloak. "Some for a few days, but most of them were caught last night. I assure you, if there's any damage, it isn't permanent. Look, we've got a violinist, a medic, some ex-military, a graphic artist, and an athlete. Cross country, I think. Most of them have ID's." And John handed over the leather wallet, filled with the recently captured's various identification cards. Mr. Charthe skimmed through the wallet, plucking out ID's, scanning them with his smart phone, and then reviewing the details that came up. By now, Isleydor had access to all of Calihistra's private and public citizens records. After a moment, Mr. Charthe replied, "Let me have a look at the violinist, the athlete, and the medic." At first, Kara wasn't sure of what was going on, nor did she particularly care. She was far more interested in the eighteen wheeler than John's conversation. Did it look like it had any weak points, maybe a small hole that had been patched up with plywood, big enough to escape through? Had one of the hunters dropped a weapon she could snatch up on her way into the eighteen wheeler? The back was being opened up. How many soon-to-be slaves were crammed into the back? Would she have enough room to breathe? But then the door to her cage was opened, and her hands were being released, and in an instant the entire conversation hit her like a load of bricks. Written on the side of the silver van, in black ink, were the words "Martkorp." Oh, god. Martkorp was a much more prestigious slave distributor than Captly Inc. and was therefore much more dangerous. Sure, they took much better care of their merchandise than Captly did, but spared no expense when it came to training and conditioning, either. Each of Martkorp's slaves came with a tracking implant and slave registration number, at a minimum. If Kara was purchased by Martkorp, there was a very real chance she'd never make it out of the market. And from what she could gather of the previous conversation, Martkorp's supply of slaves was too small to meet the demand, and they were outsourcing to lower tier slave distributors like Captly Inc. This man---Mr. Charthe---was offering to buy a few of Captly's most recent acquisitions and Kara, the medic, was of interest. This is bad, Kara thought to herself, her heart rate rising rapidly. This is really, really bad. Kara's ankles were released and she was half pulled, half dragged out of the pickup truck. She couldn't get purchased by Martkorp, or her chances of escaping would be practically zero. Now was the time for action. How she chose to handle this situation would make or break her. She struggled hard against her captor, kicking and swinging her arms as best she could, being sure to make a show of how unruly, and untamed, and problematic she was. If she weren't gagged, she would have screamed insults and spat at her captor, anything to make her look unworthy of purchase and too difficult to handle. Whatever John decided to do with her later, to punish her for her insolence, she could handle, so long as she didn't end up at a Martkorp auction. "Stupid, worthless cunt!" John hissed, when Kara's elbow connected with his jaw, leaving a nasty swell on his upper lip. Twisting her arms firmly behind her back, John cuffed Kara's wrists and forced her to face her prospective buyer. Kara watched as Mr. Charthe walked forward, until he was barely a foot away from where she stood. He had dark, green eyes and a head of grey hair, with an eerie aura of apathy and condescension. He eyed her carefully, taking his time, making Kara uncomfortable with the way his eyes roamed along chest and then to the "V" of her jeans. Starting at the the top her head and slowly scanning every inch of her body, Mr. Charthe paused only to look into her deep blue eyes. Then, to her horror and surprise, he pulled a pocket knife from his cloak. He moved toward her with purpose, before she could even think of trying to move, grabbed a fist full of her brown hair, and pulled her head back to expose her neck. Any thought of resistance or struggle suddenly fled from Kara's mind as the cold, sinister metal was pressed to her throat. Any more pressure, and it would surely cut flesh. She made sure to remain perfectly still. "Well, now. This seems to have gotten your attention, hasn't it, Calihistra scum?" Mr. Charthe purposefully ran the blade across her throat, gently though, so as not to cut. "I'm going to take a look at you now, and you're going to be totally still for me, aren't you, slave? Nod if you understand." Kara nodded---she had to pick her battles carefully---but immediately cringed when the prospective buyer took a fist full of clothing and began to cut the cloth away, until she was nude from the waist up. It was cold in the open air, but Kara's fury warmed her. The perverted lunatic stared eerily at her body for a moment, and rage welled up inside her. She refused to feel like a piece of fuck-meat, or like cattle. Her breasts weren't sizable by any means, but they weren't too small, either. She had two shapely C cups, with tiny pert, pink nipples that hardened in the brisk morning air. Mr.Charthe gripped one of her breasts viciously with his left hand, and Kara had enough. She backed into John, away from Mr. Charthe, but he was clearly used to this sort of reaction. Before she was out of reach, he slid his right hand, still holding the knife, past her navel and into her jeans, grabbing the mound of her pussy. She could feel the sharpness of the blade biting into her soft, sensitive flesh, and dared not move. The knife moved casually along her slit, and for a second, she stopped breathing, for fear that any slight twinge in movement would leave her cut. "Better," Mr. Charthe mumbled, a grin on his face. Then, he turned to John. "How much?" he asked, pulling his hand from out of her jeans and pocketing his knife. "She's a pretty one, and with a medic's license, certainly a smart one, too. I think I can get a good price." Kara kicked out at the buyer, hatred in her eyes, but Mr. Charthe managed to jump out of reach just in time. "She's got a bit of fight in her, too. I have clients who like that sort of thing. Toys that don't break easy." He grinned menacingly at Kara, who was now struggling against John, trying to break free or at least make herself look more rebellious, a less worthy candidate for Martkorp, but the strategy failed her. "Thirty grand," John insisted. "I'll go no less." Mr. Charthe snorted, and lit a fresh cigarette. "Come on. She'll clearly be difficult to work with, and her butt's a little flat. I'll give you twenty." "Very well, twenty-five," John conceded. Mr. Charthe nodded. "I'll do that. Put her in the van, and then let me look at the violinist. And for god's sake, try not to leave any bruises. She'll be harder to sell on my end, and if we're to keep doing business, you and your men will have to learn how to handle your merchandise better." Kara no longer struggled for the sake of appearing less sale-worthy, she struggled out of panic. "You hideous, barbaric cunt!" John yelled, trying to wrestle her to the ground without causing any damage that might threaten his sale. "Calvin! Cynthia! Can I get a little help here?" Mr. Charthe rolled his eyes and sighed irritably. "You people are pathetic. Here, I'll have my own man take care of it." He turned toward the van, where the bulky man from earlier still stood at attention. "Coleman, could you take care of this for me," he gestured at Kara, still struggling to get away. "If you have to use a tranquilizer, make it something that'll wear off in an hour. If she goes on sale tomorrow, she has to get a physical today, understand? I don't want any shit in her system when Catherine does blood tests, or we're both going to get chewed out." From her position, now on the ground, Kara looked up and saw Coleman approach. He was slim, but broad shouldered, and much better equipped than the Captly Inc. hunters. He wore a silver and blue uniform, characteristic of Martkorp employees, with the Martkorp logo, a sideways "V" enclosed in a circle, on his chest. On his belt, he had leather cuffs, a mini tranquilizer gun, a tazer, and what looked like a dagger or two. He reached along the belt, then Kara noticed, he stopped at the tazer. Shit. "Out of the way," he said, and as soon as John had stood up, Kara could feel the awful, paralyzing, burning pain of electricity. It was hard to breathe, impossible to move, and each nerve end was on fire. Her whole body burned, and she twisted piteously, trying to put out the pain, suddenly realizing that she was screaming from under the gag. Then, the pain stopped, and Kara collapsed onto the ground with a painful thud, where she lay helpless and trembling. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 03 To my readers: Thanks again for all the feedback and comments, they inspire me to continue! I promise that, as the story gets more in depth, the chapters will get significantly longer. -------------------------------------- Once more shackled, Kara sat in the back of the silver van, watching the trees fly by its tinted windows. Beside her, sobbing uncontrollably, sat the bound violinist, who Mr. Charthe had also chosen to purchase. She was a young women, probably in her early twenties, and big chested, with olive skin, dark hair, and bright hazel eyes. It had been hours since they'd started the drive towards the Martkorp outlet, and she hadn't stopped crying since. It was amazing to Kara that her tears hadn't run dry yet or her throat grown sore. And at first, Kara had sympathized with the young women. How awful, she wondered, would it be to reach the status of a concert level violinist, only to be reduced to a slave in the wake of an unjust and untimely war? But after sometime, the violinist's sobs, only partially muffled by the filthy gag in her mouth, became extremely irritating. Kara tried to remind herself that it wasn't the poor girl's fault, but wouldn't there be plenty of misery to appreciate later? Kara wanted to enjoy the trees and the grass and the rolling hills, as they lit up with the sunrise, without having wet, shaking sobs serve as a sound track. They approached a grey, concrete building, largely unimpressive, which was surrounded by a tall, metal gate. If it weren't for the sign out front, Kara would have never guessed it belonged to Martkorp. Two armed guards, stationed at the gate's main entrance, waved the van to a stop and checked Mr. Charthe's employee badge before letting them through. Slowly, they circled around to the back of the building, until they reached a plain, metal doorway and the two slaves were escorted from the back of the van into a crisp, white room, smelling strongly of antiseptic. It was brightly lit with fluorescent bulbs, and was mostly bare, with the exception of some conspicuous shackles hanging from the ceiling, a few stools, a sink, and a shower head, without the rest of the shower. Coleman locked the metal doorway behind them, and the two slaves waited anxiously in the center of the room, while Coleman looked on and Mr. Charthe smoked. Kara tried to work the irritating gag out of her mouth using her tongue. It tasted like gasoline and dirt. "Not in my clinic, Glen!" Kara heard the slamming of a door behind her, and turned to see a tall, white faced women in a lab coat snatching away Mr. Charthe's cigarette and stamping it out. "How many times have I told you? Not in my clinic; it's disgusting!" She was beautiful, with long, flowing locks of raven black hair, cold darkened eyes, and deep red lips. She wore an excessive amount of jewelry, Kara noted, her eyes drawn to a mismatched set of bracelets traveling up each slender arm. The women stopped in front of Mr. Charthe's two new acquisitions, and her face dropped with disappointment, then reddened with anger. "Is this what you got for me, Glen?" She gestured wildly, first at Kara and then at her fellow captive. Mr. Charthe backed away defensively. "Look, it was the best I could do last minute. The one on the left is a concert level violinist, that's got to count for something, right? It's a selling point at least, a more than marketable skill. I'm lucky to have gotten what I did from Captly---" The women clenched her fists by her sides, her voice tense. "You went to Captly?!? Jesus Christ, Glen! The hell were you thinking?" "Look," Mr. Charthe growled, his voice growing threatening. "Captly Inc. was the only other distributor in the area, and this is what they had available." "It'll be embarrassing," the women sighed. "They'll stick out." "Not as much as two empty slots would. We've got enough interesting pieces to keep tomorrow's auction impressive. I doubt anyone will be disappointed." The women swung around to face Kara, determined to find a new source for her rage. "And what about this one?" The women didn't take her ominous eyes off Kara, even as she spoke to Mr. Charthe. "She any good? What did she do for a living?" Kara's gag finally loosened and fell down around her neck. The women stared at her, waiting for an answer. "I was a military medic," she replied, terse. "Even worse," the women groaned, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "A fucking medic...Fabulous." You're a "fucking medic," Kara thought, anticipating a suspected medical exam, but she was smart enough not to say it. "At least she's military, I think we can justify that, Catherine." Kara took note of the women's name. "We'll make it work," Mr. Charthe continued. "Like I said, we've got a solid eighteen high quality pieces. It'll be nice to have a novelty or two thrown in for contrast, and good measure. If they don't get sold, we can raffle them off as door prizes or something." The violinist, who had been quite since they'd entered the building---probably out of sheer nervousness---began to sob again, and Kara couldn't blame her. She didn't like being referred to as a door prize, either. And what sorts of slaves, Kara wondered, were they selling? Apparently, Kara and the violinist paled in comparison, and while Kara wasn't exactly a super model, she wasn't bad looking either. The violinist, if nothing else, would be prized for her natural D cups. It bothered Kara that they were being demoted to human goody bags, but she shrugged the feeling off. Martkorp had very high standards. Now that she thought about, she wouldn't be surprised if all eighteen prized pieces being auctioned off were first class chef supermodels, who had learned erotic dance in their spare time, and could also sing opera. You never knew. "Alright," the women, Catherine, groaned, resigning herself to the situation. "It is what it is." She turned sympathetically to the violinist and in an instant her face turned from one of rage to one of charm. "There, there, honey. There's no need to cry. Have a seat," she motioned to a nearby stool and allowed the violinist to sit down. "Calm down. We aren't going to hurt you, I promise. Okay?" She smiled endearingly, and the violinist quieted, then nodded. From monstrous to motherly in no time flat, Kara thought, impressed. This Catherine knew how to approach her work. "Coleman," Catherine hissed, "Take that filthy oil rag out of her mouth. It's down right gross what those Captly people do with their merchandise." Then the women turned to Kara. "You going to give me any trouble, girl? I'll take the cuffs off if you promise to cooperate, but one toe out of line, and they'll go back on. No second chances. Can you promise me that you'll be obedient?" Kara nodded, then said quietly, "My name is Kara, but yes, madam. I'll cooperate." She wasn't going to escape now, not in a well guarded processing center during a medical work up. If she had to endure this, might as well do so with her hands free. She might even be able to grab onto and hide some sort of weapon, even a rusty paperclip was better than nothing. With a nod from Catherine, Coleman undid Kara's cuffs as well, and she brought her hands tentatively in front of her, then rubbed the sore wrists gingerly. The Martkorp leather cuffs were more comfortable than Captly's metal ones, but they were still irritating. "Okay, then, Kara. Pants off, please." After Mr. Charthe's earlier inspection, there was no shirt or bra left to remove. Kara moved her hands to her belt buckle, began to undo the clip, then looked up and saw that her eyes met Mr. Charthe's. He looked lustfully down at the "V" of her jeans, and Kara redid her her belt buckle defensively. "He doesn't have to be here, does he?" She looked over at Catherine, hoping for some pity from her fellow women kind. There was none. "No, sweety, he doesn't need to be here," Catherine explained. "But he wants to be here, and you don't get to call the shots in my clinic, I do. Now, take the pants off, or I'll take them off for your. Glen will probably be watching either way. Your call." Glaring at Mr. Charthe, whose triumphant grin was even more obnoxious than the hard on rising in his pants, Kara reluctantly let her jeans fall to the ground, then her light blue panties. There was a puff of dark hair curling around the soft lips of her pussy. Before the war, Kara had kept herself well shaven. She liked the naked feel of her her bare mound and clit, as they rubbed against the inside of her jeans. But there wasn't exactly time to shave your groin when you were busy fleeing for your life, and the little bush had grown back. Her legs must be disgusting. She looked down at them. Yup. Disgusting. "She'll need some hair laser removal," Catherine mused, reflecting Kara's thoughts. "Alright, girl, legs spread and hands behind your head, fingers interlocking. Don't move." As she spread her legs, Kara could feel Mr. Charthe's eyes on her petite mound, and flushed red in agony. She tried not to look at him, or his horrible grin, but he made sure to stay in her field of view, taking great pleasure in her compromising position. Catherine circled Kara slowly, making little tick marks and notes on a clip board, musing out load as Kara involuntarily burned with humiliation. She felt like and insect on a slide, every inch of her body being probed by Catherine's eyes and, more importantly, Mr. Charthe's. Catherine stopped at Kara's left side, where a nasty bruise colored the skin, a reminder of Calvin's night stick and the evening of her capture. "You know I won't be able to get rid of this by tomorrow, right, Glen?" She traced the outline of the bruise with her pen. "But I can probably bring the swelling down." Kara was circled some more, and the straightening of a tooth was added to her list of "corrective measures" as was the treatment of a small, but prominent burn along her left calf. When asked about the burn, Kara was evasive. "Fire and I don't mix well," she'd said simply, and Catherine probed no further. "She'll need a spinal implant and a registration number tattooed onto her shoulder, of course," Catherine noted on her clipboard, and Kara twitched. She had known it was coming, but the thought of a tracking implant, buried along the spinal column, was a terrifying notion. Even as a medic, she'd never be able to remove the implant herself, to perform surgery that delicate on her own back. If she ever did escape this, she'd have to pay out the nose to have it removed, and that was assuming she'd make it very far at all. Her master would be able to program her implant into his or her household security system, and if she left unattended, would immediately be altered. Stupid ass technology... "You a virgin?" Catherine inquired, poised above her clipboard, her face betraying intense interest. Virgins would be more valuable, after all. "No," Kara sneered, happy to disappoint. "Believe it or not, I got quite a bit of action back in Gardok during the war. If you're surrounded by soldiers with muscular asses and rock hard abs, you take advantage of that perk." Catherine appeared shocked by the blunt response, then laughed heartily. "Amen to men with abs, honey. And there's no denying the power of a nice ass. Yours isn't too shabby, either." Catherine grabbed Kara's left cheek and squeezed appreciatively, and instinctively, Kara removed her hands from her head and slapped her. In the face. As soon as she'd done it, Kara knew it was a mistake. Even Mr. Charthe looked appalled, and as Catherine looked up at her, she could see dangerous intention in the woman's eyes. Kara frantically tried to apologize, to undo the damage. "I am so sorry, madam. Please forgive me, it's just these circumstances---" "Be quite," Catherine hissed. "Put your hands back on your head, girl. And this time, keep them there, or I'm done trying to be nice to you." Apprehensively, Kara obeyed, surprised it wasn't worse for her. Maybe she'd be given another chance to be obedient, and stay untied. But Catherine didn't stop with a caress of Kara's ass, and decided to test her authority further. To Kara's abject horror, Catherine ran her hand over the mound of Kara's pussy, and began to rub her clit, slowly at first, allowing heat to build between the poor slave's legs. The evil women grinned at Kara devilishly, daring her to move. And Kara understood. Catherine was looking for an excuse to abuse her. There were probably rules prohibiting poor treatment of the merchandise unless there was more than one instance of disobedience. It took all of Kara's will power not to back away. She couldn't lose this test of will. But Catherine, realizing she'd lost the first round, decided to take the challenge further, sliding two fingers into Kara's pussy, hooking both fingers to rub the small of her G-Spot. Kara cringed. "This isn't necessary," she hissed. Catherine grinned. "My clinic, my rules. I don't care if it isn't necessary, bitch. You can't move, and don't you even think of slapping me again." She pulled on Kara's clit as she finger fucked her, making her wince with the pain. "You know, I have my own girl at home, and she loves a good finger fuck, but her ass is even more slutty." The woman withdrew her now wet fingers from her captive's pussy and reached back behind her ass, pushing into it. Kara pulled away, then immediately regretted it. A triumphant grin grew across Catherine's face, and she motioned for Coleman to come over and cuff her. Damn it! "Look! I promise to hold still, I swear! I am very, very sorry!" Kara got on her knees to beg. She needed to try and keep herself free, and now she'd fucked it all up. If she were cuffed, she'd lose all hope of finding a weapon or a point of escape. Catherine ignored her pleas. "Coleman, hang this insolent bitch up. I want to make it very clear how all of this works." "Wait, no, I am very, very sorry!" The muscular hunter, ever quite, grabbed Kara by the hair and pulled to her feet, towards the shackles embedded in the ceiling. And for the first time since the night of her capture, it finally sunk in that Kara was a slave, and her captors could do whatever they wished. Well, the Martkorp employees couldn't do whatever they wanted, at least not without being fired, but still...Kara's heart raced in terror as her arms were shackled above her head, and her legs were spread by a long, metal bar with ankle cuffs on either end. "For the love of god, it was an accident!" she screeched. "Careful with her, Catherine," Mr. Charthe warned, tentatively. He seemed afraid of the woman. "You don't want to damage the merchandise. I'd leave the ass alone. She doesn't appear to be a virgin from both ends." "The bitch slapped me, Glen. And she failed to follow the same direction, twice. I've got authority to punish her a little. Don't worry, I won't leave any marks." She turned sinisterly to Kara, and the violinist started crying again, but Catherine ignored her. She turned to what appeared to be a cabinet high above the sink, but when she opened it, a white mist drifted out. It occurred to Kara that it was probably a freezer, used to store blood samples for later analysis. This was, after all, a clinic. After rooting around for a moment, Catherine removed what appeared to be a blue, cylindrical cold pack, a few inches in diameter and maybe six inches long. Still wearing a horrible grin, Catherine walked over to Kara and, with one hand, deliberately parted the lips of her captive's pussy. With the other, she slid the frozen length up in Kara's cunt. Kara cursed, and inhaled sharply. The cold pack didn't look very sinister, but buried deep into her loins, it burned. She could feel her body straining to push it out, pressure welling up inside her, the frozen mass unbearably foreign. Catherine pulled the cold pack out a little ways, relieving some of the pain, then shoved the length of it back into Kara's pussy, so that she once again cursed. It hurt a lot more than she imagined it would. Her pussy was used to being kept warm. She'd never had anything frozen up inside her before. "Sadistic bitch," she hissed, and Catherine twisted her clit between her fingers, pinching the sensitive flesh until, it too, burned. Slowly, she increased the speed with which she fucked her captive, watching Kara wince with each powerful thrust. It was certainly painful for the girl, Catherine noted, but not quite an effective punishment. Since she couldn't do anything worse to her, physically, she'd have to amp up the humiliation factor. She pulled the cold pack out of Kara's pussy, and heard her sigh in relief. "You, girl!" Catherine turned toward the violinist, and she immediately stopped sobbing, mid-choke. "Lick it," Catherine sneered, pushing away curling hairs and plump pussy lips to reveal Kara's swelling clitoris. The violinist looked shocked for a moment, but unwilling to endure Kara's fate, walked up and knelt between Kara's legs. Catherine clearly enjoyed the horrified look on Kara's face. "Leave her out of this," Kara screeched. "You sick, twisted perverts! Leave her out of this!" The violinist wrapped her arms around each of Kara's outer thighs for balance, grasped each ass cheek firmly, and gently stuck out her small, pink tongue. Kara looked between her legs and flushed with absolute humiliation as the girl tentatively licked her clit. Kara felt beyond violated, perhaps because she was forced into another slave's sexual submission. She strained against her bonds, trying to pull away. "It's not an ice cream cone, idiot!" Catherine sneered, pushing the olive skinned slave's face into Kara's pussy. "I want you to eat her cunt. Go on! I want to see your lips wrapped all the way around her mound. I want your tongue pushing into her pussy." "For the love of god!" Kara cried, as she felt her entire mons engulfed by the violinist's warm, wet mouth. Then, the young girl's tongue pushed into her opening and she turned pleading eyes toward Catherine. "Please, stop! Please! For the love of god, this isn't right!" The violinist's warm tongue snaked along the immediate entrance to her cunt, relieving some of the cold from earlier, and she could feel her clit begin to tingle with pleasure. No! She would not let herself enjoy this! But the girl between her legs began to lick and suck viciously, drooling all over her labia, making her face turn red with lust. She sucked Kara's clit into her mouth and pushed a finger, then three, into her pussy and began to fuck her, fast. Kara could feel the girl's long nails biting into her flesh and winced. Heat continued to build between her legs and to her terror, she could feel the wetness of her cunt start to run down her legs. Her body trembled. Suddenly, Catherine grabbed the back of the violinist's hair, and tossed her to the ground, then followed it up with a hard, deliberate smack against Kara's pussy. "That's enough," she hissed, turning to the violinist. "The merchandise isn't allowed come the day before an auction." And, in a moment, Kara felt her self suddenly shivering in cold streams of water. She was below the shower head. Catherine turned up the pressure of the water, and the cold worsened, hitting hard against her back. "You're disgusting," she sneered. "Look at me!" She grabbed Kara's now wet hair, and forced her to stare into her face. "Your legs are filthy! You're covered in drool and cunt lube! I can't have you prepped for auction like that." She turned toward a door, leading farther into the building, opened it, and shouted to an unseen assistant. "Kevin, get the fuck in here. I need you to clean up this whore and her cunt!" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 04 To my readers: As always, thanks so much for the comments, both good and bad. I appreciate knowing if you enjoyed the story and receiving constructive criticism. This one's a lot longer. Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------- Kara studied her reflection tentatively, not sure what to think of it. Part of the confusion, she had to admit, stemmed from the months she'd spent hiding out in Gardok, then fleeing through the Middle River Forest. She hadn't looked in a mirror or seen herself in ages. As odd as it sounded, even to her, Kara was now aware that she had, in fact, forgotten what she looked like. Not the main features, of course. Kara wasn't at all surprised to find that she was still a bit tall for a girl, with slender legs, petite, rounded breasts, and what her Uncle Florence had called "an adorable pigeon nose." And, certainly, she had always had deep blue eyes, and brown wavy hair, usually tangled and messy. "It's completely unmanageable!" her mother used to laugh, exasperated. "You ought to cut it all off, and be done with it. Better to have a bald head, than a couple of birds laying eggs in that tangled nest!" But Kara had refused to cut it short. She'd always liked her hair long, especially the silky feel of her locks, trailing down her shoulders and back. Even though she usually kept her hair up---it was necessary to keep your view clear while working as a medic---she never felt more beautiful than when she was able to let it down, and appreciate the swift breeze of a summer day combing through it. Kara pressed her fingers to the two way mirror of her cell, and traced the outline of her face. Her hair was down again, untangled and curled, coming to a spot right below her mid-back. Kara ran a strand of hair through her fingers, watching her reflection do the same, as if she were staring at a stranger. She watched a shimmer slant across the deep brown of her locks. Her hair was much thicker, much softer than she had remembered it. But, in spite of all the features she still remembered, Kara found that her face still looked foreign. She'd forgotten how many freckles she had, and the small brown mole on her left cheek. She ran a finger across a slight, barely noticeable scar on her neck, from a flying piece of shrapnel that had barely missed the vein. She'd forgotten about that, too. But it wasn't just the months without a mirror that had made Kara's own image so strange to her. During the past two years of grueling war, whenever Kara had looked into a mirror, a completely different woman had stared back at her. Back then, whenever a reflection had met her eyes, she'd seen a woman covered in fresh and dried blood, from the numerous procedures she'd performed on the field, removing bullets from downed men, aligning broken bones, & patching up gaping wounds. That woman's eyes had been blank, deadened by the long, grueling shifts of work and the ever-present smell of death and despair. There had been deep, dark circles below her eyes and bruises all up and down her body, from whenever she was forced to dive against the concrete for cover as the afternoon air raids began. Kara traced her reflection's eyes, trying to see into herself. She didn't recognize the woman staring back at her now. This woman wasn't blood stained and covered in dirt. This woman's long, brown locks caressed a soft, smooth face. Her eyelashes were long and prominent, carefully done up with black mascara, to compliment the dark eyeliner defining the deep blue tinge of her irises. Her soft cheeks had a slight, pink glow to them from the applied rogue, and her lips were a deep, seductive red. There was a thin trail of small silver stars, a sort of glitter, leading down from the corner of each eye to her cheeks. Appalled, Kara realized that she'd forgotten she could be beautiful. When was the last time she'd worn make up, or even brushed her hair? She was dressed in the traditional colors of a newly captured slave, primarily red and gold. She wore a deep red bra, with thick straps that fastened it behind her back and across her shoulders, golden trim outlining each breast. Kara could see her nipples pressed taught against the cloth, as her captors had put tiny, metal rings around each nipple to keep them firm. She also wore a pair of deep red panties that hugged the skin, perhaps too tightly, but was grateful that she was at least partially covered with two pieces of long, equally red cloth connected by a golden chain and draping across her front and back, like a make shift skirt. Even her finger nails and toe nails were painted in red and gold. But in spite of the lovely clothes, which were far more comfortable than what Kara had expected, the matching set of leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles stood as a sore reminder of her captivity. They weren't connected, so her hands were free, and she tugged at the cuffs, but they were fastened on tight. For the fiftieth time, Kara turned away from her reflection and pulled back her hair, so that she could look back and see the registration number tattooed onto her left shoulder: 365785. The ink was fresh, and the surrounding skin was red and raised, still not fully healed. She touched the tender skin and winced, watching as a small bead of blood trailed down her back from the recent punctures. Kara tried to angle her head, so that she could view the wound from the recent insertion of a tracking implant, but it was useless. She couldn't see that far behind her, and instead ran her finger along the raised lump in the center of her spinal column. She shuddered. It didn't feel real, Kara realized. None of it did. During the processing she'd endured at Catherine's hands, Kara had been alert and aggressive, prepared at any moment to seize hold of a weapon and to take advantage of any opportunity to escape. But after Catherine's crew had handled the basics---blood work, STD tests, dental cleaning, etc---they'd put her under to implant the tracker, and had gone ahead with the tattoo and laser hair removal while she was out. By the time she'd woken up, the rest of the medical work up had been completed and Kara, along with the violinist, had already been flown out of Calihistra into Isleydor, for the auction Kara so horridly dreaded. When Martkorp's employees had begun dressing her up and painting her face in preparation, Kara had let them. She was tired, and quite frankly, rather hopeless. She had a tracker inside of her now. Escape without a well formed plan would be pointless. She stood inside her cell, awaiting the inevitable. God, she wished there was a clock on the wall, some means of watching the minutes tick by. At least the cell was comfortable, the walls and floor completely padded in white cushion, so that Kara wouldn't be able to hurt herself. Taking up nearly half of the far wall was a two way mirror, which Kara continued to stare at in awe, still marveling at her own reflection. If Kara weren't going to auction, she'd have remained in this cell, so prospective buyers could ogle at her without her being able to ogle back. As she stared into her own eyes, she wondered if someone was on the other side of the mirror, staring into her eyes as well. "Alright, girl. You ready for tonight?" Kara swung around violently, unaware that the cell door had been opened or that anyone had entered. Hunched up in the doorway stood a tall man, in the typical uniform of a Martkorp hunter, motioning for her to come forward. Kara hesitated. On the one hand, this was going to happen with or without her consent. On the other hand, she couldn't quite get her feet to move forward. Up until this moment, she could rest easy in the knowledge that the Martkorp employees could only be so cruel without getting fired. Once purchased, that safety net would disappear, and her new owner could do whatever he or she wished with her. The hunter sensed her nervousness and was strangely sympathetic. He must be new to this, Kara thought. "Come on, honey," he cooed gently, as if talking to an injured bird. "You'll be fine. Come with me now, there's no sense in dragging this ordeal out." Kara nodded and stepped out of her cell into a long, marble hallway. Either side was lined with additional cells, most of which were empty, since they weren't on the main floor. These cells were probably reserved for the soon-to-be auctioned, Kara thought, looking in on those who could not look back on her, wondering where they had come from and where they would end up. But as Kara curiously peered about the open hall, the hunter gripped her by the upper arm and gently tugged her forward, snapping her out of her silent reverie. She was grateful that he didn't cuff her wrists together, and in order to keep it that way, carefully followed behind him through the hall to a service elevator. The pair entered and, after the hunter pressed a button for the ground floor, Kara dared to speak. "What are these things usually like?" She had heard stories after all, but wasn't sure how to separate the truth from the embellishments. The hunter scratched his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to treating people like pets, and gave a nervous chuckle. "I suppose," he told her, "that it varies from party to party. Tonight, we're doing a combination silent and live auction. For the first hour, clients peruse the merchandise, and can put in a bid to try and reserve a piece. If the bidding war on a piece hasn't settled by the first hour, the auction goes live." "Oh." The awful, twisting butterflies in Kara's stomach suddenly began to move about more violently. This was getting far too real. The adrenaline of the first 24 hours of capture had worn off and the terrible situation before her came into focus. Someone was going to buy her. Oh, god... The elevator doors parted and Kara stepped out onto the main floor, or at least that was the assumption. It certainly didn't look impressive. They were in an uncarpeted & barren room, with only a few lights embedded in the ceiling to illuminate its drabness. There were cobwebs in every corner and an old, moldy mop lying against an abandoned filing cabinet. Where were they? "We'll be going in the back way," Kara's escort explained, noting the confusion in her eyes. Gripping her once more by the upper arm, he turned her past an ancient wooden door and into a dimly lit hallway. She and the hunter walked down the cramped corridor and, finally, made their way into a large, circular room. Kara's breath caught in her throat as she stood, dumbstruck with sincere awe. The room was positively huge, with an ancient, glass chandelier hanging from its center. Beneath the chandelier, Kara saw what looked like a rather expensive buffet table, surrounded by roughly a dozen sitting tables, where clients could enjoy dinner or sit and chat among themselves. Toward the front of the room, near a carpeted entrance where clients would sign-in and pay the door fee, was a wooden platform for the sake of any live auctions that would need to take place, in order to end a bidding war unresolved during the silent portion of the auction. But, in spite of all this, Kara was most interested in a ring of tables encircling the room. Indeed, along the walls, forming an inner circle, were a series of hard, wooden tables, draped in red cloth. Kara could already see a few fellow slaves kneeling atop red and gold throw pillows, situated on the tables. Their ankles were chained to the tables themselves, and their wrists were shackled high above their heads. Kara instinctively backed away, toward the far less imposing room they'd come from, but the hunter's grip was firm and unrelenting. "Come on now," the hunter whispered empathetically. "Really, it isn't as bad as it looks. Listen, take a deep breath for me, and we'll get you set up. Okay? I'll make you as comfortable as I possibly can." Kara nodded, took a deep breath, and let the hunter guide her to her own little niche along the wall. They stopped in front of a table similarly draped in red cloth, with a series of sitting pillows decorating the surface. The table came up to Kara's waist, such that when she knelt atop it, her face would be at eye level. Kara noted that, situated next to her sitting place, was a stone table. Atop it was a small, golden name plague, reading "Kara Chrystein." There was also a small, bound booklet which surely contained a summary of Kara's history, skill set, medical work-up, and other relevant details. But most disturbing of all was a clipboard on the stone table, for clients to put down their bids during the silent portion of the auction. She cringed in disgust, noting her starting bid: $50,000. "Up you go!" the hunter grunted, lifting Kara by her waist onto the table, so that she gave a little shriek of protest. "Alright, girl," the hunter continued, once Kara was standing above him. "Kneel on the pillows for me. That's it. Make sure to get comfortable, because you won't be moving for a few hours." The hunter went around behind Kara and hooked her ankle cuffs up to two, short chains embedded into the wood of the table. He then gripped her wrists and hooked both leather wrist cuffs to a series of chains dangling from the ceiling above, so that she was secured atop the table with her hands forcibly held above her head and her feet firmly rooted to the table. Kara's heart shook. Would she really be like this for hours? Kara had a slight case of claustrophobia, and wasn't sure she'd last long like this... "The rules are like this," Kara's escort began, snapping her back to attention. "No gags unless you make them necessary. Sometimes the clients like to ask questions. Answer respectfully, and you can go the night without an uncomfortable ball in your mouth. A medic will be around after everyone's been set up to give you a mild injection, which should hold off any nausea due to nerves. I'll also have to blindfold you for a bit, until we're ready to start, which should be in roughly twenty minutes. Try not to panic, and you'll be fine." The hunter gave Kara a reassuring pat on the back, one last sympathetic look, and then he lifted a dark blindfold over her eyes, so that the brightly lit room was swallowed up in darkness. After it was secured behind her head, Kara could heard the hunter's footsteps fade away into the general buzz of auction preparations, and tried not to think about the next few hours. Instead, Kara shifted herself around, to test her range of motion, and was relieved to find that she wasn't quite as restricted as she'd feared. She allowed herself a second deep breath, to calm her nerves. The hunter is right, Kara thought. I can do this. I need to snap myself out of this stupid panic and focus. I need to stop wallowing in self pity. Yes, you have a tracking implant in you. Yes, you're at a fucking Martkorp auction. But for god's sake, get your head back in the game. Don't submit so easily; there will be a way out eventually. Focus! "Cowards!" Kara jumped a little, the relative quite of the room erupting in a harsh male scream. "God forsaken, brazen cowards! Get these confounded cuffs off of me, and I'll show you how well I can beat you into the ground! I've not surrendered! This war is far from over, and I swear---" The screams were abruptly cut off, as the prospective slave was probably gagged. Kara cringed, shaking nervously where she sat, but determined not to fall back into the complacency she'd entertained for the past hour or so. She was done feeling bad about her situation. As the minutes wore on, she could hear people crowding into the room, and the low hum of chatter. There were a few more outbursts among the soon-to-be slaves, but they were all quieted quickly. Eventually, Kara could feel the table underneath her shake as her table mate was set up and given the same little speech on gags and injections she'd heard earlier. And, as promised, a medic came around to apply an injection before whisking off to the next piece of merchandise. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" Kara jumped once more, as the loud speakers came on. "Welcome to this evening's auction! We hope you'll be pleased with our selections, as a great deal of time and effort went into tracking down and acquiring each unique piece. We'll begin with a silent auction. As you peruse the merchandise, you'll find that each piece is associated with a small clipboard, with the starting bid listed at the top. The minimum bidding increment is $20,000. Any piece that hasn't been reserved in the next hour will be handled with a live auction. A bid must go uncontested for twenty minutes for the associated piece to be considered reserved. If you have any questions, feel free to grab one of our informational employees. You can identify them by their purple and black uniforms. And, finally, be careful before you bid. Remember that these particular pieces cannot be readily re-sold! Not just anyone is allowed to own a live tiger. And, of course, enjoy your evening!" Suddenly, Kara's blindfold was off, and she blinked in the sudden onslaught of light. Even as her eyes teared in protest, she forced them open, anxious to see what would be in store for her. There were a good forty people in the room, idly looking over the merchandise, all dressed in the finest clothes: evening dresses, black suits, dark cloaks, and riveting jewelry. These were the richest of the rich, alright, Kara thought, glumly. Whomever bought her would have the money to make sure she never got away. "Don't do that!" Kara hissed under her breath. "Stop thinking like that! You're smart. You'll figure something out. Now, focus!" Kara skimmed the room, not sure what she was looking for or how anything she did now could help her, but she needed to do something, or else relapse into feeling entirely helpless. She eyed the other slaves, wondering how they had ended up like her, and found her self doing a double take. Not two tables to her left, she thought she recognized one of the slaves. She squinted in the glaring light, trying to pin down the details of the woman's face: Short, boyish blond hair, green eyes, a long, triangular scar on her left cheek.... "Oh, my god!" Kara hissed, unable to believe her eyes. The woman was Elandra, the head medic from her unit back in Gardok! Kara had never been particularly fond of Elandra, given the woman's often times cold, apathetic attitude. Elandra had refused to let anyone in her unit care for a soldier on Isleydor's side, which had been the source of many arguments. Kara took her Hippocratic Oath very seriously, and felt that discriminatory care, even in the face of war, was a mortal sin. But Elandra had saved her life more than once, and even if Kara couldn't like the women, she respected her. There was an elegant woman staring at Elandra, wearing a red sequin dress and holding a glass of red wine, her raven black hair tied back in a knot. She had a sinister sneer on her face as she gripped Elandra's face in her free hand and started to whisper something into her ear. Whatever the whispers meant, a look of horror could be seen in Elandra's eyes, and in an instant she'd started to sob. The woman very deliberately placed a bid on Elandra's clipboard, then lifted it up so that the head medic could see the exact bid she'd made. Elandra shook her head in desperation, and Kara could see the miserable tears trailing down her face. Kara could feel herself flush red with anger. How dare anyone treat a commanding medic that way, especially one who had saved so many lives? "Hey!" Kara cried, unable to stop herself. "You! Yes, you! The ugly crone in the red dress, who else? Do you even know who you are fucking with? That woman's saved more lives than any other medic in Gardok, you self absorbed twit!" Turning bright red in the onslaught of insults, so that her cheeks matched her dress, the woman in red lifted her skirt up so that she could quickly make her way over to Kara. But Kara didn't stop. No, she couldn't stop. "How dare you treat a commander like that! That woman's done more for mankind in an hour than you've done your entire life!" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 04 "Shut it, Calihistra scum!" the woman in red cried upon reaching Kara, lifting her arm over her head in order to back hand Kara in the face. "You break it, you buy it!" Kara sneered, surprised at her own gull. But it seemed to work. The woman in red paused, though she was none too happy with the truth of Kara's words. With her arm skill raised over her head, the woman in red eyed Kara's clipboard. "If I had you alone," she whispered threateningly,"I could have you ripped to shreds in an hour. You'd be licking my heels between your sobs for mercy." "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?" Kara replied indignantly, nodding towards her clipboard. "Talk is cheap, but the privilege of beating my ass is expensive. Fifty grand, to be exact. And that's the starting bid." The woman looked over at the clipboard and lowered her hand, defeated. But, upon spotting Kara's informational booklet, her eyes lifted with curiosity. The woman in red picked the booklet up, rather deliberately, and began to flip through the pages. As she skimmed her eyes lit up, and she set the booklet down to grab Kara's face, forcing her to look into the woman's eyes. "Oh, I see...Elandra was your Commander, was she? Such a pity, I'd love to have a pair," she grinned, staring into Kara's eyes. "But I'm already dropping quite a bit on that decadent little piece over there, as I am sure you saw. Don't worry though, I'll take amazing care of her. She's crying now, but she'll learn to love me. Love doesn't come naturally to everyone. Sometimes, love is thrust upon us." And looking more sinister than ever, the woman in red left. God dammit, Kara thought, her face dropping. How many of the men and women that I worked with are lined up here? Frantically, Kara skimmed over the remaining slaves in her line of sight, trying to see if she recognized anyone else. And surprisingly, Kara did. However, unlike Elandra, Kara didn't know any of the other slaves she recognized personally. There was General Karrington, a muscular man with broad shoulders and grey eyes, bound and already gagged. Perhaps he was responsible for the outburst earlier? Regardless, there was no doubt in Kara's mind that it was Karrington, the man responsible for defending Gardok's west side during the war. Kara remembered going to one of his famous speeches. It had been his idea, when Calihistra's foremost leaders had surrendered the state to Isleydor, to start up the White Horse Rebel Alliance and continue fighting the invaders, in opposition to both Calihistra's and Isleydor's Primary Counselors. Kara could only see glimpses of him from where she knelt. He was receiving quite a bit of attention... There was also Tamius Sue, the female general responsible for guarding Gardok's east side, and Tremilar Aldius, the famous mechanic who had single handedly built tanks from the car parts in Gardok, once it became impossible to get imports. Kara saw famous medics, weapons specialists, and war heroes she'd seen on TV or during meetings with Elandra's unit. And in an instant, the dots in Kara's mind began to connect. She could hear Catherine's voice in her mind, telling Mr. Charthe how embarrassing it would be to have Kara and the violinist on the auction block, because they would "stick out." In near panic, she tried to identify the prospective buyers, and realized that she recognized quite a few of them, too. There was Lord Algeris, who supposedly planned the attack on Gardok, and General Myiat, the woman who'd finally captured Gardok's south side... This isn't an ordinary auction, Kara realized in terror. This is a conquest auction... It made so much sense now. Here, lined up and ready for sale, where the best and brightest of the White Horse Rebel Alliance. And the clients were Isleydor's top military personnel, eager to purchase and enslave or brutalize the opposing "Calihistra Scum" who had caused them so much trouble during the war. Kara and the violinist weren't embarrassments because they weren't skilled or pretty enough for sale, but because their part in the war had been minimal. Kara tried to wriggle off of the auction table defensively, but was held tightly in place. She wasn't supposed to be at a fucking conquest auction, being sold as much awaited revenge to Isleydor's military officials. She was supposed to be in the back of a Captly Inc. truck, being sold to some no name farmer in the far reaches of Isleydor, preferably near the Nartian border, where her kind could supposedly seek asylum. But here, a sheep in the lion's den? No, Kara didn't belong here. She was a low level medic for fuck's sake! She was barely military! In her state of near panic, Kara didn't realize that she was being eyed by one of the prospective buyers, and jumped slightly when she saw him. He was a short man, maybe even shorter than Kara, with ink black hair and equally black eyes, wearing a green military uniform. He continued to stare at Kara, but not with lust or malice. He looked....confused, as if reaching into a foggy memory whose details had become blurred. Deliberately, the man stepped toward Kara and gripped her face in his hands, not allowing her to turn away. "Ummm," Kara tried, nervously. "Can I help you?" She couldn't resist. There was just something odd about letting a man grab your face without at least trying to figure out why. The man let go, stepped back, and pondered a bit, still eerily staring. Then, he stopped. His face lit up with sudden recognition, and a triumphant grin crossed over his face. "You're that explosives girl," he said, first unsure, then confident. "Yes, yes! The girl from the train!" "I think you have the wrong person..." Kara cried, afraid she'd bare the brunt of someone else's escapades, then stopped mid thought. This man did look slightly familiar, and in a sudden rush, the memory came flooding back to the forefront of Kara's mind... *** "Who here can shoot a gun?" Elandra asked. Once, Elandra's medical unit had been gifted a few soldiers, to protect the high school where they'd hastily put together a half-assed sort of hospital. But Isleydor's forces had almost over taken the city. The south side was gone, and the west side as well. If General Tamius Sue were to hold onto Gardok's east side, she would need every man available. And that meant taking away what little protection Elandra's unit had held dear. Now, the medical team was all alone, hunched in the basement of the school as air raids from above shook the ground. The afternoon clean up would be brutal, as usual, and with medical supplies running low, Kara doubted most of her patients would survive. Exasperated, she tried focusing on Elandra and whatever else the Commanding Medic had in mind. "Come on, don't be shy. Who here can shoot a damn gun?" Elandra demanded, impatient. A few medics raised their hands wearily, and Kara raised her hand as well. Elandra didn't ask if she could shoot a gun well, only if she could shoot one at all. And, although Kara didn't have a particularly violent nature, her Uncle Florence had insisted she learn to shoot. As one of Calihistra's foremost Weapons Specialists, he'd demanded it once the war began, even if her parents, both medics and pacifists, protested. "Alright, then." Elandra skimmed her unit carefully. "Trundle & Caseway, after the raids are over, head upstairs. There's some artillery in the cafeteria we've been gifted. It isn't much, so use it sparingly, okay? Your new job is to protect this hospital with everything you've got, and only after are you to work with patients." "But, Commander, we need every man working on medical duty if we are going to save these people..." Trundle began, nervously. Elandra hit the back wall with her fist in a fury, shutting Trundle's protests down. These days, the tiniest hint of insolence could set Commander Elandra off. "If all our stable patients die because of an attack, all our work is out the window. We can't save everyone, and you need to get that through your thick skull. Do I make myself clear, Trundle?" "Yes, mam. Absolutely." Trundle fidgeted nervously with his hat and averted his eyes, opting to stare into the concrete of the ground. "Okay, then. Who here has experience with explosives?" This time, Kara was the only one to raise her hand. Growing up in the countryside, next door to her Uncle Florence's farm, Kara had learned quite a bit about explosives. Though her parents had forbidden it, Kara often went over to Uncle Florence's house to build bombs. They were only small bombs, meant for blowing up dummies made of straw and dirt, or stacks of rotten vegetables not harvested in time. Kara and her Uncle Florence spent many an afternoon blowing up old stuffed animals, home-made dummies, and other odds and ends, ducking for cover before the explosions burst forward, leaving the pair laughing ecstatically. It had been great fun, but Uncle Florence also thought it was practical. "Knowing how to make things explode is a very valuable skill, Kara," Uncle Florence had told her, showing her how to build her very own bomb, this time one with a hand held detonator. "I know your Mother doesn't want me to teach you this stuff. I know she says you don't need to know this stuff, now that you've landed a position as a medic's apprentice. But trust me, Kiddo. Someday, medic or no, this shit will be useful." And now, here she was, in a nearly demolished "hospital," one without military protection, the only medic on her team who could build a bomb. "Excellent, Kara!" Elandra was clearly surprised anyone had raised her hand. "Stay here with me. The rest of you, clear out for a while!" And, without needing further prodding, the rest of Kara's medical unit was gone, leaving her all alone with Elandra. "There's no time to spare," the Head Medic told her, unwinding a large map onto the rickety table before her. Carefully, she laid a stone at each end to hold the map down and motioned Kara forward. "Do you see this railway?" Elandra asked, pointing to a gray squiggle leading up from Isleydor to Gardok. Kara nodded, unsure as to where this was going. "Well," Elandra began, tracing the line with her finger, "as you can see, it conveniently leads from a munitions factory in Isleydor to Gardok, where we're just barely hanging on. I've heard word that a huge deposit of weaponry is being transported up here now, along this route. If we can stall this train or, better yet, destroy its cargo, we'll have a much better shot at securing Gardok for the White Horse." The confusion didn't leave Kara's face. "I don't understand," she said, honestly. "You're a Commanding Officer, but a medic. How is this kind of operation your job? And I'm a medic. How is this anyway my job? We aren't trained for this. Just forward the info to Tamius at the front, and I'm sure she'll dispatch team to handle it---" "Stop," Elandra hissed, placing her hand on Kara's shoulder. "Just stop. In an ideal world, that would be the plan, but we're losing, Kara. Another three weeks like this, and Gardok will be no more. General Tamius knows about this already, but if she loses anyone on the front to stalling a train---especially a demolitions expert---Gardok will be captured before the munitions it carries could become threat. So, she's turning to us and others, asking if anyone might want to take a stab in the dark at this. You in?" "Of course not!" Kara pulled away from her Commanding Officer, horrified. "It's a suicide mission. I can build a bomb, but I probably can't get myself onto and off of a moving train crawling with Isleydor's soldiers in order to detonate it! Find someone else!" "There IS no one else!" Elandra cried, prepared for this reaction. "At least, not on the east side. And you must know that communications are down. It's not like we can call around and see if someone from the north side can help." Elandra spoke with a quickness and disjointed deliberation that made her speech confused, but she took a deep breath and managed to calm herself down. "Look," she began. "It's not ideal, but you won't be alone. There will be others in your team to help you get onto and off of the train. You'll have armed protection---" "Oh! Well, that changes everything, doesn't it? I'll have "armed protection," will I? You mean more medics, and military chefs, and fucking cleaners who've shot a gun once in their life? More last minute grabs, like me, who have never had any combat experience, Elandra? Is that what you mean by "armed protection"? Well, is it?" Kara stared at her Commanding Officer indignantly. "Yes," Elandra sighed, barely holding in her anger. "Yes, it is, but..." "Absolutely not!" Kara cried. "I'm not going to be a sacrificial lamb for your overly high aspirations. Without a trained team of men, who actually have combat and stealth experience, this won't work!" "This is an order from your Commanding Officer," Elandra screeched, finally losing it. "You will do this! You will join the team assigned to this task! You will help the White Horse stall this train! You will do as I say, whether you like it or not! Do I make myself clear?" "Where the hell do you get off?" Kara cried. "What sort of authority do you think you have? We're losing this war, Elandra! We're up to our knees in the blood of our soldiers. Do you think there's anyone available to hold onto me or put me on trial for insubordination? We follow you on faith now, not on your authority, and I have no faith in this stupid plan!" "God damn it, Kara! There is more than one way to save lives," Elandra shouted. "You could prevent a lot of good people from being blown to smithereens, rather than just trying to patch them up after the fact. Will you be able to live with yourself after the munitions arrive, and the air raids get more frequent? Will you?" And with that, Elandra had Kara in her grasp. Kara knew, deep down, that she wouldn't be able to live with herself if the air raids got more frequent, and her expertise could have prevented it. She wouldn't be able to live with the fact that more people had died than was necessary, because of her inaction. So, she relented to Elandra's commands, and agreed to the mission. An hour later, Kara was sitting in an old pizza parlor, which was squashed between two demolished buildings. Being a newer building, with a modern architectural design, the pizza parlor was much closer to the ground than its neighbors, affording it enough protection to become a temporary briefing room. There were five others assigned to the mission, not including Kara, who sat bundled together at a long, metallic table. Like her, they were bruised, bloodied, tired, and not very impressive. In the back of Kara's mind, she found herself questioning the precise nature of their war time skills, but dared not ask about them. She was sure her fellows had little to no combat experience, and didn't need any more reason to consider abandoning ship last minute. Realism wasn't going to save them and ensure a successful mission, but perhaps optimism would. Kara, being the only one capable of building, repairing, or detonating a bomb, was put in charge of the mission. All in all, she wasn't too happy about that. She'd rather not lead a group of men, especially when she wasn't skilled enough to promise them a shot at getting back home. But, in spite of her protests, it was decided, and Kara was forced to live with the fact. She was given several boxes worth of supplies, disorganized and severely lacking, with which to build the necessary explosives. And, using these, she instructed the rest of her team on how to put them together. She had hoped they would be able to fashion remote detonators for each, so as to avoid actually getting onto the so-called "death train" for manual detonation. But, alas, the necessary components weren't there. Three hours later, and they had a total of thirteen bombs, all equipped with timers. The plan was, essentially, this: The death train had roughly twelve cars, six cargo cars carrying ammunition and then, toward the front of the train, another six passenger cars. There were two bombs for each of the six cargo cars and an extra, which would be used to detach the cargo cars from the passenger cars. In this way, Kara ensured that her team could retreat to the passenger cars before the bombs detonated, and therefore wouldn't go up in flame along with Isleydor's ammunitions. "And how do we get off the train, after detonation?" Kara asked, looking up at the portly man sent to brief them on the mission. "You'll jump," he replied, no humor in his voice. Kara was incredulous. "You're serious?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "We're on a moving train, in the frigid mountains north of Gardok, and we're supposed to just jump?" "Pretty much," the portly man replied. "Duck and roll when you land, to reduce the force of impact, and hope that you don't land on anything sharp. Other than that, yeah. Just jump." A mere thirty minutes later, feeling less and less able to remain optimistic, Kara was blind folded and escorted through a series of underground tunnels to the "Sewer Line," supposedly the only way into or out of Gardok. Kara despised the blindfold. They were in a war zone, for god's sake. If something happened, she'd need to be prepared to defend herself. But, on the other hand, it was imperative that the location of the Sewer Line remain a secret, to all but the most high ranking military personnel. If Isleydor's army found and blocked off the Sewer Line, The White Horse Rebel Alliance would run dry on food, water, and ammunition in a matter of days. Kara wasn't trained in interrogation resistance. She'd been told that, if caught, Isleydor's interrogators would get her to talk. Thus, she would need to be blindfolded. It was a long, bumpy trip out of Gardok and into the frigid northern mountains. As Kara bumped along in what she assumed was a kind of underground rail car, she could hear dripping water above her, and occasionally the squeaking of rubber tires on concrete. Eventually, the subway of the Sewer Line came to a stop and Kara was escorted on foot through a series of passage ways, then out into unbearably cold air. The blindfold was removed, and Kara and her team found themselves at a train station, largely unoccupied, its platform coated in a fresh, thick layer of snow. All six of them were then whisked off into an over-sized crate packed with straw and cotton, which was hidden among identical crates of food, water, and ammunition. The idea was simple. When the death train arrived and took a brief stop, primarily to load said crates, they'd unknowingly move Kara and her team on board. Huddled in the darkness, cowering against one another in the horrible cold, Kara's team waited nervously. In addition to the winter gear she'd been lent, Kara wore a back pack, bulky with the thirteen bombs they'd built. In a holster dangling from her belt, she also had a small pistol, only partially loaded, for emergencies. The cheap ass bastards who had sent her on this suicide mission had insisted that they couldn't spare more than a few bullets for her protection. Kara, having nothing else to do, pondered how she might get her revenge if they ever made it out alive. But her thoughts were short lived. Suddenly, they could hear the whirring, brisk sound of a train approaching, then screeching to a halt, the entire platform shaking. Kara held her breath, not daring to make a sound, and from the lack of white fog surrounding her, was certain no one else was breathing either. There was the sound of many footsteps on the platform, the grunts of men as they lifted crates up onto trolleys, then onto the train. There were shouts, barely discernible over the buzz of chaos, but Kara could still make out a solitary male voice. "Don't check them all! We don't have time for that! We're already running late! Just look into them at random!" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 04 They'd been prepared for this. During the earlier briefing, Kara's team had been warned. "It's very possible that all cargo crates, including the one you'll occupy, will be inspected prior to loading. It's equally possible that none of them will be. It's simply a matter of luck, a completely unpredictable process. If you believe in a god, I'd pray," the portly man had suggested. But Kara had already prayed. Now, she gathered up all of her courage, preparing to shoot if, by some chance, their crate was inspected. But, in the end, Kara's team went unnoticed and the lot were loaded safely onto the train. Kara whispered her thanks to god, in case he were responsible for their good fortune and might, if appreciated for his efforts, offer up more of the same. From there, Kara's team waited until they were alone in a cargo car, then eased their way out of the crate and onto the train. Kara distributed two bombs to each team member, leaving three for herself. Each man was responsible for a single cargo car, where he would set up and start the timer on each of his two bombs. The timers were set to go off in roughly fifteen minutes, giving everyone plenty of time to make their way into the first passenger car, situated up towards the front of the train, before detonation. And with no better plan than that, they were off. Kara immediately headed towards the train front. She was responsible for setting up bombs in the very last cargo car, then for placing an extra bomb between the last cargo car and the first passenger car, to effectively separate herself and her team from the inevitable explosions. Halfway into setting up the final bomb, there were gunshots in the cargo cars, and Kara knew that someone had run into a guard. Quickly, she made her way onto the first passenger car, locking it from the inside so that no one would be able to investigate the noise without breaking down the door. She looked down at her watch, horrified to find that it had been thirteen minutes since she'd set up the first bomb, and no one had made it back to the passenger car. To make matters worse, there was a furious banging on the door she'd recently locked, and a number of profane curses. "Oh, god, they're dead!" Kara whisked her head around, only to find that a mere two of her team mates had made it back into the passenger car. One of them, a very young women with red hair, was sobbing. "I saw two of them, dead! We're going to die here! We're going to die!" "God damn it, where is the sixth? Is he dead too?" Kara cursed, trying to get some info out her two companions, but they both shook their heads in exasperation, unsure. "You incompetent fool!" Kara heard from behind, where the recently locked door was being repeatedly bashed inward. "Give me that! I'll take care of this!" And then, amidst the chaos, Kara realized she'd forgotten something. The final bomb....Oh, god! She hadn't finished setting it up! "Oh, shit!" Kara looked at her watch and noted that, in less than a minute, all the cargo cars would go "kaboom," and the passenger cars were still attached. She lunged forward, toward the final bomb. It sat atop a sturdy, metal bar which connected the passenger car her team occupied to the cargo cars, about to explode. She knew what she had to do, but her mind raced forward without her. She wasn't sure how she did it, only that in a moment the last bomb had been set up, its timer disabled, and Kara was diving into the first passenger car, screaming "Get down!" In a cascade of flame, the passenger and cargo cars detached and, not a second later, every cargo car in succession erupted into flame. Eventually, the cargo cars fell off of the track and into a heap on their sides, so that they lay in the snow, bright orange and deep red flames towering into the evening sky. Kara and her two surviving team mates lay on the floor of the passenger car, horrified at the sight before them. Then, in a burst of splintering wood, the locked door was successfully kicked down. Kara, against her better instincts, looked up into the doorway. There, his face contorted with fury, was a short man with black hair and black eyes. He held a gun in his right hand and, as if in slow motion, pointed in towards the trio. Kara only looked at the man for a second, certainly not more than two, because she couldn't afford to spare anymore time. As a series of poorly fired shots ricocheted off the walls, one of Kara's team mates pulled her to her feet, and pushed her toward the back of the car and the opening there. Kara could see white rushing below her and, as the gun shots continued, heard the red haired girl screaming, "Duck and roll!" before pushing her out of the train. * * * "Son of a bitch," Kara cursed, unaware that she had spoken out loud. The man had only seen her face for a second, maybe two. How was he able to remember the details of her face? How had he identified her, and so easily? Kara certainly hadn't remembered him, at least not without some prodding. If it weren't for his references to explosives and a train, Kara wouldn't have been able to place the man's face. "That's right. You remember me now, don't you?" The prospective buyer grinned sadistically, watching the eyes of his prey widen in realization. Purposefully, he strode over to the clipboard beside Kara, picking it up teasingly. "I'm Commander Belvodeil, by the way. I was in charge of providing ammunitions to Gardok's east side. Now, let's see, I think I can afford this..." With deliberation, Belvodeil placed a bid on Kara, then lifted the clipboard up to her face---as the women in red had done with Elandra---so that she could see his bid. Oh, dear god...He'd bid $150,000. That was three times the minimum. Surely, he meant to reserve her for himself. Why else would he start the bidding so high? "Do you have any idea?" Belvodeil began, gripping Kara's face in his right hand, his eyes furious. "Do you have any idea, any idea at all, how embarrassing it was to explain over twenty million dollars in ammunitions damages to my Commanding Officer?" "Come now, Belvodeil, surely it wasn't that bad?" In an instant, Kara's tormentor had let go of her face and spun around to face the voice. And, wondering who had spoken, Kara looked up also. Standing before her, a solid six feet tall, stood a muscular man with darkened skin. He wore a dark blue cloak, which seemed only a few shades darker than his equally blue eyes. There were a few scars on his left cheek, hidden by the shadow of his long, raven black hair. Kara inhaled sharply. She recognized the man instantly from the propaganda she'd been exposed to during the war. The White Horse Rebel Alliance had portrayed him on posters and in television informationals as the "devil's right hand man." Kara didn't know much about him, but she did know that the man, Lord Arlington, had been in charge of taking over Gardok's east side, where she'd been stationed with Elandra. "I like to think of myself as a merciful man," Lord Arlington continued, a playful grin on his face. "It could have been much, much worse for you, Belvodeil." "Of course, my lord. And am I ever grateful for your mercy." The smile on Belvodeil's face looked forced, but Kara had to give the man an "A" for effort. It was a nice save, even if it wasn't perfect. "Still, as I am sure you know, his woman's caused me quite a bit of distress," Belvodeil continued, gesturing toward Kara. "Though, once I get her home, I ought to be able to wring an apology out of her." Lord Arlington snickered. "Belvodeil, come now. Don't blame the poor girl for your mistakes. You should have had every crate of cargo inspected prior to having it loaded. It's not her fault you aren't capable of following protocol, no matter how many times it's drilled into your skull." Curious, Lord Arlington made his way towards Kara and looked down on her with interest. "So, this is the little wretch responsible for the Eastern Ammunitions Incident? You know I had to spend an extra three weeks in Calihistra because of you and your little stunt. Do you have any idea how cold it is in your god forsaken country? I had hoped to be home before August was over but, alas, you can't capture a city without guns, can you?" Oh, god, Kara thought, her heart sinking into her stomach as Lord Arlington's eyes drilled into her. The Eastern Ammunitions Incident? They'd given it a name? Kara had always assumed that, in spite of her best efforts, her work on the death train had done little to delay Calihistra's eventual defeat, and had certainly done nothing to stop it. After leaping from the death train into the snowy banks below, Kara had traveled back to Gardok, only to find it captured. There had been no reason to suspect that her attack was anything more than a minor inconvenience for Isleydor's forces. Eyeing the informational booklet beside Kara's clipboard, Lord Arlington found himself picking it up and lazily skimming through it. Belvodeil, clearly worried his Commanding Officer was interested in Kara (i.e. his precious revenge), tried to direct the man's attention elsewhere. "My lord," he began, casually, "I assume you've put in a bid for General Sue? She was your primary opponent during the war, was she not?" Not looking up from Kara's booklet, Lord Arlington nodded. "Indeed. But, as I suspected, she'll end up going to live auction. I'll have to snag her then. In the meantime, I thought I'd see who else was available from the east side." He leaned casually up against the wall beside Kara, still engrossed in her file. "After all, Tamius won't break easily. If I do manage to buy her, I'll probably end up keeping her in solitary for a few weeks, to soften her up a bit. It would be nice to have another piece to work with while I wait. I'd love to have a toy to play with for tonight." He paused, double checking something in Kara's file which seemed to amuse him, a slight grin disturbing the smooth features of his face. "Well, all be damned," Arlington chuckled. "Will you look at this? The little wretch is related to Florence Querren, which I suppose explains a lot. I swear, if you let than man get his hands on a fucking ketchup packet, he'd find some way to make it explode." Kara couldn't help herself. She hadn't heard anything from her uncle since the war started. "You knew my Uncle Florence?" she asked, immediately regretting it. She hadn't thought Arlington's vicious grin could get any wider, but it did. "My dear," he told her, "I've interrogated the man a few times." And with that, Kara lost it. "You stupid, fucking asshole!" she screamed, fighting against her restraints. "How dare you! Son of a bitch! If I had my hands free, I'd pound you into a pulp!" "I'm so sorry, sir. Is there a problem with this one?" One of the Martkorp employees had wandered over upon hearing the outburst, and offered to gag Kara, but Arlington declined. "No, my good man, though I appreciate the offer. She'll wear herself out in a moment, anyways. God, aren't they adorable when they scream like that?" To her horror, Kara realized how much he was enjoying the outburst, and fell silent. Better to be quite than for him to get pleasure from her torment. "So, what about Elandra?" Belvodeil asked, disliking the lustful look with which Arlington eyed his prize. "She's a Commanding Medic from the east side. She might be entertaining." Arlington shook his head. "No, Charlotte has made it very clear to me that Elandra is hers. Apparently, they have a very complex history. I wouldn't want to get in her way. But, I think I may take a stab at this cutie." Kara, not sure whether to feel anger or fear, drew back as Lord Arlington grasped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. His grip was far stronger than both the woman in red's and Belvodeil's. He turned her face to the left, then the right, studying her face with interest. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, then combed his fingers through the rest of her brown mane. "Don't. Touch. Me. Asshole." Kara hissed between clenched teeth, and Arlington chuckled. "You know, this one is quite obstinate for a no name little medic from the countryside," he mused. "Even for a relative of Querren, I'm rather surprised by the nerve. She'd look absolutely stunning, strung up in my living room, screaming her little lungs hoarse. I trust that, being raised by a Querren, she'll not break too easy. I'd like to get at least a few weeks out of her." To her complete and utter horror, and to Belvodeil's as well, Lord Arlington picked up Kara's clip board, put down a bid, and signed it. "Really, sweetheart," he said. "It was rather a nuisance having to deal with that train incident. Still, I'm rather curious. I'd never heard of you before this evening, but Belvodeil insisted that you were a highly trained Weapons Specialist, with an elite team, and that even the best preparations wouldn't have prevented the Eastern Ammunitions Incident. Care to enlighten me?" "Honestly," Kara hissed, "Tamius wouldn't even give me a fully loaded pistol." "Marvelous," Arlington sneered, looking down at a horrified Belvodeil. Then, he walked away, as the live auctions were just five minutes away. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 05 To my readers: As always, I read all of your comments, so feedback is appreciated, especially since this is my first story. Be warned, from here on out the story will contain sexual violence, much more along the lines of "nonconsent" than "reluctance." Enjoy! * Belvodeil, clearly appalled that his Commanding Officer had caught him in an elaborate lie, grimly looked down at Kara's clipboard, to observe the bid Lord Arlington had made. In an instant, his face turned pale with fear and rage. Defeated, Belvodeil took one last look at Kara before storming off into the crowd, perhaps to get something to drink. And there was Kara, who sat stunned for a moment, not sure how to assess her situation. Then, in one sudden burst, all of her anxieties were let loose. "What is this shit?" she hissed to herself, under her breath. "I was supposed to be sold to a Captly's client! A farmer, or a banker, or something! Not to that sadistic lunatic!" Kara strained desperately against her bonds, trying to a get a look at her clipboard. It was imperative that she find out what Lord Arlington's bid had been, so that she could effectively gauge the probability of ending up with him. Maybe, if the bid wasn't too high, Belvodeil would come back. If she had to choose between Belvodeil and Arlington, she'd take the short tempered jack ass from the train any day of the week. "Listen, sweet heart. Let me give you a few tips." Up until now, Kara had largely ignored the slave who shared her table, finding her other surroundings far more interesting. But now, upon hearing these words whispered harshly in her ear, Kara looked up. The woman, bound to Kara's right, was dressed exactly as she was, but was an entirely different kind of woman. Kara could make out the tattoo of a dark purple spider, hiding out in an ink web along the woman's shoulder. Her whole body was covered in scars: a few bullet wounds, a stab marking, a spray of burns. But Kara couldn't bring herself to think of the injuries as deformities. Indeed, the slave sitting beside her wore them proudly, and in spite of her restraints, glowed with a confidence most unbecoming of a slave. From the obnoxious grin on the woman's face, Kara would never had suspected she were at a slave auction. "Listen up, babe," the woman continued. "Lord Arlington is the man they bring in when pain isn't an effective interrogation technique. He's a mind fucker. He fucks with minds. So, it will be imperative to learn when he's bluffing, and when he isn't." "You say that like he's already bought me." Kara didn't like the casual, undisturbed manner with which the woman spoke. "That Belvodeil guy really wants me. He'll probably come back for another bid." The scarred women rolled her eyes. "Please," she replied. "Belvodeil doesn't have the balls to try and out bid his Commanding Officer. Unless there's someone else out there who wants you, you belong to Arlington now. So, do you want my tips or not?" "Do you have to say it like that?" Kara hissed, still straining to get a look at her clipboard. "I'm not even supposed to be here! I was sold to Martkorp purely on a whim! I was supposed to be at a Captly's auction!" Kara, knowing it would be useless, tried to find a weak link in the chains holding her wrists. "Oooh, tough break, kiddo." The woman blew a puff of air out the side of her mouth, trying to shoo away a strand of stray blue hair. "But what are you going to do? I was supposed to be dead a long time ago, but look at me. I'm chained up, surrounded by these pompous pricks, wearing a fucking circus costume. I mean, seriously, have you seen these outfits?" The woman looked down at the red attire she'd been dressed in, incredulous. "Do I look like an acrobat, or a contortionist to you? No, I don't. It's gross. I look way too much like a girl. I'd kill for some pants right about now. A cigarette or some whiskey would also be nice. I could settle for either one." "Great," Kara wondered aloud, not bothering to keep her voice down. "I'm sitting next to an idiot. Perfect. I've been sold to a sadistic lunatic, and also I'm chained next to an idiot." "No need to be polite," the woman laughed. "But then again, why would you listen to me? You haven't the slightest idea who I am." The woman cleared her throat and straightened herself up, pushing her body forward proudly. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Alyssa Terrence, from intelligence. More specifically, I've been a Weapons Specialist for the past ten years. I'm surprised you haven't heard of me. I mean, your uncle and I knew each other. We were kind of tight, back in the day." And now that she mentioned it, Kara did recognize the name. "Listen, sweety. I know this is rough, and it'll only get worse. But, if you want to make it out the same way you're going in, you should listen to my advice. I've worked in intelligence a long, long time. I know how these guys work. I've been interrogated by many of them. And if Arlington's interrogation style is anything like his slave breaking style, you ought to be worshiping my words right about now." Kara looked ahead of her. They were starting the live auction soon. Clients hurriedly made their way to a series of metal chairs, all lined up in front of the wooden auction platform, their excitement evident. She sighed, not sure she was ready to resign herself to the situation, at least not yet. "Alright, I appreciate it. What else can you tell me?" "Well, Arlington reads his victims pretty well. He'll push you until he finds a line, and then he'll work on making you cross that line. When he's done, he'll push some more until he finds a second line to work with. The key is to try and prevent him from finding a line in the first place, so resist every dumbass little thing. Indiscriminately resist everything. Create imaginary fears for yourself. And have fun with it. I've heard Arlington wears these stupid little kitten slippers. I don't know if it's true, but if it were, that'd be hilarious...Anyway, you could feign a kitten phobia." Alyssa rattled her chains as if helpless, faking a terrified voice. "Oh, god, master! Not the slippers! Don't make me kiss your kitten slippers!" "This isn't funny!" Kara screeched defensively. "And what do you mean by lines? What the hell is a line?" "You know," Alyssa began. "A fucking line. See, we all have certain things we're willing to do under enough duress, right? But then there are those things so totally abhorrent that, even under extreme stress, we won't do. That's a line. The more lines an interrogator can push you past, the more information he can extract. Or, in your case, the more subservience he can demand." "Do you even know what you're talking about?" Kara asked angrily, the horror of the situation making her rude. "Is Lord Arlington even really an interrogator? He probably lied about my uncle. After all, he was responsible for taking Gardok's east side. Wouldn't that make him military personnel, not intelligence?" Alyssa sighed. "Trust me, sweat heart. I know what I am talking about; I've been intelligence longer than you've been alive." She paused, as if waiting for a response from Kara, but got none. "Didn't they educate you, at least a little, on how Isleydor is operated? If you haven't noticed, the man's name is "Lord Arlington," with emphasis on the "Lord" part. In Isleydor, there are only four people with that rank, who serve in military functions, as intelligence personnel, and as legislative heads. Basically, they hold leadership positions in all the major branches of the government, allowing them to coordinate between them. He's one of the four "Big Names," so to speak, who serves under Dumais Kerrell. So, yes, he's done quite a bit of interrogating. Although, I've never dealt with him personally." The pair looked up as an older gentleman approached their table, his eyes and hair a dark, foreboding grey. He wore the black, military uniform of a man exclusively from intelligence. Alyssa must have recognized him, for she grinned wickedly as he approached. "Greenwood, my feelings are hurt. Have you been here this whole time, but have only now decided to visit?" The man paused in front of Alyssa, his serious eyes unamused. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that," Alyssa teased. "I assume you'll be going live in a little while," the man mused, lifting Alyssa's clipboard in his hands to study it. Kara couldn't make out the exact details of each bid, but there were quite a few of them. Alyssa must be popular around here. "If that's the case, I suppose I shall see you on the floor in a moment. Still, I was hoping to get a look up close before I make any bids." He eyed Alyssa wearily. Alyssa winked seductively back. "You know, love, I've really missed our little chats. I asked for you in Bremmington, but you'd already been moved back to Gardok. I swore on my life that I'd only scream for you, though, and I kept my promise. Still, it'd be nice to finally reconcile our differences, one-on-one, wouldn't it?" Alyssa's persistent grin suddenly turned malicious. "But you better make sure you lock me up tight, and even then, I'd sleep with one eye open at night." Greenwood was unfazed. He took one last look at Alyssa and clucked disapprovingly. "God, you're even more scarred up than I remember. Such a shame, but you'll do." Then he, too, whisked off toward the wooden platform, to await the live auctions. "You know that man?" Kara asked, unsettled by the exchange. Alyssa shrugged. "I wouldn't say I REALLY know him, but we've been engaged in...How do I describe it? A twisted, sick love affair of sorts?" "Thank you for your patience this evening!" The words boomed loudly across the auction room, originating from a Martkorp employee on the wooden platform, standing before a microphone. "Typical rules hold for the live auction. The minimum bidding increment will be $50,000. Please, do not harass the merchandise. We'll start with the most highly contested pieces and work our way down from there." It took four fully grown men to drag Karrington, head of the White Horse Rebel Alliance, onto the stage. Defiance was written in every line of his face, as he was forcibly chained to a large, wooden "X" at the stage's center. He was bare chested, but wore long, yellow pants which hugged tightly to his waist and ankles, the entire piece decorated in strange golden designs. He was still gagged, drool dripping from his mouth as he attempted to shout in spite of the device. He was clearly the most prized piece of the evening, and Kara was shocked to find that the starting bid was $600,000. Finally, after much distressed bidding and shouting, he was sold for over three million to an exotic looking women with dark, red eyes---an unnatural color, Kara noticed---and long, similarly red hair. She wore a tan suit, an impressive sword hanging from the scabbard at her side, and she stood with a regal sort of elegance. To afford such a high price, she must be another of the "Big Four," Kara thought. Next up, Kara saw a women she recognized, and her stomach began to tingle with butterflies of nervouness and a protective sort of affection. It was Tamius Sue, the general who had protected Gardok's east side and along with it, Elandra's unit. Like Karrington, she wore yellow and gold pants, but was also allowed a similarly decorated bra. The bright colors stood in stark contrast to the red and gold of Kara's uniform, and she wondered if the difference was used to distinguish the most highly prized pieces from the rest of the slaves at auction. The thought lingered only for a moment, as Kara watched Tamius approach the platform. The general didn't struggle, but stood tall and regal, ungagged but silent. With deliberation, she willingly allowed herself to be guided onto the platform and chained onto the wooden "X," where she stared down at the clientele condescendingly. She was absolutely beautiful, long yellow locks tied behind her in a thick pony tail, her fierce hazel eyes scanning the crowd relentlessly. "We'll begin the bidding at $300,000," the auctioneer began. "Three hundred, do I hear three fifty? Four hundred thousand? Four fifty?" Among all the chaso, Tamius stood still and defiant until, finally, she was sold to Lord Arlington for one and a quarter million, which wasn't surprising. Tamius had held onto Gardok's east side long after the north, south, and west sides had been taken. At the end, when it became obvious that the White Horse wouldn't be able to win, she hadn't made a run for it. Instead, she'd divereted her men and their resources to escorting fleeing families from the city, doing her best to provide safe passage to any survivors. When she finally did leave the city, it had been too long. She hadn't had the head start on Martkorp's hunters necessary to escape or, at least, that was how the story went. From her position, Kara couldn't see the man who'd bought Tamius, and who would undoubtedly buy her as well, but she was still able to watch her general and marvel at the woman's calm. Martkorp's handlers approached her once the auction was over, to release her hands and have her delieverd to Arlington. And, once her bonds were released, Tamius moved to follow her captors off of the platform, but paused. Then, in an instant, she assaulted the nearest Martkorp handler with a series of rapid blows to the spine, hitting essential pressure points, so that the man went limp, falling unexpectedly to the ground. A second handler, trying to quickly remedy the situation, charged at Tamius with a taser in his out streched hand, but the general was quick on her feet and dodged it easily, gripping the man's wrist in the process and sharply twisting it, forcing him to release the taser. She scooped it up before it hit the ground, tasing her opponent into submission. She had been flanked by four handlers, two in the front and another two in the back. The two in front of her had been downed and were no longer a threat, so Tamius leapt into the air and sumersaulted backwards, then over the handlers behind her, landing onto the platform with ease. Kara gasped in awe. She hadn't thought anyone could jump that high. Tamius was now facing the two remaining handlers, their backs turned to her. And before the pair could turn around to face their captive, Tamius had swiped the larger man off of his feet and had subdued the last man the same way she had the first, hitting essential pressure points until his mucles became involuntarily limp. Kara inahled sharply. There was no way Tamius could escape, in spite of her immense acrobatic and combat skills. But the general seemed to have known this all along. As Martkorp handlers rushed the stage to subdue her, Tamius complacently spread her legs and positioned her hands behind her head, fingers interlocking, the classic slave position, prepared to be taken. Then, with cold eyes, she looked down toward Lord Arlington, and though she didn't shout, Kara could hear her in the dead quite of the auction hall. "That was your only warning, Arlington," she said, seriousness in her tone. "If you are going to bury me, you had better bury me deep." Then, it was over. Kara watched breathlessly as Tamius, now bound, was led away and into another room, so that the next piece could be sold. Two more yellow uniforms were auctioned off and soon after, so were a few red ones. It was an hour before Alyssa was set up on the platform. She, like Tamius, didn't protest as she was led towards the stage. Bound to the wooden "X," Alyssa stood cheerily, as if she weren't on display and about to be purchased. How could she amass such confidence, such self-assurance? Kara really didn't understand the woman's bravado, or how she maintained it. But Alyssa grinned toward the crowd, unfazed, then shouted out obnoxiously, "You must be at least seven inches long to buy this bitch." The horrified Martkorp handlers rushed toward her with a ball gag, but were too slow. "You can't really punish a girl's pussy with anything less," the Weapons Specialist continued. And on that note, Alyssa was gagged, before being sold for $350,000 to the grey haired man from earlier, Greenwood. As the night wore on, Kara watched as the slaves in the surrounding room were led onto the platform, auctioned off, and whisked away into oblivion. Then, to her surprise, Kara's name was called out by the auctioneer. Kara had assumed that Arlington now owned her, but earlier in the evening she recalled hearing that a bid had to go uncontested for twenty minutes in order for a piece to be reserved. Since Arlington's bid had been made five minutes prior to the start of the live auctions, that wasn't the case with Kara. A serious case of stage fright suddenly hit her as the Martkorp handlers took her down from her spot along the wall, cuffed her hands in front of her, and gently walked her towards the platform. The closer they got, the higher the stage appeared, ominous and foreboding. When they finally reached the stage, Kara's handlers tried to push her up the wooden steps onto the platform, but Kara refused to move forward. She was far more afraid of being up there on display, the eyes of Isleydor's most notorious military personnel upon her, than she was of the Martkorp handlers flanking her. But when the auctioneer looked at Kara's handlers impatiently, one of them picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and forcibly carried her up onto the stage. At Kara's frightened squeal, the audience laughed heartily, clearly enjoying the evening. As the handlers cuffed her wrists and ankles along the wooden "X," Kara tightly closed her eyes. It was one thing to be one of many slaves chained along a wall, surrounded by clients who often passed her by or only glanced at her momentarily. It was another thing entirely to be strung up on a stage, the focus of everyone's attention. Perhaps, if she didn't look, she could trick herself into thinking that no one was ogling her right now. But then Kara remembered Tamius' defiant stare, and couldn't bare to turn cowardly just as things were getting rough. Cautiously, she opened her eyes, only to see a crowd of sinister faces below her, Arlington's among them. "Before we begin, I'd like you all to take a moment and look in your merchandise catalogs," the auctioneer began. "We apologize for some important information they're lacking, which has only recently come to our attention. In the past half hour, the piece on display, Kara Chrystein, has been identified as the young lady responsible for the Eastern Ammunitions Incident. For those of you who were affected by the incident, this new information may be helpful when you decide whether or not you'd like to place a bid. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the event, we'd like to provide a short summary. In early August, a train carrying over twenty million dollars in ammunitions was blown apart by an ameuter team led by this lovely little lady, effectively delaying Calihistra's eventual defeat by a month. Although a simple military medic, her relationship to Florence Querren and others make her an interesting piece, innocent in appearence, but fiesty when needed. We'll begin the bidding at $50,000." Kara was horrified to find that the crowd now looked much more interested than it had been. There were murmurs between neigbors, curious looks, and a few clients who had previously seemed bored were suddenly skimming through their catalogs to learn more. Kara desperately wanted to cry out, to explain that the mission she had led was a one time event, that her commander had guilted her into it, that she wasn't nearly as interesting as the auctioneer claimed. But even though her mind was screaming protests, Kara kept her mouth shut, certain any adverse reactions would only peak further interest in her potential buyers. "Do I hear fifty? One hundred? Do I hear one fifty?" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 05 Hands other than Arlington's and Belvodeil's were raised, indicating an interest in Kara. But when the auction was over a few moments later, Kara was horrified to find that Arlington had won her for $250,000. She had hoped, in the tiny reaches of her mind, that someone less sinister than Lord Arlington would buy her, but that wasn't the case. Dejected, and only now truly starting to realize where she stood, Kara was led off stage and into a back room. There was a small, dog-sized crate on the floor, lined with the same white cushion of her cell. There was also a wooden chair and table, atop which were a series of sinister looking syringes. It suddenly ocurred to Kara that they were going to tranquilizer her prior to transport, so that she'd know nothing of the area in which she was to live or how she had gotten there. She fought against her handlers, but a moment later she was restrained in the chair, and as the assigned medic injected a warm liquid into her side, Kara fell off into a deep, dark sleep. **************** Kara awoke groggily. For a moment, she thought she was back in Telma, sleeping on the couch of her parent's small house in the countryside. There was a bright, welcoming fire warming her, just like the one back home. When she had visited her parents, they'd always let her sleep in front of the fireplace, taking in the comforting scent of burning wood. But as Kara opened her eyes wider, to take in more than the roaring fire, she suddenly realized that she wasn't in Telma. The realization hit her hard and violently, as if some invisible force had hit her in the chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. She was in some sort of sitting room, dark but for the fireplace. If she looked straight ahead, she could see an ornately carved, wooden double door. To her left, against the wall, were a multitude of book shelves, completely filled. To her right, there was the fireplace and before it, an embroaidered love seat and two arm chairs, a wooden coffee table set in front. She could see a few windows, all with the curtains closed, and four paintings, which all depicted the same scene during different seasons of the year: A large, ancient oak. Kara particularly liked the autumn picture, the tree's massive branches brightly colored in orange and deep red. After taking in the room, Kara observed the exact nature of her predicament. Her arms were chained above her head and spread wide, so that it was impossible to bring her hands together. Other than that, she was simply kneeling on a large velevet cushion, her legs spread a foot apart by a bar. Kara tried to find a weak spot in the bindings, but failed, as she knew she would. A moment later, a servant in a butler's suit came in to set a bottle of wine in an ice bucket onto the coffee table, along with a glass and a box of cigars. Kara pleaded with him to let her out, to release her and have some pity on her people, but the man completely ignored her. In the all consuming desperation and helplessess she began to feel, Kara cried for the first time since she'd been captured. The wet, cold tears cut across her cheeks, staining them with mascara and eyeliner. What did this man plan on doing with her? Would she ever see her family again? What had happened to Uncle Florence? Where had her parents gone? As the tears streaked down her cheeks, Kara could hear the grandfather clock in a far corner ring out ten times, and the creaking of the wooden doors opening. Hoping the butler had come back for her, Kara looked up, but no such luck. Alone in the room with her was Lord Arlington, back for the evening, and looking amused. "My, surely the living room isn't that horrifying?" he teased, noting the tear streaks and mascara lines on her face. Quickly, Kara ceased her sobs, determined not to show any weakness. This man had cost Calihistra many lives. He had been responsible for the many injuries she'd painstakingly healed and the many deaths she'd been unable to prevent. If ever there was a time to remain obstinate and determined, it was now. But Lord Arlington hardly seemed to notice, and instead plopped down onto the love seat to pour himself a glass of wine and read through a large, manilla folder. Kara saw her name scrawled atop the file, and knew it was a more detailed summary of her life, much more complete than that provided in the auction room. Kara, feeling awkward and out of place, simply watched him until he was finished. Once done, Lord Arlington set an arm chair in front of her, so that he could sit and face her. Unlike in the auction room, Kara had to look up to see the man's face and found the subservient nature of the position apalling, so she tried sneering at him to compensate. In response, he grinned back at her, clearly pleased with his purchase. "I see you're as eager to get started as I am," he laughed, leaning on his arm. "So, why don't we start with a few, simple rules. First, we'll go over speech restrictions. Rule Number One: Whenever I ask you a question, I expect a verbal answer, preferably a "yes" or "no." Extraneous, unnessesary detail is punished. If I want specifics, I'll demand them from you as a follow-up. Rule Number Two: Whenever you address me, it will be with appropriate respect. I'll accept references to "Master," "Sir," "My Lord," or "Lord Arlington." Failure to do otherwise will be, of course, punished. Finally, you are not to speak unless spoken to, with a few exceptions. Unless otherwise forbidden, you may beg without permission or, if we don't have company, you may request permission to ask a question. Do you understand, dear?" And he looked into her, waiting. Kara considered faking subservience, playing his little games so that she could earn his trust and make a later escape attempt easier. But to bow down so easily would be to betray all the brave men and women who had died to oppose this man, who had lost loved ones and friends fighting for their freedom. Mustering up all of her courage, hoping that her voice wouldn't waver too terribly, she began. "With all due respect," she hissed, "I acknoweldge that you've captured Gardok, and stripped Calihistra of its resources, and probably won a medal or two in the process. You have victory over my people, you have rights to our land, and you have a tear streaked girl tied up in your living room. But, my lord, you are far from having a slave. You may be able to make me scream, or tremble in terror, or sob in pain, but you won't get me to submit to you. Now, do you understand?" Lord Arlington narrowed his eyes at her, but there was no anger, only a careful consideration of her words. For a moment, he seemed to contemplate what ought to be done with her, and Kara braced herself for a blow to the face. But his mind made up, Lord Arlington turned to a wooden chest tucked under the love seat, which he opened up to remove a ball gag. Was that it? That's all he planned to do, gag her? Kara was told he was an expert interregator, a master of mind manipulation, and this was her fate for speaking so bluntly? Lord Arlington stood over her and dangled the ball gag in front of her face, so that she could see it. "Slaves who don't speak with proper respect won't speak at all," he told her, his voice serious. He went around behind her and knelt, to secure the ball gag in her mouth. But Kara, remembering what Alyssa had said about consistent resistence, clamped her mouth shut. Lord Arlington, not the least bit off put, simply grasped her face where her upper and lower jaws met, pressing hard until Kara's moth popped open. "You're probably wondering," Lord Arlington began, securing the gag, "why a gag would be an insentive for obedience? I'll let you in on a little secret. I very much enjoy a good begging, and I'll often use the sincereity and desperation of your pleas to effectively gauge whether or not to continue a punishment. But if you cannot speak, sweet heart, you cannot beg me for my mercy. In those cases, just to be safe, I'm forced to dole out especially harsh punishments, to ensure that you learn your lesson. Begging is a priveledge, my dear. Asking forgiveness is also a privledge. And when I think you are ready to speak properly to me, you will get both privledges back." Kara hated to admit it, but he had a point. As the hard, rubber ball was forced into her mouth and strapped around her head, she realized there was truth to what he said. Without the capacity to speak, how could she try and reason with him, if the oppurtunity presented itself? Still, it wasn't too bad... Kara heard a gentle clicking and the chains above her head were raised until she was forced to stand on tip toe, her legs and arms still spread, so that she resembled a starfish. Unable to move or talk, Kara resorted to glaring at her captor, the only means by which she could defy him, and he grinned. God, he grinned far too often. "My goodness," he said, looking into her eyes, which were defiant as ever. "I can't give you an inch, can I?" With that, Lord Arlington pulled a black strip of cloth from the wooden chest and blind folded Kara, so that the world was consumed in darkness. Kara could only hear the crackling of the fire place. Then, in a moment, Kara could feel the cool, sharp pressure of a blade on her shoulder and froze. Her sense of touch intensified by the blindfold, Kara stood perfectly still, afraid any slight twitch could lead to a cut. "You know, I rather disapprove of Martkorp clothing their slaves during an auction," Lord Arlington whispered in her ear. "I believe I had better apraise my property a little better, don't you think?" Kara's captor slipped his blade under the first of her bra straps, cutting the cloth away. He then moved the blade to her neck, running the sharpened edge slowly across her throat, watching her hold her breath. With deliberate, quick movemnets he cut the second shoulder strap away, and let the bra fall to the floor. Kara, with horrible clarity, felt Arlington's blade traverse down from her collar bone to her breast, where it came to rest under her left nipple, still hardened by the little metal ring. Arlington teased the pink bud with the tip of his knife, circling it slowly, before he drew the sharp edge across it, leaving a thin cut. It wasn't deeper than a simple paper cut, a harmless tease, but Kara inhaled sharply, terrified. "Much better," Arlington cooed in her ear. "Your attitude changes remarkably with a blade against your flesh. I wonder how still you'll be for me with my knife pressed up against your clit. I've yet to see your pretty little cunt." He pinched the untouched nipple sharply and pulled violently upwad, forcing Kara farther onto her tip toes. "Simply lovely," he cooed, gently dragging his blade across the small of her tummy and down toward her navel. Kara could feel the knife sliding under her panties and strained to stay still, even as it became difficult to remain on tip toe, the pressure on her calves slowly building. With a gentle tug, Lord Arlington cut the panties and then the rest of Kara's lower robes off, so that she was entirely nude. Lord Arlington must have crouched down to get a better look at her cunt, for she could feel his hands parting her thighs and his hot breath on her mound. Then, the knife was slid in between her pussy lips, into the soft pink flesh of her cunt, and used to move her clit from side to side, so he could examine it. Kara let a small whimper escape her lips as the man gripped the nub of her clit and twisted it. "My, so sensitive," Arlington chuckled from below. "Perhaps we'll pierce your pretty pussy later tonight. I like to have my slaves decorated." And with that, Kara could hear a small click as the knife was put away, allowing her a momentary sigh of relief. But the sigh was short lived. In a moment, the gentle clicking sound returned and Kara realized that she was being lowered back onto her knees. Once positioned back onto the velvet cushion, Lord Arlington teased her legs out from under her, so that she was now sitting rather than kneeling. Carefully and quickly, leaving little time to resist, he readjusted the spreader so that her legs were now much farther apart, perhaps three feet, and it seemed as if the spreader were chained to to the floor. Of course, Kara could only guess at the last part, but she was ceratinly unable to move here hips from side to side following the procedure. Finally, the gentle clicking sound began again and Kara's torso was gently pulled back. When she was sitting down, legs wide, her upper body pulled back by the chain, Kara's blindfold was removed. "Eyes open," Arlington demanded. "I think a fair punishment is in order to demonstrate the balance of power and to fully discipline you for that outburst earlier. I'd like you to keep your eyes on me throughout, my dear." Of course, Kara responded by shutting her eyes tightly. She fully intended to fight Arlington every step of the way, as she was sure Tamius would have. Kara simply couldn't get the image of the general, valiently fighting off Martkorp handlers, out of her mind. She decided to emulate the woman, as much as she were able. Arlington, on the other hand, wouldn't have it. "Eyes open, slave." His voice was danergous, but amused, as a cat with a cornered mouse might sound. "Don't you think I have the means to keep them forcibly open?" Kara's eyes snapped open. She could deal with the chains and the gag, but couldn't bare any further degree of restraint. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Kara could make out Arlington's face as he stood directly above, studying her reactions. It ocurred to Kara, at that moment, why Alyssa had insisted she consistently resist. By giving into Arlington's demands sometimes and refusing to do so at other times, Kara was allowing him to observe her weak points and gather up ammunition for later training. His shadowy figure towered atop her, and he raised an eyebrow. "I see there are limits to your insubordination," he mused. "I wonder why that is?" Kara tugged at her restaraints feebly, and issued a harsh curse through the gag. "Now, I won't have any of that," Arlington clucked disapprovingly. "But I suppose we can work on the cursing later, can't we?" Kara's tormentor crouched down between her legs, so that she could see his face better, and held up a black flogger with a thick handle of coarse, braided rope. Leaning over her face, Arlington stroked the silky tails of the flogger across her cheek, then turned it over, so that he held the flogger's tails rather than the handle. Carefully, he ran the handle over her face and then down between her breasts, so that she could feel the coarse, splintery texture. Kara could feel a flush in her cheeks as he did so, and Lord Arlington noticed, feeling her cheek with his bare hand to soak up the warmth. He ran an appreciative hand through her hair afterwards, feeling her silky mane. "I need you to understand why you are being punished, girl," he cooed affectionately. "You were gagged because you spoke out of turn, but you're being more severely punished now for the precise nature of your words and your disrespectful tone. First, I'll be putting the handle of this flogger in your bare cunt, and as long and thick as it is, I suppose that will be quite uncomfortable. You are not to take your eyes off of me while I put it in, understand?" Kara starined against her bonds, horrified that Arlington would attempt to rape her with a flogger, the handle of which was at least six inches long and three wide. But Arlington, unamused by her resistence, pressed the length of the handle against her puckered asshole and pushed lightly. "Perhaps you'd like your ass dealt with first?" he asked, watching Kara's eyes light up in horror. She'd never been penetrated from behind before, and couldn't bare the thought. "Didn't I just ask you a question, slave?" Lord Arlington hissed. "And you dare not answer me? Come now, you're a smart girl. Surely, even gagged, you can nod your head "yes" or shake your head "no," so as to answer your master's questions? Now, let's try this again. You'll keep your eyes on me, is that clear, slave? " Kara, frantic from the pressure against her anus, nodded frantically. "Good girl. Now, eyes on me, slave." To her horror, Kara could feel the flogger handle pressing ever harder against her rear entrance and gasped piteously into the gag as it was slid inwards. The coarse maerial burned, streching her, and there was an odd pain in her lower abdomen from the penetration. Kara could feel her heart beat quickening, and her face burning with a combination of humiliation and pain. True to her words, her eyes didn't leave Lord Arlington's face, the coldness of his eyes burrowing into her soul. "Very good; you're taking this quite well," he praised, stroking her face and pushing the flogger a few more inches inwards, so that Kara involuntarily winced and pressed her eyes shut. Arlington gripped the tails of the flogger and in a sudden, painful movent pulled the handle out of Kara's ass, causing her to scream into her gag. "How difficult is it for you to understand?" Lord Arlington asked, leaning into her face so that he could whisper into her ear. "Your eyes stay open at all times, no exceptions." He grasped a fistful of hair and pulled Kara's face towards his. "Once more, girl. Just once more, and you will regret it. Nod if you understand me." And Kara, terror welling up inside her, nodded. The flogger handle was pressed against Kara's ass once more and steadily pushed inward, causing Kara to whimper quietly. She kept her eyes carefully on Arlington, who occasionally looked up to study her reactions to the long mass being pushed inside her. With every new inch, there was new pain, and Kara breathed heavily to try and calm herself. When Arlington was done, he kissed Kara's forhead and ran his tongue along her ear, whispering into it. "Now that your ass is filled, I think we can find something for your cunt." Getting up from the floor, Arlington walked back to his wooden chest and removed a second flogger, this one's handle considerably thicker around. He made his way up to the fireplace and, with his boots, kicked out a few hot coals. Leaning down, he rubbed the flogger's handle into the coals, and tentatively tested the temperature with his finger. "Not enough to cause any damage," her grinned, as Kara anxiously twisted where she was bound. "Just enough to hurt, though." And coming back, he spead Kara's pussy lips to espose her clitoris, and pressed the heated flogger to her clit. It burned, and sharp heat triggered the nerves in her clit into a frenzy of painful flashes and aches. She tried to squirm, to adjust her hips away from Arlington's touch, but her rebuked her with a slap across the face. "Keep still, slave," he hissed, plunging the still warm flogger into her pusyy, stretching her out farther than she'd ever experienced before, a terrible scratching senation rippling up her senstive hole as she screamed frantically into the gag. When he was finished, Kara was filled from both holes, panting were she lay, terrified. "Such a pretty thing, stuffed up and red with agony," he smiled, circling her termbling body to observe his work. "You'll think twice before you defy me from now on, won't you, pet?" Kara, humiliated, nodded, her holes streched and aching, her entire lower half sore and miserable. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 06 To my readers: As always, thanks for all the support! It is so much more fun to write when you know your work is appreciated! Please let me know what you think and, be warned, while I plan on plenty of "happy sex" eventually, there is quite a bit of sexual violence, especially in this chapter. Consider yourselves duly informed. Kara, still restrained and utterly filled, knew she wasn't thinking rationally. If only Lord Arlington would drag her to a cell and leave her there, she could think through what had just happened and get a grip on herself. But Arlington was an experienced interrogator and knew better than to let his prey regroup shortly after a session. If he left Kara alone now, all his work would be undone. Instead, he circled the girl, looking at her face for some indication of how she had handled the stress of the evening. It was clear from the tension in her body and the way she was breathing, a desperate attempt to remain calm, that he hadn't broken her yet. She was still fighting him and his advances, even if she didn't know it. Yes, she'd given into some of his demands, but not because he'd commanded her. She'd done it solely to avoid the pain and humiliation he threatened, and Arlington was interested in a slave that feared and respected him, not merely his whip. Any fool with a whip could induce fear; Arlington wanted to inspire it by his mere presence. That was key. No, he mused, she hadn't submitted at all. To assume such would be an amateur's mistake, the kind that could earn you a knife in the back and a runaway slave. The girl was afraid, but still very much in control of her feelings. She'd carefully considered when she would obey and when she wouldn't, in order to ascertain some combination of dignity, by refusing him, and comfort, by obeying him. She'd spent the session treating him like an external force, detached from her and inhuman, a natural disaster she had to deal with rather than a human being to interact with. But it would take time, and Arlington was grateful for that. Slaves who submitted too easily, for some strange reason, disgusted him. He sought to subdue a proud, strong woman rather than a piteous weakling who would sob uncontrollably from the horror of simply being forced to sit in a cell or take a light beating. Kara, though not as strong as Tamius, was no weakling and Arlington looked forward to the process of breaking and rebuilding her. She was a good choice. What was she thinking? Arlington paused over her, watching her brilliant blue eyes flick upward toward his face and then back down again. He'd have to calm her down in his presence if he wanted the session to have a favorable impact. Allowing her to calm herself, in the solitude of a cell, would only teach her self-reliance and strengthen her resolve. The last thing he needed was a slave who would submit graciously in the bedroom, only to rekindle her hatred and defiance in the comfort of her cell. Partial control over a slave wasn't control at all. "Eyes up here, slave," Arlington demanded, and her eyes met his, but they were cold and clouded. "Tell me, do you feel as if you've been satisfactorily dealt with?" He intentionally made the question difficult. To answer "yes" was to acknowledge that she deserved Lord Arlington's violence, to say "no" would imply that he'd have to dole out another, more horrific punishment. He wanted to make her choose, very obviously, between dignity and comfort. Which ever she chose, it didn't matter. Arlington would work it to his advantage. But Kara, clearly unwilling to commit either way, stared at the ceiling above her as if she hadn't heard the question. Arlington couldn't tolerate that. "Eyes up here," he demanded, but Kara had already begun to regain some calm following the session and was trying her hand at outright resistance once more. She didn't close her eyes, but refused to look up at him, and turned as if the fire place were more interesting. Perhaps she'd like a closer look, Arlington considered, but changed his mind. He could introduce her to the brands later. Right now, he'd rather she not be moved from her position on the floor, perhaps because she looked so lovely gagged, her holes filled, and her pretty little face red. "I'll ask once more," he warned. "Eyes on me, Kara." This time, she looked up, surprised he had used her name. Arlington intended to use it only when she had angered him, so that she'd learn to associate the sound of her own name with pain and be more fully broken down because of it. It was a trick he had learned while in Bremmington, and it worked surprisingly well. He'd largely referred to his victims by their registration numbers, and had only called them by their names prior to a torture session. Eventually, he could greet a prisoner with "Good Morning, Mr. Garrett," and the prisoner would be on his knees in seconds, spilling his guts. The girl may eventually figure out what he was up to, but it would take her time. In the meanwhile... Once more, Arlington knelt in front of Kara and gripped her astonishing locks in his hand, yanking her face up violently. Such pretty lips, he mused, tracing them with his fingers. The anger and revulsion in Kara's eyes intensified, and he chuckled. "So soft," he told her, excited by the reaction. "They'll feel wonderful against my cock, but I'm not sure your ready for my cum yet." Reaching down between her legs, his eyes never leaving the slave's, Arlington gripped the tails of the flogger in her pussy and yanked sharply, feeling a shudder of pain run up through the girl's body and extend through his fingertips as the handle was ripped out. He then reached down and similarly removed the flogger in her ass, watching her physically convulse from the pain, the skin underneath his hands shaking as she violently bucked. Positively beautiful. "So, you still won't answer me, Kara?" Arlington asked, the girl's eyes newly wide with terror. "No matter. Your silence is plenty an answer in itself, for if you had been properly dealt with, you wouldn't dare ignore my question. Pity. We could have finished the evening on a much more pleasant note." The girl's eyes were all too readable, as she reached into the back of her mind, contemplating what would be done with her. Lord Arlington moved behind his acquisition, so that he stood out of her line of sight, and pulled up on a lever embedded in the wall. Once more, the chains above her head were drawn further into the ceiling, and Kara found herself on her tip toes, extended like a star. Arlington could see the girl physically tremble, from fear or perhaps the strain on her legs, and thought it exquisite. Once she was properly positioned, he stood behind Kara, and decided to explore her body further. He ran a hand along each arm, feeling the muscles tense underneath her skin. Next, he wrapped a hand gently around her throat and squeezed carefully, feeling a sudden increase in Kara's heart rate through his fingers. The fear was palpable, and positively delicious. Women were very sensitive about their necks, after all. Lingering for a little while longer, Arlington finally ended with a caress of the girl's rounded ass, then stepped backward. He always carried a whip on his belt, and threateningly snapped it so that it made a loud crack in the air. The girl jumped at the sound, unable to look behind her and observe the source. In a panic, Arlington's slave tugged on her restraints, uselessly struggling. And, ignoring the muffled pleas from under the girl's gag, Arlington snapped his wrist artfully and struck her. The first stroked was long and prominent, leaving a welt from left shoulder to right ass cheek. Lord Arlington was practiced in the use of the whip though, and was careful to leave only marks that could heal, and certainly no cuts. He had paid a high price for the girl, and had no intention of leaving irreparable damage. The pain had definitely left an impression though, for the little slave's legs caved, so that she was no longer standing and was merely held up by her arms. "Stand straight for me, Kara," Arlington insisted, prodding her midback with the handle of his whip. "I know that you can." And, surprisingly, she stood. Arlington made the second strike parallel to the first, figuring it unwise to mark the same patches of skin twice over. There was an audible groan from under the gag, and Arlington watched as Kara held tight to the chains above her, to steady herself. The next three lashes were given in quick succession, the sounds from under Kara's gag a mix of surprised and terrified screams. And then, he heard it, a stifled little sob. If there were tears, he would stop. An involuntary show of defeat was good enough for their first evening. He listened closely, but was unsatisfied. The sniffles were barely audible. It wasn't good enough. Lord Arlington snapped the whip in the air once more, just to frighten the girl, and she boiled over. The sobs were much louder now, and with a triumphant grin on his face, Arlington moved back in front of his slave so that he could see her. She was very distressed, and ashamed that she had succumbed to crying in front of him. But Arlington wanted to reinforce the response. To show that the tears were appropriate, he put away his whip in front of her, then caressed her cheek with the rolled up device, enjoying that she cringed. Carefully, he wiped a single tear from her face and licked it off his finger, intending to horrify the girl just as much as he intended to satisfy his own sadistic cravings and revel in her tears. "Perfect," he cooed gently, taking her face in his hands. "I think I can safely assume that you'll be more receptive to my inquires in the future." Though it wasn't a question, the girl nodded, and Arlington smiled, thrilled. "But we aren't quite finished yet," he told her. "As I've said, I like my girls decorated, so before I put you away for the evening, we'll have to have your nipples and clit pierced." A fresh wave of terror washed over the girl's face, and Arlington decided she'd had enough, but would never-the-less need to learn to submit to his desires, even if they frightened her. "There, now, no need to get riled up." Arlington gently stroked her hair. "It won't be very painful, and if you're still, it will be over quickly." Arlington returned to the wooden chest below the love seat and withdrew what looked like a smaller, lacquered wooden box. Inside, Kara could see a series of needles, varying in width and length, secured by tiny strips of cloth. Arlington removed a long, thin one from the case and set it on a coal in the fireplace until it glowed orange. Then, he deliberately picked it up by the coolest end and approached Kara, who wriggled wildly. "Be still," Arlington demanded, displeased. "If you are not still, I can pierce your pussy lips while I am at it. You'll willingly subject yourself to whatever I demand, do you understand?" Kara stilled and nodded, her eyes still afraid, but complacent. She'd decided to accept the ordeal. Good. It was painful, and the girl cringed under Arlington's grasp as he inserted the needle through her left nipple, first pinching the surrounding skin to make the process easier. Her breathing came in sharp, deep little bursts. It pleased Arlington greatly to feel her shudder and twinge beneath his hands. He'd have loved to fuck her, but she was just starting to soften up to him, and an assault of such repulsion would surely awaken new resolve in his little slave. But Arlington was a patient man. He could wait for Kara, and he had another girl who could take care of him later in the evening. Arlington allowed the hot metal of the needle to sit in her nipple for a moment before carefully removing a silver nipple ring, encrusted with blue and green gems, from his cloak. Quickly, he replaced the piercing needle with the ring and moved on to Kara's right nipple, pinching the skin and poking through it. Though afraid, the girl relented to his touch, at least until he positioned a stool in front of her and sat down to work on her clit. The most sensitive spot on a woman's body, the clit would experience the most pain at his hands, and Kara was sensitive to that fact. Her thighs trembled with effort as she tried to close her legs, but the spreader was unrelenting. Arlington clicked his tongue disapprovingly, and decided to punish the girl for even that small resistance. He would work up her clit before the piercing, and only then would he puncture it. Gently, he began to stroke her clit and watched as it swelled involuntarily, heat building between his girl's legs. When she moistened against her will, Arlington pushed back the hood of her clit with this fingers, and gently teased the exposed nub, which flushed red at the attention. Lord Arlington thought he could hear the girl cry, "Please, don't!" But the gag served its purpose well, and the begging wasn't an effective deterrent as he poised the needle against her soft flesh, before punching it through. The girl writhed under him, and Arlington finished his work, replacing the needle with a third jeweled ring. Once done, Arlington sat back in his arm chair and simply watched his little acquisition tremble, tears rolling over her face. He would allow her to calm in his presence for a while, before taking her down from the chains holding her. He would introduce the girl to her cell only after the adrenaline in her veins had died down and exhaustion had set in. It would be best if she fell asleep immediately afterwards; it would be problematic if she had the energy to think through her situation prior to going to bed. She was unglued, and Arlington intended to keep it that way. As the sweat beads along Kara's naked form glimmered in the firelight, Arlington lit a cigar and started on some overdue paperwork. It could be a while before the slave girl came down from her high of terror, and he was a busy man. ************************* It was completely and utterly dark. Kara had hoped her eyes would adjust, but there was no light to adjust to. There were no windows in her cell, and the door was sealed along its edges, so that no light shown under or around the door. And what a sinister door it was. From the outside, it looked like the door to a bank vault: metallic and utterly huge, with a coded lock that was bulky and intimidating. After tormenting Kara, Arlington had taken her down from the living room wall, blindfolded her (probably so that she wouldn't learn the layout of his home), and led her down hallways and up stairs to an interesting set of rooms. It had taken them quite a while to reach their destination and Kara had concluded she was in a mansion, not surprising given her master's high rank. Along the way, Kara had nearly collapsed several times, and each time she was caught by Lord Arlington prior to hitting the floor. He had been gentle with her, but she did not confuse the gentleness with kindness. It was in Arlington's best interest to contrast cruelty with comfort, so that he would become both feared and relied upon. Kara, as a medic's apprentice, had taken quite a few lessons in psychology. She didn't have as much training in the area as an interrogator would, but she understood the basics. When Arlington finally removed Kara's blindfold, she'd found herself in a comfortable room decorated much like the earlier living space. It also had a fireplace, bookshelves, a love seat, and some arm chairs. But there were also obvious differences. There had been a large television screen taking up the wall above the fireplace, a wooden "X" like the one in the auction room, two small metal cages, and a chair in the corner with arm and wrist restraints. In the back of the room were two narrow hallways, one leading left and the other right. Arlington had guided her down the left most hallway into a second room, and Kara had immediately tried bolting. The room looked like a torture chamber. There was a bondage table with an adjustable back, and a wooden cabinet of sinister looking instruments. There had been chains dangling from the ceiling and a wall of whips, crops, floggers, and other horrible devices. Kara had seen some other machines and pieces of furniture she didn't recognize. Certain Arlington was not finished with her, Kara had tried to push her way back into the first room, but was held tight. "Relax, pet," Arlington had told her, soothing her as best he could. "We're done for tonight. I intend to put you away, that's all." True to his word, Arlington had led Kara to what appeared to be a bank vault which, once opened, turned out to be the door to her cell. Inside, it was completely bare. There weren't any windows. There weren't any comforts, such as blankets or pillows. Hell, there weren't even any chains. There were just stone walls, a stone ceiling, and a stone floor with a grate at its center, probably for waste. Uncuffing his girl, Arlington had tossed her casually inside. "This cell is just temporary, of course," he had told her. "Once you learn proper subservience to me, you'll be given basic comforts and perhaps, one day, you'll be allowed a room with a window." And with a loud bang, the door was shut and locked. Kara was grateful that, though she still wore ankle and wrist cuffs, they were not attached and she could freely move both her arms and legs. She first tried removing the hideous gag wrapped around her head, but it wasn't merely strapped on. There was some sort of locking mechanism at the back, and Kara couldn't remove it in spite of her best efforts, which was a shame. Her jaw ached from screaming and biting down on the rubber ball, and her mouth was constantly drying out. She swallowed a few times to try and moisten it. Having failed at her first task, Kara decided to explore her cell further. She couldn't see, but she could feel, and found that the stone was warm, probably heated from below. Kara was grateful for that, given her nakedness. She supposed Arlington wouldn't want his slaves catching cold. Carefully crawling about her cell, Kara found it roughly five feet wide by five feet long, and when she stood, she could not reach the ceiling. This gave Kara the room to stretch out her sore muscles a bit. But Kara's curiosity was mostly a distraction for the sadness welling up inside her. Her efforts exhausted, Kara found herself sobbing hideously and pounding her fists on the floor in fury. The tears were hot, and Kara allowed them to roll down her face and onto the floor, not bothering to wipe them away. No longer around Arlington, Kara felt free to cry as loudly as she wished until there were no more tears left to cry. How had it come to this? How could she have allowed Arlington to humiliate her like that, to make her cry in front of him? She remembered his smug face, right before he'd licked a tear from his finger, and revulsion swept through her. Exhausted from her own sobbing, Kara reached behind her to feel the welts along her back, and shock hit her. The welts were raised and angry, but Kara could tell that the skin was intact and that the wounds would heal, probably within the week. Kara had been certain there was blood. Where the hell was it? Frantically, she felt along the skin some more, searching for the hot warmth of a fresh and bleeding cut, but there was none. She had been certain the skin was broken. How could she be so wrong? Surprised, Kara thought back to the evening's events. Arlington had raped her with a few floggers and he'd whipped her five times, finishing up with a few piercings. And it occurred to Kara that, under different circumstances, those violations wouldn't have hurt her as badly as they had this evening, and certainly wouldn't have brought her to tears. The whipping hadn't left any permanent damage, and plenty of women in Calihistra got their clits pierced voluntarily. So why had Kara felt so violated? Why had the pain seemed so unbearable? Suddenly, Kara remembered Alyssa and her words from the auction room. Alyssa had said that Arlington was a master of fear, and did not rely too heavily on pain when dealing with a victim. She had called Arlington a "mind fucker." With a cold rage swelling up inside her, Kara realized that Arlington had defeated her primarily using fear. He'd used the sound of his whip to unsettle her, grinning whenever she became disturbed, making her look at him while he hurt her. He had intimidated her; the uncertainty and helplessness he had imposed on Kara had made the pain feel far worse than it actually was. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 06 Kara had been tricked into feeling an unjustifiable degree of pain. Arlington had fooled Kara's body into lowering its pain tolerance. Feeling hot with shame and embarrassment, Kara screamed at the top of her lungs in anger, the noise almost totally muffled by the gag. How could she have let that happen? How? Sitting back on her haunches, Kara was determined to use this time wisely and think through an escape. She had to get out of here and fast, before Arlington beat her spirit down. Kara was a confident women, but not unrealistic. She felt she could hang onto her dignity for a while yet, but she could not resist her captor forever. She was only human, after all. She had fears and limits that, if crossed, would certainly turn her into a subservient heap. She needed to escape before Arlington discovered her weaknesses and used them against her. She wouldn't be able to escape on her own, that was certain. The tracking implant would make a stealthy escape impossible, and she could not remove the device herself. She'd need to hire someone to do the job for her, and hadn't the means to either contact or pay a professional "unslaver." Until she figured out how, an escape would be pointless. Furthermore, she hadn't the slightest idea where in Isleydor she was located. If she did escape, it would be to Nartia, but how would she get there if she didn't know where she was starting? Kara's first and foremost concern was to resist Arlington long enough to work these details out and to formulate a better escape plan. She would only get one shot at escape. If caught the first time around, Arlington would surely keep her under more careful watch if he didn't decide to out right kill her. So, the question went, how would Kara keep her darkest fears secret from that lunatic? Resisting at every turn would be pointless, Kara realized. As much as she appreciated Alyssa's advice, she wouldn't last long if she fought Arlington's every command and was subsequently punished for it. She would have to pick and choose her battles carefully, so as to remain confident and in control of herself. Arlington was always looking into her eyes for clues on how she responded to particular pains and fears, so she'd have to put a stop to that. Outright closing her eyes wouldn't work; he'd forcibly keep them open if he had to. Kara would have to learn to put on a straight face, even when in pain. It would be hard, but she had to try. She'd also have to relent and speak respectfully. The gag wasn't a minor problem, but a huge one. If she intended to contact an unslaver, she'd need to be able to talk, to get the word out somehow. She had friends in Nartia, perhaps they would pay her way out. Furthermore, Arlington had told Kara that she could ask questions, so long as they didn't have company. Kara didn't know if she could trust Arlington's word, but if she played her cards right, she may be able to weasel some information out of her captor. Other than that, Kara had to try and keep herself fit and sane. First on the agenda would be a nice sleep. She rested her arm under her head to form a pillow and fell asleep, exhausted. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 07 To my readers: As always, I appreciate the support. I know, I know...I'm a comment whore. Indulge me, will you? I love reading the comments and believe it or not, they help me get ideas for further chapters! * When Kara awoke, it was still dark inside the cell. She had no idea what time it was, for there weren't any windows or clocks. But trusting her body's natural sleep cycle, Kara decided it was morning and sat against the wall of her cell taking deep breaths. She reminded herself to keep a straight face today and to keep a close eye on her surroundings, always looking for a way out or for helpful snippets of information that could ease a later escape. If the gag were removed, she'd have to follow Arlington's stupid rules if she wanted it to stay off. And so she sat, ill formed thoughts of escape running through her head, until the door to her cell opened. But it wasn't Arlington who opened the door. Instead, she was faced with one of his servants, or so she assumed, probably a handler he'd hired to tend to his slaves. Arlington was a powerful, busy man. Certainly, he hadn't the time to personally feed, groom, and care for all of his slaves and there must be many. Kara and Tamius couldn't be his only acquisitions. The handler was a red-haired, bulky man with a thick beard and hazel eyes. He wore black pants with a utility belt of equipment, much like the Martkorp hunters had, and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Threateningly, he placed his right hand on the taser at his hip, and looked condescendingly at Kara. "You won't give me any trouble girl, will you?" he asked sharply, and Kara shook her head. She had to suck it up and be obedient today or surely this man would leave her in the cell, where nothing she did could be of any use to her. "Hands out front, then," he told her, and Kara relented, allowing her wrists to be cuffed and her eyes to be blindfolded. From there, Kara's handler guided her out of the "torture room," as she'd come to call it, and through a maze of hallways. Eventually, they entered a warm, humid room. Kara could feel moist steam on her face, and heard the hissing of a shower head. Even before the handler removed Kara's blindfold, she knew they were in a bathroom. And what a bathroom it was! White tile covered the floor and walls and, before Kara, there was a bath sunk into the floor, big enough for several people. Over the bath were a few shower heads, spewing warm water into the pool. In spite of herself, Kara was instantly excited. A bath would soothe the tension in her muscles and do wonders for her sore back. "In you go," the handler insisted, uncuffing Kara and motioning toward the pool. But Kara needed no persuasion. She hopped right into its depths and felt the goosebumps on her skin rise pleasantly, the warmth of the water soaking into her core. There were shampoos and soaps along the bath's side, and Kara gratefully began washing herself. She had secretly hoped the handler would fuck up and give her a razor to shave herself, but there was no need after the laser treatment, and he must have known that. Still, Kara was satisfied with what little comfort she had and didn't even mind the relentless way the handler eyed her. But as she continued to lather her body in the sweet smelling soaps, Kara paused. Faintly but surely, she could hear the laughter and happy chatter of women in another room nearby, and spotted a metal door to her left. The handler, watching her eyes, shook his head in disapproval. "You aren't to mingle with the other girls," he told her sternly. "My lord won't have it." So there were others, Kara noted. There were other slaves like her. Perhaps, one day, she could convince one of them to tell her more of Arlington and the probability of an escape. She didn't have to wait as long as she had thought, though. Ten minutes into her bath, the handler's cell phone rang and he left the bathroom, sternly telling Kara to stay put until he came back. It was a mistake, and Kara was all too willing to take advantage of it. As soon as the handler had left, she rushed to the metal door, unsure of how much time she had. She would have to be back before the handler returned, or would surely be reported to Arlington. Inside the doorway, before a wall length mirror, there was a much larger bathroom with a much larger pool, inside of which sat five cheery, nude girls. They were clearly enjoying the water, bathing themselves briskly when Kara approached. At first, they were confused when they saw her. But, once they noticed the ball gag in Kara's mouth and the recent piercings, they became upset, and backed away from her. Kara tried to make friendly gestures, not sure how to do so, and cursed the hideous gag. She'd come in without thinking. There was no way to communicate with these women! What had been the point of coming in? But then Kara noted the wall length mirror, foggy with condensation, and an idea occurred to her. Quick as she was able, Kara leapt across the room and furiously wrote through the condensation, so that her words were cut onto the mirror. Although most of her fellow captives anxiously kept their distance, there seemed to be one exception. Cautiously, a nude girl with unusually pale skin and dark black hair approached, squinting her eyes so that she could read Kara's sloppy writing. The other girls instantly panicked, and tried to pull her back. "Don't!" one of the women told her, tugging her away. "Look at her, Alice! She's a foreigner! She's probably a conquest slave!" "Listen to reason, Alice," said another. "She could be a general, or an assassin! She'll kill you dead if you get too close. I heard Lord Arlington bought a girl, and she'd killed fifty men with her bare hands." Kara rolled her eyes. People kept confusing her for a badass, and it was starting to get on her nerves. "She looks harmless to me," Alice told them, looking at Kara's words. In the condensation, Kara had written the following: "Who are you? I am Arlington's new slave; I am one of you." The last part had been hard to write, but she wanted these women to connect with her as one of them, and they clearly thought of themselves as property, or they wouldn't have been allowed to bathe unsupervised and without restraints. Alice looked confused. "We're Lord Arlington's sex slaves, of course," she told Kara. "But you aren't one of us. You're a different kind of slave. You should go back to your own bath." Kara narrowed her eyes. "Different kind of slave?" she wrote back. "What do you mean?" "Don't talk to her, Alice!" Kara groaned inwardly, watching the other women cowering in the corner. "When Mister Karp comes back, we'll all be punished. She ain't supposed to be in here!" Luckily, Alice ignored her fellow slaves and answered Kara's question. "Well, first, we're from Isleydor. We aren't spoils of war, we're criminals and slavery is our punishment. But we were allowed to choose between this life and exile. In a sense, we submitted voluntarily, so we obey without needing any persuasion. But I bet my Lord Arlington has to force obedience on you, doesn't he?" It was an extremely rude question, but the girl's eyes looked innocent and curious, not unkind. Kara decided to ignore her naivete, and motioned for the girl to continue. Surely, that wasn't the only difference between them. "Well," Alice thought. "We're also sex slaves, and you aren't." That was interesting, so Kara pressed further. "What kind of slave am I?" she scribbled. "Probably a trophy slave, but I can't be sure," Alice replied. "Lord Arlington doesn't spend time with us. He didn't train us, he hired a man for that. He doesn't visit or care for us, Mister Karp does. We only see him when he wants to have sex, and then afterwards he leaves. But since you're a conquest slave, he'll train you himself and keep you nearby, as an example to his enemies and a show of his dominance and power. You'll be the enslaved embodiment of his rank and the prize he gets for taking over Gardok. He'll keep you as a trophy or a pet. It's different." That twisted, sadistic bastard! Kara's anger must have been obvious, for Alice was suddenly afraid and backed away. But Kara couldn't spend anymore time in the their bathroom anyway. Scrapping away the evidence of their conversation, Kara fled back to her own bath before the handler---Mister Karp---could catch her out of place. Luckily, she made it in time and was just done rinsing her hair when the handler returned. Kara made a mental note that the handler Arlington had hired was careless, and that she'd fair an escape under his watch pretty well. There rest of the morning was rather mundane. Kara was given a blue, short sleeve dress to wear, with a skirt that was cut off halfway between her waist and her knees. She could see her new nipple rings pressed up against the cloth, and Kara found it obscene. She would have enjoyed a pair of underwear and a bra, to partially hide her piercings, but was thankful for any clothes. Later, the handler turned Kara over to an elderly women who did her hair, tying it back in a thick pony tail, and her make-up, much better than Kara could have managed. When that was done, Kara was given a nutrient shot---it was impossible to eat without removing the gag---and finally sat back down on the velvet cushion in Arlington's living space, arms chained above her head. This time, though, her legs were kept free. It was an hour before Arlington came in, and Kara took the time to observe the room. She decided that leaping from a window was out of the question. The curtains were open now, so that sunlight pooled on the floor and warmed the entire room, and Kara was able to see the tops of several trees. She was on an upper floor, and probably wouldn't survive the fall if she tried to escape from one of those windows. But there were a few potential weapons in the room to consider, most notably a poker near the fireplace and a paper weight that could probably be used to bash a man's skull in. In her mind's eye, Kara saw herself atop Arlington, pounding his face in over and over again with the paper weight. It was a lovely daydream, and Kara chuckled pleasantly at Arlington's imagined pleas for mercy. "Look at me, Arlington!" the imaginary Kara told him. "Keep your eyes open!" Suddenly, the wooden doors opened with a creak, and Kara jumped guiltily, as if afraid Arlington could read her mind and punish her for the vengeful thoughts. Ignoring Kara, Arlington carefully removed a pair of black, leather riding gloves from his hands before setting them on a little table near the door. Then, he removed his long riding cloak to reveal a white dress shirt and replaced the cloak with a green and blue dressing vest from the closet, a golden pocket watch dangling from the chest pocket. There was a knock at the door as he changed, and Arlington irritably snapped, "Come in!" He was in a poor mood. That couldn't be good for Kara. It was the butler who entered, visibly trembling from the tone in his master's voice. Before speaking, he gave a little bow, Arlington's angry face hovering over him."My lord, lunch will be served in a little under and hour. Lady Charlotte will be joining you in the dining room, if it pleases you." Arlington waved his hand dismissively. "No, Bremmel, it doesn't please me. Have Charlotte meet me up here, and have lunch served in the living space as well. We have a business meeting, and it'll be a while. I'd also like lunch pushed back an hour. The two of us have work to do, and I'd like it to be unencumbered by the meal." "Of course, my lord," and with that, the butler left. Arlington stretched out for a moment, rubbing the kinks out of his neck, before turning to Kara. "Now, to deal with you," he hissed, and Kara found herself involuntarily cringing. Damn it. What was wrong with her? "I think you're ready to have that gag removed," the man mused, watching her closely. "But be warmed, speak out of turn a second time and you'll be kept silent for a full week. Do I make myself clear?" Kara couldn't believe her luck, and nodded appropriately. It would be a relief to be free of the horrible thing. But as Arlington approached and crouched down to remove the device, Kara involuntarily shuddered once more. Her body still feared his touch, even if her head was bent on maintaining calm and control. He was so much more intimidating up close than he was from across the room, and she couldn't help but hold her breath as his hands brushed her face, undoing the locking mechanism of the gag. But a moment later, the thing had been lifted from her face and Kara gratefully worked out the kinks in her jaw while Arlington watched. Looking up, Kara suddenly felt self conscious about her chewing motions and closed her mouth. As Arlington chuckled, she looked down at the floor, certain she would involuntarily glare at the man if she had to look at his stupid, smug face. "Eyes up here, slave," Arlington told her, and Kara obeyed. She was surprised by how her body reacted to his glare, as if it were its own entity, and her heart beat quickened against her will. Already, he had begun to successfully train her to fear him, and Kara was disgusted with herself, even if she knew it wasn't her fault and that she were merely a victim. "Did you sleep well, my dear?" Lord Arlington waited impatiently, to see if she would adhere to his speech restrictions. Kara knew what she had to do, even if she didn't like it. Trying her best to keep the heat out of her voice, she replied tersely: "Yes, sir." If she had to address him with a title, she would use the least ornate one. The small show of rebellion did not go unnoticed by Kara's lord. "I think we will take "sir" off the list of acceptable references, at least for now. Why don't we try that again?" With malice in his eyes, Arlington looked down on Kara. "Did you sleep well, pet?" Kara wanted to tell Arlington to go fuck himself, that she wasn't his "pet," that he was little more than a bully in an expensive suit. Instead, "yes, my lord," emerged begrudgingly from her lips, and Lord Arlington nodded. "Better," he told her. "I expect you'll work on the tone, but it'll do for now." Turning from his slave, Arlington walked back to the love seat and sat down. Silently, he removed some important looking files from a leather suitcase in order to prepare for his upcoming meeting. "Why don't you tell me a little more about the Eastern Ammunitions Incident," he said, skimming through the open folders strewn about his coffee table. "I'm awfully curious about the whole thing, and lord knows Belvodeil won't be truthful. Yes, why don't you tell me what happened?" Although her life depended on being respectful, Kara's will was weak. "Is that a "yes" or "no" question, my lord?" she sneered, mocking his stupid speech restrictions, and Arlington looked up dangerously. "Careful, pet," he told her. "You will entertain me with your stories or you will entertain me with your screams. I haven't the time to tend to you properly now, but I could always replace your new piercings with weights. I am in a foul mood. Don't test my patience." Kara could see that her lord meant it and resolved to speak properly. She had to let go of her pride if she were to survive this and, although it was a close call, she decided to favor her future freedom over that pride. "I apologize for my insubordination, my lord." The words fell from her lips unnaturally, and tasted bitter. Lord Arlington looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Well, I see you've finally achieved some sense of rationality," he began. "I suppose you'll need to remain ungagged if you hope to contact a professional unslaver." He grinned wickedly at the horror Kara was unable to hide from her face. "Oh, come now. Don't look at me with so much surprise. I'm not a bloody idiot; Of course you're plotting an escape. Don't fret, I won't punish you for useless day dreams." If only he knew what my day dreams were really like, Kara thought, looking over at the paper weight from her murderous fantasies. "Now, tell me my story," Arlington demanded, shuffling back through his papers. Kara sighed, and calmed herself. Although she had been shocked by his words, she knew Arlington couldn't read minds. He could only guess at her thoughts. Of course he known she was plotting an escape! Kara thought. What slave wouldn't be? That didn't change anything! Kara knew enough about human psychology to surmise that if Lord Arlington intended train her, he would have to be consistent, and she would be sure to take advantage of that consistency. Whether he knew of her plans or not, he would keep his word and leave her ungagged if she adhered to his rules. So, gathering her calm, she began her tale. "Well, my lord, Commander Elandra guilted me into agreeing to the mission. She told me I'd have blood on my hands if I didn't agree to help and destroy the cargo on the 'death train,' so I did. We weren't well prepared for it, but Tamius couldn't afford to let go of a demolitions expert on the front." Something in Kara's mind clicked, and she ventured a request. "May I ask a question, my lord?" Arlington, who was rapidly signing and initialing a serious of documents, grinned up at her. She was certain he knew what was on her mind. "You may," he said simply, forming a temple with his hands, waiting. "Lord Arlington," she began, her face deathly serious. "What have you done with General Tamius Sue?" There was an unpleasant uptick of Arlington's mouth. "Your general is having a nice, long time out in my private dungeon, so she can think about what she's done. Soon enough, though, I'll begin cracking away at her." With that, the door to the study space opened, and the butler came in, a women trailing along behind him. Kara recognized her instantly. It was the women in red, that horrible women from the auction who had purchased Commander Elandra. She looked less elegant today and wore a black dress suit, but her lips were as deathly red as ever and her long hair was still done up in a bun. Upon announcing Lady Charlotte's presence, the butler offered to remove her jacket, but she pulled away and sneered at him. "Begone," she hissed. "I wish to be alone with his lordship." And obediently, the poor man left. "Lord Arlington," Charlotte began with a half-assed bow, clearly uninterested in the formalities of their respective ranks. "Pardon my imprudence, but what the fuck? I was told that Chambers was the double! Do you have any idea the hell I had to go through after we'd mistakenly kept him in solitary for two weeks? This won't be an easy fix! You're going to have to replace that informant, and---" She paused upon seeing Kara and sneered. "You bought that one? She's awfully mouthy, that one is." And the women poised an accusing finger at Kara. "You've met?" Arlington prodded, intrigued. Charlotte nodded. "Indeed. She insulted me at auction, and when I threatened her, told me to put my money where my mouth was." Arlington laughed and looked with delight at his acquisition. "Did she really? Well, we've been working carefully on her speech, haven't we, pet?" Great. As if bowing before Lord Arlington wasn't bad enough, now she would also have to relent in front of his friends and coworkers. "Yes, my lord," Kara hissed. "We'll have to work on the tone, of course," Arlington admitted. "But not bad for an hours worth of work. She's a tough one, but sooner or later I'll be resting me feet on her back before the fireplace, using her body as a stool and her tongue to polish my boots." Kara visibly fought to keep her mouth shut, watching Lord Arlington's smug eyes travel over her. He was daring her to break her calm. He wanted her to lash out and give him an excuse to gag her. But she wouldn't let him. Fuck your pride, Kara thought. Fuck it! You don't need pride! She looked down at the floor, determined to hide the flush in her cheeks, and saw Lady Charlotte's heels as they approached. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 07 "Look at me, girl!" the woman hissed. But Kara refused. The women had abused her Commanding Officer, and unless Arlington said otherwise, Kara saw no incentive to obey. "Did you hear me, you little worm?" Kara's hair was pulled sharply, and she looked up at the women. "Are you finding his lordship's cells accommodating?" Charlotte sneered. "What about his whip? Are you finding that to your taste? I hope you now understand where the balance of power lies, don't you?" "Answer her, slave," Arlington demanded, and shame filling her, Kara relented. "Yes, my lady," she said, then changed her mind. She'd had enough. Fuck it. She could bare the shame of submission no longer. "I am sure that when you perish, and the devil takes you down to hell, that you'll find his whip equally accommodating." She grinned wickedly, determined to make a show of it. It may be the last time she'd able to grin, at least for a while. "As I told you," Charlotte told her lord, "this one has quite a mouth on her." With a sigh, Arlington stood from the love seat and walked toward Kara, much to her own dismay and to Charlotte's amusement. He stood tall and imposing before her and raised an eyebrow intimidatingly. "How dare you insult my guests?" he asked her, coldly. "I suppose I was too soft on you last night, but I am glad we are realizing this now." He turned to Charlotte, and gestured toward his slave. "I'll deal with her more harshly tonight. In the mean time, she'd make a rather nice decoration, don't you think? I've always adored the living statutes you keep at your dinner parties. You have such an artistic streak." "I am flattered, Lord Arlington." Kara could see a dangerous glint in Charlotte's eyes, and as Arlington roughly gagged his girl, felt that maybe the outburst would not be worth the price she would pay. Arlington handed his guest a coil of rope from the chest under the love seat and raised Kara to her feet, the chains on her wrists lifting once more into the ceiling until she stood awkwardly on tip toe. From above her, Charlotte pulled down two nipple clamps, which were attached to a series of thin chains dangling from the ceiling. Pushing the cloth of Kara's dress aside, she roughly clamped one around each nipple, then pushed a small button on the side of the wall. With a gentle clinking, Kara's nipples were pulled straight up, and she moaned miserably into the gag, the freshly pierced nubs still overly sore and sensitive. At least her legs weren't forcibly spread, Kara thought, but her thanks were short lived. Though Kara struggled, Lady Charlotte lifted her left leg and tied the ankle to her left wrist so that she was standing on a single leg. It was an extremely painful position. Forced on tip toe, Kara's balance was poor and all her weight rested on a single limb. Several times, she almost fell forward, and her nipples were tugged sharply and painfully by the clamps. What was worse, Kara's legs were now lewdly parted, exposing her nude pussy from below the shortness of her skirt. Charlotte tugged playfully at the fresh clit ring, and Kara inhaled sharply. "You have marvelous taste, Arlington," she mused, before stepping back to observe her work. "It's missing something, though." And Kara watched in disgust as Charlotte pulled a long, black shaft of plastic from her purse, the tip a shiny metallic grey. "It's new," she explained, shoving the length into Kara's pussy with a violet twist. "I intended to use it on my own girl, but I can always get another. Consider it a gift for your kind hospitality." There was a little remote in the women's hand, and when she pressed down on it, electric waves shot through Kara's genitals, forcing a surprised scream from the gag. Lady Charlotte moved forward, reached under Kara's dress, and caressed a breast. In an instant, she had pressed down on the remote again and Kara writhed in agony, her cunt on fire and burning, while Charlotte continued to molest her chest adoringly, yanking on the chains of here nipple clamps so that she screamed. "She is so pretty, but god, Arlington. She has such a mouth on her. I can't say I approve." And with a final press of the remote, she walked away and sat in an arm chair opposite Arlington, the coffee table laying between them. Kara struggled to keep her balance as they talked, hopping about helplessly on her free leg. A horrible cramp was rippling up her thighs, and a moist dew was trailing down her leg from the horrible thing filling her pussy. But she was determined to listen in on her captor's conversation and to learn whatever she could, given that her other plans for the day had been shot by her anger. Curse her pride! Arlington would keep the gag on for a week now! Perhaps she could live with herself and the poor decision she'd made if she learned something of interest. Lord Arlington was a powerful man after all. Charlotte sighed deeply and took a sip of the wine Lord Arlington had ordered a servant to bring. A shimmer ran along the deep red tones, and Lady Charlotte inhaled the sweet aroma. "The point is," she began, tentatively," the double is still among us and, worse even, he knows we are looking for him. I don't know who gave the go ahead to arrest Chambers, but there is no sense in keeping the issue quite now. Words out, and our man will be shoring up his defenses and will probably be looking to find a way to flee the country before he is caught." Kara wracked her brains carefully, still trying not to collapse. What did she mean, a double? What was a double? Arlington nodded solemnly, taking an inhale on one of his expensive cigars, his eyes scanning over a yellowing sheet of paper. "Mistakes are made. It happens. We'll just have to do our best and live with the consequences. But I don't think it's as horrible as it seems." Arlington coughed lightly, and pardoned himself. "If our man is a cowardly fool, he'll try and flee the country straight away. I've got men keeping an eye on all personnel. The second anyone tries to get a passage into Nartia or suddenly finds himself applying for a passport, we'll know about it. That's the first possibility." Arlington poured himself a glass of wine and stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "If our man is clever, he'll stay put and keep a low profile until the heat dies down. That gives us more time to follow our leads and find him out. I'm thinking of subjecting everyone on the board to a lie detector test Monday, just to ruffle the man's feathers. Frighten him into doing something stupid." "You're sure he's on the board?" Charlotte looked incredulous. "I'm sure the possibility is there, my lord, but you're making some rather heavy accusations. Everyone on the board was subject to intense background checks, an interrogation, random screenings, and degree audits. To say that our man still wormed his way onto the board---" With a raise of his hand, Arlington silenced her. "I'm flattered by your praise, Charlotte. Really, I am. I'd like to think that the security measures I imposed on the War Time Operations Board were efficient, if not elegant. But Calihistra's intelligence agency wouldn't have sent in a fool to act as a double. He's on the board. I'm sure of it." A double? Did Arlington mean a double agent? If that were true, Kara pitied the poor man, whoever he was. Lord Arlington's War Time Operations Board had served to plan the attack on Gardok, and during the war, infiltrating its ranks to acquire much needed information would have been imperative. But now that the war was over and Calihistra had been captured, the double agent was probably trapped in his role, with no leadership to report to back home and the enemies around him plotting to draw him out. If they found him, he would surely be executed and squeezed for information first, not that it would be of much use in the aftermath of the war. Suddenly, Kara lost her balance and nearly fell, her nipples tugged sharply upward by the clamps. With a piteously shriek, Kara gripped the restraints above her to steady herself. Upon hearing the screech, Charlotte turned her head, not amused. With a deliberate snort, she pressed her little remote, watching Kara writhe about helplessly from the pain in her loins. "Silence, girl," the woman demanded. "I can't bloody concentrate with you making those horrible noises." "Listen to her, girl," Arlington similarly demanded. "You owe it to our guest after your outrageous comments earlier." And with that, he picked up another yellowing form from the table. "I'm surprised they thought it was Chambers," he said, ignoring Kara's attempts to maintain balance. "He's a bit socially awkward, but surely introversion isn't a crime. Who signed off on his arrest?" Charlotte snorted once more. God, the noises she made probably annoyed Kara just as much as Kara's piteous cries annoyed her. "Belvodeil. Who else? Why won't you just replace the man? Didn't he let that little fool behind me blow up twenty million dollars in military equipment? Why was he transferred over to intelligence? The man's a blumbering idiot." Arlington looked up from the sheet in his hands. "He has his uses, but perhaps he's outlived them. There was a time when Belvodeil had the connections to get me what I wanted out of the bureaucracy, but I think you're right. He's lied to me far too often. In the mean time, what are we going to do about this problem?" He handed Charlotte the sheet in his hands. "We need this double taken care of yesterday. If Nartia's intelligence gets wind of his existence, I'm sure they'll hire a team to get him out of the country. He still has valuable information he could pass along, and I'd like Nartia taken care of before the summer." This time, Kara barely caught herself from falling forward, but managed anyway and didn't even cry out. Terror filled her. Dear god, Isleydor was going to war with Nartia? Did they mean to take over the entire Northern Hemisphere? She had friends in that country, and Nartia was too small to keep any invaders out for long. Kara's captors must think her entirely helpless, or they wouldn't talk so freely in front of her. "I've an idea..." Charlotte had a horrible look in her eye. "Why don't we have each man on the board personally execute a prisoner of war? If the double has any conscious, he'll resist if not outright refuse. Hell, even if he doesn't, I'm sure we can read the horror on his face." Arlington seemed to like the idea. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 08 To my readers: As always, comments are appreciated. I enjoy the writing process more if I know others are enjoying my work as much as I am. As usual, beware the sexual violence. It appears in this chapter. Other than that, enjoy! Eventually, Kara was taken down from the wall. As afternoon shadows cast themselves across the floor, Arlington's butler appeared with a rolling lunch cart, which carried two finely cooked steaks, a tray of green potatoes, and what looked like a vegetable medley. Although hungry, Lord Arlington insisted on putting Kara away before lunch, so that he and Lady Charlotte could enjoy their meal free of the girl's occasional shrieks of pain and distress. Carefully, Arlington removed the clamps from Kara's nipples, untied her contorted body, and gently set her down on the velvet cushion below. She was unable to eat with the gag secured as it was, so Arlington also administered a nutrient injection, then led a blindfolded Kara back from whence she had come. But to Kara's surprise, Arlington didn't leave her in the cell. She supposed it was unhealthy to leave anyone in the dark for more than eight hours a day, and Arlington clearly wanted his property intact, or at least relatively intact. So, instead, Lord Arlington kept her in the living space adjacent to the "torture room," the one identical to his own but for a television and numerous pieces of bondage furniture. To ensure Kara stayed put, Lord Arlington first cuffed her wrists in front of her, then connected her tied hands to a long chain fastened into the wood of the ground. With a dismissive nod, he then told her to stay put, explaining that she was clearly not ready to share in his company and that of his guests. Kara was to be kept were she sat for the day, then maintained under Mister Karp's watch each day until Arlington felt she was well trained enough to take a more personal interest in her. And with that, Kara was left alone. Her first order of business was to see how far the chain extended. Standing to her feet, Kara soon learned that she was able to move in a large circle, around the bolt where the chain was connected to the floor. The diameter of this circle was roughly three feet across, and Kara padded along its circumference to see what she could find and to explore her immediate surroundings as best she could. The room didn't look any different from the first time Kara saw it, but upon getting to her hands and knees to explore further, she could see a shiny, black device under an arm chair. Confused, she squinted her eyes. It looked like a remote. Of course! Kara thought. The remote to the television! Kara, eyeing the door warily, decided to go for it. Arlington wouldn't be back from his meeting any time soon, and she doubted Mister Karp would be stopping by either. Getting onto her belly and inching toward her prize, Kara strained to reach the device and found she fell short by a few feet. No matter. Reaching up to the sleeves of her dress, Kara viciously ripped away at the cloth until she was free of the wretched dress and was able to fashion it into a lasso. Feeling awfully clever, she tossed it toward the remote and, once the remote sat inside the ring of cloth, pulled it toward her. Please, Kara thought desperately, have batteries! Please, let it have working batteries! And holding her breath, Kara pressed the little button that was marked, "POWER." Immediately, the television set flashed on and, with it, the speakers. There was a cowboy shoot out taking place on the screen, and loud bangs ricocheted off the walls. Cursing her stupidity, Kara hit the mute button and turned off the television, quickly hiding the remote under a nearby sitting cushion. She sat silent for several minutes, waiting for angry foot steps to approach, but none came. Feeling safe once more, Kara turned on the television, now muted, and set it to display subtitles in her language. She was unfamiliar with the channels she clicked through, but finally found one that appeared to be a news station. Kara hadn't had access to reliable news since Gardok fell, and though she wasn't sure how accurate the station was, felt grateful for any hints of Calihistra's fate and, more importantly, the fate of its people. But instead, a fat gray lump of fur assaulted Kara's eyes, followed by two cheery reporters. "In other news," the senior one said, "check out this cat! See how angry it looks, Bob? Its owner's outrageous videos have gone viral over the past few days..." Nope, Kara thought. Not that news channel. Time to find another. And, eventually, she found what she was looking for. On the screen before her was a close up of Gardok, its smoldering buildings still crumbling, bodies lining the streets, & a broken water main spewing gallon after gallon of water. Then, the screen changed, and there were crowds in the streets welcoming home Isleydor's victors, waving green and blue flags as Isleydor's national anthem played. Rolling along in a sleek black car, the roof of which was down, Kara could see Arlington grinning and waving at the crowd. God, couldn't Kara get even a small break from that man's obnoxious grin? Hadn't his mother ever taught him to change his facial expressions once in a while, so that his stupid grin wouldn't get stuck onto his stupid face? "It's been three months since Calihistra fell to Isleydor," a handsome reporter began, his face superimposed on the images of the parade, other war heroes now being emphasized. "With the White Horse Rebel Alliance successfully overtaken, its members either executed or sold into slavery, Isleydor can now appreciate its long sought victory. Peace with the locals has been achieved, and various negotiations have begun, in order to assure a peaceful transition for all!" Disgusted, Kara turned off the television set and sighed. What had she expected? Of course, the media in Isleydor was biased! Why wouldn't it be? What had she expected to find out? All she would learn by watching the news was how generous Isleydor was being, a savior come to release Calihistra's citizens from the clutches of the White Horse. Kara's organization had been dubbed a "terrorist group" by Isleydor's Ministry of Propaganda, for refusing to surrender when Calihistra's Primary Counselor's already had. Carefully, Kara got onto her belly to put the remote back where she'd found it, in case Arlington became suspicious of its absence, and froze. She had missed something else on the floor, something she only now noticed because it vibrated and glowed impatiently. A phone. Arlington had dropped his phone. Scrambling for her make-shift lasso, Kara quickly pulled the phone toward her and was relieved to find that it wasn't password protected. Perhaps Arlington wasn't as clever as he looked. Ignoring the current caller, whose name Kara didn't recognize, she quickly began to compose a text message to her friend Maria Ling, from Nartia. She would have to be quick, or the entire attempt would be pointless. If Lord Arlington caught her in the act, he would keep her locked more tightly away, so that even an unslaver hired by Maria wouldn't be able to reach her. "Help," she typed furiously, ignoring the many typos she made. "Traped at ARLington's. Need to hire unslaverrr. Quick! Love, Kara." With the adrenaline in her veins pumping furiously, she pressed "Send," then went into Arlington's messaging history to delete the evidence. And then, she heard it, the creaking of the door. She had been so focused on the task at hand, that she'd completely overlooked the footsteps outside her room. And even as Kara tried to finish her work, there was Arlington. Kara watched in horror as Arlington's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in fury. His face lined with rage, he walked ominously toward his girl and lifted her in the air by her hair. Tossing her onto her stomach, Arlington's knee dug into the small of her back and Kara cried out as Arlington wrestled her arms behind her, ripping the phone from her hands. She could hear several small, whining beeps as Arlington checked through his phone. "Very resourceful, Kara," he commented, his knee digging even more heavily into her back. But Kara didn't care. This was still a victory. Even if Maria's unslaver wouldn't be able to successfully reach her, even if Arlington locked Kara away forever, at least the word was out. Maria might know where her family was hidden, and could at least let them know where she was and that she would be okay. "I see that your rationale mind cannot reason its way to obedience," Arlington hissed at Kara, furious. "Perhaps your irrational mind will be more willing to follow my lead." With that, Arlington lifted Kara and carried her under his arm toward her cell, where she was casually tossed on the floor. Arlington loomed over her, and calmly smoothened his features, washing the anger from his face. It was clear that he did not intend to stay angry for long, nor to exact violence against Kara in his anger. A moment later, he was kneeling by Kara, undoing that gag and handcuffs that held her. She looked up at Lord Arlington, confused by the sudden freedom. Hadn't the gag been secured, only to remain for a week? "I've decided that you'll remain ungagged, at least for tonight," Arlington told her."Please understand that tonight isn't a punishment for your insubordination, so much as a necessary evil. I cannot have you both insulting my guests and plotting escape, least of all using my personal belongings. I had hoped to go at a slower pace with you, but I need some sort of foothold to work with. If you won't budge an inch, I suppose I'll have to throw you forward a foot or two." And with that, Lord Arlington left her in the darkened cell, to await her fate. Feeling both triumphant and a bit afraid, Kara tried not to let her imagination run wild. She simply couldn't afford to do so. Instead of working herself up into a potential panic, at the thought of Arlington's sinister face, Kara thought back to Lord Arlington's conversation with Lady Charlotte and concluded that Isleydor did, in fact, plan to take over Nardia. Escape to that region might be pointless then, depending on when Kara managed to make her escape. And as Kara continued to contemplate the conversation, fear dissolved and a terrible wave of anger rippled through her. To attack Nardia was so cowardly an act, unbearably so, that it was almost unthinkable. Nardia had always been such a peaceful country, refusing to engage in warfare of any kind. It was also a primitive nation, with so few technological advances readily available, it was as if the land had been lost in time. Kara had visited once, as part of her medical training. She had traveled by horseback everywhere, she'd only seen one television, and her phone wouldn't work. All long distance communication was handled by post. To attack such a small, defenseless country was not merely cruel, but obscene. The nations of the Northern Hemisphere had always acknowledged the unspoken rule that Nardia was to be left alone. And Kara had friends in Nardia. Why hadn't she thought to warn Maria when she'd had a phone in her hands and the chance to do so? Kara cursed herself for the negligence, and ground on her teeth. It must have been very late when Arlington came for Kara, as she had nearly drifted off to sleep. It was a rude awakening when the cell door came unlocked, opening loudly, the incoming light a terrible affront to Kara's eyes. Fighting through protective tears, she looked up at her lord, and saw that he was hardly more than a dark silhouette against a lighted background. Kara hoped he would explain his plans for her, but Arlington said nothing. Without a word, he unceremoniously grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged Kara into the "torture room," releasing her and locking the cell door behind her. There was such a terrible coldness to the way he approached her that Kara was suddenly and inexplicably afraid. Survival would depend on her being calm, collected, and obedient tonight, no matter what. She'd taken a huge risk today by contacting Maria, and was now desperate to remedy the situation in any way she could. And so, she decided to lie still on the floor until told otherwise, her skin cold against the tile. Perhaps, if she were obedient, Kara would have another shot at complacency and Arlington would let his guard down. From under her brown locks, she could see Arlington towering above her form and Kara took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever her lord had in store. She had to make up for earlier, if she were to have a shot at escape. And she had to win back some mercy and trust if she wanted the leeway to plot that escape. "Kneel, slave!" Arlington hissed at her, and the violence in his voice was so punctuated that Kara obeyed, kneeling under the fluorescent white lights above them. She watched with a mixture of fear and interest as Arlington crossed the room, relieved that he was not binding her to any of the sinister pieces of furniture surrounding them. Kara was even more relieved to find that he completely passed by the wall of canes, whips, and floggers. Instead, he approached a drawer in the wall, very wide, and unlocked it with a brass key. Kara, tension twisting her heart violently, waited to see what Arlington would remove from the drawer. But, to her surprise, he removed nothing. He merely pulled the drawer outwards with a grunt and Kara could see that the drawer was exceptionally long. It took a while for Arlington to fully pull it out from the wall, and when his lordship had finally finished the task, the drawer's full length turned out to be roughly six feet and five inches. Confused, Kara looked inside. It was empty, just a flat metal bed with what looked like several leather straps. "This," Arlington told her, "is the coffin." It took a moment for the words to register, and Kara's face instantly melted, heart quickening with each intake of breath. Within a moment, she had jumped to her feet and was at the door, furiously pulling at the knob, but it was firmly locked and coded. Of course, Kara knew all along that it would be, but her rational self had detached from her mind, and only instinct remained. With no way out, Kara turned toward Arlington, searching his face for any softness, but his eyes were utterly merciless. "You can't do this," she choked, tears already welling up in her eyes. How had he, in such a short time, learned of her intense fear of small spaces? She had been careful to hide her claustrophobic tendencies, hadn't she? She had withstood being restrained for long periods on multiple occasions, hadn't she? How had he known? How? "It's unfortunate that it must come to this," Arlington told her, patting the metal bed with the flat of his hand. "But you are proving to be very difficult to work with, and I believe this may soften you up a bit. It will make you more accepting, more malleable to my instruction. But don't fret, my dear. I intend to break your spirit, not shatter it. You'll only be kept in here for a day, at most." "A day?" Kara's voice was a harsh whisper, barely audible. Clearly, Arlington had more faith in her strength than she did. "But how did....I don't...." She found it impossible to form the words, but Arlington seemed to understand her frustrations and the questioning look in her eyes. "You didn't think I would notice?" It was a purely rhetorical question. "You didn't think I'd realize that the very first thing you do once bound, every single time, is to check your range of motion?" Had she done that? Kara hadn't even noticed; it must have been an unconscious impulse. "You think I didn't notice that the threat of forcing your eyes open was more persuasive than the whip? I've read far more complex faces than yours, my dear," Arlington finished. "Now, crawl to me." Kara shook her had emphatically and pressed her self against the far wall, keeping herself as distant from Arlington as was possible, glad her hands were free. She would need them to keep away from that drawer, to fight off Arlington. "No, absolutely not. I can't. I simply can't." Her upper lip was trembling, and there were more tears now. Not tears of sadness, but of panic. It was an entirely new sensation for Kara. Was this what Alyssa had spoken of when she'd mentioned lines, and Arlington's penchant for crossing them? "Please..." Kara couldn't believe how easily the threat consumed and terrified her. "I'll do what you ask, I swear! I won't speak out of turn again! I won't belittle your guests, I swear it!" "Oh, but you will," Arlington assured her, his eyes now strangely sympathetic. "You'll continue to oppose me until you are broken down. You aren't broken down yet. You'd have crawled to me by now if that were the case. Now, come, Kara. I demand it of you." Kara continued to shake her head viciously and wondered if she might be able to grab a weapon from the wall---there were several canes---before Arlington could reach her and force her into that horrible drawer. Kara was weak, but also quick and she might be able to dance just out of reach if he tried to corner her. She looked back toward the drawer and let the revulsion it brought send little shudders through her. God, it reminded her of the freezers from the morgue in Gardok. She'd never last a day. But Arlington, following Kara's eyes to his assortment of impact devices, shook his head. "It will be unnecessary to fight me off, because I won't be putting you in the coffin, you'll willing lay down inside. It would be easy enough to overpower you. But I don't want to overpower you, Kara. I want you to crawl to me, and you will." "No," Kara cried, the wet tears trailing down her face. "Don't you understand? I can't do this. Please, anything else!" "May I remind you," Arlington told her, "that the maximum punishment is a day. I intend to keep you in here for at least three hours, but I can certainly increase that time. Refuse me, and I will do so. If you make me catch you, you'll be restrained for the full twenty-four hours." His voice suddenly turned dangerous. "Now, on you knees, slave! I won't tell you again!" Lord Arlington snapped his finger and pointed deliberately at the floor. Kara's body, without any instruction from her mind, fell forward onto its knees and Kara realized, as if in a dream, that she was crouched on the floor. She could see wet droplets fall from her eyes and onto the tiled floor, where they reflected the fluorescent lights from above. What was she doing? How had Kara gotten there? Tentatively, she began crawling towards Arlington, but paused halfway across the room. She couldn't do this. Whether it was the fear or her dignity or a combination of both, Kara couldn't tell. But she could not crawl to him, or lie down in that horrible thing. "Please," she begged, sitting back onto her knees and clasping her hands together. "My lord, please! I apologize for my rudeness, anything else!" "Anything else won't get the job done. Now, come! My patience is wearing thin." But Kara couldn't bring herself to get back onto all fours and crawl to him. Obstinately, she remained where she knelt, wracking her brains for a way out. She couldn't overpower the man, or make a run for it, and the begging didn't seem to work. "Four hours, then," Arlington told her, looking down at his watch. "Get back on your hands and knees, or it will be five. You are going to be put away, Kara. I assure you. By refusing me, you are only dragging the ordeal out further. But, I suppose," he mumbled, more to himself than to her, "that a little resistance is a good thing. Better it is brought into the open and dealt with now, rather than later." He began to undo the leather straps on the table and Kara could hear the clanking of belt buckles being unhinged and locks being undone. Once finished, Arlington turned back to Kara. "Now, I shall tell you once more: Come. Here. Now. I would like to get to bed at a reasonable hour, and you are holding me up, slave." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 08 Utterly defeated, unwilling to earn another hour in "the coffin," Kara got back onto her hands and knees and crawled toward Lord Arlington. It was a god awful feeling, to be so easily brought to tears and then, with mere words and threats, forced to crawl toward her tormentor and willingly subject herself to her worst fears. The tile below Kara was cold, and her palms were chilled because of it. Between her arms, looking downward, Kara could see all the little specks and imperfections in the floor and, to her own horror, was able to see a faint reflection in the tile. How pitiful she looked, trembling, with tear stains on her cheeks. Trying to relieve some of the shame she carried, Kara looked up at Arlington and away from the floor, but he glowered at her. "When I tell you to crawl, you'll keep your eyes to the floor," he told her. "Understand?" This time, the fear she felt made Kara's answer more sincere. "Yes, my lord," she whispered, turning her eyes back to the floor and trying her best to ignore the reflection there. Kara couldn't bare to look at herself. She tried to push away the terrible taunts in her head, telling her she was a weakling, a disgrace to her people, a piteous creature that hadn't deserved to be in the military. But Kara tossed those thoughts aside. So what, if she were a weakling? Survival now, in this moment, was all that mattered. Kara knew that was exactly what Lord Arlington wanted her to think, but her rationale self was a disembodied entity, which floated silently above her. It knew nothing of her plight, and could not help her where she sat crouched. Finally, Kara saw the hem of Arlington's cloak come into view, and the expensive leather boots he wore underneath. She stopped where she was, but didn't look up until Arlington lifted her chin with the toe of his boot. Kara was certain she'd never been more terrified her entire life, not even when she'd been aboard the death train, with Belvodeil's men breaking in the door to try and kill her. "Up," Arlington told her, gesturing for her to stand. Piteously, Kara grabbed at the hem of his cloak and looked up at him with moist eyes. "Please," she begged, tugging at the cloth in her hands. "My lord, please have mercy! Please! Forgive me my insubordination! Please!" Arlington considered her seriously for a moment but, his mind made up, shook his head. "It isn't good enough," he told her. "But I am sure it will be. Now, stand up." Trembling, Kara stood and very deliberately blanked out her mind. She wouldn't be able to handle this if she thought about her situation and its implications. She would have to deaden her thoughts and feelings if she wished to deaden her fear. It was hard, but Kara had experience. If you did not dampen your feelings on the field, if you let every dead patient and his mourning family get under your skin, you couldn't last very long as a medic. Still, this was different, and Kara was only able to soften the terror inside her to a degree, not completely. Lord Arlington lifted Kara by her waist onto the flat metal bed and instructed her to lie on her back, but Kara, shaking her head viciously, could not obey. Arlington took pity on her and, rather than increasing her time, gently pushed back on her chest, forcing her to lie still. Kara almost bolted upright, but before she could, Arlington had secured a leather binding across her waist and firmly tightened it. Trying not to think, to fade away, Kara watched as Lord Arlington secured similar straps across both her thighs and ankles. When he gripped the pale skin of her wrist and laid it delicately on the table, to strap it down, Kara was engulfed in a fresh wave of tears. And Arlington, considering his captive's face, gently wiped them away and caressed her cheek gently. "It will be over before you know it," he said to her, walking momentarily out of view. There was some intense shuffling, the opening and closing of a cabinet, and Kara's lord returned with a posture collar. Kara, already at her wit's end, realized he intended to bind her neck, so that she wouldn't even be able to move her head from side to side. "My lord, please, don't...." It was a feeble, barely audible plea, and it fell on deaf ears. Moving her hair back from behind her neck and face, Arlington secured the collar. But he wasn't quite finished yet. Reaching from within the depths of the wall, from where the drawer had been pulled outward, Arlington removed what appeared to be an a black oxygen mask, connected to a long, flexible tube. It wouldn't cover her entire face, just her mouth and nose, but Kara pulled hard against her restraints. It was intimidating, and unable to help herself, Kara screamed. "Please, please! Haven't I had enough, my lord? For god's sake, haven't I had enough?" "The coffin, once closed, is air tight and utterly sealed," Arlington told her, looking down on her writhing form, "so that it is dark and sound proof. You won't be able to breath without the mask; it's only air, the same as you are breathing now. Hold still for me." And, placing his hand against her forehead to keep her still, he secured the mask over her face. Kara inhaled deeply, to make sure it was indeed just air, and not anything more sinister. But Arlington had been truthful, though Kara now wished the mask would supply pure oxygen, to calm her nerves. With one last look, Arlington pushed the drawer back into the wall, engulfing Kara in darkness. She heard the lock on the drawer click in place, and screamed, just so that she could hear the sound of her own voice and would know she was okay. Her lungs now hoarse from screaming, Kara tried to get a grip on herself. She first tested her range of motion, as she apparently always did, and found that she could not move at all. Her legs, arms, wrists, and ankles were all tightly bound. Kara couldn't even arch her back off the table, due to a series of leather straps holding her tightly down. And with the collar on her neck, Kara could only look straight upward. Four hours? Could she really last four hours, like this? Kara tried to distract herself somehow, first by talking to herself and then by reciting aloud stories of home, of Uncle Florence and family picnics in Telma. But a horrible ache rippled its way downward from her heart to her gut, as if there were bugs under her skin and a team of butterflies whirling about her stomach. Kara instinctively tried to turn, to relieve the awful feeling she always got when trapped anywhere. But the nervous trembling and crawling sensations ran along her body anyway, pushing outward from her chest and her quickening heart through to her arms, then her legs. The trembling intensified and Kara, still acting purely on instinct, bucked wildly to be free. When she was met with resistance, panic took over and she struggled even more wildly, only to reinforce the panic. If only she had some indication of the time then maybe, just maybe, this would become bearable. But Kara had no such comforts available to her. In the blackness of her mind, she heard more screaming, and wasn't completely sure it was her's. Perhaps there was another girl in the wall too, also screaming. Kara pitied that girl, and hoped she was okay. Kara was sure she had been trapped in the wall forever when there was a rush beneath her and her eyes were assaulted with light, the coffin being drawn out from the wall. Standing above her in a dark blue & silk night gown stood Arlington, who had clearly woken from his slumber specifically to deal with her. Not letting her up, Arlington studied Kara's trembling form from head to toe, looking for a long moment into her fearful eyes, and a smile crept along his lips. Apparently, Arlington was pleased with what he saw. Not saying a word, he began to undo the straps along Kara's body and sweet, succulent relief enveloped her. She had been so distraught that, for a moment, she wondered if she were hallucinating. But soon enough, Kara was free of all but the collar, and Arlington set her on the floor, where she remained sitting, too weak to stand. "Beg for my forgiveness," Lord Arlington demanded, waiting. Kara looked up at him confused, then understood. "Please," she said, her voice not her own. "Please, my lord, forgive me. Forgive this slave her transgressions." It vaguely occurred to Kara that she was talking in third person, but she didn't mind. It seemed a more submissive way to speak, and she was interested in keeping Arlington happy, so that he'd take her back to her cell. But when Kara looked up at her lord, he didn't look happy. "Four hours in the coffin, and that's the best you can do?" he asked coldly, and Kara's face dropped. "It isn't good enough," he mused. "Get back on the table." He snapped his fingers and pointed toward the metal bed, and Kara's heart turned to ice. "But...but...." Kara's lips trembled. Why was he doing this? Hadn't she done as she was told? "Oh, pet," Lord Arlington sighed. "It isn't your fault, but sincerity must be forced on you somehow. Now, do as I say and stand for me." "Please," Kara begged, gabbing onto Arlington's lower legs and cowering before him. "Please my lord, have mercy! Please, forgive me! I've been foolish, my lord! I am so sorry!" Frantic, Kara touched her head to the floor in the most submissive gesture she could muster and sobbed, still clinging to Arlington's night gown. "So much better," Arlington praised. "But the damage is done. I should be able to elicit that response from you without resorting to threats. Now, stand. I think you can handle another two hours. Resist me, even once, and I'll double it." Kara knew he meant it and, still sobbing, allowed herself to be set down on the metal table and strapped into it once more. There was a gentle, persistent plea issuing from her soft pink lips, "Please, please..." But Arlington intended to push through to the end, to fully demonstrate to his slave the exact nature of her position. With the drawer pushed back into place and darkness all around, Kara lay limp, sour tears softening her cheeks. Ten or so minutes later, though Kara couldn't really be sure how long it had been, the girl thought she heard creatures in the walls, and saw red eyes above her. Then the ground under her moved and twisted, a gentle screeching assaulting her ears that reminded her vaguely of the air raids above Gardok. Kara knew, deep down, that these were hallucinations, but that mattered little. They frightened her, and Kara shut her eyes tight, hoping they would go away. Finally, the drawer opened once more, and light flooded around Kara. When she opened her eyes, blinking furiously, Arlington was towering above her, once more looking into her eyes to read them. It must have been morning, for Arlington was in a white dress shirt and a red vest now, his hair combed and smelling of cologne. Again, he undid the straps on the table and gently set Kara on the ground, then turned sternly toward her. "Again," he said. "Beg me for forgiveness, slave." "Master, please! Forgive me, Master! I shouldn't have disrespected your guests, and I shouldn't have tried to escape!" She clung to him closely, he seemed to like that, and lowered her forehead submissively against his boot. "Please," she sobbed into the leather. "Please, I am begging you lord, no more. Please, have some mercy." This time Arlington looked pleased and even a little intrigued. He was both surprised and thrilled that Kara had referred to him as "master,"and why wouldn't he be? Often, he was referred to as "Lord Arlington" or simply "my lord" by subordinates and ordinary citizens. Kara's use of the term "master," a uniquely subservient term entrusted to a slave, showed a certain degree of humility the girl had previously lacked. Arlington lifted his slave's chin towards his face with the tip of his boot and saw very sorry eyes looking up at him. Excellent. "Very good, pet," he praised, pushing the coffin back into the wall with a gentle shove, to show that she was forgiven. And with that, Kara wept with relief, practically collapsing onto the tile floor. Arlington sympathized with the poor thing, but he had to keep firm. "I'm sorry, dear, but I'm not quite done with you yet," Lord Arlington told Kara solemnly, and she looked worriedly up at his face. "Oh, pet. Don't worry, you won't be punished, just instructed." "Very well, master," Kara nodded, not moving from her spot on the floor and Arlington smiled, pleased. His lordship really did want to give Kara a break, but knew it unwise. This one had a tendency to shore up her defenses when left to herself, and since Arlington intended to train the girl, he would use the momentum of the night's events to push her along. Once he was able to guide Kara past some of her boundaries, even if she strengthened her resolve later, it would be easier to train her into total subservience. Pulling the girl to her feet by her hair, Arlington gripped the nape of Kara's neck and guided her unsteady body toward a wooden stockade which came up to his waist, the neck and wrist openings lined in leather. "In you go, girl," he instructed and Kara, all resistance drained from her, obeyed. As Arlington lifted the upper half of the stockade, Kara lay her neck and wrists in their appropriate positions, until Arlington lowered the upper half of the stockade back down again and locked it shut. Next, from a wooden drawer, Arlington removed a metal ring gag with two leather straps. "Open wide, pet," he told Kara and she obeyed once more, allowing Arlington to secure it in her mouth, forcing it wide open. Kneeling down, so that he was at eye level with the confused and distraught girl, Arlington pushed the hair from her eyes and traced her soft lips with his fingers, appreciating them. He inserted a finger in her mouth and explored her wet opening, ensuring that the gag was indeed secured and that she would not be able to bite down. Then, he stood, and began to undo his belt. "You're going to be face fucked, pet," he told her. "It won't be a comfortable experience and, at times, you won't be able to breath. But don't panic. I will not suffocate you; I give you my word." Kara looked straight ahead as Arlington undid his pants and saw him stroke the massive erection. It was circumcised, thick and lengthy, a tangle of dense black curls wrapped about his velvety sack. Horrified by what was happening, but not enough to resist, Kara looked up at her lord's eyes and saw the lustful, determined aura contained within. He would surely hurt her if he ravaged her face like this, with Kara unable to get away or control the motion of his thrusts. But utterly beaten, Kara resigned herself to the upcoming onslaught as Arlington teased her swollen lips with the tip of his cock, getting her used to the feel of him. Still, Lord Arlington had to muster up all of his will power to avoid thrusting his cock immediately into the disobedient slut's little mouth. She had caused him a great deal of trouble and with her adorable little eyes tearing, it would be a great relief to fuck her face mercilessly until she nearly gagged. Still, he managed not to, instead wrapping his fingers in the girl's hair so that he could feel her tiny body quiver submissively in fear. After caressing Kara's cheek with his cock and watching the resignation cross over her face, Arlington could wait no longer. Gripping the top of the stockade, without any sort of warning, Arlington thrust his warm length into his slave's mouth. God, it was so warm and soft, the pulsing of her tongue pressing tightly against his glans and sending wondrous shivers through his body. Eventually, he would train her to suck him off herself, and wouldn't need the ring gag to hold her mouth open for his dick. He imagined her defiant face wrapped around his length, bobbing up and down along it, her tongue lapping at the little teardrop shaped opening. He pulled violently on Kara's hair, harder than he ever had before and fully intending to cause pain. Then, he was able to delight in the soft whimpers rippling along his manhood. If only he could get a scream out of the girl, Lord Arlington mused. Drawing his hand upwards, he slapped the girl's face, and felt a sudden cry of terror vibrate along his furiously pumping cock, so that he groaned pleasurably. Meanwhile, as her lord continued to fuck her delicate face, Kara tried to bite down, but was unable. It wasn't on purpose, of course, but the intrusion was violent and her responses involuntary. He mouth filled and sore from the friction, Kara noted that her lord's cock was both hard, like a steel rod, and soft, as if wrapped in velvet. He tasted both salty and sweet, the sweat from about his cock sliding along her tongue. To Kara's immense relief, Arlington pulled out for a moment, allowing his slave a minute to gasp for air, saliva dripping down her chin. But the relief was minimal and with a lustful groan, Arlington thrust his cock hard into the depths of Kara's throat, which convulsed around him. The thrust was particularly deep and Kara almost gagged, tears filling her eyes. But as Arlington pressed still deeper, his thighs around her face, Kara realized that she couldn't breath and that Arlington no longer thrust his hips, which would normally permit her a few intermittent breaths of air. Instead, Arlington steadied himself inside her. Bewildered, Kara began to panic and tried to claw away from the thick mass inside her, but she was firmly restrained. Desperate for air, Kara screamed as loudly as she could, a plea for her lord to step back, but he didn't. He understood her terror and pushed his cock still farther inward anyway. "Your gasps for air feel lovely, slave," he told her, caressing a cheek. "Such lovely, soft lips. And your panic is so delicious." But Arlington kept his word and, a moment later, he stepped out of her, allowing her a few desperate gasps for air. Once satisfied that Kara was fine, Arlington grunted above her and pushed himself back in, balls deep, the softness of his sack pressing warmly against Kara's cheek. Suddenly, his thrusts became more quick and painful, banging hard against the inside of Kara's sore mouth, such that she moaned in agony. Grabbing a fistful of hair to steady himself through the assault, Arlington picked up the pace and lifted his hips, to more forcefully plunge into the wet depths of his slave's defiant little mouth. Inside her, Kara could feel Arlington's cock shudder and thicken, trembling as if about to boil over in her mouth. But that wasn't Arlington's intention. Quickly, he withdrew, only to shoot his hot load onto her face. As much as he wanted to convulse in her pretty mouth, this session wasn't for his enjoyment, but for the education and humiliation of his slave. He fully intended to show the girl her place. Quickly, Arlington pulled up his pants and re-did the belt buckle, before releasing his slave and removing the gag. Before she had a chance to react to the procedure, Arlington had dragged her to a large mirror on the far wall and stood her in front of it, gripping her hands behind her back. They were now both facing the mirror, with Kara backed against her lord's chest, her hands restrained behind her. "Look at your reflection, slave," Arlington told her coldly, and watched as horror and humiliation erupted in his slave's beautiful blue eyes, a flush burning up through her cheeks. She stared aghast at the nude, trembling girl that was supposed to be her, Arlington's still warm cum sprayed across her face. Still gripping Kara's wrists with his left hand, Arlington brought his right up to her face and with a single finger wiped a dollop of cum from her cheek. He pressed it against her lips, and forcefully demanded, "Lick." Kara, appalled by both the assault and Arlington's demand, considered shaking her head or pulling away. Arlington could feel the resistance in her body. But her defenses down, Kara relented, licking the white dew from his finger. She watched, defeated, as her reflection did the same, while Arlington cooed soft praises into her ear. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 09 Author's Note: Thanks, as always, for the ratings and comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter! I apologize for the long wait, but I hope you enjoy! * Kara lay her tired body, still wet from a recent bath, on the bed of down and snuggled underneath its covers. Nuzzling her head against the welcoming pillows, she imagined being on a warm cloud, sunlight pouring over her skin and a swift, but gentle breeze combing through her brown locks. She was high above the world, floating in solitude, unconcerned with the problems of the people below and their various plights. There was just Kara and the clouds, unbound and careless. Closing her eyes, Kara kept the image focused before her mind, to ensure that any dreams she had would be good ones. Her mother had taught her the trick years ago, and she'd used it often during the war. Now, she prayed it would ward off the darkness of the coffin and the horrible creatures she'd imagined while panicked, replacing any nightmares with images of soft clouds and blue skies. She needed a deep, unrelenting sleep to calm her, until the strangeness she felt wore off. She needed to fall away into pleasant dreams, until she felt less like Arlington's slave and more like herself again. When Kara awoke, it was reluctantly. She would sleep away forever if she could. But the room she was in seemed strange, and she wasn't sure why she was there. It was a bedroom, entirely windowless, with a large downy bed in blue coverings, an empty bookshelf, and a barren desk. Trying to remember how she had gotten into the room, Kara thought back to the previous night, to a time after Lord Arlington had finished with his sick lesson. Although her memories were faint, Kara recalled having a bath overseen by Lord Arlington. And then, after the bath, she remembered being carried by Lord Arlington into the sitting room with the television, then down the hallway opposite to that of the "torture room," a hallway she'd had yet to explore. And yes, Kara remembered now. This was where she had been left, shivering on the bed. The room was much nicer than the cell of darkness Kara had become accustomed to, even if it was a bit chilly. Would Kara be allowed to stay here? Would she get to sleep in the fluffy, warm bed again? Was this a permanent arrangement, or a temporary one? It would be futile for Kara to get her hopes up and, recognizing this, she eyed some clothes laid out for her on the desk, which sat beside a brush and some jewelry. Although still tired and sore, Kara decided to dress herself. It was cold outside the covers and, furthermore, Kara despised being naked in front of her captor. If nothing else, the process of getting ready would distract her from the terrible memories of last night, which threatened to creep into her mind and ensnare her in their depressing grasp. Kara wasn't ready to think through her ordeal, not yet. She was relieved to find that she had undergarments today, perhaps a show of pity from Lord Arlington. Quickly, she slipped on the white lace panties and bra, then turned to the dress she had been gifted. It was a short sleeved piece, with a puffy skirt that barely went past her thighs. The colors were red and gold, as they had been in the auction hall, and she put on matching gold hoop earrings and a golden necklace with an amber pendant. Without a mirror, Kara couldn't be sure she was doing a good job of brushing her hair, but began at the task anyway. She must have spent an hour running the brush through her brown mane, just so that she wouldn't have to face herself and the horrors she had endured at Lord Arlington's hands. But as reluctant as Kara was to face her reality, eventually the brush stilled and Kara made herself crawl back onto the bed, to think through the ordeal. Curling herself up within the covers, Kara forced herself to recall Arlington's coffin, and independent of her will, tears started to creep from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks. She couldn't believe what had happened. It was if her memories belonged to a stranger, for they certainly seemed foreign to her. Even if Kara knew that it was her who had endured Arlington's cruelty, the Kara in the coffin and the Kara now sitting in bed were entirely different entities. It made Kara immensely uncomfortable to know that, under the right conditions, her entire persona could change. While under Arlington's grasp, she'd been completely helpless. She had only cared about keeping that evil son-of-a-bitch happy, so that he would leave her alone. She'd barely even minded being face fucked...god, how crude a term. Face-fucked. But Kara soon realized that she couldn't afford the luxury of self-pity. This moment couldn't be about "finding herself" or "reconciling with fate." This moment, and all those that came after, had to be about survival. Survival, and nothing else, had to be Kara's focus. Cringing at her own stupidity, Kara realized how embarrassingly reckless she had been. Hadn't she had a plan of attack? A method for resisting Arlington and earning his trust? She was supposed to have been respectful, submissive, and obedient in order to lure Arlington into letting his guard down. But alas, in order to satisfy her own prideful nature and her need for defiance, Kara had deviated from the plan and it had cost her dearly. Arlington was a trained interrogator, an extremely powerful military official, and Kara ought to have known what he was capable of and what he would do when she stepped out of line. But no more. Kara made up her mind, right then and there, to relent to him. If she submitted of her own free will, then Lord Arlington would not force submission upon her. It wasn't an appealing option, but it was the best one Kara had. If Arlington subjected her to that coffin again or to something similar, Kara wasn't sure she would emerge the same person she was now. Furthermore, by submitting, perhaps she could eventually get Arlington to loosen his grip. He had to fuck up sometime, and if Kara faked subservience, it would be easier to take advantage of any mistakes Arlington made. As much as she hated to admit it, escape had to leave Kara's mind, at least for now. Kara had pushed Arlington too far, forcing him to take her more seriously than she would have liked. Any escape attempt she orchestrated, at least at this point in time, would surely fail. Rather than outright pursuing escape, Kara would have to wait for an opportunity to come to her. When it did, she would surely jump at the chance, but she had to wait it out. It was as simple as that. No more tears, Kara thought. And she wiped them away from her face. The waiting has hard. Kara knew that Arlington would visit her eventually, in order to assess the impact of his twisted little training session. And when he came, Kara knew that she would have to play the role of the submissive slave. Worst of all, she knew in her heart that it wouldn't be entirely an act. She was terrified of Arlington now, perhaps not enough to lose herself to him, but enough to relent to his demands. Sure, it was a conscious decision on Kara's part to obey, for the sake of her own sanity. But once Arlington returned, Kara didn't doubt that her motivation for that obedience would be two fold. Kara would submit because it was part of "the plan," but also so that Arlington would stop hurting her. When the door to her room finally opened, Kara panicked, unsure of what to do with herself. Whenever Arlington had visited her in the past, Kara had been bound. She hadn't needed to guess at where he would want her. But now, she was unbound, and surely Arlington would want her waiting for him, perhaps somewhere specific. Where should she go? What should she do? Would Arlington want her kneeling on the floor? Would he want her lying on the bed? Would he want her standing in the classic slave position, legs spread and arms behind her head? And if he found her placement unsatisfactory, would he take her back to that awful torture room? Confused and utterly terrified, Kara found that none of her contemplations mattered. Even if she had known where to move and what position to assume, she found herself rooted to the bed, hardly able to breath normally. But Arlington didn't seem to care where Kara sat, much to her relief. Ignoring his girl entirely, Lord Arlington walked towards the wooden desk, pulled a wooden chair away from it, and situated it opposite the bed. He sat down and, his face unreadable, looked at Kara. There was an awkward silence, and Kara wondered if Lord Arlington could hear her heartbeat throbbing beneath the skin of her chest. It seemed conspicuously loud to her, and she hoped he wouldn't notice. "You're up earlier than I thought," Lord Arlington told her simply. Was there pity in his eyes? No, it must be an illusion, Kara thought. No one could be as cruel as Arlington was, as sadistic as he could be, and still have the capacity to pity his victims. "Did you sleep well?" he asked. And Kara, horrified by the complete lack of sneer in her voice, replied: "Yes, my lord." It was obvious now, to both Arlington and Kara, that the man had managed to successfully break through some of his slave's defenses. Kara wasn't down for the count yet, not by a long shot. She had not lost herself to Arlington, at least not completely. Still, she was definitely less sure of herself than she had been the previous day, before her ordeal in the coffin and the face fucking she'd been forced to endure. "Good," Arlington told her, no malice in his voice. Perhaps he intended to contrast his cruel self with this kinder self, in order to reinforce Kara's more submissive behaviors. Kara, disgusted with herself, hoped that was the case. She couldn't take any more of his violence. "Come to me," Arlington told her, gesturing toward a spot to the left of his chair. Kara slid from the bed, telling herself silently that she was obeying for her own sake. She told herself that she was obeying because it was part of "the plan" and that the rapid pitter-patter of her heartbeat had nothing to do with it. Quietly, she walked to where Arlington had gestured and sat down on the carpet, staring into its depths. The carpet was tan, and Kara looked deep into it's curling fibers, wondering what would become of her. Although she hated to admit it, Kara now feared Arlington's wrath more than she feared her submission. Devastated, Kara wondered what that might entail. "Thoughts?" Arlington asked, running his fingers through Kara's hair, and her neck stiffened at the touch. "You can speak freely. I'll put a temporary pause on those restrictions I spoke of earlier." Not thinking, Kara let her thoughts fall freely from her lips and a little voice in the back of Kara's mind reprimanded her for speaking without a filter. Surely, if she spoke so openly, Kara would only reveal further weaknesses to Lord Arlington. But Kara, still unglued from her ordeal in the coffin, didn't care. She needed someone to listen to her fears and forebodings, for they relentlessly built up inside of her, threatening to destroy her. And at this moment, she needed someone to listen, it didn't matter who. Anyone would do. Even Lord Arlington. "What's going to happen to me?" she asked Arlington, sincerely. "What do you plan on doing with me?" "I bought you to be a trophy slave," Arlington told her simply, wrapping her hair more tightly around his fist. "I intend to tear down your defenses until I possess you, just as I tore down Gardok's defenses in order to possess it. You represent my personal conquest over Calihistra, a compliment to the actual conquest Isleydor accomplished. That's the purpose of a trophy slave. You'll go where I go, as an example to my enemies, a demonstration of what happens to those who oppose me. You'll be a combination pet, fuck toy, and a living warning to my enemies. That's what I intend, in a nutshell." Kara paused for a moment, afraid to continue, before remembering that Arlington's speech restrictions were temporarily suspended. And for the first time since Lord Arlington had entered the room, Kara looked up at him. "I don't understand," she said, her eyes pleading and confused. "How can you do this to another human being? Have you any sense of decency, any at all? For the love of god, I have a family back in Calihistra. How can you do this? It doesn't make any sense." "It isn't fair," Arlington agreed. "But it isn't supposed to be fair. This is what war looks like, unfortunately for you." "But, I'm an accomplished medic," Kara began, growing more bold. "I've faithfully held a ten year apprenticeship. I've worked in both private practice and in the military. I'm a professional, with goals. How could you reduce me, after all that, to mere pet lying luxuriously by your fire place? You don't see anything wrong with that? Don't you see anything wrong with turning me, an individual, into an object?" "No, I don't," Lord Arlington replied. "That being said, you misunderstand me. I chose to buy you, at least in part, because of your intelligence and your many accomplishments. I don't want a mindless doormat; that isn't any fun. And it's not very impressive, either, to own and possess a mindless doll. I want a pet, a slave who is entertaining and interesting, even if her primary purpose in life is to serve me. Further, I'm not an idiot. To keep you from shattering, I'll make sure I reward as well as punish. Life doesn't need to be over for you. Adhere to my rules, and I'll fill your bookshelves. I may let you continue your education. You'll find me exceptionally cruel when insubordinate, but I am not unreasonable when properly pleased." Kara didn't believe him, and she had good reason not to do so. She had learned from experience that he was evil incarnate. Regardless of what he said, Kara knew that Lord Arlington was incapable of being reasonable, pleased or not. But he was also selfish, and Kara didn't doubt that he would be a more gentle, understanding master if it served him well. Kara would simply have to make kindness, or at least its imitation, the most appealing option for Lord Arlington. She had to obey, even if it hurt her to do so. Even if she had to leave her pride at the door, and go on without it. Alone. "Enough questions," Lord Arlington told Kara, snapping her out of her reverie with his impatience. "As of now, I am reinstating the speech restrictions from earlier. Now, come kneel in front on me. I want you facing me." Kara did as she was told, and knelt in front of Lord Arlington. Gently, he tipped her head upward with a single finger, then pulled her brown hair up and away from her shoulders, exposing her neck. He took what appeared to be a sturdy, black leather collar from a satchel at his side and Kara cringed as the cold material was wrapped tightly around her neck and locked in place. It had a silver loop at the front, where Arlington attached one end of a short leash. And with that, Kara could feel her body ripple with repulsion, but knew better than to resist. This was it. She had to learn to endure these kinds of humiliations, as she may be faced with them for a long, long time. Better to resign herself to the situation now, than allow her rebellious side to rekindle and destroy her. "Now, hands out front," Arlington demanded, and Kara relented, allowing Arlington to wrap each delicate wrist in red leather cuffs, which he then bound together. His skin was unrealistically smooth, like a baby's skin. And with a tug of the leash, Arlington stood and pulled Kara to her feet. "Look at me, girl," he demanded, when she was upright. "Whenever I walk with you, you'll stay behind me a few paces, on my left side, as is the convention. Understand?" "Yes," Kara sighed. "Yes, my lord. I understand." Even though Kara was blindfolded---Arlington still didn't want her to learn the layout of his manor---it was surprisingly easy to follow the man down the hall. He kept a tight grip on the leash in his hands and used gentle, but deliberate guiding motions to direct her. Eventually, Kara's blindfold was removed and she found herself in what appeared to be an office. It was a rather small room, but along three of its sides Kara could see wall length windows, which gave the room a grand appearance. It was dark outside, the stars barely visible amidst the light pollution of a city, and Kara realized she had slept clean through the day. With a gentle tug, Arlington led Kara to a sitting pillow at the left of a large, ornate desk and instructed her to kneel. When she did so, Arlington unhooked the leash from Kara's collar and sat down at the desk. It was surprisingly pleasant to sit on the floor, drifting in and out of daydreams, while Arlington tapped away at his computer. Kara knew it was wrong to enjoy the peace and quiet of the room and the open spaces lent by the windows, but she simply couldn't help it. She needed to appreciate some comforts in order to stay sane and, for once, it was nice to know that she was in Arlington's good graces and wouldn't feel his wrath. Kara felt guilty for that last thought, but refused to linger on it. Survival would entail sacrifices. That was just the way it was. An hour later, Lord Arlington's butler arrived with a dinner cart and left it by the desk, silently slipping away so as not to disturb his master. When Arlington finally did look up from his work to begin at dinner, he started the meal by cutting away a piece of roast lamb. Sticking his fork in it, he brought the meat down to Kara's lips and gratefully, she held out her hands to take the fork from him, excited to be having a solid meal for once, as opposed to the unsatisfying nutrient shots she'd become accustomed to. "Oh, no," Lord Arlington reprimanded her, pulling the fork away. "Open." Kara stared at the man, confused, before she realized he intended to hand feed her, like a dog. It was too much, and Kara seriously considered abandoning her plan of subservience a second time. But she had to be strong if she wanted to get through this. So reluctantly, Kara opened her mouth, biting down when the warm food touched her tongue. It was objectively delicious, Kara couldn't deny that. Any food from Lord Arlington's table would be better than the food she'd been eating during the war, when even bread came in rations. But in spite of this, the lamb was utterly tasteless from Kara's unique perspective. Though she appreciated having food she could actually chew, her previous excitement was overshadowed by the degrading nature in which Lord Arlington fed her. The rest of the meal went much the same way. Even when Kara drank, Arlington insisted on holding the glass to her lips, forcing her to take dainty sips so as to avoid being spilled upon. There were green beans and Arlington gave Kara a little wine, but even that didn't brighten her spirits. It was late when the butler knocked tentatively at the door, and Arlington called out, "Come in." The butler did so, and in followed another man, whom Kara recognized from the auction hall. Yes, it was the man with grey hair and eyes, the man who had purchased Alyssa and who was also called "Greenwood." He wore a long, green trench coat, which was soaked through with water, and gratefully handed it over to the butler, along with his hat. His hair was wet, and he bowed humbly before Lord Arlington. "I apologize for my lateness," he said seriously. "It's raining outside and you know how the traffic gets in the city, my lord. It's amazing how readily people will panic over nothing." Carrying Greenwood's cloak and hat for safe keeping, the butler departed and Greenwood sat in an upholstered chair by Lord Arlington's desk, carefully brushing it off with a handkerchief before sitting down. "Don't worry about it, Greenwood," Lord Arlington replied, gesturing dismissively and turning toward his guest. "I'm running late on my end anyway. I hope you won't mind sticking around a little late while I finish up the Draft of Surrender? We should still be able to make it to the board meeting around eight, I think." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 09 "Not at all, my lord," Greenwood replied genuinely, tiny droplets of water dripping down the grey hairs of his head. "I've nothing to do tonight anyway, and I'd like the company." Upon noticing Kara, Greenwood paused and peered over at her curiously. "She's new," he remarked. "You got her at last week's conquest auction, I presume? I think she was set up next to my girl." Arlington chuckled. "And how is Alyssa doing?" he asked. There was an irritated, disgruntled sigh from Greenwood. "A total pain," the man replied, exasperated. "I knew when I bought her that she'd be troublesome; after all, we're talking about Alyssa. Even so...Did you know you can make a spring loaded gun with paper clips and a rubber band? I certainly didn't." Greenwood rolled up the sleeve of his left arm to reveal a series of deep, dark puncture wounds surrounded on all sides by yellowing bruises. "Although I hate to admit it, I was impressed. I still don't know how she got the paperclips, but I'll figure it out eventually." Kara, eyes wide, stared at the wound and could feel a glow of satisfaction swelling up inside her. Tangled up in her own battle with Lord Arlington, Kara had forgotten that there were other conquest slaves like her, being subjected to the same horrors she'd endured and fighting back against their captors with just as much vigor. The triumph she felt on Alyssa's behalf must have shown on her face, for Arlington looked down on her with interest, then back toward Greenwood. "I think you're giving my slaves ideas," he grinned, more amused than he was angry. And with a gentle push to the back of Kara's head, Lord Arlington guided her eyes to the floor. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to review eye contact restrictions," he mused. "Generally speaking, I don't have a problem with your eyes roaming when I am the only one present, but in the presence of company, you are to keep your eyes down unless otherwise directed. Understand?" "Yes, my lord," Kara relented, looking into the depths of the red and black carpeting, its soft fibers intertwining in an elaborate dance. "It's been slow going," Lord Arlington explained, as if to apologize for his slave's staring. "We had so much trouble with the speech restrictions that I felt it overkill to go any further until we'd dealt with that. But she seems much more open to instruction nowadays, isn't that so, pet?" "Yes, my lord," Kara uttered softly. Greenwood considered the girl a moment, then turned toward Arlington. "May I have a look?" he asked, intrigued. "Why not?" Arlington shrugged. "It'll be interesting to see what she'll put up with." Upon hearing this, Kara involuntarily stiffened. She knew that Arlington would notice, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't seem to control her muscles, nor the manner in which they tightened beneath her skin. She was upset, and didn't appreciate Arlington's intention to show her off to his friends and coworkers. "Come here, girl," Greenwood called, snapping his fingers as if Kara were a dog. And, though reluctantly, Kara crawled in front of Arlington's guest, still keeping her eyes glued to the floor, the roughness of the carpet rubbing along her hands and knees. Eyes still cast toward the floor, Kara knelt in front of Greenwood's chair and remained perfectly still, waiting for him to reach out and touch her, as he inevitably would. "Eyes up here," Greenwood demanded, and Kara looked up obediently. He was an older gentlemen, perhaps in his fifties or even sixties, the wrinkles of his face a testament to his years. He has such strange eyes, Kara thought. They were most definitely grey, but there were specks of green here and there, the color more pronounced because of the darkness of Greenwood's features. Ever so gently, Greenwood took Kara's face in both of his hands and brushed away the stray strands of hair that dangled in front of her eyes. He turned her head to the left and then to the right, stroking her cheeks slowly as he did so, perhaps as a calming measure. Kara jumped a little when he drew an index finger over her lips, tracing them. She was feeling rather protective of her mouth ever since Lord Arlington's face fucking, but stilled as Greenwood ran an appreciative hand through her hair. "Such a pretty girl," he remarked. "She's so soft. I can hardly believe that she was responsible for the Eastern Ammunitions Incident." "Believe it," Arlington sighed. "There's a quite a bit of resolve beneath all that softness, but then again that's why I bought her. The best slaves are, ultimately, the ones that are most difficult to break. You wouldn't think so, but the harder it is to break a slave down, the easier it is to eventually rebuild her and mold her into something enjoyable." Now done with Kara, Greenwood let go of the girl and she returned to Lord Arlington's left side, where she knelt and bowed her head. Once Kara was seated again, Lord Arlington idly began to play with her hair, running a gentle hand through her mane as if she were a cat and he were petting her. Kara thought it disgusting, but was determined to remain calm and in control. Keeping in mind "the plan," she let herself be subjected to the humiliation and remained still. Greenwood, meanwhile, began to fumble through a suitcase he'd brought, pulling from it a clipboard heavy with paper and a black ink pen. Kara, of course, had to keep her eyes toward the floor, but could still make out basic movements in the peripherals of her vision. "So, what's the damage so far?" Lord Arlington asked his guest, still petting Kara. "Actually, it isn't as bad as we'd predicted," Greenwood replied, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. "Most of Calihistra's Statehood Districts are being very cooperative, at least for now. With the blockade lifted and Calihistra's borders once more open for trade, the people are trying their best to keep Isleydor happy, so that food shortages won't be reinstated. We have a temporary governor set up in each district and while there are still a few factions of the White Horse roaming about, they haven't been able to do much damage. A few bombs went off in Telma a couple of weeks back and a few tanks were destroyed, but that's the worst of it." Kara, listening intently, balled her hands into fists and squeezed ferociously, trying to give her anger release without doing something worthy of punishment. She had hoped that Telma, being a small rural district, would go unoccupied, even after the war. Apparently, that wasn't the case. Kara, still seething, hoped her parents had fled to Nardia prior to the occupation. She had heard that Isleydor often drafted professionals into their own military after a war, to make the people they'd taken over all the more helpless and willing to please. Both of Kara's parents were medics, and there was no doubt in her mind that Isleydor's personnel would snatch them up if they could. Kara could feel a small, but undoubtedly painful tug on her hair, a gentle warning from Lord Arlington to keep her temper under control. Damn the man! He missed nothing! "Excellent, I'm glad that's going over well," Arlington told Greenwood, tapping a finger on the desk in contemplation. "We might actually be able to finish the merger before the Winter Solstice. Wouldn't that be nice?" "It'd be thrilling, my lord," Greenwood replied, making a few pronounced notes on his clipboard. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by the persistent ringing of a cell phone. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Lord Arlington shuffled about and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his dress pants. Flipping the phone open, he looked with confusion at the number. "The area code is from outside Isleydor," he noted, then paused. "Who wants to bet that this is for you?" he asked, eyeing Kara accusingly. "That friend of yours from Nardia? The one you manged to text?" Kara tensed. It was certainly possible. Kara knew that Maria, upon receiving her distressed text, would hire an unslaver. But it wouldn't be unreasonable of Maria to try and contact Kara as well, on the off chance she'd found and managed to hold onto a phone of her own. Kara would do the same thing, if their roles were reversed and Maria were the conquest slave. "Answer it," Lord Arlington commanded, handing the phone down to Kara. "And if it's your friend, tell her you're fine. Tell her you've already managed to get away and that you won't be needing her services. Better yet, tell her to meet you at the border a week from today. And be convincing about it." Kara, visibly trembling from both excitement and fear, took the phone from Arlington. The caller's number glowed on the phone's screen, and Kara recognized it instantly. It was Maria who was calling, there was no doubt about that. And Kara, utterly shaken, made up her mind to disobey Arlington's command. She fully intended, upon answering the phone, to scream for help and explain as much of the situation as she could before the cell was forcibly ripped from her hands. Arlington hadn't yet locked her up too tightly, so maybe Maria could be of some use. Perhaps this was the second chance Kara had been hoping for, the opportunity for escape she'd prayed for. But Arlington, watching her, shook his head. "You are thinking foolish thoughts, pet," he reprimanded her gently, squeezing the nape of her neck in a dominating manner. "I'm one of the four Lords of Isleydor. My manor is a fortress. Numerous intelligence operatives from both Calihistra and Nardia, far better equipped than any unslaver, have tried and failed to gain entry. Asking for help won't do anything for you, except earn you a full day in the coffin. Now, answer it. And put it on speaker phone. I want to hear the conversation." And Lord Arlington motioned for Greenwood to remain quiet. The man was right, Kara realized, shaking. Why did he always have to be right? Why couldn't she catch a break? Pressing the answer key on Arlington's phone, Kara put the receiver to her lips. "Hello?" she whispered into it, her eyes watering. She was going to have to lie to Maria, and she was going to be trapped with Arlington forever. But it wasn't Maria who answered back. Instead, she heard a gruff male voice on the other line. "Thank god!" it said, as if relieved. "So, you have managed to get hold of a phone. I was afraid you'd used one, but wouldn't be able to keep it hidden. We'll try to keep this conversation down to five minutes, okay? You can't track calls that last less than ten." Her heart beating obnoxiously fast, Kara realized that she was talking to Uncle Florence. He must have fled to Nardia, and was staying with Maria Ling. Kara took in a deep sweet breath, relieved that he was okay. She had been worried about him, afraid that he hadn't survived the war. Perhaps worse, she'd suspected that Uncle Florence was holed up in the military prison of Bremmington. Lord Arlington had, after all, interrogated her uncle at some point. "Oh, Uncle Florence!" Kara began, unable to withstand the wave of happiness and relief that swept through her. She grasped the phone tightly, so that her knuckles went white. "I was so afraid! I hadn't heard from you since the war started! Are you okay? What happened? Where's mom and dad?" But Kara's excitement was short lived. As more questions emerged from her lips, Kara could feel Lord Arlington's hand on her shoulder, and froze. Feeling along the skin, Kara's lord squeezed threateningly, his nails digging into her soft flesh. It was a subtle warning, but a very effective one, and Kara quickly came down from her high of relief. She belonged to Arlington now, and he wouldn't let her get away. As the realization sunk in, an overwhelming depression flowed through Kara and, trembling, she realized what she must do. She loved Uncle Florence, but she'd have to lie to him or else endure Lord Arlington's wrath, probably for nothing. And she would have to be convincing too, so that her poor uncle wouldn't worry about her. Uncle Florence shouldn't have to endure the knowledge of her horrible situation, not if that knowledge would only bring pointless pain to her family. "Sorry, kiddo," Uncle Florence sighed, unknowing. "There'll be plenty of time for those sorts of concerns later. But right now, I need a quick run down of your situation. Only the most pressing details matter. Remember, we have to make this quick." Looking at Lord Arlington, his features dark, Kara took a deep breath, to keep the tremor out of her voice. As she opened her mouth to speak, Arlington's nails dug even deeper into the skin of her shoulder, and a single tear rolled silently down Kara's cheek. "Actually, it's okay," she said, her voice hitching just a bit. Escape was so close and yet, so impossibly far away. "I was going to be sold to Lord Arlington, but the sale didn't go through. He must have changed his mind about me. Anyway, I managed to escape from the Martkorp outlet. My tracking implant malfunctioned, and I used the opportunity to get away and steal a cell phone from one of the handlers. It's a long story, but I am okay." Arlington relaxed his grip on Kara's shoulder and nodded his approval. Kara's story was certainly convincing, much more so than an escape from his manor would be. Pleased, Kara's lord ran an appreciative hand through her hair, gave the girl a rewarding smile, and motioned for her to continue. Kara choked on her tears, just a little, and took another deep breath to calm her voice. "I can meet you at the Nardian border in a week's time," Kara told her uncle, defeated. "Is there a specific place you have in mind?" "Now, not so fast," Uncle Florence insisted. "Good on you for the resourcefulness, but if you're planning on heading to the border, I'd like to give you some instructions. You don't know the area as well as I do. Not every route out of Isleydor is safe, especially for a runaway slave. Now, where are you? There are seven major Martkorp outlets in Isleydor. Which one were you kept at?" Kara froze, her mind blank. "I don't know," she said, nervous. "Well, what did the surrounding area look like?" Uncle Florence questioned, earnestly. "Was there a river nearby, or a mountain range, or maybe bridge? Are we talking an urban area or a rural one?" "Rural," Kara quickly replied, trying to sound as convincing as possible, silent tears flowing down her cheeks. "I'm in a rural area. And I'm next to a river. Yes, a rural area and next to a river." There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then some shuffling. "There are only two rural Martkorp outlets, and none of them are beside a river," Uncle Florence said, confused. "Are you sure it's a river you're looking at, and not a---" There was another, longer pause and then a sharp intake of breath. "Kara, sweetheart...Kara, am I on speaker phone?" Before she could react, Arlington snatched the phone out of Kara's grasp and set it on his desk. "Your niece is an exceptional actor," Arlington said aloud, his face smug. "Can you believe she's been crying throughout the entire conversation? And you wouldn't be able to tell unless you were looking at her." "Arlington?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded shocked, then turned threatening. "Arlington, you twisted son-of-a-bitch! What kind of game is this? What have you done with my girl? Where is she?" "Your girl?" Arlington snorted, disbelief on his face. "I'm sorry to say that Kara is my girl now. Isn't that right, pet?" And he held the phone up in front of Kara, prompting a response from her. Kara, exasperated, shook her head viciously. It would kill Uncle Florence to hear her bow before Lord Arlington. But when Kara's lord raised his eyebrows threateningly, she relented. No one could save her. And the only way to save herself was to obey. "Yes, my lord," she whispered. "I didn't catch that, pet. And I don't think Querren did, either." Lord Arlington's triumphant grin was appalling. "Tell me dear, to whom do you belong?" "I belong to you, my Lord Arlington," Kara choked, clenching her hands in front of her and twisting the cloth of her dress in exasperation. "Arlington!" Florence Querren screamed, deranged. "You disgusting piece of shit! I'll kill you! I will track you down, I will find you, and I will kill you!" The man's voice turned hoarse from screaming, but he continued on. "Do you hear me, you little shit? I'm going to fucking kill you!" "Now, there," Arlington replied calmly. "There's no need to track me down. I'm at my manor in the capital, and you're welcome to stop by and kill me whenever the mood strikes. I'm right here, Querren. It's not like I'm in some secret underground bunker, for god's sake." "If you hurt one hair on her head, Arlington, I swear to god...I will rip your heart out and feed it to you!" Florence cursed and Kara could hear something being hurled across the room on the other line. It must have been made of glass, for she could hear a harsh tinkling as it shattered. "You'd better leave her be! She's a healer, for fuck's sake! She'd not even really military!" There was more crashing and banging. It sounded as if Uncle Florence had flipped over a table in his rage. "Kara, can you hear me? I'm going to get you out, sweetheart! I'm going to get you out!" "Not likely," Arlington mumbled, plugging his phone into a little USB port on his computer. "It's doubtful that a wanted man, recently uprooted from his country, has the means or influence to break anyone out of the capital. Not even you, Querren. And I have the utmost respect for you and your skill set." "Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, you fucked up son-of-a-bitch! Your days are numbered, do you hear me, Arlington? Your days are numbered!" Arlington, totally unfazed by the barrage of threats, began to pull up some software on his computer monitor, so that the screen displayed a series of rotating maps. "I won't lie to you to Querren, I am both surprised and pleasantly pleased that you decided to call. I was expecting an annoying nobody from the countryside in Nardia. You usually know better than to attract unwanted attention to yourself. Surely, you knew who you might get if you called back this number?" "Fuck you, Arlington! You've no sense of decency! Kara, can you hear me? Please...please, Kara. If you can hear me say something, anything! Are you okay? Are you okay?" But Kara, as devastating as it was to ignore her uncle's pleas, remained silent. She was surprised by how greatly the ordeal in the coffin had affected her, but it had most definitely altered her perspective on the situation. She couldn't risk another horrific punishment at Arlington's hands, at least not without good reason, and Uncle Florence didn't have the means to save her. Arlington was right, no unslaver he hired could get Kara out of her lord's manor and Uncle Florence himself probably couldn't either. So instead of replying, Kara wrung her hands silently, biting back her lip until she drew blood, trying not to listen to her uncle's panicked screams. "Arlington, what have you done to her? Answer me, you sick little fuck!" "You really need to learn to control that temper of yours, Querren," Arlington responded idly, still clicking away at his computer. "That's always been a problem for you. Of all people, I ought to know that." There were some more furious clicks of the mouse, and an odd little beep. "You do realize that you've been on the phone with me for more than ten minutes, now. Plenty of time to pinpoint your location. You're fifteen on the most wanted list, so Charlotte's going to be thrilled with me." The screaming on the other line stopped, and there was a horrified silence. And Kara, only now realizing what had transpired, abandoned all plans of subservience on the off chance that maybe, just maybe, she could do something to save her uncle. Quick as she was able, Kara leapt from her cushion and dove for Arlington and his computer, not sure what to do and yet, needing to do something. But Greenwood had been watching her carefully and when she stood from her seat, intercepted her. She pounded furiously on his arms and reached upward to claw at his face, trying to get free. But Greenwood twisted Kara's arms behind her back and held her tightly. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 09 "Let me go!" she screamed, frantically writhing in Greenwood's grasp. "Please! Let me go! He's going to kill him! He's going to kill him!" "Hold still now," Greenwood grunted, wrestling Kara to the ground. "Be good for me and hold still, dammit!" "No, let me go! You can't do this! What is wrong with you people? What is wrong with you?" Superimposed over her pleading screams, Kara could hear Arlington still working away at his computer, before speaking once more. "Anyway, Querren, thanks for calling," Arlington mused, nonchalant. "I'd pack up and head north if I were you. You might have an hour, maybe even two, before Charlotte's bounty hunters arrive." Kara could see that Arlington was furiously writing up an email, attaching a map to it before sending it off. "Don't worry, though. While you're off fleeing into the sunset, I'll take care of your niece. I'm not the sort of man to knowingly damage his property." And with that, Lord Arlington hung up his phone. "You monster!" Kara screamed, still fighting against Greenwood and failing at it miserably. "You did that on purpose, you vile fuck!" Kara tried to kick Greenwood in the groin, but he caught her leg and threw Kara to the ground. She hit the floor hard and gasped for breath, the wind knocked out of her. But still coughing, Kara clawed at the ground and managed to sit up onto her knees. "You used me to taunt him!" Kara cried, regaining her voice. "You used me to anger him, so that he'd stay on the phone! You used me! You used me!" And she leapt for Arlington, determined to scratch the grin off his vile face, permanently. But Arlington caught Kara easily, as if she were a doll. He held onto her in a monstrous bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides and forcing her struggling form into his lap. "Of course I used you," he told her. "You're mine and I'll use you however I damn well please. But I don't think it's entirely fair to pin all the blame on me. In a way, this is your fault too, my dear." Kara, surprised by Arlington's words, suddenly stilled in her lord's arms. "My fault?" she whispered viciously, still confused. "What kind of game are you playing, Arlington? What do mean? How is this my fault?" But then, Kara's mind turned over and the color drained from her face. Independent of her will, Kara could feel herself stiffen against Lord Arlington. Was it her fault? She had, after all, initiated contact with Uncle Florence. True, her intention had been to contact Maria Ling, but in a twisted sort of way, Kara had led Lord Arlington right to Uncle Florence and his hideout. "It's...it's my fault?" Kara wondered aloud, relaxing into Arlington's grasp. "When you ask your friends for help, you are asking them to assume certain risks on your behalf," Arlington began, still holding tightly onto Kara. "You are asking your friends to abandon concern for their own well being in order to cater to your needs. Surely, you can understand that? You are mine, and all those you contact will be drawn toward me just as readily as they are drawn toward you. We are inseparable entities, you and I." In an instant, Kara knew exactly where Lord Arlington intended to go with his train of thought. Perhaps worse, Kara realized that her lord's words made sense. She simply couldn't seek an escape without putting the people she loved most at extreme risk. Anyone Kara asked for help would be bumping heads with Arlington at some point, and given his immense power and resources, there was a good chance Arlington would win out against those who would try and save her. Since escape without help was impossible, Kara had two options. She could risk the lives of those most dear to her, or she could relent to Arlington and become his dedicated slave. Were those really her only options? They couldn't be, could they? "You've been rather selfish, honestly," Arlington continued, stroking Kara's hair. "Really, I don't see how it is my responsibility to be the good guy. Isn't it your responsibility to realize that I'm not a very nice person, and to act accordingly? But instead, you draw those you cherish into my grasp? Don't get me wrong, I've appreciated your help tonight. Really, I have. We've been looking for Florence Querren for months. But I am rather surprised. You seemed to be such a protective person. I didn't think you callous when I bought you." God, she had been callous, hadn't she? In her panic to get away, Kara had sent a message out to Maria Ling without even considering how her friends and family might be affected. How could she have been so apathetic to their needs? How could she have so blindly put them at risk? How could she have been so self centered and careless? Now, because of her recklessness, Uncle Florence was going to be captured and sent to prison, wasn't he? How could Kara have betrayed him like that, the man who had helped raise her? "What have I done?" Kara whispered hoarsely, her tiny frame trembling with the weight of her mistake. "Oh, god. What have I done? But I didn't mean....but I wasn't..." Kara's own voice became foreign to her, as she spiraled downward into the darker regions of her mind. "It's my fault...it's my fault..." She couldn't seem to stop chanting the same words, over and over again. "My fault...my fault...my fault..." The door to Arlington's office opened, and someone stepped inside, but Kara didn't look upward to see who it was. She was too busy replaying the same scene over and over again in her minds eye. She saw herself sitting on the ground, Arlington's phone in her hands and her finger hovering over the "Send" button. Why had she pressed that button? Why hadn't she thought her actions through? "Put her away," Kara heard Arlington say, as she was lifted from his lap and into Mister Karp's arms. "And for god's sake, put her into something a little more business casual, won't you? I'll check in on her in a couple of hours, so be quick about it. I need to be out of here by half past seven, at the latest." Eventually, Kara found herself in the windowless bedroom from earlier, though she wasn't entirely sure how she had gotten there. Where her heart used to be, there was now a heavy lump that beat coldly beneath Kara's breast. With nothing else to do, she stared into the floor, unsure of what she was looking for, playing with the hem of her new dress. It was sparkly, and Kara found the shimmer oddly comforting. Still, she could not stop herself from the continual chant: "My fault...my fault...my fault..." Kara looked different now. Instead of the skimpy red outfit from earlier, she was now wearing a modest green dress. The skirt was cut off just below the knees and the hem was outlined in gold trim. The sleeves of the dress were puffy in nature and also outlined in gold trim, but were cut off just above the elbows. Keeping in line with the color scheme, Kara also wore matching green flats, two golden earnings encrusted with green and black gems, and her hair was done up in gold and green ribbon. In place of a necklace, Kara wore a dark green, leather collar with a metal loop in the front. And, to top off the ensemble, there were matching cuffs on Kara's ankles and wrists, though they were disconnected for now, leaving Kara's limbs free. Kara could only vaguely remember putting the clothes on. And, afterwards, she supposed an elderly woman had taken care of her hair and makeup. But Kara's memories were clouded. Thinking back on the past hour was like trying to recall a distant dream, which lay just beyond the reaches of perception. As Kara continued to play with the hem of her dress, she tried to remember the face of her hair stylist and makeup artist, but couldn't manage to picture more than a wrinkled face and grey hairs. "My fault," Kara heard herself saying. "It's my fault. I'm so sorry...Uncle, I didn't mean...I'm sorry." It wasn't a conscious decision, but Kara soon found herself resigned to being Arlington's dedicated slave. If she had to choose between her own freedom and her family's safety, there was only one choice she could reasonably make. And in order to ensure that Arlington stayed away from her family and left her friends alone, Kara would have to serve him loyally. She would have to live in his manor, enduring his lessons and unkind words, until the day she died. It was a horrible sacrifice to make, but Kara couldn't risk her family's well being a second time. And left to her own devices, there was nothing Kara could do to get away from Arlington. She was marked with a tracker, and simply couldn't contact or hire an unslaver without someone's help. And, even then, Arlington had a point. What unslaver would be able to infiltrate Lord Arlington's manor? Kara would be stuck with Lord Arlington forever. It was as simple as that. In the midst of her despair, Kara realized that submitting to Arlington was no longer just the smart thing to do, but it was the right thing to do. In order to be a truly good person---in order to save her family---Kara would have to be a good slave. Obedience was an act of utmost good; disobedience was, by extension, a sin. A good Kara obeyed. A bad Kara disobeyed. It was so simple...so simple... Several minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open and Arlington came in. He was clearly feeling rushed, for he furrowed his eyes at the pocket watch of his vest, as if distraught by the time. Then, snapping the pocket watch shut, he strutted toward Kara. Vaguely, she wondered why he was bothering to visit her. Clearly, Arlington had much more important matters concerning him. But Kara wasn't able to linger on the thought for long. In a moment, Lord Arlington was kneeling in front of Kara, studying her eyes. He must have seen something that pleased him, for he nodded his approval before standing. Satisfied, he clipped a short leash onto Kara's collar and tugged upward, instructing her to follow. And Kara, now totally defeated in spirit, trailed along behind Arlington, determined to be the slave her family needed her to be. As she had been instructed, Kara made sure to stay a few paces behind Lord Arlington and kept to his left side, her eyes to the floor. She vaguely wondered why Arlington didn't blindfold her, but didn't care to dwell on the thought for long. What did it matter, if she knew the layout of Arlington's manor? She'd never get away, even if she could burn it into her memory. Of what use would it be to lift her eyes from the floor? But still, Kara picked up on little things. There were stairs, then a hallway, and then more stairs. And to her surprise, Kara suddenly realized that she was outside. The realization first hit Kara when the chill of the evening air touched her skin, raising tiny goosebumps along the surface. But Kara didn't mind the cold. Even though the last day had been unquestionably awful, it was thrilling to be outdoors again. God, Kara hadn't been outside in ages. How sweet the air smelled, the deliciousness of fall filling her nostrils, a nice change from the perfumed, artificial scent of Lord Arlington's manor. But Kara was most excited to find that there were stars in the sky, visible in spite of the capital's light pollution. Each twinkling entity glimmered in and out of view, dancing in the blackness of the evening, a pinprick of hope in the tapestry of the night. It was positively beautiful, the ominous abyss of the sky and the freedom it represented, a freedom Kara had lost forever. She would have stared at the sky for hours if she could. But a moment later, Kara was being tugged forward by Lord Arlington and found herself looking obediently into the concrete below. In the process of casting her eyes downward, Kara was able to make out a fountain, a courtyard, and a long driveway. But soon, Arlington was pushing her into the back of a limousine and onto the vehicle's floor. "Stay there," Arlington demanded, and Kara laid still, while Lord Arlington climbed in behind her. Kara could see his shoes by her face, the moonlight shimmering off of their dark surface. Distraught, she curled herself into a ball. It felt so strange and horrible, to be looking at the floor and to still feel Lord Arlington's towering presence above her. But as the car began to move, the gentle rocking of the vehicle soothed Kara and she found herself drifting in and out of conscious thought. She knew she was out of it, numbed by some psychological safety mechanism, but didn't mind. Everything was so calm and dreamlike. It was sort of nice, in a horrible kind of way. Was this what resignation felt like? This warm, tingling feeling of powerlessness? It was so much easier to bear this feeling than it had been to bear the fear and the anger of before. Maybe being a pet wasn't so bad... "I see Alan Greenwood isn't traveling with you tonight, my lord?" the driver mused, as the car rushed along. "No, we're driving separately," Lord Arlington replied. "We're having the board meeting at his place tonight." When the car finally stopped, Lord Arlington stood from the vehicle and tugged on Kara's leash, urging her forward. Kara could hear people all around her as she walked out into the night, and was therefore especially careful to keep her head down. Arlington didn't want her eyes roaming when there was company about. But, much to Kara's dismay, it was hard to decipher what was going on from the changing ground alone. There were concrete steps, then plush carpeting, then the metal floor of an elevator. But it wasn't enough. Kara could hear various snippets of conversation and greetings like "Welcome, My Lord" and "Good Evening," but those alone were unsatisfactory as well. Kara wanted to know more. Where were they? And why had Kara been brought along, after several days of near isolation? Eventually, Kara found herself kneeling beside Lord Arlington on a cushion in a large, well lit room being heated by a fireplace. And there she sat, waiting to see what would become of her. There were other feet in the room, dressed in heels, boots, and dress shoes. And there were the lower halves of embroidered chairs, and the legs of a table. And, Kara realized, there were other kneeling figures sitting on cushions like her's. Carefully, Kara lifted her eyes a bit, curiosity and bewilderment getting the better of her. "Oh, let her look around, Arlington," she heard a voice say, and recognized it immediately as belonging to Lady Charlotte. Kara, though still resigned to her fate, felt a small twinge of disgust rekindling inside of her. "It'll be good for the girl's character, don't you think?" Lady Charlotte continued, with a small laugh. Arlington paused for a moment, as if considering Lady Charlotte's proposition. "Very well," he finally agreed, pulling Kara's head upward by her hair. "Eye restrictions will be temporarily lifted, at least for tonight, pet." Kara looked up, relieved that she'd soon have a better picture of her surroundings, and very nearly cried out. She was part of a small circle, composed of roughly six people, all situated around an oaken table. The figures themselves were intimidating, as Kara recognized many of them. There was, of course, Lord Arlington and Lady Charlotte. But there was also Greenwood and General Myiat, along with two people Kara vaguely recognized. One of them she recalled from the auction hall, the woman with red hair and red eyes who had purchased Karrington, head of the White Horse Rebel Alliance. The other gentlemen, a rather large fellow with nervous eyes and a sweaty brow, looked familiar too, but Kara couldn't associate his face with a name. Still, Kara saw enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together and realized, to her horror, that she had been taken to a meeting of the War Time Operations Board. But it wasn't the board's members, as intimidating as they were, that most distressed Kara. Instead, it was the board members' conquest slaves, all sitting at the feet of their respective masters, in varying degrees of bondage and all looking dejected. It was oddly embarrassing to see the people Kara had most looked up to during the war---the heroes who had defended Calihistra to the last---reduced to pets and playthings. And Kara suddenly understood the purpose of a trophy slave, as she sat scanning the faces around her. Not only did a trophy slave permit it's master a certain degree of revenge, a personal conquest to compliment the victory of a recent war, but it could also serve as a very effective warning. Kara wondered what it must be like to arrive at a negotiation with one of Isleydor's Lords, only to see the leader of a recently conquered country being used as a foot stool or an ash tray. It must be an effective intimidation tactic, practical as well as personally fulfilling. And then, by Lady Charlotte's chair, Kara spotted Elandra. The woman was barely recognizable. The first thing Kara noticed was that all of Elandra's hair had been shaved off, so that she sat completely bald. But it was also apparent that her eyes weren't green anymore, and had been died a dark black. She sat kneeling on the cushion beside Lady Charlotte's chair, staring blankly into the ground, her hands clasped in her lap. And she was wearing only grey and black, scantily clad in a revealing dress and a pair of flats. "Do you like the little make over we did?" Lady Charlotte asked, towering above Kara in a beige dress suit and matching heels. "Green eyes are far too colorful for a pet, I think. Any color at all seems rather luxurious for the likes of a lowly slave, and hair is just a means toward vanity. So, of course, we had to do away with both. I won't tolerate a slave who finds herself beautiful." Kara, a slow burn spreading across her heart, dug her nails into the skin of her legs, using the pain as an outlet for the awful sinking feeling inside of her, but said nothing. If she could only push her nails in deep enough, perhaps all else would be blocked out by the pain and Kara would be free of this place, at least for a little while. Gripping her flesh still harder, Kara kept her eyes focused on the ground and away from Lady Charlotte's horrible face. She could feel the warmth of blood under her finger tips. "God, Arlington, she's so obedient now," Lady Charlotte complimented, intrigued. "What did you do to the poor girl?" And she chuckled, watching Kara fight the conflicting feelings inside of her, the disgust and anger warring with fear and resignation. "Nothing that wasn't justly deserved," Arlington replied casually. "Isn't that right, pet?" "Yes, master," Kara relented, looking down into the floor. "Why don't you explain to Charlotte why your mood is so changed?" Lord Arlington pressed, gripping Kara by the hair so that she would be forced to face her tormentors as she answered them. "Because...because...I can't get away," Kara wavered, staring into the eyes of the horrible people around her. "And why is that, pet?" Lord Arlington asked, pressing still further. "Why can't you get away from me?" "Because I'm marked with a tracker, and I can't deactivate it myself, and if I ask for help people are going to die because of me. And if I have to stay here forever, I'd rather not...I'd rather not..." The words tumbled from Kara's lips in a disjointed fashion, quick and slippery, like sand through a sieve. "Rather not what, pet?" "Rather not spend the rest of my life in the dark," Kara choked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "And there you have it," Lord Arlington finished, letting go of Kara's hair. "She's been educated. That's all." And with that, Lord Arlington turned toward Kara once more. "On your knees, pet," he told her. "I want you to crawl a few feet in front of me, stop when you reach the end of the rug, and keep still. Stay on your hands and knees. And keep your back straight, like a table." Her lips trembling, Kara did as she was told and, once situated, felt a heavy weight on her back. Arlington, Kara realized, had rested his feet upon her. God, he was using her as a foot stool, as a piece of human furniture. Would Kara really have to endure this until the day she died? Could she take these humiliations everyday, year after year? The Rebellious Slave Ch. 10 Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the support, comments, and positive ratings! I am so psyched that the story has been well received and that many are enjoying it! Please, if you feel strongly about something, such as a plot hole that needs fixing, a grammar issue that needs to be addressed, or a scene you'd like to see, let me know. The comments keep me going and help me improve my writing! HisPet21 * Kara stood in the darkness of her new bedroom, pacing anxiously back and forth. The overhead lights had flickered off hours ago, and although Kara knew a good night's sleep would be imperative, she was too restless to keep her eyes closed. The emotions rolling through her gut were relentless, inspired by hundreds of nagging thoughts which refused to leave her in peace. Without any warning, strange and terrible ideas pushed their way to the forefront of Kara's mind, all vying for her undivided attention, all getting in each others' way. With the cacophony of noise in her head, Kara found it impossible to fall away into dreamland, and eventually gave up. There were just too many thoughts to consider! Too many powerful feelings, all seemingly in conflict! On one side of the emotional spectrum, Kara found herself brimming with an awkward sort of happiness. A few hours ago, Kara had been resigned to a life of eternal captivity as Lord Arlington's dedicated trophy slave. But now, things were different. Now, Kara had a chance at escape. And even if it wasn't the best chance in the world, it was good enough to inspire hope in Kara, enabling her to ward off the darkness instilled by Lord Arlington and his hateful mind games. Then, there was the ordeal with Uncle Florence to consider. Kara was once certain that he had been captured by Lady Charlotte. And, worse still, she had been certain that the capture was entirely her fault. But now, knowing otherwise, Kara felt relief envelope her, sweet and succulent, a soothing salve for the sore ache in her wounded heart. The gratefulness she felt was very nearly overwhelming, and though it was a pleasurable sensation, it also made her strangely nauseous. But alas, not all of Kara's thoughts could be good ones. Not all of Kara's feelings could be warm and happy. Deep within her gut, she could feel a darkness growing, which threatened to rip away her new found hope in order to dash it against the rocks. The darkness was cruel and cold, and Kara tried desperately to push it out of her mind and focus on more welcoming fantasies of escape and then revenge. But every so often, as if in a subconscious haze, Kara would stop her pacing and feel the cold leather collar locked around her neck. As she traced the loop at the front of her collar, the awful darkness would begin to rise again in Kara, like bile in her throat. And from there, she would start to slip away from herself, into the mind of the helpless creature who had let Arlington use her for a foot stool. That poor creature, though inspired by the prospect of escape, was more terrified of Arlington than ever before, now that she had experienced first hand the power of his mental manipulation and the dominance he was able to wield over her. That Kara, the one from the previous night, wondered what on earth Arlington would manage to do with her in the days leading up to her attempted escape. What if he did decide to force sex upon her? What would he do to her when she resisted, repulsed by his disturbing demeanor? Would she be able to fake compliance? Wouldn't he see right through her, to the plan within? And when he did, how might he elicit total subservience? Kara momentarily contemplated each and every one of her worst fears, trying to deduce which ones Arlington had discovered and which ones still remained hidden. And Kara, distraught, tried to shut the horrible images out of her mind, but they refused to loosen their grip on her conflicted heart. Worse still, Kara could feel one particularly greedy thought draw its tendrils over her mind, ensnaring the entirety of her being. The thought twisted and turned in her brain, making her stomach churn and her body break out in a cold sweat. Mocking her, the thought told Kara that her escape plan was mere fantasy, a pleasant indulgence of the imagination, but nothing more. Cruel and unrelenting, it explained the absurdities of the plan to Kara, trying its best to rip what little sanity she had out of her grasp, leaving her with nothing but the darkness of the room. Standing in her bedroom, the air quiet, Kara thought back to her time with Greenwood and remembered their final exchange, her heart growing cold. "Nardia's offer, by the way, won't be long standing," Greenwood had told her. "I don't know the reason for the rush, but they will only exchange an escape for information on the Parallel Project if it can be obtained within the next five days. And since the next board meeting is in three days, and it is the only chance we'll have to meet together, you'll have a mere 72hrs to hold up your end of the deal." It wasn't enough time, Kara thought, wringing the cloth of her nightgown in her hands. Three days just weren't enough. And who was to say that Arlington would leave Kara in his office, unsupervised? And what if he didn't keep information on the Parallel Project in his home office, which seemed very likely? And how would she find such information, even if it was there? And what if she were caught in the act? What would Arlington do to Kara then? Eventually, the emotions inside of Kara became so tangled and chaotic that she could no longer distinguish between them and could feel nothing but the steady thrumming of adrenaline in her veins. And as the hormones wracked her body, Kara finally felt exhaustion take over, pushing her into a deep sleep of wonderful dreams and equally horrible nightmares. It seemed only a short while later that a loud, obnoxious beeping rang in Kara's ears and she nearly fell face first from the bed and onto the floor, her entire being still on edge. Bewildered, Kara noticed a circular, metal protrusion in the ceiling which flashed red and continued to beep annoyingly above her. Kara mused that it must be an alarm clock, designed to wake her at the appropriate hour. And, as if to confirm her suspicions, the lights embedded in the bedroom's ceiling flickered and then turned on. Kara looked back up at the metal protrusion above her, which had halted its whining, and wondered if their were small cameras inside, watching her. That seemed very likely. Surely, the protrusion wasn't just an alarm clock. As she slipped from her bed covers and into the morning chill, Kara took a deep breath, bracing herself for the days ahead. Trying to dispel the sickening knots in her gut, Kara reminded herself that fake subservience and true submission were nothing alike. There would be no shame, Kara told herself, in submitting to Arlington and his humiliating demands for the sake of her future freedom. And, furthermore, nothing Arlington forced upon her could be worse than an eternity of slavery. Whatever Arlington demanded of her, Kara would have to obey, but in the end, it would all be worth it. If Kara could just hold onto to these realizations for the next 72 hours, she could endure whatever Lord Arlington had in store. But within the depths of Kara's heart, another thought was taunting her. For Kara knew that her escape was not guaranteed and, in fact, seemed very unlikely. That realization alone made Arlington seem all the more threatening, even given Kara's new found hope. And still, though Kara knew Arlington to be a liar and a cheat, she recognized that his conditioning was starting to have an affect on her mind. Kara simply couldn't help that, no matter how hard she tried. The human psyche was vulnerable, and after all the violence Kara had endured at Arlington's hands, she knew that an involuntary fear and the accompanying desire to obey, for the sake of avoiding punishment, existed within her. It did not matter if, on a purely conscious level, she could resist and despise Arlington. On a subconscious level, quite outside of Kara's control, Arlington had begun to taint her, making obedience seem the best means for survival. Luckily for Kara, subservience was the key to success at the moment, and Arlington's conditioning could probably be used to her advantage. Not long after the alarm had gone off, Mister Karp arrived to take Kara for a warm bath. While lathering up her body in the sweet smelling water, Kara once more heard the giggling of girls in a nearby room, and felt her heart overwhelmed with strange emotion. What she wouldn't do for a single friend, as single female counterpart to listen to her vent and to hold her tightly. But Kara knew her thoughts were mere fantasy, and decided not to indulge them further. After the bath, for which Kara was very grateful, she was taken to have her hair and make-up done, and was afterwards dressed in a skimpy, yellow dress with a matching collar and cuffs. Only then was she taken back to her bedroom and given a rather luxurious breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Kara, delighted that she would be able to feed herself, let the small triumph warm her heart and quickly gobbled up the meal. And then, when she was finished, Mister Karp set an thin, orange volume on the desk. "My lord is too busy to tend to you today," he told Kara, furrowing his eyes at her. "So you will remain in here until evening. But his lordship has instructed me to give you this." And Mister Karp gestured at the orange booklet. Kara felt an odd twinge ripple through her at Mister Karp's words. On the one hand, she was relieved to discover that she'd be free of Arlington for a full day. On the other hand, Kara was somewhat distraught by the situation, and cursed silently to herself. If Arlington kept her locked away, she would lose valuable opportunities to gather information on the Parallel Project. And given the immense time constraints imposed on Kara and her task, any time confined to her room was significant enough to dampen her spirits. But once Mister Karp had left the room, Kara curiously approached the bound volume. There was a bright, blue post-it stuck to the front cover, and then some writing. "Chapters 3-5," the post-it read. "Practice, practice, practice..." Carefully, Kara peeled away the post-it note, enabling her to read the volume's title: The Proper Slave's Instruction Manual. Her face twitching in disgust, Kara almost hurled the damned thing across the room, before remembering that she was most likely being watched and therefore, even in the comfort of her own bedroom, couldn't risk too strong a show of rebellion. Swallowing her fury, Kara opened to the first book marked page, which read "Chapter Three: Basic Manners." As Kara skimmed through the chapter, she realized that she already knew several of the proper mannerisms to which she was supposed to adhere. The manual told her that she ought to always sit by her master's left side, that it was rude to look around in front of company, that she should always walk a few paces behind her master when taken outside, and that a crawling slave ought to have her eyes cast downward. There wasn't any need for Kara to review the chapter further. She'd already been taught all the rules it described. Cringing at several crude illustrations, Kara skipped ahead to the next chapter, entitled "Basic Command Set." The first command listed was "heel." The instruction manual told Kara that, upon hearing the command, she should get down on her hands and knees, crawl to her master's left side, and continue to crawl beside him until told otherwise. Kara's eyes burned ferociously in her skull, but she forced herself to turn to the next command: down. Upon hearing this command, a slave was supposed to get onto her knees, touch her forehead to the floor, reach her arms out in front of her, and stick her ass slightly up in the air. And with that, even knowing that there were cameras above her, Kara slammed the book shut and paced the room restlessly, cursing the entire time. She didn't want to be trained like a pure bred dog, to "heel" and to position herself "down." Thinking darkly, Kara wondered if the volume had commands for "roll over" and "speak." Turning back to the book, she found both commands and laughed cynically. The command "roll over" was modified slightly from what might be expected of a dog. Upon hearing this command, Kara was supposed to roll onto her back if she were already on her stomach, or onto her stomach if she were currently lying on her back. If told to "speak," Kara was supposed to blurt out the first thing that came to mind, enabling her master to correct her for improper thoughts. There were even instructions on how to properly follow the command "Strip." Kara, the disgust in her gut becoming more pronounced, noticed that there were step-by-step illustrations of a slave girl properly stripping, in order to visually reinforce correct form. The slave girl took off her clothes carefully, and in a very specific order. First, she slipped off her dress, allowing it to gather around her feet. Then, she stepped backwards out of the dress. The manual warned Kara never step out of her clothes by moving forwards, and she rolled her eyes. Surely, getting naked wasn't fucking rocket science. She didn't need a god damned instruction manual. But she continued looking over the illustrations anyway, observing that the slave girl depicted always removed her bra before her panties and always by undoing the clasp. Apparently, it was rude to lift a bra over one's head. And when the panties finally did come off, all clothes were gently folded and set aside. Kara made a revolted face at the manual. The artist had given his illustration an unrealistic, overly enthusiastic smile. The poor girl looked as if getting naked were her most favorite thing to do in all the world. Staring into the illustrated slave girl's happy eyes, Kara realized that she couldn't take anymore, and closed the manual. Leaning forward in her chair, she ran her hands through her hair in exasperation and sighed deeply. She didn't want to practice the ridiculous slave positions, but knew Lord Arlington would eventually test her, perhaps even that evening. Furthermore, if Kara wanted to gain Lord Arlington's trust, she would need to be prepared for his commands. Suddenly, as she sat in her chair, a thought occurred to Kara. Perhaps the instruction manual was Lord Arlington's way of testing the extent of her obedience. Lord Arlington recognized that Kara would be obedient in his presence, but the degrading homework assignment would test for obedience in his absence. Kara, anticipation flowing through her, realized that this was the perfect opportunity to gain some ground on her plan. If she did well, Arlington would think her obedient even when alone, and may be more willing to leave her by herself in his office. Still feeling a bit nauseous about the whole thing, but determined to stick to her plan, Kara got onto her knees and practiced "down." It was going to be a long day. There were roughly twenty-two commands that Kara had to learn. The most simplistic of them were described in "Chapter Four: Basic Command Set," which covered commands like "Present," "Kneel," and "Turn About." But some of the commands in "Chapter Five: Advanced Command Set" were surprisingly tricky. Kara had a particularly hard time with the command "Fall," by which a master could reinforce proper form when a slave begged. Kara was supposed to fall forward onto her knees from a standing position, then allow her torso to fall forward, using the flat of her forearms as a protective barrier between her face and the floor. The manual emphasized that Kara actually had to fall, to let gravity pull her towards the floor, and that to move downward using her own muscle control was wrong. The trick was to fall in segments---knees first, then torso---so as to reduce the impact with which one hit the floor. In the process of practicing, Kara knew she'd acquired a new bruise or two, but doubted Arlington would mind. In the afternoon, Mister Karp brought Kara her lunch and she ate it gratefully. Little things, like being able to gulp down a beverage, felt like victories. And although she still found the instruction booklet and its obnoxious drawings humiliating, Kara felt as though her spirits had been lifted. True, she had spent the day practicing degrading commands, but at least she was doing so for her own sake rather than because she feared Arlington. And when Kara felt that she had properly memorized all of the commands assigned to her, she decided to take a nap, in order to make up for the sleep she'd lost earlier that evening. When night finally came, Kara found herself being rudely awakened by Mister Karp, who violently shook her until she opened her eyes. And, still in a sleep induced haze, Kara was soon led down a series of hallways and into Lord Arlington's living space, where a fire was already warming the room. Upon seeing Lord Arlington, the sleep suddenly lifted from Kara's foggy mind and she stiffened. It was strangely embarrassing and somewhat terrifying, to feel the rebellion from earlier suddenly soften in his presence. How was that possible? Kara wondered. And what was wrong with her? How could Arlington have such a sinister effect on her persona, even when she knew all about his earlier bluff? He was a blatant liar, and a scoundrel! Half of what he told her was probably untrue! So why did Kara still feel herself melting in his presence? How was he still able to intimidate her, in spite the indignation boiling beneath her breast? Had his progressive conditioning really had such an effect? Looking into the room, Kara saw that Lord Arlington was sitting back in the love seat, wearing nothing but a white dress shirt and dark pants, drinking a glass of wine. Kara found his very figure intimidating, his features dark even with the light of the fireplace flickering over them. And, though she tried, she could not conceal the trembling of her body, even from herself. As Kara stood on the threshold of the room, she could feel herself drifting backward, transforming into the pitiful girl who had allowed Arlington to use her for a foot stool. But Kara had a new found hope brimming inside of her, and quickly steeled herself against the onslaught of fear that began to coil in her gut, begging her to assume a subservient nature. Kara would not allow Arlington to do this to her; she would not allow Arlington's conditioning to reclaim her. She had to retain the core of herself in spite of his mind tricks, which had wormed their way into Kara's subconscious, slowly breaking her down. She knew that she could withstand a few more days of Arlington's trickery! She could, and she would! Gripping tightly onto the hope inside of her, Kara pushed the darkness in her mind away, and reminded herself that she was her own woman. As Arlington motioned for his man to enter, Kara focused her mind on the pride that had allowed her to make it this far. And as Mister Karp pushed Kara before the love seat, leaving her alone with Lord Arlington, she reminded herself once more that fake subservience and true submission were nothing alike. There would be no shame, Kara told herself, in being obedient for her own sake. And if she played the part of the dedicated slave for just a little while longer, so as not to impede her own plan of escape, she could be free once more. Just three days, Kara told herself earnestly, her eyes burrowing into the floor. Just follow his rules for three more days and you can go to Nardia, and be reunited with your family, and get insanely drunk. Just three more days, Kara. Just three measly days... "Strip," Arlington commanded, and Kara froze, all thoughts of self assurance fleeing her consciousness. For a moment, Kara wasn't sure she understood the command and, in near panic, frantically searched her blank mind for the instructions she'd painstakingly memorized that afternoon. From the fog of her memory, Kara finally recalled the illustrated slave girl from the instruction manual, who had carefully slipped off her dress when issued the same command. And Kara, her fingers trembling, brought her hands to the front of her dress and to the row of buttons that trailed from the cuff of her neck to just below the waist. She first undid one button, then another, watching as the tops of her breasts became visible in the firelight. And then, she stopped. She couldn't do this...she just couldn't.... The Rebellious Slave Ch. 10 "Now, pet," Arlington warned, amusement in his voice. Apparently, he was enjoying the affect he now had on Kara, and the apparent success of his numerous training sessions. "Don't keep me waiting. I'm not the most patient man, and when I give a slave a command, I expect immediate compliance. Now, do as I say, and strip." Kara, her heart thudding sickeningly in her chest, stared down at her trembling hands and willed them to still. Taking a deep, shuddering breath to calm her nerves, Kara forced herself to move on to the next button. Looking down at the carpet, her fingers working slowly but diligently, she tried to block out her surrounding environment: the snapping of wood in the fireplace, the swishing of wine in a glass, the imposing figure before her, the gentle ticking of a clock, the darkness lingering in the corners of the room. If she could only narrow her reality down to the trail of buttons along her dress, and will herself to forget the reason she undressed, surely she could make the ordeal bearable. But Lord Arlington had other plans. "Eyes up here, pet," his cold voice commanded, and Kara whimpered. She couldn't bare to look at him, not while she undressed. It was one thing to be naked before Lord Arlington, as she had been many times before, because the nudity then had been forced upon her. But there was something terribly crushing about being forced to strip in front of Lord Arlington, to bare her body before him while he sat back comfortably in his seat and watched, her skin glistening in the firelight. It was humiliating, but also made her feel incredibly vulnerable. She did not wish to undress before those cold, blue eyes and the cruel amusement shining through. Still, the intense stare Kara could feel upon her frame was unbearable, and she relented, looking up. Her lord's eyes were like daggers, and subconsciously, Kara took a step backward. "Now then," Arlington began, putting his feet up on the coffee table. "None of that. I won't allow you to hide from me, and you know that. You're a smart girl, Kara. You know what I want from you, and it is time I start expecting compliance without the need for a command. You will keep your eyes on me while you undress. And you will not willfully block me out of your mind. Am I understood?" "Yes, my lord," Kara whispered, trying not to get lost in the pools of his eyes, to hold onto the fire within. But they were so deep, and seemed to drag her into their unrelenting darkness, casting repulsed chills over her body. "Yes, Master," Arlington corrected her, pushing his dominating presence more fully upon her, intending to take her as far as she would go. "I want you to refer to me as "Master" or "Master Arlington" from now on. It'll be good to reinforce where, exactly, the balance of power lies." "Yes..." Kara choked, biting back the bile in her throat. "Yes, Master." And she brought her hands, once more, to the buttons of her dress. It was oddly horrifying for Kara to watch, with each button undone, as her slender body was slowly exposed, inch by naked inch. Soon, her breasts were visible, though still wrapped in a white lace bra. Then, she exposed the softness of her belly, and the petite navel directly above her waist. There was an uptick of Arlington's mouth as Kara reached the last button, and she held tightly onto the cloth around her waist, so that the dress wouldn't fall away. God, the vulnerability she felt was killing her. The obedience was killing her. To rebel, even for a moment, even if she were punished....what bliss that would have been, to savor some respite from these feelings of powerlessness! "Please," she whined, but there was no mercy in Arlington's eyes. And Kara, taking another deep breath, let the cloth of her dress go, so that she stood before him in nothing but her white lace panties and bra. Recalling the "Proper Slave's Instruction Manual," Kara carefully backed out of her dress and bent down to neatly fold it, standing once more to her feet to finish the task of stripping. Before her, Lord Arlington set down his glass, leaned forward in his seat, and rested his elbows on his knees, then his chin on his clasped hands, intending to torture Kara with his undivided attention. And Kara, still trembling where she stood, reached behind her for the clasp of her bra. At first, she couldn't seem to undo the clasp, given the tremors of fear and humiliation reverberating through her, but Arlington didn't mind watching the struggle before him unfold. Eventually, the clasp came undone and Kara slipped the bra off, covering her breasts as she did so. The weight of them, clasped in her arms, was a sore reminder of her nakedness, and Kara anxiously looked up at Arlington, knowing he would not allow her to obstruct his view for long. "Hands. Down. Now..." Arlington hissed, his voice dangerous. "You will not defy me, Kara. Once more, and I promise, you will deeply regret your actions." Kara, the adrenaline in her veins furious, forced her hands to her sides and felt the warmth of the fireplace on her now exposed breasts. The rounded flesh shimmered in the firelight. And Kara's pert, pink nipples stood conspicuously at attention, casting tiny shadows across each breast. The piercings were still there, but they weren't as elaborate as usual. Instead, they consisted of two silver, metal bars with tiny bulbs at each end, to keep the piercings in place. Looking at them now, they seemed a crude representation of Arlington's ownership. Kara, fidgeting, bent down to fold up her bra, then stood once more, panic setting into her. Arlington, looking awfully pleased with the situation, looked up at Kara's face, then down to the cloth about her sex, making her immensely uncomfortable. When she failed to pull the cloth down, Arlington tsked at her humorously and sat backward in his seat, his hands behind his head, to enjoy the show. And Kara, determined to be finished with the awful ordeal, pulled the panties away from her sex and down her legs as quickly as possible, finally folding them onto the pile of clothes beside her. Her face burning with humiliation, she stood with her hands clenched at her sides, itching to defend her feminine parts from Lord Arlington's roaming gaze. Looking down, she could see the pink of her naked, hairless lips and the shimmer of her clit piercing, which was identical to those of her breasts. Arlington, unmerciful, took his time, watching Kara squirm as he narrowed his gaze over her body. He was rather pleased with progress he had made, and was excited to continue working on his girl, now that she was more malleable: a softer, easier clay to mold. Smiling to himself, he gestured toward Kara and issued his next command, wondering if her defiant nature would allow her to obey. "Present!" he ordered and, to both his surprise and delight, watched as Kara quickly assumed the position, legs spread shoulder width apart and hands behind her head, fingers interlocking. The heat on her now exposed cunt making her all the more aware of her nakedness, Kara began to sweat in the heat of the fire. But in spite of this, she gently exhaled, relaxing into the role of the slave. She praised herself for doing so well, and for finding peace with the situation. But as Arlington stood from his seat to inspect her, terror returned and Kara could feel the breath leave her lungs. As his ominous presence drew ever closer, she stared into the floor, to spare herself the visual affront. But Arlington wouldn't allow that, and firmly grasped Kara's chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "Such pretty eyes," he told her, staring into their depths and making Kara immensely uncomfortable. "I know that, beneath all of that fight and cunning and pride, that there is just a terrified, trembling little girl. I know because I've seen her many times, though you try to hide her from me. But soon enough, I am going to draw her out, in all her softness and vulnerability. And I am going to show her to you, Kara. You will not forget her face. I guarantee it." Kara, the terror in her growing, tried to look away again, so that she could remember who she was and what she stood for. But Arlington would not loosen his grip, and held her chin tightly. "All of you is mine, Kara," he told her with a coy smile, and he caressed a cheek gently. "Every inch of smooth skin," he mused, drawing a finger from the dip in her collar bone to the skin beneath her breasts, so that little goosebumps were raised in its wake. "And every tremor," he continued, grasping the flesh of her right breast in a gentle squeeze, so that she shuddered in response. "Soon, I will own your body. And then, I will own your mind. And finally, I will claim your heart. You hate me now, but love is like any other emotion. It is borne out of necessity, and any person placed under the right conditions can be made to feel it. Love is an instinct, Kara. And though I know you don't believe me, you will someday find yourself eager to be my footstool, and my boot licker, and my fuck toy." Kara cringed at the last word, and Lord Arlington smiled. "It might take me six months, or it might take me a year. But you are only human, my dear. And I will make it so that love becomes imminent to your survival. And then, you will cave to me." Like I'll still be here in six months! Kara cried, internally. Let alone a year! Still, in spite of herself, Kara became lost in Arlington's eyes and his words, hypnotized by the certainty with which he spoke and the confident aura that enveloped him. She tried to back away, just an inch or two, to escape the depth of his eyes, but Arlington wrapped an arm firmly around her waist, cutting off any means of retreat. The strength of his body, pressed against her own, only reinforced Kara's feelings of vulnerability. "Now," Arlington demanded, stepping away from Kara. "Stay!" And he walked around behind her, to get a closer look at her body. For a moment, Kara heaved a sigh of relief, her view finally free of Arlington's intimidating presence. But the relief was short lived and she cringed suddenly, feeling Lord Arlington's hands upon her shoulders. Carefully, he ran his hands down her sides, tracing her soft, feminine curves. When he reached her waist, the skin was squeezed appreciatively, and both hips were firmly grasped in his delicate hands. Kara could feel the coolness of a ring as it rested on her heated flesh and inhaled sharply, struggling to remain still, as she had been commanded. Idly, Arlington circled and stroked the flesh of Kara's waist, feeling her soft skin stretch beneath his fingertips. And then, slowly, he drew a single finger down Kara's spine, watching her body twitch as he did so, her adorable little body trembling ever so slightly. "This is all mine," he told her, drawing a hand across her throat and squeezing gently. "I can do whatever I wish to your pretty pink flesh. Anything at all, and no will save you. Tell me slave, who's body is this?" "It is your body, Master," Kara choked, the hand around her throat the gentlest of threats. Though she tried, Kara was unable to hide the hoarseness of her voice. She hated to have anyone so close to her windpipe. "You learn very quickly," Lord Arlington praised, adding insult to injury. And without any ceremony, he reached down and grasped Kara's left ass cheek, viciously. His nails dug painfully into the skin, so that tiny ripples of agony shot through her, and Kara gasped. "And who's ass is this, slave?" he pressed, kneading the soft, rounded bun. "Such a pouty, pretty ass...Answer me, dear. Who does this belong to?" "It is your's, Master," Kara replied obediently, wishing with all her heart that this would end soon, so that she would be returned to the solitude of her living quarters. She wasn't sure how much longer she could take the inspection, and Arlington's relentless mental manipulation. "My what?" Arlington insisted, unforgiving. "Be specific, slave. To whom does this," and he raked his fingernails across her ass, "belong?" "It is your ass, Master Arlington," Kara finished, willing him to stop the torrent of psychological torture. It was far worse than she would have though possible, to hear herself speak that way, letting Arlington lay claim to each and every aspect of her being. "And what about this pretty pussy?" Arlington pressed. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around Kara, pulling her closer to him. Then, he moved a hand down from her navel to her mound, as if to cup it in his hand. "To whom does this soft, pink cunt belong?" And Kara, feeling his fingers move over her slit, abandoned herself to panic. Quickly, she dropped her hands from her head and moved to dart across the room, but Arlington had been prepared for this. After all, he had intended to push Kara until he found some resistance to work with. As Kara moved to bolt away from his touch, Lord Arlington wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her against him. "You seem to have a problem with that one," he whispered sinisterly in her ear. "So, I suppose, we'll start from there, shall we?" "Please, Master..." Kara begged, frantically struggling against Arlington. She couldn't believe she had broken form. She had one and only one mission, to lure Arlington into a false sense of security! And yet, she couldn't even do that right! "Please, don't do this! Please, let me go! I can't do this!" Kara begged profusely, in some attempt to please him and appear slave like, but also because she genuinely feared his retribution. God, would he put her back in the coffin, even when the infraction was so small? At the thought, terrified tears pooled in Kara's eyes, evaporating off of her hot skin, which sweat profusely under the heat of the fire and in the scorching essence of Arlington's persistent gaze. "Oh, pet," Arlington cooed, his voice gentle. "You must have faith in yourself. I am sure that, after much work on both of our parts, you will be a fine trophy slave. You may need a little persuasion, as we all do time and again. But you can and you will relent to me." And he let her go, so that she stumbled forward a few steps. "Now, down!" Kara, relieved that Arlington was not dragging her back to the torture room, struggled to regain her balanced. In the seconds she was afforded away from Arlington's grasp, she willed herself to push past her master's conditioning, hoping to re-establish some sense of self. And in that brief moment of clarity, she reminded herself that resistance would only serve to harm her in the long run. She had to obey, for just a little while...just a few more days... "Down, Kara," Arlington hissed, snapping his fingers and gesturing toward the floor. "I know you are aware of the command." And Kara, hearing the violence in Arlington's voice, got to her knees, touched her forehead to the floor, and stretched her arms out in front of her. She was a little disturbed by how fluidly she was able to assume the position, by how easily the show of submission came to her. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was because it gave her some respite from Arlington's cruel gaze. And indeed, in the darkness afforded by her long hair and with her nose pressed against the carpet, Kara was able to regain some calm, to remind herself that she was just playing along, that freedom was close at hand. She knew, deep down, that the submission she exhibited was not entirely fake, but the lie warmed Kara's heart and kept her sane. "You are far too protective of your cunt, I think," Arlington told Kara, looming threateningly above her. "You don't seem to realize that it is mine. And I won't tolerate possessiveness in a slave. You own nothing, Kara. Not even yourself." And wrapping her hair around his fist, Arlington dragged Kara to the love seat and pressed her face into the seat cushion, so that she was on her knees with her torso lying on the seat. With a deliberate air, Arlington kicked Kara's legs open as far as they would go, and then stepped back. "You will not close your legs," he commanded. "Do so, and I promise that you will not like the results. I am going to prove to you, right here and now, that your cunt belongs to me." Kara heard a loud swishing noise, felt a quick breeze between her legs, and could suddenly feel a harsh smack against her tender sex, probably from a crop. Instinctively, she closed her legs against the assault, and Arlington was quick to push them open again. Gripping Kara by the hair once more, he bent her body backwards and away from the seat cushion, so that she was forced to look at him. "Do I need to get a spreader?" he growled, clearly displeased. "Because I can, and if you make me go through the trouble of restraining you, I shall be sure to make the most of it. So, let me ask you, one more time...Do I need to get a spreader?" "No, Master," Kara whined. "Please, I'm sorry! It won't happen again!" "Good girl," Lord Arlington replied, and he threw Kara's face back into the seat cushion, simultaneously stepping away from her. "I'm going to hit you again," he warned. "And after each hit, you are going to thank me for punishing your pussy. And afterwards, each time, I will ask you a very simple question.You'll be able to tell exactly how pleased or displeased I am with your answer, by observing where my next blow lands. Understand?" "Yes, Master," Kara replied, trying to keep her body from trembling. Distraught by the prospect of a beating, she reminded herself over and over again that the ordeal was just a single drop in a large ocean, a minuscule moment amongst the thousands of others she'd be able to appreciate as a free woman. And with that, Kara could once more feel the stinging smack of the crop against her sore pussy, the assault particularly violent against the exquisiteness of her soft flesh. Willing her legs to remain splayed, she bit her lip against the pain and grabbed tightly onto the cushion of the love seat, feeling the warmth of the hit reverberate through her. "Thank you, Master," she choked. "And for what are you thanking me?" Lord Arlington asked, teasing his slave's pussy with the crop, using it to push past her lips and expose her hole to the cold air. "Thank you for punishing my pussy!" Kara cried in a panic, horrified by the way he toyed with her sex. She far preferred his violent strokes to his indelicate probing, a violation worse than pain. "Such a good pet," Arlington praised, withdrawing his crop from Kara's cunt. "Now, let's move on to the first question. To whom does this pretty cunt belong?" And he gave it another violent smack, causing Kara to groan into the cushion of the love seat. "It is your cunt, Master," she relented, hissing against the warm pain. "Very good," Lord Arlington cooed, this time landing a blow on Kara's bare bottom. It stung, but the pain wasn't nearly so bad as when Arlington had hit her cunt. He must have been pleased with her answer, Kara reasoned. And feeling relieved, she relaxed her grip on the seat cushion. "Thank you, Master, for punishing my ass," she finished, determined to keep herself out of further trouble and to spare herself anymore pain than was necessary. "Such wonderful progress," Arlington continued, his voice growing sinister. "So, let us move on to the second question. What gets you wet, slave?" Kara's mind blanked suddenly, from the shock of such an inquiry. But very quickly, she recovered and struggled to come up with a convincing lie. She wouldn't share her fantasies with Lord Arlington, who would surely use them against her. She would not share the most intimate details of herself with the evil bastard towering above her, allowing him entrance into the dark, lustful regions of her mind. He could have her tears and her screams if he wanted them, but she would not allow him to claim the core of her dignity nor her arousal. "Uniforms," she lied, trying to sound insistent. "Men in uniform. You know, like policemen or firefighters." And then she caught her mistake. "Master," she quickly added. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 10 "You dare to lie to me, slave?" Arlington growled, raining an additional three blows along each of Kara's inner thighs. "You dare to insult me, insinuating that I cannot tell the difference between the true and the untrue? You dare waste my time with your deceit?" With an uproarious swing of the crop, Lord Arlington brought three successive and particularly violent blows down upon Kara's sex, causing her to issue a horrible cry from deep within her throat. "Now," Arlington began, straightening himself. "Thank me for your just punishment and then tell me the truth. What gets your cunt wet, slave?" His tone was bordering on dangerous. "How can you even tell?" Kara cried out, exasperated. "How can you even tell? I swear to you, I am not lying!" And she tried her best to sound both brave and indignant. "I am not lying! You just want an excuse to be cruel!" But Kara was soon interrupted by her own miserable screams of agony, as several more blows were distributed along her inner thighs and cunt. Surprised by the sudden assault, her pussy unbearably sore, Kara closed her legs against the pain and sobbed into the seat cushion. As the burn in her loins and legs spread throughout her entire being, Kara allowed her angry, defeated tears to flow freely. Who knew that a well directed series of blows could be so painful? Kara's worn sex throbbed conspicuously between her legs, as if to protest the numerous blows, and Kara shuddered. Arlington, apathetic to his slave's pain, approached, his footsteps quick and determined. When he finally reached the love seat, he pushed Kara's legs open once more, listening to her swallow a sob of agony. "Your tone was dispassionate," Arlington explained sinisterly. And he rested his crop just below Kara's neck, then ran it down along her spine, to remind the girl of her place. "If you were really telling me the truth, you would be humiliated and your tone would reflect that. Perhaps a whisper, or a tremor. Not that flat, matter-of-fact tone. And if you were really in a mindset of submission, you wouldn't have forgotten my title." And he hit her cunt once more with the crop, so that a wet sob escaped her lips. "I grow tired of your insubordination," he hissed. "I want an honest answer from you, slave. And before the night is up, you will give it to me." Kara, shaking where she knelt, felt defeat wash over her. She just wanted the pain to end. She just wanted the wretched ordeal to finally be over with. What was the point in resisting, after all, when Kara would be gone from this place in a few days' time? What was the harm in submission, when it would be short lived? Utterly humiliated, Kara decided to pick the most innocent of her many turn on's, to please Arlington so that he would finally leave her alone. "Kisses," she whispered hoarsely. "Trails of kisses...like, from my neck to my...you know...my sex. Slow and attentive." And she looked over her shoulder at Arlington, so that he could see the pleading in her eyes. "Please, Master Arlington, isn't that enough?" But Arlington, ever the sadist, shook his head. "You'll need to give me something a little more explicit, pet," Arlington grinned, pushing Kara ever farther towards the limits of her submission, waiting for her to crack against his will and reveal to him the rebellion she tried so desperately to protect, to hide deep within her being. "According to your Martkorp file," Arlington continued, "you admitted, during your medical exam, to having quite the active sex life. I believe your exact words were something along these lines: 'If you're surrounded by soldiers with rock hard abs and muscular asses, you take advantage of that perk.' Sound familiar, Kara? I'm betting you have an adventurous streak you aren't willing to admit to. But I own your cunt, and that means I own your arousal as well. So, of course, you will submit your desires to my scrutiny." Kara, panic settling in her chest, gripped the cloth of the love seat and moved as if to push herself upwards. She needed to escape the suffocating cloth of the cushion, to get some air. But Arlington tsked disapprovingly and pressed his crop painfully into the small of Kara's back, warning his girl to remain where she knelt. Feeling increasingly claustrophobic in her position---with sweat pouring over her back, with her loins sore, and with Arlington towering horribly above her---Kara finally gave in. She could take no more of her master's cruelty, and if an answer would get him to end the humiliation, she would give him an answer. "I like giving head," she admitted fiercely, fires of hatred rippling through her. "But not to an asshole like you!" she added definitively, turning to look over her shoulder, so that she could glare at the beast behind her and make her meaning unwaveringly clear. "Oh, yes," she mused, an awful grin disturbing her face. "I almost forgot...Master," and she spat the words sarcastically, her entire being rippling like an angry cat's. As soon as the words left her mouth, Kara knew she had made a mistake, giving into Arlington's demands only to insult him simultaneously. Realizing her error, Kara expected Arlington to be enraged by the outburst, and swallowed fearfully. Gripping onto the cushion of the love seat, she braced herself for whatever punishment her lord intended to dole out, for he would surely reprimand her for the insubordination. But Lord Arlington only grinned devilishly, pleased that his girl had willingly submitted herself to a punishment before being ordered to do so. Still feeling triumphant from the success, he decided not to be too harsh on his pet, and finished up with five blows to each sore ass cheek, leaving her abused cunt alone. "Such a dirty, active little mouth," he laughed, watching the redness of her cheeks intensify with each successive blow. "I am honestly not surprised. You open your indignant mouth so readily, even when you know it would be unwise to do so." And a few more blows were rained down on his girl, so that she inhaled sharply, tears falling from her angry face. "And as I recall from a few nights ago, you had quite a subdued gag reflex." Finished with his work, Lord Arlington tossed his crop aside, and watched as Kara's defeated body sagged into the comfort of the love seat. Her tiny, trembling body was an adorable shade of red, probably due to a mixture of the heat from the fire, the pain of his lash, and the humiliation he knew burned through his girl's veins. He wanted to part his girl's soft pussy lips and plunge his hard member into her sex, to listen to the mewling gasps that would undoubtedly accompany the pain. But if he intended to train the girl successfully, he would have to hold out a little while longer. Turning to his wrist watch, he noticed that it was getting late, and decided to finish up with his current affair. He had other plans for Kara, and didn't wish to be rushed through his second training session. If he wanted to keep pace with his current progress, he would have to lay the foundation for Kara's sexual submission that evening. "Very good, pet," Lord Arlington cooed, praising Kara for taking the last several blows so well. Sitting on the love seat beside her, he watched in amusement as Kara jumped a little where she knelt, uncomfortably aware of her lord's proximity. Wishing to contrast punishment with reward, Arlington gently ran a hand through Kara's brown mane and pet her idly, feeling her revolted body convulse under his fingers. God, if only he could soften those sharp edges... For a brief moment, Arlington wished that Kara would soften at his touch instead of hardening. He wanted her to relax into his grasp and gratefully embrace his gentle ministrations. But training a conquest slave took time and patience, Arlington reminded himself. Eventually, Kara would revert into the beautiful, timid slave he intended her to become, and then she would soak up his praises with thanks. Soon enough, she would be mewling pleasurably when he pet her, and eagerly nuzzling up to him when he sat beside her. How wonderful it would be, to have her naked body curled by his feet and her eyes looking lustfully up at him. While Arlington certainly enjoyed his girl's screams of pain and sobs of humiliation, he eagerly anticipated tasting the emotions she'd bare on the other side of the emotional spectrum. "Now, I need you to understand why you were punished," he told Kara, moving his hand beneath her chin and tipping it upwards. "You were punished because, first of all, you disobeyed me by breaking proper form. And, secondly, because you refused to acknowledge my ownership of your body. So, let us try this one last time. Who owns your pretty, pink cunt?" "You do, Master," Kara hissed, angry tears streaking across her face, her eyes red with fury, pain, and humiliation. "And who's pussy is it to punish?" "Again, Master, it is your's to do with as you wish," Kara told her lord, feeling more naked than ever before. "Good girl," Arlington finished, letting go of Kara's chin and standing to his feet. "Now, heel!" And Arlington patted his left leg, gesturing for Kara to crawl beside him. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 11 Author's Note: Thanks, as always, for the wonderful ratings, comments, and emails. I read them all, and while I do not follow all suggestions, they never-the-less help me escape writer's block and get the creative juices flowing. I will try to release several chapters over the next week, so stay tuned. This particular chapter took me for freaking ever, so I hope you enjoy! HisPet21 * Upon hearing the command to heel, Kara crawled reluctantly to Arlington's left side and felt him pat her on the head in a demeaning fashion. Then, he turned toward the door, gesturing for Kara to follow. Obediently, she continued to crawl beside Arlington as he exited the living space and ventured out into the hallway, leaving Kara slightly confused. It was getting late and Kara wanted to be returned to her living quarters, as Mister Karp usually did. When she realized that Arlington had not yet finished with her, Kara was immensely disappointed. But there was no sense in lamenting the inevitable, and she took a deep breath to steel herself for another round of torment. She had survived the past hour, and was certain she could survive another. As Kara followed alongside Lord Arlington, the roughness of the carpet irritated the palms of her hands and the skin of her knees. To compensate for the carpet burn, she tried to better lift her limbs as she crawled, so that her skin wouldn't slide across the coarse fibers. But it was useless; Kara could still feel her skin reddening from the activity. Still, the journey down the hallway wasn't all bad. Kara was pleased to find that Arlington's attention was focused elsewhere as they traveled, giving Kara all the time she needed to regroup and to reassert her sense of self. She noticed that, while Arlington looked at her and spoke to her, Kara found it difficult to combat the conditioning she'd been subjected to. But whenever he gave her a small respite from his presence, Kara was able to remember herself and her mission. Kara made a mental note to take advantage of that fact, and to actively regroup whenever Lord Arlington looked away from her. Her confidence steadily rising, Kara told herself that the torture she'd endured at Lord Arlington's hands hadn't been that bad. So he'd hit her a few times? So what? She reminded herself that she was completely fine, and that at the end of the night, she would make it out okay. No need to panic; no need to fret. Eventually, the pair stopped before a large, wooden set of double doors with a coded lock. Briskly, Lord Arlington keyed in the code and, as the lock clicked out of place, opened the door for himself and Kara. Following behind her lord, Kara entered the room and tentatively lifted her eyes in order to look around. She did not like what she saw, and would have retreated back out into the hall if the doors hadn't been shut and, once more, locked. To Kara's horror, it looked like she had been brought to Arlington's bedroom. As she continued to scan the room, Kara could feel a bubble of fear expanding ever so slowly inside her chest, threatening to press into her lungs and suffocate her. What was she doing here? What did Arlington intend to do with her? Kara, distraught, thought she knew the answer and hoped she was wrong. The room was extraordinarily grand. There was, of course, the usual fireplace on the left most wall, a television mounted above it. There was also a small dining table, fitted with four wooden chairs, a tea tray at its center. Across from her, Kara could see an ornate, wooden desk, not unlike the one in Arlington's office, although it was much smaller. But Kara's eyes were almost immediately drawn to the large, wooden bed, which was big enough for several people and dressed in deep, red coverings. Even as Arlington walked farther into the room, Kara stopped, unable to continue. She could not bring herself to get any closer to the bed and the nightmarish fantasies playing through her mind, of Arlington's form atop her, pounding relentlessly into her. "Heel!" Arlington hissed, turning toward Kara with displeasure in his eyes, snapping his fingers and pointing to his left side. And although terrified, Kara forced herself to obey the order. There was no point in disobedience. Kara could not escape whatever her lord had planned and, even if she could, Kara needed Lord Arlington to believe that she was well trained. Stepping ever farther into the room, Kara's master finally sat on the edge of his bed and motioned for Kara to situate herself before him. "Kneel, Kara," he commanded forcefully, leaving no room for argument. And trying to pretend she was somewhere else, Kara obediently sat up on her haunches, her hands clasped in her lap. She looked up at her lord's imposing figure and watched as Arlington began to undo the gold cuff links in his dress shirt. Once done, he set them aside and began to roll up his sleeves, exposing muscular arms. "From now on," Arlington explained, "you will be sleeping in here, with me." And when Kara's eyes widened in confusion and intrigue, Arlington smiled down on her. "Now, don't get too excited," he warned. "I'm not a complete fool, and I know that you aren't quite trustworthy yet. I am sure that if I allowed you in this room, unbound, I would wake up with a sharpened pencil in my jugular, wouldn't I?" And Kara, not thinking, instinctively nodded. Then, horrified by her actions, quickly shook her head from side to side, to take back the admission. But Arlington didn't appear angry. He simply grinned at her, no malice in his eyes. After all, what did he expect from a conquest slave? And, besides, it pleased him to know that Kara was answering his questions instinctively, without a filter. That would make her easier to control, and he wanted to reinforce the tendency. "No need to fret," he told her. "I desire honesty in a slave, not flattery. I'm sure you've spent many an hour fantasizing in vain about how you might torture me to death should you ever get the chance. One day, you'll no longer be capable of such thoughts. But for now, I'll allow them. Now, come here." And Arlington stood up and led Kara to a series of chains that were embedded in the wall. The fact that he had such an arrangement installed in his very own bedroom spoke volumes about the man's character. Kara, getting much more nervous now, followed Arlington to the wall. But when he gestured for her to sit down and hand him an arm, so that he could restrain it, Kara couldn't help but protest the situation. "Master," she began, cautious. "Is this really necessary? I think I can sit still without having to be chained up, and besides---" But Kara was not allowed to finish her argument, for Arlington held up his hand for silence and Kara could tell that he meant business. "Lucky for you, slave, I am going to overlook that," Arlington told her, his face solemn. And Kara realized that she'd asked a question without receiving permission to do so. "But not fifteen minutes ago, I couldn't get you to stay still for a simple inspection. And now, you expect me to believe that has changed? That somewhere in the the span of the last several minutes, you've acquired a passion for obedience? Really?" And Arlington lifted an eyebrow as he looked down on Kara, a sneer twisting his face. "I'm hoping that, one day, I won't have to keep you in bondage on a near constant basis. But you have forced my hand, Kara. Perhaps you should think twice before disobeying me again." And pointedly, he extended his hand forward, indicating that Kara should give him her arm. Cursing her earlier stupidity, Kara obeyed, and shuddered when Arlington's fingers wrapped themselves tightly around her wrist. First, Arlington attached Kara's wrist cuffs to two metal loops embedded in the wall above her. In this way, her hands were forcibly held above her head and spread roughly a foot and a half apart. Next, Arlington commanded Kara to kneel, with her legs splayed far apart. Embarrassed by the lewd position, Kara felt her cheeks flush red as she obeyed the order, although Arlington seemed unfazed by her reaction. Instead, he merely tied her thighs to her ankles, using leather restraints, so that she could not help but remain kneeling. And afterwards, a spreader attached to Kara's ankles cuffs was used to ensure that he legs remained splayed open. Not surprisingly, Kara despised the position and wondered what Lord Arlington had in store. Feeling increasingly anxious, she decided to venture a question. "Permission to speak, Master Arlington?" she began, trying to sound as humble as possible. "No," Arlington told her coldly. "You may not speak, slave." And with that, there was a tentative knock at the door. With purpose, Arlington strode across the room, opened the bedroom door, and stepped aside. Earnestly, he gestured for his guest to enter, and Kara watched as a tall, unusually pale girl came into the room. She was absolutely stunning, her long black hair framing a delicate face, fragile and sensual. The girl was a true beauty, with smooth legs, pronounced and muscular. Her breasts were quite small, but the look suited her well and was set off by a gorgeous, pouty behind. The girl, Kara realized, was the sex slave she had spoken to just a few days earlier. It was the girl who had dared to answer Kara's probing questions, who had first introduced her to the concept of the trophy slave. Unlike Kara, she didn't wear any cuffs nor a collar, but as she stepped toward the center of the room and bowed her head humbly, Kara could make out the slave registration number tattooed below her shoulder. She was barefoot, and wore a backless, purple dress which trailed all the way down to her feet. What was the girl's name again? Was it Allison? Alley, perhaps? Kara knew it began with the letter "A".... "Strip, Alice," Arlington ordered the girl. And without any hesitation, she began to undo the metal clasps in the front of her purple uniform. In no time at all, the girl's dress had gracefully fallen to the floor by her feet, allowing her to step backwards out of it. And to Kara's amazement, a soft smile spread across Alice's lips as she bent down to fold her clothes, her eyes filled with adoration for Lord Arlington. A happy blush rose in her cheeks as Lord Arlington smiled back, his gaze lustful, and Alice's lips widened still further, to reveal an impish grin. Standing once more to her feet, Alice eagerly reached behind her and began to undo the clasp of her pink lace bra. When her breasts spilled out from the cloth, she gave a small bounce, intentionally showing them off to Lord Arlington, as if to tease him. As the panties were pulled down from between her legs, the girl giggled a little, her pussy lips glistening with dew. Kara, watching the scene unfold before her, sat aghast and a little more than slightly disgusted. In her mind's eye, she could see the illustrated slave girl from her instruction manual. That girl, too, had worn an affectionate smile as she stripped before her master. She, too, had been excited at the prospect of getting naked. Oh my god! Kara thought, realization spreading through her. The poor girl actually wanted Arlington! How was that possible? How could any woman want to be fondled by that monster? Did she really want Lord Arlington? Kara remembered Arlington's hands on her breasts and the vicious way with which he'd grabbed her ass, his eyes malevolent and hungry. The mere memory of being touched by him made Kara shudder. How could anyone want Lord Arlington? The man was positively despicable! It didn't make any sense! Yet, Arlington's sex slave continued to gleefully perform the ritual strip, and an ugly thought burst into Kara's mind. "You aren't going to fuck her in front of me?" Kara blurted, unable to help herself. Upon hearing Kara's outburst, Alice started violently and dropped the undergarments she'd been so painstakingly folding. Tentatively, she glanced over at the bound slave against the far wall and stepped back, her face twisted as if frightened. Clearly, Alice hadn't noticed Kara when she first walked into the room. But when Lord Arlington looked over at his sex slave, displeasure written on his face, the girl bowed her head in shame and, with determination, quickly regained her composure. Soon, she was back in her original position, folding up the remainder of her clothes, her pale skin now completely exposed and glistening. "I've decided to expose you to the concept of the sex slave before converting you," Lord Arlington explained, turning back toward Kara, his voice very matter-of-fact. "That way, you will know what to expect of me and what I will come to expect of you." He nodded approvingly over at Alice and as revulsion crossed Kara's eyes, Lord Arlington laughed, thoroughly amused. "Oh, you will learn to enjoy it eventually, my dear," he continued. "I am told that I'm an excellent lover." Kara's face scrunched up in a sneer of disbelief. Surely, nothing Arlington did could be called "making love." It could be called fucking or ravishing, perhaps. But Arlington wasn't a "lover," he was only a sadistic pervert and a brutal rapist. He fucked because he got a kick out of the control he garnered over his victims. Or, at least, that had been Kara's experience, given the brutal treatment her mouth and throat had endured after she'd been subjected to the coffin. Moving toward Alice, Arlington eyed the poor creature up and down, then circled her slowly, taking in every inch of milky white skin. "Present!" he demanded, backing away from the girl. And as if by instinct, Alice assumed the position, her legs splayed open and her hands behind her head, fingers interlocking. "Good girl," Arlington praised, and as a genuine smile lit up Alice's face, Kara nearly vomited in disgust. Pleased with the girl, Lord Arlington ran his hands along Alice's curves, watching her tremble pleasurably in his grasp. His mere touch seemed to set her on edge, and Kara could tell that she desperately wished to move from her position, though Kara wasn't sure why. A devilish grin on his face, Arlington stepped behind the slave girl and reached around her torso so that he could grab one of the girl's breasts. Pinching a nipple, he expertly rolled the nub between his fingers so that Alice moaned softly, her neck tilting back. Then, Arlington grasped Alice's other nipple and stroked it gently until it also hardened, so that Alice moaned louder still, fidgeting as if she wished to close her legs against the arousal showing on her face. Stepping back a foot or two, Arlington smacked her ass appreciatively, and Alice hissed lustfully, her entire body languid and at ease. God, she seemed to melt like butter in Lord Arlington's arms, even though he'd barely touched her. "I'm sure you're wondering why my girl is so quick to obey and eager to please," Arlington mused, standing behind Alice with his hands on her waist, squeezing the skin possessively. Gently, he traced a finger down across his sex slave's navel and rested it on an odd, metal band that wrapped over the girl's hips and over her clit. "I have five girls, right now, not including you. To keep them eager and ready, the girls wear chastity belts and are only permitted to orgasm in my bed. I rotate through them, so that a girl usually goes between five days and two weeks without an orgasm, making her especially sensitive to my touch. I've got a girl right now who's going on a month without orgasm, but I'm saving her sex starved body for a special occasion." Like opening up a good bottle of wine, Kara thought, feeling sick. "Soon enough, I'll be adding you to the rotation," Arlington added, watching Kara's eyes flare radiantly. But she didn't take the bait. There would be no time for Arlington to add her to the rotation, Kara thought, because in three more days she'd be a free woman. But the awful, rational side of Kara's mind began to rise up in rebellion, questioning the legitimacy of the defense. "What if you don't escape?" Kara's mind teased, refusing to leave her in peace. "It's already been a full day, and you haven't made any progress on the plan. You haven't even been taken into Arlington's office." But Kara shook the feeble thought away from her mind, determined to remain in the present and to hang onto her hope, no matter how slippery it sometimes seemed. Refusing to fall prey to Arlington's threats, she glared up at him, her face tight. "My, now, no need to get your feathers ruffled," Arlington laughed. "There is no sense in letting the inevitable dampen your spirits. Now, it seems to me that you may need to be loosened up a bit. Have you ever been with another woman?" Kara, recoiling against the wall, shook her head vehemently. Her eyes aflame, she turned with repulsion towards Alice, and wondered just what Arlington intended. Surely, he wouldn't use the sex slave against her, would he? "No, Master," Kara hissed, and then remembered otherwise. "Well, once," she admitted, reluctantly. "While I was being processed by a Martkorp medic. But I prefer men. I've never willingly been with another woman." "Did you enjoy it?" "Excuse me?" Kara questioned, her voice tense. "Did you enjoy it?" Arlington pressed, unfazed by his conquest slave's tone. "Being with another woman?" "It wasn't intended for my enjoyment, Master," Kara insisted. "It was used to humiliate me, and I did not find the experience enjoyable." "Perhaps the other woman wasn't very good," Arlington considered, removing his white dress shirt and setting it atop his dresser. There was a colorful, vibrant tattoo of a dragon with red scales coiling over his muscular back, its snake-like body wrapped above a mountain top, flame pouring from its nostrils. Kara stared for a moment, surprised. She didn't think Arlington was the type of man who would have a tattoo. He was such an elegant, socially upright man. "Alice is an excellent lover," he continued, removing the rings on his fingers and setting them aside as well. "She can please both men and women. I'll sometimes bring in a few women at a time, and I've never been disappointed with her skill. Perhaps you might enjoy having her to yourself for a little bit?" Kara backed farther away from Lord Arlington, at least as much as the restraints and the wall behind her would allow. "Somehow, Master, I highly doubt that," she told him, looking ever more fearfully toward Alice. Somehow, she found the prospect of a sexual assault far more humiliating than any pain Arlington had yet dished out. The only thing worse might be, perhaps, his coffin. Now nude from the waist up, Kara saw that Arlington's upper body was a powerful display of rippling muscle. He was not overly built, which was probably why it was impossible to notice the strength of his body when he wore clothes. But with the dress shirt gone, Kara could see tight, sinewy muscle under his skin, which flexed threateningly as he moved. With determination, Kara's master approached Alice and grasped her waist, pushing her gently toward Kara. At first, Alice resisted, looking fearfully over at the conquest slave, her facial expression pleading and terrified. Her eyes probing and uneasy, Alice took in every aspect of Kara's being, her beautiful black eyes lingering for a moment on the restraints holding Kara in place. Then, they darted to the red marks on Kara's body and Alice cringed, observing that Kara's soft flesh had started to bruise, particularly where her inner thighs met her sex. But as she skimmed over Kara's body, Alice became most interested in the conquest slave's face and stared rudely at the dried tear streaks and mascara lines crisscrossing her cheeks. For a moment, Kara found the fear exhibited by Alice amusing. The sex slave moved as if to hide behind Arlington, and Kara thought it funny that the delicate creature should use a monster to defend her. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 11 But in a way, Alice's actions made sense. Though she had spoken freely with Kara before, and had been unafraid in the bathhouse, Kara had looked quite a bit different then. The violence Kara's injured body now implied was terrifying. And since Alice clearly adored Arlington, she must believe that Kara had done something horrible in order to deserve all of the marks, restraints, and tears. Kara supposed that she looked an awful lot like a caged tiger. Did the patrons at the circus think the tiger a victim when it sat in its cage, chained? Did they find the ring master cruel because he carried a whip? Or did they feel these provisions necessary, in order to protect the tiger's master, given its terrible ferocity? Alice and her fellow sex slaves had apparently gone into the lifestyle willingly and needed no persuasion from Arlington's crop. The novelty of Kara and her pain was, not surprisingly, an upset for Alice. "My lord," Alice began, when Arlington would not allow her to back away, for he held tightly onto her waist. "My lord, forgive my insubordination, but I do not think it is safe. Brie told me that she was an assassin, or a general. And there must be a reason you keep her tied up like that." And Alice pointed to the restraints binding Kara, her voice trembling. "Please, my lord. Don't make me get too close." And she clutched Arlington's hand aggressively, so that her knuckles turned white. "Relax, pet," Arlington told her with an affectionate sigh, gently prying Alice's hands away. And though tense, Alice allowed herself to be subjected to the procedure. When Lord Arlington was finally free of the girl, he turned her around, so that Alice was looking up at him. She stood on tip toe, her tiny feet extended, so that she could better see her master. And slowly, a smile crossed Arlington's lips as he looked adoringly into the girl's eyes, stroking a cheek appreciatively, as if to calm her. "Would I ever put you in any immediate danger, sweetheart?" he asked her. "No, my lord," Alice admitted, nodding confidently, conviction starting to show in her face. "Good girl," Lord Arlington praised, and he kissed her softly on the cheek, making Kara gasp in disbelief. Kara could never, ever have pictured Arlington kissing someone with affection. God forbid, a slave. "Now, do as you're told," Arlington continued, looking over at Kara. "See if you can make my little trophy slave feel some pleasure. She's been improving quite a bit lately, and it is my intention to reward her for relaxing into her role." And he unlocked the chastity belt from around Alice's waist, pushing her gently toward Kara. Internally, Kara found herself laughing cynically. Reward her? For relaxing into the role of a slave? Please, Arlington had no such intention. He was going to sexually assault Kara in order to humiliate her further, and he knew it. This was just another mind fuck, like all of Arlington's previous mind fucks, and Kara had no intention of allowing it to have a successful impact on her psyche. As Alice approached, fluidly dropping to the floor and crawling forwards on her hands and knees, Kara eyed the girl warily. Fully aware of what was about to transpire, Kara gave Alice her most intimidating sneer, intending to frighten her off. And for a moment, it worked. Alice froze before Kara and moved as if to back away, but knowing better than to disobey her lord, looked worriedly toward Arlington for direction. But Lord Arlington wouldn't have it. He shook his head disapprovingly and gestured for Alice to continue, leaving no room for argument. And though still worried, Alice obediently eased ever closer to Kara and her restrained, completely nude body. When the sex slave finally reached Kara, she looked up into her death stare, and thought better of going for Kara's pussy first thing. Instead, she sat back on her haunches and knelt, looking at Kara with a smile, a silent plea for friendly interaction. "You're very pretty," she offered, with a pleasing smile. "I wish I had breasts like that. They're so perky, and round." And she waited to see if her compliment would have the intended effect, to see if Kara would respond with equal cordiality. Like this was supposed to be fucking fun, Kara thought, disdain etched into her features. Like they were supposed to have a jolly good time getting each other off while Arlington watched. On, no. Absolutely not. "Not interested," Kara hissed, trying to maintain her dignity without outright rebelling, which could put the success of her plan at risk. "I'm sure you're just trying to be nice, but in case it slipped your compliant little mind, I am here against my will. I'm not supposed to be here. I don't want to be here. And you won't change that by smiling prettily and complimenting my boobs." And she stared Alice down, watching her wriggle uncomfortably under her gaze. Clearly, the poor girl was having a hard time implementing Arlington's mind games. And to top it all off, she looked genuinely confused. "But, surely, my lord is kind and caring man," Alice insisted, easing a little closer toward Kara, though still apprehensive. "I am fairly certain that you and I are not talking about the same person," Kara replied coldly, trying move farther away from Alice. But it was impossible, and Kara's back was soon pressed firmly against the bedroom wall. "Master Arlington is a monster," she hissed, looking pointedly toward him and watching as his face lifted in amusement. "And if he's managed to convince you otherwise, it is only because of his trickery." Alice gasped in shock, then quickly covered her open mouth with her tiny hands, so as not to remain rudely agape in the master's presence. Disgusted by Kara's words, she moved away from the bound conquest slave, as if she were somehow poisonous. Clearly, Alice did not take kindly to her master's being insulted, nor to any insinuations that he was a monster. And unsure of how to respond, she turned quickly toward Lord Arlington, searching his features for some indication of how she was supposed to react. Surely, a slave as rude as Kara didn't deserve to be pleasured, and Alice expected to be called back to Arlington's side. Secretly, she hoped that was the case. But to both Alice's and Kara's surprise, Arlington only laughed. "I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult," he grinned, sitting back in an arm chair and resting his hands behind his head. "Now, Alice," he sighed, and the sex slave cringed at the reprimand in his tone. "Didn't I tell you to pleasure my trophy slave? And you sit there chit-chatting? Do as you're told, before my patience reaches its limits. I want your head between her legs. Now." And he pointed toward Kara with authority. "My lord, I am so very sorry," Alice offered, sincerity and shame in her tone. "Please, forgive me." And without any further delay, Alice rested both of her adorable hands on Kara's bound thighs, so that she could better ease her head between the conquest slave's legs. As a warm tongue, rough and wet, ran along Kara's slit, she bucked against her restraints, trying to close her legs against the assault. It was positively disgusting, that Arlington should use her and Alice to entertain his perverted desires. Furthermore, it made Kara feel humiliated and used, to be restrained in a lewd position while another woman was forced to eat her cunt. Expertly, Alice's tongue slowly eased into the cleft of Kara's sex, where it began to flick her clitoris, causing Kara to shudder involuntarily. Not a moment later, Alice had brought her hands to Kara's cunt and pushed the engorged lips aside, allowing her to engulf Kara's clit in the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. As blood rushed into the tiny nub, Kara inhaled sharply and bucked once more. The pink center of her sex was extremely sensitive and without any arousal to make its responses pleasurable---for nothing about the situation was arousing---all that was left were shooting pangs and jolts of sensation that were at best irritating and at worst painful. If nothing else, as sparks flared up between Kara's legs and through her core, she couldn't help but shudder and twinge under Alice's skilled tongue. And when Alice drove two fingers into Kara's wet cunt, which had lubricated against her will, the conquest slave cursed under her breath. As the assault continued, Kara dared to glance at Arlington and saw a cruel smile on his lips. "Master, this is disgusting," Kara hissed, turning burning eyes toward her lord. "This is wrong." "Not from this angle, it isn't," Lord Arlington mused, propping his feet up on an embroidered foot stool. "And has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you're angry?" Kara opened her mouth to retaliate, but her angry words were replaced by a soft squeak as Alice lightly bit a nipple and then lapped at the sore nub. She was stroking Kara's pussy now, playing with her soft folds and drawing two fingers steadily into and then out of her opening. As she built up a rhythm, Alice drew her rough tongue over Kara's left nipple and then her right, kissing the areola in the process, making goosebumps ripple along Kara's skin. "Please, Master, whatever I have done, I'm sorry!" Kara cried, feeling her body tingle lightly. "Please, for the love of god, call her off!" "Why so distressed, pet?" Arlington cooed, his expression revealing a mixture of pleasure and a hint of concern. "This isn't a punishment. Try to sit back and enjoy it, why don't you?" "Not a punishment?" Kara hissed, the dew of her cunt running down her legs, warm and sticky. Kara could smell herself as the ravishing motions of Alice's fingers continued, and turned her head away in humiliation. "How is this not a punishment? I'm being molested! Against my will! Tell me, how am I supposed to enjoy this?" "I don't like your tone," Arlington warned. "Nor the fact that you've forgotten my title." And he leaned forward in his chair, setting his feet back onto the ground, to better stare down his conquest slave. "Soon enough, you'll learn to treasure what little pleasures you're allowed. Now, you'll apologize for failing to address me properly. Am I understood?" "Yes, Master. Please, forgive me," Kara replied with a gasp, as Alice continued her gentle ministrations. There was heat between Kara's legs, uncomfortable and throbbing. The sensation was almost pleasurable now, but was not quite there yet. After all, who could possibly become aroused given the degrading nature of the situation? Instead, Kara felt as if there were an irritating itch between her legs, that could only be relieved by pushing her lower limbs together. Although, of course, that was impossible. As Kara continued to struggle in her bondage, Alice bit her skin lovingly, where her neck met her shoulder, and ran a tongue over the reddening bruise before blowing hot air onto it. The sensation made Kara gasp and struggle ever more furiously against her restraints. Then gently, Alice rested her ass on the carpeting between Kara's spread thighs, wrapped her muscular legs around Kara's back, and leaned backward onto her elbows. With upward, thrusting motions, Alice rubbed her own wet cunt against Kara's and moaned softly, her nipples hardened by arousal. It was repulsive, Kara thought, that Alice should be getting any amount of enjoyment from this. Still, she couldn't help but be fascinated with the sensation of another woman's soft pussy lips pressed against her own. It was an inherently sensual feeling, but given the circumstances, Kara could not gain any arousal from it. As Alice's thrusting motions became quicker and more earnest, Kara could feel the sex slave's legs pressing ever more firmly into her back, and realized that all fear had left the girl. Her sex starved body hungrily rubbed against Kara's, her face flushed red. Wrinkles appeared along her forehead as the makings of an orgasm began to build. "My lord," Alice moaned softly, her eyes closed. "Please, may I come?" And she began to rotate her hips, so that Kara's clit was hit with more waves of pulsating, painful sensation. "Give it another moment, pet," Arlington replied, clearly enjoying what he saw. "It's barely been ten minutes." It was too much, and Kara could not bear to put up the facade of subordination for a moment longer. She simply couldn't; damn the consequences! "I am NOT some fuck toy you can use to get your slaves off, Arlington!" Kara hissed, her face contorted with rage. And Alice started, frightened out of her lustful trance by the sudden outburst, fear returning to her eyes. "You can't use me like another accessory in your toy chest! Call her off!" And Kara tugged against her bonds with all of her strength, the muscles in her arms bulging with the effort. Arlington was not amused. "Did you just give me an order, slave?" he hissed, rising from his seat in an imposing manner. "Because I'm fairly certain that's what I heard." His footsteps approached, pointed and menacing. "And I cannot tolerate that level of insubordination." And then, it happened. Something came loose. Kara wasn't sure if one of the restraints in the wall had broken, or if her wrist cuff had torn. But it didn't matter. In a moment, her left arm was suddenly free and acting purely on instinct, Kara punched Alice squarely on the nose. There was a splatter of blood as the cartilage broke, and Alice fell backwards with a piteous cry, her hands grasping at her face blindly, searching for the source of pain. And when the dainty sex slave felt the warmth of blood under her hands, she gave a tiny scream and backed out of Kara's reach. Her eyes revealed that she was shocked, but then turned soft with pain and sadness, before tears started to course down her cheeks. For a split second only, the sight made Kara feel unbearably guilty. But it wasn't long before the guilt turned into anger and then hatred. What right did Alice have, to look at Kara that way, with tears on her face and hurt in her eyes? What right did she have to feel any sadness or betrayal? To look at Kara as if she were the villain? Hadn't Alice, not a moment ago, been raping Kara? And now she had the nerve to look at Kara with that hurt expression, as if she were the victim? Fuck her and her tears! She had no right to feel sadness! And as Alice began to sob more openly and loudly, Kara's anger only intensified and further darkened her features. "I'm so sorry," Alice sobbed, as Arlington knelt down next to her. Her face was marked with genuine concern and shame, and when Arlington was beside her, Alice grabbed onto the hem of Arlington's pant leg, as if to beg. "My lord, I didn't mean to...I'm very sorry..." But Lord Arlington interrupted her pleas, pressing an index finger to her lips. Soothingly, he shushed her, lifted her into his arms, and set her gently down on the bed. "Let me see," he commanded, his voice soft but firm. And he carefully pried Alice's hands away from her face, revealing a crooked nose and a red smear that ran across her face, from the origin of injury to the base of her right cheek. As he studied the wound, Alice continued to sob, but it was apparent that she did so as quietly as possible, so as to avoid the rude, wet noises that sometimes escaped her lips in spite of her best efforts. "It's not as bad as it feels," Arlington insisted, though he winced, gently wiping a few tears away. "Really, sweetheart, it isn't that bad." And motioning for Alice to stay still, he walked off into the master bath, returning a moment later with a warm wash cloth so that he could wipe away the blood. And Kara, forgotten for the moment, looked on with a strange feeling twisting inside of her gut. The feeling was not unlike jealousy, but was never-the-less a different emotion, never yet experienced by Kara. For as she watched Arlington calm his sex slave, his ministrations gentle, Kara realized that Arlington was, in fact, capable of affection and empathy. Otherwise, why would he exhibit such genuine concern for Alice and her broken nose? Yet, Arlington had never shown Kara any real kindness or affection. He had never acknowledged Kara's pain and suffering, the way he now acknowledged Alice's silent sobs. Which meant that Arlington, though he had the capacity for benevolence, had deliberately decided to withhold it from Kara, and from Kara alone. He had singled Kara out. Somehow, knowing this made Kara's hell all the more personal, and it hurt. It hurt badly. Kara, in a sort of contemplative trance, suddenly realized that she'd never really viewed Arlington as a person. He'd always been a concept to her, the embodiment of evil or cruelty personified. Not a man, but a monster. And Kara wondered if that might have been intentional. Perhaps Arlington had purposefully come across as a two dimensional character, because Kara was more likely to submit to darkness exemplified than to a mere man with flaws and weaknesses. It was brilliant, of course. Everything Arlington did was brilliant. And it was so obvious now. All men donned different masks and assumed different personalities, in order to better handle the various circumstances in which they found themselves. All men tailored their mannerisms to deal with different people, in different social settings. The Kara at the local pub, for example, would not look like nor act like the Kara on medical duty. The two Kara's were distinct entities, tailored for two different worlds. And in order to deal with Kara, Arlington had sewn himself a mask of unrelenting domination, in order to better instill fear and crush his conquest slave. He probably intended to let more of himself shine through at a later date, but only after Kara had been better broken. How had Kara not realized this sooner? Was she really so blind? A few moments later, Mister Karp arrived to take Alice away for medical care. As she was led toward the wooden entrance doors, clutching a blood soaked wash cloth to her nose, Lord Arlington adorned her with sweet, affectionate kisses and gently caressed her long, dark locks. The pained expression on his face revealed that he did not wish to part with the girl, but couldn't help the situation. "I'm not mad, pet," he insisted, for Alice kept trying to apologize. "This isn't your fault, so stop making excuses. I'll check on you tomorrow." When Alice finally reached the threshold of Arlington's room, Mister Karp gently wrapped an arm around the sex slave and led her out into the hall. When he demanded that Alice momentarily remove the cloth against her nose, in order to show him her bruising face, he winced sympathetically. "That trophy slave has quite an arm, doesn't she?" he marveled, looking into the doorway. And Arlington, rage etched into his face, turned toward Kara solemnly. "So, she does," he hissed, before turning back to Mister Karp and taking a deep breath to calm himself. "I want a call in an hour, to see how she's doing. It should be simple enough to have the nose reset, and it'll heal relatively quickly. Still, make sure she gets what she needs." His voice was serious, making it very apparent that Alice was to be treated exceptionally well. And with that, Mister Karp left, leaving Kara lone with Lord Arlington For a moment, Arlington stood staring at the recently closed wooden doors, taking a few deep breaths before slowly turning toward Kara. His footsteps were heavy and pointed as he approached his conquest slave. Eons seemed to pass before Arlington finally stopped in front of her, flames burning brightly behind his cold blue eyes. "How dare you hit my girl?" he demanded, his voice clipped. And with a cold fury, Lord Arlington backhanded Kara in the face, so that the room spun in her vision. And with that, the world seemed to turn over and over again before Kara's eyes, and she could feel herself growing nauseous from the sudden blow. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 11 "Well?" Lord Arlington demanded, as the colors and shapes before Kara began to re-assume their original forms, to come together and complete a full picture. But it was not a pleasant picture. For before her, all Kara could see was her bare chested master, his arms crossed and his eyes dark. "Self defense," Kara gasped, the nausea in her stomach just now starting to settle. "Self defense, Master Arlington." But the look in his eyes did not soften. The conviction contained within did not waver. And Kara knew she had gone too far. Somehow, she knew that in the past ten minutes, she had ruined all chances of escape for herself. For Arlington's face was unforgiving, and he would surely punish her for the infraction, perhaps breaking her spirit in the process. Best case scenario, Lord Arlington thought of Kara as poorly trained and wouldn't bring her to the next meeting of the War Time Operations Board. God, what had she done? Why couldn't Kara have better controlled herself? But not a moment later, Arlington was shaking his head and the anger was gone as quickly as it had come. Kara was starting to notice that Arlington prided himself on his calm manner and cool conviction. He never stayed angry at Kara for long. Even when he punished her, Lord Arlington was driven by purpose rather than emotion. "Tomorrow," he told her, the certainty in his voice masking any residual malice. "Tomorrow, I shall punish you for you've done. Which, by the way, is completely unacceptable. I won't tolerate you striking people." And he clenched his teeth furiously as a final spark of anger flared up and then sizzled out. "But tonight, I intend to continue your training," he told her, cool control settling once more into his features. "I will show you what duties are in store for a sex slave and a future fuck pet." And he crossed the room to his cell phone, so that he could call for another one of his girls. When he'd finished the phone call, he sat back in an arm hair and ran his fingers through his hair, a little more than slightly exasperated. When the new girl arrived, Arlington once more strode across the room to let her inside, then ordered her to strip. The girl's name was Isabelle and it was immediately apparent that she was nothing like Alice, neither in terms of her personality nor body type. Whereas Alice had been a short, dainty slave, Isabelle was extraordinarily muscular and almost as tall as Arlington, with long auburn hair and a fierce green eyes. Whereas Alice's skin had been pale and milky white, Isabelle's skin was deeply tanned and shimmered brilliantly in the firelight. She was a strong, intimidating woman and if she were indeed a criminal---as all sex slaves were, apparently---Kara would be willing to bet a lot of money that Isabelle was convicted of armed robbery, or something similar. Still, when she stripped, she was as graceful as Alice had been. But she was also more procedural about the whole affair, not bothering to tease and show off the same way Alice had. And when she was finished, she assumed the classic slave position without being told, keeping a very business like and matter-of-fact aura about her. Furthermore, as soon as she entered the room, Isabelle noticed Kara and refused to take her eyes off of the restrained conquest slave, even as she stripped and then assumed the inspection position. Throughout the entire procedure, she stared Kara down, watching her closely as if she were capable of striking violently at any moment. Of course, there was still fear in Isabelle's eyes. The muscular sex slave had been one of the four girls to cower away from Kara in the bath house. But the restraints holding Kara and Lord Arlington's proximity seemed to comfort Isabelle. And, furthermore, behind the uneasiness in Isabelle's eyes there was a pervasive boldness. Somehow, Kara knew that Isabelle wasn't to be reckoned with. In fact, Kara was fairly certain that if she were to punch Isabelle, Isabelle would punch Kara right back, so that they would both end up with broken noses. "Down!" Arlington ordered, snapping his fingers and pointing to his bed. And without a moment of hesitation, Isabelle had gracefully knelt onto the red covers of Arlington's large mattress, pressed her forehead to the bed spread, and laid her hands out in front of her, so that her adorable ass was sticking conspicuously up into the air. "Now," Arlington began forcefully, turning toward Kara. "You are going to watch, and you will give me no trouble. At all. Whatsoever." His voice was pointed, and he emphasized each word with authority. "Or else you'll be sent back to your original cell, and you will remain there for the next several days, in solitary. If I am being honest with myself, that's what I ought to be doing with you right this moment. I am being far too soft on you, as it is." And Kara turned nervous eyes to the floor. "But I will give you one more chance, Kara. And that's it. Am I understood?" "Yes, Master," Kara replied, humbly bowing her head, a feeble attempt to gain back what little trust she could---if any---following the violence she had inflicted upon Alice. And as she bowed her head even farther towards the floor, Kara wondered why Arlington was, indeed, being so easy on her. On Kara's first day with Lord Arlington, he hadn't tolerated a glare, let alone any verbal outbursts. And if she had struck him or any one of his slaves earlier in the week, Kara was certain she would have been severely punished for the infraction, without any delay. Why the sudden change? Why the show of mercy? Kara supposed that there were only two possibilities. Either Lord Arlington wished to offer Kara some minor comforts, hoping that she would open up to him as a result. Or, more than likely, the punishment Lord Arlington had planned for Kara, to take place the following day, was positively awful. Perhaps, it was awful enough to justify a bit of softness at present. And, perhaps, Arlington wanted Kara to let her defenses down, so that tomorrow's torment would be more pronounced. While Isabelle held position, awaiting further instruction from her lord, Arlington knelt beside Kara and motioned for her to give him her free arm. And not daring to disobey---for to do so would mean solitary confinement, such that the communication between herself and Greenwood would be severed---Kara handed Arlington her left limb. He studied the cuff for a moment, noting the damage, and replaced it with a spare, so that he could restrain Kara's arm once more above her head. Then he sat down next to her, and rested a hand on her naked thigh, watching her eyes light up with anxiety as her carefully moved his hand ever closer to her sex. Once he had reached her still wet lips, he parted them with his fingers and pushed a black, metallic egg against her entrance. The action made Kara stiffen, but she didn't move. She wanted to tell Arlington to back off, to stay away from her body, but knew she had used up what few outbursts she'd been allotted. Arlington would have no more patience for resistance, so she remained silent as he pressed the little egg into her sex. It felt cold and hard inside of her, but it wasn't very big, which at least made the intrusion less repulsive. But Lord Arlington wasn't quite done yet. Resting a hand on Kara's waist, her slowly drew his fingers across her pouty behind and then into the crevice between her cheeks. When he finally reached her puckered asshole, Kara could feel a cold, wet gel being spread over her anus and wriggled away from Arlington's touch, but he gripped her torso firmly and held her still, before pushing a small, but wide plug up into her ass. Neither intrusion was particularly brutal or violent, but it reminded Kara of her first evening with Lord Arlington, when he had filled both her holes with flogger handles and had terrified her with his raw brutality. That memory alone made the violations seem worse than they actually were. But, Kara reminded herself, Alyssa had said that Arlington would be training her sexually. So, in all likelihood, the devices weren't meant to bring her pain, but to bring her pleasure as she watched her lord fuck his sex slave. And indeed, as Arlington stood, Kara could see a remote in his hand. When he pressed a series of buttons, the devices in her cunt and ass buzzed to life with a soft hum, and Kara could feel warmth returning to her core. "Now," Lord Arlington demanded, looking over at Kara. "What are your instructions?" And he turned up the vibrations on both devices, so that the thrumming between Kara's legs intensified. "I am supposed to watch you, Master," Kara replied, her legs jerking involuntarily beneath her. "And will you look away, for any reason?" Arlington pressed, his eyes dark. "No, my lord," Kara insisted, and she hoped Arlington saw the sincerity in her eyes. Kara had no intention of pushing Arlington over the edge, and losing her one good shot at escape. Lord Arlington stared Kara down for a moment more, observing the pleading nature of her eyes, before nodding his satisfaction and turning toward his dresser. Carefully, he undid his belt buckle and draped it over the dresser door, then removed his dress pants and put them away in the same fashion. When he finally stepped out of his boxers, and stood completely nude, Kara was able to observe her lord's muscular body in its entirety. As much as she hated to admit it, Lord Arlington was a gorgeous man, with tight, sinewy muscles beneath his skin which flexed threateningly whenever he moved. He had a firm ass, and pronounced calves that shimmered in the firelight. And the dragon tattoo coiling along his back seemed to enhance the intimidation that radiated from his figure. All-in-all, he was a nimble, but strong man with an aura of control and an imposing height. His circumcised cock only strengthened the impression, for it was strong and full bodied, a little longer than what Kara would have expected from a typical man, but not monstrously so. And even though Kara normally associated nudity with vulnerability, Arlington's nakedness did not make him any less imposing than he usually was. In fact, the beauty of his figure only added to the power he embodied as a principle. Before turning toward the bed, Lord Arlington looked over at Kara and grinned, as if able to read her mind. Then, with deliberation, he moved toward Isabelle, who still hadn't moved from her position, face down on the mattress. Wrapping his arms around Isabelle's torso, Lord Arlington pulled her upward so that she sat on her knees, undid the chastity belt from about the girl's sex, and tossed the wretched device onto the night stand. Kara could hear a sharp intake of breath as the sex slave, starved for arousal, relaxed backwards into Arlington's grasp, as languid and at ease as Alice had been. Clearly, she was very excited at the prospect of an orgasm. And luckily for Isabelle, she would not have to wait long for her pleasure. Sitting on his knees behind Isabelle, Lord Arlington reached around her torso and took both of her breasts in his hands, kneading them viciously so that the sex slave gasped and twinged piteously. A smile lit up Arlington's face, and Kara could tell that he enjoyed the girl's responses. "How long has it been since you last came?" he asked Isabelle, dropping a hand between the girl's legs and pinching her clit, so that she whimpered, melting like butter in her lord's grasp. "It's been three weeks, my lord," she mewled, inhaling sharply as Arlington drove two fingers into her already sopping wet cunt. Kara could hear the squishing noises her juices made as Arlington drove his fingers steadily into and out of the girl's warm entrance, which were accompanied by little gasps of pleasure from Isabelle. And suddenly, the buzzing between Kara's own legs intensified. The devices must be set on some sort of timer, so that the vibrations in Kara's cunt and ass would strengthen and, perhaps, weaken at certain pre-determined intervals. "And would you like me to let you come tonight?" Lord Arlington asked, seduction in his voice. And with that, he withdrew his sticky fingers from Isabelle's cunt and spread the wet dew over her lips, which were progressively reddening with arousal. In response, Isabelle could only moan, from both pleasure and frustration. The pleasure came from feeling her own cum against her lips, warm and sensual. And the frustration sprouted from the piteous loss of Lord Arlington's fingers from her cunt. "That's not an answer, Isabelle," Arlington chuckled, and he spread the girl's cum over her puckered asshole, so that he could drive a finger into the tiny rosebud. Isabelle gasped suddenly, and Kara could feel her own cunt start to tingle and shudder from the sight, even though she knew, on a conscious level, that she shouldn't be aroused. And in that moment, Kara began to understand what Lord Arlington intended and why he was taking her sexual training so slowly. Being forced to watch the pair fuck was a gentle assault, subtle enough not to inspire any outright rebellion. If Arlington were to touch her now, as Alice had earlier, Kara knew she'd be too repulsed to feel any real pleasure. But if all she had to do was watch, she could rationalize the sensations rippling through her without feeling too terribly guilty about them. But she didn't want to feel arousal. She didn't want to feel anything but hatred. And anger. And maybe some disgust, thrown in for good measure. What the hell was wrong with her? How could Kara possibly feel the least bit aroused? It made no sense that her pussy should tingle pleasurably, did it? But as her core continued to glow and throb, Kara had to acknowledge that such feelings were, in fact, possible. And as a medic, Kara found herself rationalizing the sensations. After many years of treating patients, she understood that the body's responses weren't always appropriate, and that certain stimuli would always result in a corresponding physiological response, whether it was welcome or not. And given the gentle buzzing between her legs, the smell of sex lingering in the air, and the visually assaulting fuck fest taking place before her, Kara supposed that she couldn't help but feel a small wave of pleasure. Not anything significant, of course. Kara couldn't relax deeply enough to feel anything that could rightly be called "sexual satisfaction" or "the makings of an orgasm." But the shooting pangs she had experienced under Alice's tongue had been replaced with warm throbs. And Kara supposed that, at least for Lord Arlington, that was enough. He was a patient man, and would be satisfied with any progress Kara made. In another moment, the plug in Kara's ass buzzed ever more furiously to life, and she stiffened at the sudden intensity. But then, anger returned, and she made up her mind to fight the feelings coursing through her, even if they were involuntary, pre-programmed physiological responses. Pushing upward and then slamming back down, Kara tried as best as she could to remove the dildo from her ass. And, when that didn't work, she tried to push the little, vibrating egg from her cunt. But soon, the sudden impulse to resist had faded away because, on the one hand, it was useless to struggle. And, on the other hand, Kara's efforts would be counter productive, should Arlington figure out what she was trying to do. Defeated, Kara realized that she could only sit still and allow the sensations to continue their assault, even as a warmth began to bury itself deep within her loins and expand outwards through her limbs. Kara watched with a mixture of disgust and arousal as Lord Arlington plunged a second finger into Isabelle's ass. With vigor, the sex slave began to thrust her body against her master's hand, sweating profusely from arousal and the many weeks she'd gone without release. Little whimpers of delight and satisfaction rippled through her throat as she did so, her eyes half-lidded with lust. "My lord," she begged, her voice rising in a tremor of desperate want. "Please, let me come tonight. Please, my lord. Please." And with that, Lord Arlington suddenly withdrew his fingers from his sex slave, pushing her onto the bed so that she mewled in surprise. But Isabelle allowed herself to be moved wherever Lord Arlington wished, and lay flat on her stomach, her rounded ass in the air. "Roll over," Lord Arlington demanded, his eyes hungry. And obediently, Isabelle moved onto her back, where she spread her legs and bent her knees, exposing her pink pussy, dripping wet with arousal, to Lord Arlington. "Good girl," the man praised, his voice a coarse groan, and he gently settled himself between the slave's legs. But Arlington did not plunge into Isabelle right away, opting instead to kiss her daintily on the neck for a few moments, leaving a little trail of goosebumps as he made his way from her cheek to the base of her ear. As he bit loving on the girl's ear lobe, he opened his mouth to speak, and the sound made Isabelle shudder. Dear god, Arlington had trained the girl to become aroused at the mere tone of his voice. "Beg for it," he whispered, and Isabelle sprung to life, her whole body twinging at the prospect of being fucked senseless by her lord and master. "My lord, please! Please, for the love of god, fuck your sex starved slave!" Isabelle cried, her eyes brimming with tears of anticipation and desire. "My lord, please, my pussy burns. I need this. My lord, please, I need this." The sincerity in her tone was both disturbing and strangely seductive, and the girl wrapped her arms around Lord Arlington to better look him in the eye and make her growing desire known. "My lord, please!" "Are you seeing this, Kara?" Lord Arlington grinned, and Kara jumped. It was not Arlington's voice that had caused Kara to start, nor the fact that he had addressed her by name. Rather, it was the fact that his hungry eyes, once trained solely on Isabelle, were now looking into Kara's. She did not like that predatory look. It made her feel like a piece of meat dangling from a hook, or the target in the scope of a hunting rifle. It made her feel small, and powerless. So, in revolt, she drew her eyes away from Arlington's, and instead fixated on his forehead. Because, after all, she was forbidden from turning away completely. "Yes, Master," Kara hissed in reply, feeling the man's heady gaze upon her, even though she'd turned away. "I've been watching the whole time." And she prayed that Arlington would look away from her and get back to his own, personal fuck fest. But he didn't, of course. Arlington never heeded her silent pleas. "Come on Kara, we've been over this a thousand times," Lord Arlington insisted, as Isabelle writhed piteously in his grasp. "Look at me. And I mean it. Really, truly look at me." He didn't sound angry, but he did sound serious. So, cautiously, Kara looked into her lord's eyes. They were still predatory, but had softened ever so slightly. "Now, Isabelle," Lord Arlington began, pushing the tip of his cock against the poor girl's pussy, teasing her. "I'm hearing a lot of begging, but I want you to show me that you want it. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" And, obediently, Isabelle spread her pussy lips aside, to reveal the soft, pink center of her sex and the tight hole there. Her whole body was trembling with the frustration of unfulfilled want, and her eyes were half lidded with anticipation and desire. Taking three fingers, she shoved the whole lot into her pussy, then brought the shimmering digits to her lips, in order to lick each one clean. And when she was done, Isabelle thrust her hips toward her lord in an inviting fashion, moaning the entire time. Lord Arlington was showing Kara what he intended her to become, a sex starved maniac who would stoop to any and all levels of perversion, if only it would earn her an orgasm. The sick, twisted bastard! Not only did he wish for Kara to become aroused, by watching him fuck. He also wanted to plague Kara's mind with images of his muscular form, drilling into a complaint sex slave. He wanted to fill her dreams with his lusty groans. He wanted Kara to envision herself in Isabelle's place, to let her own twisted imagination run wild and torture her with the fear of being raped and used by him. And Kara knew this because, as she watched Isabelle arch and groan, she wondered if that could ever become her. The sadistic lunatic! The monstrous villain! The Rebellious Slave Ch. 12 Author's Note: The "Tale of Arlington" comes in multiple parts. They will not be posted back-to-back, but sprinkled in among other chapters as appropriate. Furthermore, they will not be posted in sequential order, except in certain circumstances. As you read, please keep in mind that people change over the years, and that the Arlington depicted in one part of the story may appear different from the Arlington described in another. But the reason for his transformation should be known by the story's end. Remember, there is always a reason for a man to become a monster. It is up to you to decide if Arlington's reasons are good enough. HisPet21 * "I thought we'd already had this conversation," Arlington drawled, as he cut into the marvelously seasoned steak before him. Bremmel had hired an excellent cook, and Arlington reminded himself to thank the butler for his recommendation. But right now, he needed to deal with Maria, and he hoped their conversation wouldn't last too long. After all, Arlington was under the impression that Maria had agreed to his demands long ago. Hopefully, she only needed a reminder of her promise, and then they could get back to their pleasant evening. "You need to quit," he told her. "And I'm not asking you. I am telling you." But Maria wouldn't have it. Lord Arlington could see the resistance in her eyes. She intended to break her promise, and for some strange reason, she expected Arlington to accept that fact. Well then, she would be in for quite a surprise, wouldn't she? Arlington had no patience for liars, and Maria would come to realize that soon enough. Arlington would not be manipulated, and if Maria had to find that out the hard way, then so be it. Their relationship had, after all, turned sour months ago. What was one more upset, or one more fight? "With all due respect, you cannot tell me what to do!" Maria cried vehemently, her voice challenging. But when she did not get a rise out of Lord Arlington, Maria turned to more sinister tactics. "After all," she hissed, "his lordship doesn't rule the entire world. At least, not yet." She intentionally used his title, and she uttered it with more than a hint of sarcasm. Maria knew it bothered Arlington immensely, and she wanted to get under the man's skin, so as to watch him squirm. She wanted to watch the hurt enter into Arlington's eyes, and then turn stagnant. Arlington had told Maria on several occasions not to address him by his formal title, at least not when it was just the two of them. For he was still a young lord, and the designation made him uncomfortable. Of course, he'd had many other appellations over the years. But "my lord" and "Lord Arlington" were still bizarre forms of address, foreign to his ears. Being placed so highly upon a pedestal was intimidating, and made Arlington feel distant from the rest of humanity. He wanted to feel closer to the earth, when it was just himself and Maria. And, more than anything else, he wanted to feel closer to Maria. But how could he, when she used that title to separate them, as if they belonged to two different worlds? Hadn't he been kind to Maria? Hadn't he, in spite of his new position, been more than accommodating? But in spite of all this, Maria continued to use Lord Arlington's title against him. In fact, the sinister dig seemed to crop up in every argument the pair had, for it was the only trick that consistently drew a reaction, and this time was no exception. As always, upon hearing the hurtful words and the manner of their delivery, Arlington could feel a pang coiling up through him and stabbing at his soft center, which was normally well protected. Still, you had to know Lord Arlington to realize that the subtle insult had made an impression. For there was no change in his facial expression nor his posture. And Lord Arlington remained silent, so that his tone would not give him away. But his eyes most definitely darkened, and Maria smiled cruelly, satisfied that her words had hit their intended target. Unlike most of Arlington's previous lovers, Maria didn't mind poking the lion. Perhaps that was why she had lasted so much longer than the others. "I don't think I am being unreasonable," Arlington told Maria, and there was a tremor of anger in his voice, which had somehow slipped past his usually calm facade. Maria ought to have become wary then, for Lord Arlington very rarely showed any hint of wrath, and when he did, the situation was always serious. After many years under Master Greyson, the young lord had become an inherently calm person. Any hint of vexation was just a symptom of a much more potent rage boiling beneath Arlington's breast. "You can't just run off and do whatever you damn well please, Maria. And I am dead serious. Not when you're in a committed relationship. And I was under the impression that we had one of those." And Arlington stared Maria down, his eyebrows raised and questioning. But when she didn't respond, Arlington turned away and stared into the half eaten food before him, now cold and unsavory. Ruined. "How mature," Maria spat, her tone livid. "So, you're ignoring me now, are you? Escaping into those mashed potatoes? Well, listen here, my lord. I won't let you bully me out of this decision. It is my decision to make, and you should know that. We've been dating nearly a year." Maria's voice had leveled out now, turning somber and cold, so that it juxtaposed starkly with the blaze behind her violet eyes. Quickly, Maria stood to her feet with an aura of confidence, pushed away from the dining room table, and glared down at Lord Arlington, her lips tight. And though she tried to keep still, Maria's body rippled like an angry cat's, the muscles beneath her navy blue evening gown flexing furiously. "You knew, when we first started dating, that this was the path I wanted to take. It isn't fair.You can't play dumb now, just because you've become attached to me." And with that, Lord Arlington cracked. He was done with Maria, and her selfish attitude. Shouldn't Arlington, as Maria's boyfriend, have a say in how she lived her life? Shouldn't he be allowed a legitimate interest in her activities? Why wouldn't the woman give him any decision making power? Arlington was no fool, and if given the chance, he would surely guide their relationship with both responsibility and vigor. He would ensure that, at the end of each day, the couple came home satisfied and happy. But, perhaps, Maria didn't see it that way... And ever so slowly, a thought crept into Arlington's mind, and it occurred to him that he was wasting his time with Maria. Perhaps Maria was right, and Arlington was just now becoming attached to her. Perhaps he had become too attached, and it was time to sever the bond between them. If Maria didn't want Arlington's guidance, then Arlington would abide by her wishes and withdraw his direction altogether. "Attached? To you?" Arlington hissed, a cynical smile lighting up his face. "Maria, I don't think you get it. I can have any woman I want. Any woman at all. And while I am attached to you now, do not fool yourself into thinking that such an arrangement is necessarily permanent. I'm done tolerating irrationality in my life, and I can sever the tie between us in an instant, if I have to. And I would never look back." He kept his features still and serious as he spoke. He needed Maria to realize that this was a deal breaker. That after this evening, whatever she chose, there was no going back. The words had their intended effect, for there were suddenly tears in Maria's eyes. Arlington had always loved that about her; Maria could shift through emotions so readily, like a chameleon. Blinking furiously, she tried to hold the tears back, but a few tiny droplets freed themselves of her dark lashes and trailed down her cheeks. Maria looked absolutely miserable, but Arlington reminded himself that she deserved it. "But, David," she began, trying to appeal to his softer side, using his first name to ensure a more personal connection. "Please, don't make me choose. God, don't make me choose. It isn't fair, and you know it isn't. I've seen the changes you've made, over the past year. And you've finally broken past your father's monstrous---" But Arlington interrupted Maria, holding up his hand for silence. He would not allow her to talk to him like that, in such a patronizing tone, especially when she knew nothing of his past nor the reason for his recent transformation. Maria knew nothing about him. She knew nothing at all. Arlington had made sure of that. "You will not finish that sentence," he told her sinisterly, his voice a mere whisper. But one could not find a whisper more forceful nor pronounced. "You will not insult my father in my presence, Maria. I swear that if you do, we are over. Do I make myself clear?" And, knowing she had crossed a line, Maria fell silent. "I asked you a question," Arlington hissed, and he hit the dining room table with his fist, so that Maria jumped a little where she stood. Rage etched into his features, Arlington rose to his full height, the embodiment of distilled power. "Do I make myself clear, Maria?" And this time, he did not mind when she used his title. "Yes, my lord," Maria whispered, and sat back down in her seat. For a moment, the couple stared at each other in silence, with Maria sitting down and Arlington on his feet. The only sound to be had was the ventilator shaft, as it blew cool air into the room. And, finally, Arlington sighed into the palm of his hand, exasperated. "I don't understand why you won't view this situation from my perspective," Lord Arlington told her, his voice finally evening out. "But if I had to guess, I'd say it is because my opinions don't matter to you. And what is important to me doesn't seem to be important to you." Then, sitting back down in his seat, Arlington cleared his throat, intending to present Maria with an ultimatum. For better or for worse, he wanted the direction of their relationship to be decided upon, and he wanted to know if, in the morning, there would be any relationship at all. Arlington hated to be in limbo like this, and he would not spend another day existing in the realm of uncertainty. "I don't want a corpse for a girlfriend," Arlington told Maria and, for a moment, there was gentleness in his eyes, which deepened into an intense sadness. The look juxtaposed starkly with Arlington's normally coarse features, and Maria noticed. The contrast worried her. "Resign from the Academy of Naval Engineers," Arlington insisted, his voice cold and deathly serious. "Or get out of my house." And with that, Maria opened her mouth as if to speak, but Arlington silenced her with a look that chilled to the bone. His features revealed that he would tolerate no argument, and that the ultimatum was not up for discussion. He would not budge, and Maria knew it. "If you decide to leave," Arlington continued, "then I will not be wanting you back. Not for any reason. Not ever. If you leave tonight, you will no longer be welcome in my home." And Arlington meant it. Maria could hear it in his voice, even if she didn't understand the reason for his tone. There was a horrible silence then, which extended between the pair like an ever widening canyon, separating them. And then, even before Maria spoke, Arlington knew the decision she would make. He was good at reading minds, and Maria's face was as open to him as the pages of a book. She was going to leave him. And Arlington thought he was okay with that. He was even a little bit relieved. Maria wasn't good for him, and he wasn't good for Maria. That had become apparent over the past few months, and even more so over the course of the past hour. If they had to part ways, better now than later. "Fine," Maria told Arlington, trembling where she sat. And though her voice was determined and serious, her eyes were soft and filled with hope. For a few painful moments, Maria waited for Arlington to protest against her response. Ever patient, Maria waited for him to change his mind and beg for forgiveness. Better yet, Maria prayed that Arlington would suddenly cross the room and hold her close. She wanted to hear his sultry voice, promising to support her, no matter what path she chose to take. Maria wanted to be loved no matter what, even if she decided to risk her life as a Naval Engineer. But Arlington remained where he was, impassive. As the seconds ticked by, separating the couple ever further, Arlington watched the inevitable realizations slowly cross over Maria's face and settle into her features, hardening them. Finally, she understood. And Maria got up from the table, her face revealing hurt, then anger, and lastly, fury. But most prominent of all, Arlington could see the defeat in her eyes. And Maria hated to lose. Her features tight, Maria began to pack up her purse, her actions frantic and disorganized. She tried to contain her wrath, to assume the same cool Arlington embraced, but was unsuccessful. Maria's hands gave her away, trembling as she shoved her phone and her handkerchief into the pocket of her purse. She was quick in her movements, trying to escape Arlington and his manor as quickly as she was able, so that he wouldn't notice the humiliation burning through her cheeks. But as Maria zipped her handbag shut, the pull tab got caught, trapping her for another agonizing moment at the dining room table. And that was when Maria lost it, as she struggled to get her damned handbag closed. In a sudden burst of anger, she pushed her dinner and the dishes underneath onto the floor, watching as the porcelain shattered. And with that, she was storming off toward the front door, her face red and very unladylike. But before she left, Maria turned toward Lord Arlington one last time. Of course, Arlington had known that she would. He had expected it, even. Maria had always wanted the last word. It didn't matter what they were fighting about or why; Maria always had to be the last one to give an opinion. And if the last word really meant so much to Maria, the woman could have it. Arlington couldn't care less how their relationship ended, as long as it did end. "You're a coward, you know," Maria told Arlington, her voice filled with anger and betrayal. "You politicians are all alike. You're all control freaks, every last one of you!" And she raised her voice, so that it was almost a scream. "You can't handle free women, none of you can! You can't handle a woman who can tell you "no," and leave whenever she likes, and then call the police if you won't let her. I know that now, and I should have realized it a lot sooner!" There were angry tears now, ruining Maria's expensive make-up, darkening the skin under her eyes. The smears made Maria look unbearably ugly, and Arlington winced. "Remember when you took me to that horrible woman's dinner party?" Maria continued, squaring off. "Wasn't Charlotte her name? And every politician there, ever last one, had a slave, instead of a partner. That's not a coincidence, David! It's a culture, and it's sick! And after that night, I knew that you would become just like your father. A coward at heart, and a crook by profession." Because if their relationship was truly over, why not insult Arlington Senior before leaving? Maria had always wanted to dig into the horrible old man, but David had never let her, always stopping her mid-sentence and sometimes even mid-thought. It gave Maria the creeps, to realize that she had dated a mind reader for so long. And with that, Maria picked up her skirts and ran for the doorway, slamming it shut behind her as she raced off into the night. She'd left a tube of lipstick behind, but Arlington knew she wouldn't be coming back for it. He had told her to leave, and she would faithfully obey. Good riddance. For a moment, Lord Arlington sat in silence, toying with his dinner. It was too cold to eat, and Arlington despised food that had to be reheated. As a wealthy man and the recently elected Fourth Lord of Isleydor, he could afford the luxury of being picky and wasteful. So, he continued to poke at his dinner, thinking back on Maria's words and contemplating the nature of his nonexistent love life. Though, to be honest, Arlington hadn't really enjoyed being in a relationship. At least not with Maria, nor the five or so women he'd dated before her. After all, he had only dated free women, against his father's advice, in some strange attempt at normalcy. Which, Arlington thought, had been doomed to failure from the start. Normalcy? In this day and age? The idea was laughable. And Arlington wondered, as he sat alone, if now was such a bad time to buy a slave, after all. He'd been putting it off for a while, and he'd had good reasons for doing so, but perhaps the exercise would be cathartic, healing even. If he could overcome this one last obstacle, maybe he could bury Arilyn's memory in the darker regions of his mind, putting her to rest once and for all. Besides, Arlington's father had been harassing him to buy a slave for the last several months, and not without good reason. There were the political advantages to consider. And there was also a very real, very well regarded culture of slavery in Isleydor. Therefore, Arlington's lack of a slave was suspicious and, in some venues, even frowned upon. He'd even been teased about it at important meetings of the legislature, and once at a diplomat's birthday party. Arlington had to admit that, growing up, he had been surrounded by his father's harem for a reason. At a very young age, he had learned that all high ranking politicians owned a slave or two. In fact, during the the past fifty years, owning a slave had become a part of Isleydor's political tradition. And if Arlington wanted to join the ranks of the greats, he would need a girl curled up by his feet. This was especially imperative since, in less than three weeks, Arlington would undergo the last of his Re-Evaluations. If it went well, Arlington's position as Isleydor's Fourth Lord would become a permanent arrangement. And, if not, a nationwide re-election would be instituted. Perhaps, even, to Arlington's detriment. After all, he wasn't the only person pinning for the position of Fourth Lord. Certainly, Arlington thought, owning a slave couldn't hurt his Re-Evaluation. But not owning one could appear overly prudish, or even judgmental. And with Maria gone, there was no longer any reason for Arlington to resist the time honored ritual of purchasing a pleasure slave. "Bremmel," Arlington called, and the little man entered the dining room with a bow, dutiful as ever. "Have tonight's driver bring the car around. I want to go to Candato's Slave Market, at the center of Capital City." And Arlington stood from his seat to go get dressed for the evening. But when he turned to go upstairs, the butler had not yet left, leaving his master's orders unfulfilled. "Trouble hearing, Bremmel?" Arlington asked, his voice still on edge from the recent argument. But Bremmel shook his head. "My lord," the butler ventured, clearly nervous. "Are you really sure you want a slave girl? Maybe you should wait and cool down a little first. You know, just to make sure this isn't the result of a poorly handled temper tantrum. What if you decide you want Maria back?" But the look in Arlington's eyes was ice cold, and Bremmel shut up immediately, swallowing hard. "Go and get the driver," Arlington hissed, his voice clipped. And with that, he headed upstairs, to change out of his dining clothes and into something more appropriate for the West Shopping District. Candato's Slave Market wouldn't be closing for a while yet, so Lord Arlington had time. Perhaps he would stop by his favorite bakery on the way home, and buy his new slave something sweet. Hopefully, this next venture would start out on a better footing than the last one had. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 12 The traffic in Capital City, on a Saturday night, was atrocious and it took Arlington's driver a full hour to get him to the West Shopping District and Candato's Slave Market. It was a tall, grey building beside the famous Manbeive Fountain, which constituted a series of statues, mostly mythical creatures, holding flowers from which streams of water flowed. Children were playing nearby, tossing small coins into the water, hoping to make a wish worthy of realization and enjoying the warm summer air. A few of the older ones even stopped to look and point at Lord Arlington who, ever since the election, had been a favorite topic on the evening news. The lobby of Candato's Slave Market was smallish and, like the outside of the building, a pale grey color. A gentlemen in a tan cloak was sitting just beyond a panel of glass, flipping through a magazine, wearing a bronze badge with the words "Sales Manager" written across it. The only color in the lobby came from a few fake ferns in plastic pots, the colors of which had faded with time, so that the vases were now a nice, purplish shade reminiscent of vomit. Other than that, there were only a few lights embedded in the ceiling and, Arlington noticed, several of them had died out. With a sneer of disapproval, Arlington shook his head. Surely, the resulting darkness was bad for business and the idiot in charge of ambiance clearly needed to fired. The gloomy shadows were down right intimidating and would frighten away those customers who were already apprehensive at the prospect of buying a human being. And since Candato's Slave Market was state owned and operated, the poor upkeep of facilities would reduce the state's revenue. Arlington's revenue. He would have to talk to the Facilities Manager before he left. "Ah hem," Arlington coughed, as he approached the front counter, his body guards following close behind him, like bulky shadows. And suddenly, the little man behind the counter jumped, surprised by the sudden intrusion, although he shouldn't have been. These were prime shopping hours, after all. Guiltily, the Sales Manger hid his magazine below the counter, and as he did so, Arlington could make out a large pair of tits. A porn magazine? How unprofessional. "My lord," the little man gasped, and he bowed in such a ridiculous fashion that it took all of Arlington's will power not to laugh out loud. The fact that the Sales Manager bounced a little as he talked didn't make the situation any easier on his lordship. Quickly, Arlington swallowed a hearty chuckle, before it could escape into the open air. "Can I interest you in anything particular?" the man continued, his voice eager. The salesman probably worked on a commission. "We have a catalog available, if you would like to see the current line up of processed slaves. We can even ship an item in from another market, if you want." But Arlington shook his head. He had no interest in ordering from another outlet. He wanted a slave tonight, before he grew cold feet and changed his mind. There was a reason he'd been avoiding the market for the past few years, and he didn't want that reason sneaking up on him and making its usual attack. Arlington wanted to get in and then get out. Or, at least, that was the plan. "I am only interested in what you currently have in stock," Arlington told the man. "Is the Observation Hallway, for new acquisitions, still open this evening?" And the Sales Manager nodded his head profusely, gesturing toward a set of double doors beyond the lobby. "Right this way, my lord," he exclaimed, clamoring towards the entryway. He had to swipe his badge before the doors would open, and when they did, Arlington's eyes were assaulted with a dark, dank hallway. This was the reason Arlington hated this place so much. It was the reason he'd avoided trips to the slave market on many occasions, even when he'd been invited by fellow politicians and lobbyists. For although Lord Arlington had been to the slave market on several occasions, each and every time, he found himself surprised by the dreariness of the place. Would a splash of color or a window be too much to ask for? Maybe a decorative painting or two? Perhaps a bit of carpeting? The place was down right depressing and that bothered Arlington. It reminded him a little too much of Master Greyson's Dungeon and Arlington despised that god forsaken place. Unbidden, an image flashed before Lord Arlington's eyes. There were torches lining stone walls, illuminating metal bars, which had rusted over with time. And there was a green, wet mold crawling up from the floor and growing into the crevices of the dungeon's stone walls. As Arlington pressed his fingers to his forehead, willing the image to fade away, he wondered if, perhaps, he shouldn't have come to Candato's Slave Market after all. Maybe, just maybe, Arlington still wasn't ready for a slave girl. But quickly, Arlington pushed the doubts in his mind aside. He was tired, so very tired, of letting the past weigh him down. Candato's Slave Market was nothing like Master Greyson's Dungeon, Arlington told himself firmly, anchoring himself to the present. And, more importantly, the slaves on display were nothing like Arilyn. There would be absolutely no resemblance between her and the miserable creatures Arlington was about to peruse. So, why did Arlington still see Arilyn when he closed his eyes? Why did her face come into view, malevolent and yet, so soft beneath all the anger? Why couldn't Arlington erase Arilyn's hate-filled, sea green eyes from his memory? And suddenly, there they were, piercing and ugly. And beautiful. God, they were so stunningly beautiful. Then, there was her voice, so soft and sensual, like a bird's. But when she screeched, dear lord, the sound was like steel wool on a wire. And with that, another unwanted memory wormed its way into the forefront of Arlington's mind, and he could see Arilyn in front of him, her eyes blazing, her right arm in a cast. Arlington wanted to apologize for the injury, even though he knew that it wasn't his fault. But the way that Arilyn looked at him made Arlington feel guilty, and the way she spoke even more so. "If you were a real man, then you would kill me!" she had screamed. "But you don't have the balls, do you? Coward! Coward!" But as suddenly as it had appeared, the flash back was over, leaving Arlington in peace once more. He was getting a lot better at controlling those memories, and had all but stamped out his feelings for Arilyn, both the affection and the hatred, which had held him back for so long. He suspected that taking care of Marko had done a great deal to lighten his load, and was grateful for that, though he occasionally regretted doing away with the man. Marko had, after all, been something of a friend and a brother. But Arlington was done with the past. He wanted to enjoy his new life as Isleydor's Fourth Lord. And so, Arlington reminded himself that he was in a different time, and that he existed in a different place. Most importantly, Arlington was a different man. He was no longer easy to manipulate, nor was he a slave to his emotions. Arlington had worked very, very hard to rid himself of both weaknesses. He had even subjected himself, voluntarily, to Master Greyson's retraining regimen. And very few men did that, given the intensity of the experience. As far as Arlington was concerned, he was ready for the future and all that entailed. But was the future ready for Lord Arlington? The Observation Hallway resembled a prison in many respects, which seemed reasonable, since the slaves on display were convicted Class "B" Criminals, only recently stripped of their rights. There were concrete cells lining either side of the long hallway, steel bars solidly interlocking across the openings to each tiny room, where the condemned awaited inspection and then purchase. For the most part, the cells were utterly bare, with the exception of a single sink, toilet, and straw mattress per room. Furthermore, almost all of the cells were occupied, and some were even filled beyond capacity. These contained three or more slaves, chained together at the ankles or about the neck, most likely as punishment for being loud or troublesome. But none of them were of particular interest to Lord Arlington, so he moved onward, his footsteps echoing eerily off of the stone walls and metal bars of each successive holding pen. The sound of his own footfalls, amid the silence of the Observation Hall, was strangely hypnotizing, and Arlington almost passed by the girl he would eventually decide to purchase. It was, after all, easy to miss her. She was a small creature, barely five feet tall, and as thin as a pole. Her skin was pale too, milky white, so that she blended in with her grey surroundings, much like a chameleon would. And she had dark, raven black hair, which melted into the shadows of her cell. The girl was reading a thick book, entitled "The Tale of the Miser," so when Arlington peered into her cell, she did not notice him or bother to look up. The slave was one of the lucky ones, with an entire room all to herself, and the girl had made the most of it. Her cell was among the most colorful, for the walls were decorated with construction paper and a few crude, but creative illustrations. Arlington liked her, perhaps because she was everything Arilyn hadn't been: quiet, subdued, and intellectual. If Arlington wished to buy a slave, he would have to start off slowly and work his way up to the more rebellious types. He wasn't sure he had the heart to break in a slave, not yet. Though he was certain the activity would become bearable and even pleasurable, a few years down the road. After all, Lord Arlington thought, breaking in a slave couldn't be unlike breaking in a spy. And Arlington enjoyed a good interrogation. He especially liked the challenge his most intelligent enemies brought to the table, who were smart enough to resist his mind games. In fact, a good interrogation was a lot like a game of chess. But Arlington was not yet ready to play chess with a slave. It was different, and he needed some time still. Time to forget Arilyn, and her terrible green eyes. "This one," Arlington told the Sales Manager, pointing toward the pale slave. "Can you get her into an Inspection Room for me, so that I can take a closer look?" And with that, the bouncy little man was off to fetch the Slave Master, who would be in charge of organizing all up-close slave examinations. Meanwhile, upon hearing Arlington's voice, the pale slave looked up from her book. At first, she did not seemed frightened, only curious. But when she saw that the only customer in sight happened to be standing before her cell---and that he also happened to be the Fourth Lord of Isleydor---the pale slave's face twisted suddenly with worry. Quickly, she stood up from her cot and marched toward the bars of her little room, determination etched into her features. Averting her eyes from Lord Arlington, the slave opened her book as wide as was possible, in order to hide behind it and away from her prospective buyer. And with a small bounce, the girl made her way to the end of the cell that was farthest from Lord Arlington. "Bjorn!" she cried out into the hallway, apprehensive. "Bjorn, I want to call my lawyer! I get one free phone call every week, and I'd like to call my lawyer now!" But Bjorn was, apparently, nowhere in site. No one came when the little slave called. No one seemed to care that she had spoken. But the pale creature did not give up, and when Arlington moved toward her, his shadow falling across her form, the girl ran to the other end of her cell and continued to call out. "Bjorn, I know my rights! I want my phone call, and I want it now!" But still, no one answered back, and Arlington dutifully followed the girl as she tried to escape his domineering presence, trailing behind her as she raced from one end of her cell to the other. Arlington knew that he was being mean, but he couldn't help it. The slave's attempts to run from him were irresistibly cute. But the slave was not stupid. She knew she was being teased. And so, reluctantly, the girl finally turned to face Lord Arlington. Resignation settling into her features, the poor girl realized that she was trapped and that Arlington wouldn't leave her alone. And so, with a sigh, the slave finally peeked out from behind her book and made her way toward the center of her cell. There, her eyes still and serious, the little slave stood up on her tippy tip-toes, squared her shoulders, and widened her stance. Arlington was vaguely reminded of a puffer fish before a predator, filling itself with air so as to frighten off much larger fish. It was positively adorable. "Excuse me, sir," the slave told him firmly, but she was very polite, none-the-less. "I'm very sorry, but I am not for sale yet. I'm not even supposed to be out in the Observation Hallway. I don't know why they put me here, and I am sorry for the inconvenience, but my third appeal is still going through." And she waited a moment, to see if Lord Arlington would apologize and walk away, like he was supposed to. But he didn't, and the little slave's lips became pouty. "They're supposed to make a decision on my case by the end of the week," the slave continued, taking Arlington step-by-step through the explanation. "And when they do, I'll most likely be going home. So, you'll want to come back another day, or look into someone else." And the adorable creature pointed across the hall and down quite a ways, to another cell with a single occupant. "Susanna's been looking to get out of here a long time," the pale slave offered, trying to be helpful. "I'm sure she'd love to be taken home." And indeed, from down the hallway, Arlington could hear a deep, throaty holler. "I've got your sweet ass right here, your lordship," Susanna called and, against his better judgement, Arlington looked towards the voice. The woman was mooning him, and Arlington wasn't sure if Susanna was trying to be sexy or insulting. Either way, the gesture was crude. "Come on, your lordship! I got your sweet cheeks right here! Just what mama gave me! Home made and everything!" And Arlington turned away, disgusted. Women like her must be the reason pants had been invented. The warmth they provided was, surely, just an added benefit, secondary to a much nobler cause. "I think I'll pass," he told the pale slave and, though it seemed impossible, the girl turned even paler. "My lord, I apologize for the wait!" a male voiced called, echoing down the hallway. And Arlington turned to see a tall man, in a tan cloak identical to that of the Sales Manager's, but with the words "Slave Master" written across his badge. He was out of breath, probably rushed back from his dinner break, and his footfalls echoed obnoxiously throughout the Observation Hallway. Quickly, he took out a ring of keys from inside his cloak, and they jingled merrily as he searched for the appropriate one. "Here it is, your lordship," the Slave Master proclaimed, and he opened the pale slave's cell, so that the girl backed away into a corner. "What are you doing?" the girl asked, her voice betraying intense concern. She hadn't expected the Slave Master to take her to an Inspection Room, but to save her from Lord Arlington and his hungry gaze. The fact that he was helping Lord Arlington upset her, and she opened her mouth to protest. "Mister Nimbus, I'm sorry about this, but I would like to call my lawyer now." And as Nimbus entered into the cell, she backed away still further. "You can't sell me until the appeal has gone through, and they've made a decision. That's the rules." "Quiet, Alice," the Slave Master hissed, withdrawing a set of metal cuffs from about his waist. "I'm in charge here, and there will be no calls after eight in the evening. Now, give me your wrists." And though there was terror in her eyes, Alice obeyed. Defeated, she followed the Slave Master out of her cell, keeping her head down and her eyes trained on the floor, more out of fear than anything else. As an unowned slave, Alice wouldn't be expected to follow typical eye contact restrictions. And as they traveled down the Observation Hallway, toward a newer set of doors, the little slave took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. But when they left the Observation Hallway, and entered into a much narrower corridor with numbered doorways on either end, panic returned. "I haven't had my phone call this week," Alice insisted, her voice starting to falter, to tremble. "And I got a really good lawyer this time." The tremor in her voice turned sad then, and there was a tiny little sob. "You can't sell me yet..." "Is that true, by the way?" Arlington asked the Slave Master, who was unlocking one of the many numbered doors, humming a little as he worked. "You know it's illegal to sell a Class "B" Criminal until all appeals have been taken care of, don't you?" Arlington made sure his voice held just the right amount of threat. "Of course, my lord," the Slave Master insisted, holding up his hands in a gesture that was supposed to suggest sincerity. And with that, he pointed toward the interior of the Inspection Cell. "Right this way, my lord," he called, and he pushed Alice into the room ahead of the men. Inside, the room looked an awful lot like an interrogation unit, the kind one might find at a typical police station. It resembled a box in shape, and wasn't bigger than seven feet wide by seven feet long. The only furniture present was a metallic table, with chairs situated at each end, and an overhead lamp that gave off unbearably white light. There was also a camera in a corner, directed toward the table, to record the interactions between buyer and slave, in case a criminal admitted to anything prior to being purchased. And, not surprisingly, that happened quite a lot. Prisoners often cracked under the pressure of a slave inspection. And as the Slave Master situated the pale girl in one of the chairs, he motioned for Arlington to sit in the other. "So, have her appeals been handled, or not?" Arlington pressed, as he tried to get comfortable in his seat. But he soon gave up on the endeavor, for the chair was a tad too small for Arlington and far too rigid. Grumbling, Arlington managed as best he could, and draped his jacket over the back of the chair. "Is there, indeed, an appeal still in progress?" he hissed at the Slave Master, growing impatient. "Technically?" the Slave Master asked, wincing just a little bit. And Arlington nodded, his eyes serious. "Well, technically, my lord, there is an appeal in progress," Nimbus admitted, with a nervous little sigh. Pacing the room, he tossed a manila folder on the table in front of Lord Arlington, which held the pale slave's file. The words "Alice Leighton" were written across the top in bold, bright letters and Arlington thought the name was rather pretty. "But, my lord, I must protest the look in your eye. We aren't running an illegal operation here. Alice isn't going to win her appeal. There's just no way in hell." "What!?!" And with that, Alice stood from her seat, her face sincere and worried. "Why would you say that?" she whispered, her cuffed hands shaking. "Mister Nimbus, why would you say that? Did my lawyer call? What about my mother? I thought I was going to be told the decision directly." And she moved as if to the cross the room and embrace the Slave Master for some semblance of comfort, tears forming in her eyes. "Sit down, Alice," the Slave Master barked and, her head bowed, Alice obeyed. Then, ignoring Alice's pleas completely, Nimbus turned toward Lord Arlington and his questing look. Leaning against the table, the Slave Master sighed, realizing that he had to explain the situation, or else lose his sale. "She's got a public defender," he said, his voice knowing, but unsympathetic. "And the prosecutor is James Montrey, the legislator. He's got an entire team of lawyers on his side. As I said, there is no way the girl will win her appeal. I've even got a bet riding on it. Winner takes all." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 12 Then, Arlington nodded his understanding. And poor Alice, appalled that the Slave Master should bet on her appeal, sat silently in her seat, crying quietly and mumbling over and over again: "But I have a good lawyer this time. They promised. He's a really good lawyer." But Arlington ignored the girl and turned back to her file. As far as Arlington was concerned, Alice was a slave now, by reason if not by law. A public defender would be a low paid youngster, fresh out of law school, with ten or more cases on his desk at a time. Innocent or not, Alice couldn't win against a legislator with a public defender. And if she were on her last appeal, as Nimbus claimed, then she was as good as Arlington's. There would be no point in waiting for the decision on Alice's appeal. Everyone present knew how it would turn out. Still, the name "James Montrey" rang a bell, and Arlington was curious about the girl's case. "What did you do?" he asked Alice, and the Slave Master backed away into a corner, to silently observe. "I didn't do anything!" Alice insisted, her nose running and wet. "I swear I didn't do anything! Mister Montrey is a liar! He stole his own money, and he's blaming it on me! He's just trying to evade taxes, my lawyer said so!" And for the first time that evening, Alice looked Arlington square in the face. Her eyes were huge, and seemed out of place on her soft, fragile face. The proportions were so off, in fact, that Alice resembled a porcelain doll. Arlington couldn't decide if the look was creepy, or unabashedly cute. "Now, calm down," Lord Arlington ordered, and Alice returned to her silent little sniffles. "What, exactly, didn't you do? What crime were you convicted of, specifically?" And Arlington, while he waited for an answer, began to skim through Alice's file. She'd gone to college for a year and a half, studying to be zoologist, before quitting mid semester and going to work for a seamstress. That was interesting. Arlington would have to ask her about that later. And, finally, Alice answered Arlington. "Robbery," she admitted, looking down toward the floor, shame on her face. "How much?" Arlington demanded. "A quarter of a million dollars," Alice whispered. And Arlington looked up from Alice's file, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "That's an awful lot of money," he mused, watching as Alice winced and turned away. The girl was awfully nervous for a supposedly innocent victim, but perhaps the tendency had been drilled into her. Alice must have spent a long time in prison. The appeals process was a long one, and the girl had probably been behind bars for at least eighteen months, maybe more. With that kind of jail time under a prisoner's belt, it wasn't unusual to feel guilty for no good reason. If enough people had told Alice that she was a criminal, a small part of her subconscious may have started to believe their words. Arlington ought to know that; he'd used the trick himself, before. "You want to tell me how they caught you?" Arlington asked, eyeing the girl with increasing interest. "Motivation," Alice replied, relaxing a bit now, perhaps out of necessity. Her breath came in little puffs as she spoke, and she swayed gently in her seat, perhaps as a self calming measure. "But having the motivation to commit a crime does not a crook make." And Alice stuck her chin out proudly, the gesture unusual given the girl's typically timid demeanor, so that a solemn beauty crossed over her features. Arlington liked that look. "So," Arlington continued, trying to lean back in his seat. But the chair almost slipped out from beneath him, reminding Arlington that it was way too small for a man of his stature. And before falling onto his back, his lordship quickly regained his balance. "Now," Arlington continued, catching his breath and trying to act natural. "Why did you decide to become a slave?" And Alice looked guiltily away. How very interesting. "It says here that the typical punishment for your crime would be exile, to the Open Desert," his lordship insisted, motioning toward Alice's file, watching her try and back away into herself. She didn't like it when Arlington talked about her sentence. "But why did you opt for a life of enslavement, instead? That seems to be a rather dangerous gamble, don't you think?" And Lord Arlington grinned sinisterly at Alice, to gauge her reaction. "Slaves aren't protected under common law, and not all masters are kind." "Well..." Alice began, swallowing hard, her face fearful. But when she stared off into space, as if incapable of speech, Lord Arlington became impatient and motioned for the girl to continue. "If I'm exiled, I lose my citizenship status," Alice tried, still fidgeting nervously. But then, with a deep breath, she relented and launched into the whole story, her speaking rapid and rushed. "If I lose my citizenship status, even if they do find out that I am innocent someday, I won't be allowed back into the country. And my mom kind of needs me. I had to quit school to take care of her, and earn an income. She has enough savings to last her the next year, but she has some unknown ailment, and her treatments are kind of expensive. But when they find out that Montrey is lying, they'll let me out, and I can go back to work for my mom." And Alice looked up at Lord Arlington, made hopeful by the thought of freedom. Shit. Lord Arlington didn't want a slave with that kind of baggage, nor a slave who would spend all day worrying about her family and wishing to go home. Arlington wanted a dedicated slave, not one who would constantly dream of freedom and then, when she had the chance, try and leave. Alice was an unfit slave, Arlington realized. He would have to find himself another. But Arlington didn't want another slave. He wanted Alice, and he wanted her badly. She was such an adorable creature, and an interesting one, too. She seemed to embody both bravery and shyness, which had somehow reconciled their differences inside of her and melded into a single entity. And her fragile, tiny little body awakened protective instincts within Arlington, which he thoroughly enjoyed. And so, right there and then, Arlington made up his mind to leave with Alice on the end of a leash. But he wanted a slave who was attached to him, or at least felt indebted to him. Indebted... "Shut off the camera," Arlington demanded of Nimbus, pointing to the device, and the Slave Master obeyed. After all, Lord Arlington was no ordinary customer. He was a powerful customer, rich and famous, and he would get what he asked for. "And is that the only recording device in here?" his lordship pressed. Nimbus nodded. "Good," Lord Arlington replied, sounding satisfied. And he turned toward Alice, his eyes serious. "How much did you make as a seamstress?" "Minimum wage," Alice replied, unsure of where this was going. Lord Arlington was a wealthy man. Surely, he wouldn't need an Income Slave? Why would he care about her earning potential? "And was minimum wage enough to take care of your mother?" Arlington pressed, his eyes still trained on Alice, unwavering. "Barely," Alice admitted. "I had to take out loans." "Confess," Arlington ordered, pointing toward the security camera of the cell, and Alice's face dropped. "But, my lord," Alice pleaded, tears returning to her eyes. "I didn't do it!" "Confess," Arlington demanded, his voice more forceful than before. "Call up your lawyer tonight, have the appeal dropped, and I will deposit half a million dollars in your mother's bank account. Will that be enough to take care of her, at least for the next several years?" And he watched as understanding lit up his little slave's eyes. At first, they were filled with hope and joy, but then they suddenly darkened, and Arlington thought he knew why. "Confess, and your slavery will be a permanent arrangement," Arlington admitted, and Alice looked at the cuffs around her wrists nervously, then towards the metal bars which crisscrossed over the little window in the locked door. "But that's the deal I'm offering. Take it or leave it. And as Nimbus has so eloquently explained, your chances of a successful appeal are close to zero." It took her a while, but with a tiny, barely noticeable nod, Alice finally agreed to the arrangement. She knew that she was being coerced, but beggars can't be choosers, and Arlington's option was the best one Alice had. And with that, Arlington motioned for Nimbus to turn the camera back on, so that Alice could confess on tape. An hour later, Alice was sitting beside Lord Arlington in his limo, with a leather collar wrapped around her neck. The Slave Registration Number tattooed below her shoulder still hurt, and she itched at it often, leaving blood under her finger nails. The tracking implant didn't bother her nearly so much, but the cuffs did, and she itched underneath those as well. Carefully, Alice scooted away from Lord Arlington, trying not to appear too rude, and looked longingly out the window. It had been ages since she'd seen the outside world, and the bustling of activity in the West Shopping District excited her. There were food vendors, and street performers, and children begging their parents for cotton candy or popcorn, and windows filled with clothes and shiny appliances. But though she enjoyed the sounds and sights before her, Alice had still been on edge ever since they'd entered Arlington's car. Whenever he approached her, Alice scooted away, but his lordship would not allow Alice to escape. As Alice continued to edge farther and farther away from her new master, he followed her, closing the gap between them until it was nearly nonexistent. "What are you so afraid of?" Arlington asked, sincerity in his tone. "You!" Alice replied, but her voice was not malicious or even frightened. It was just honest, adorably honest. And the naivety on his girl's face made Arlington laugh until he was close to tears. When he finally did turn back to Alice, she had a pouty look on her face. It was obvious that she did not like being laughed at, nor did she find the situation funny. But the innocence in Alice's eyes, combined with that pouty look, sent Arlington over the edge and into more peals of unstoppable laughter, genuine and boyish. Soon, actual tears had appeared in Arlington's eyes, and he wiped them away, still chuckling and trying to get a hold of himself. "Come on, now," Arlington grinned, picking up Alice, so that she squeaked, and setting her onto his lap. "When was the last time you had a pastry?" And Arlington directed the driver to stop by his favorite bakery. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 13 Author's Note: Enjoy! For those of you waiting for the plot to move along, I hope you enjoy this and the next two chapters. Thank you, as always, for your fabulous comments and suggestions. Happy New Year! HisPet21 * Kara didn't like sleeping in Lord Arlington's room. It wasn't that the experience was painful or humiliating. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Kara was provided with a small, but comfortable mattress on the floor alongside Arlington's bed, complete with luxurious covers and an exceptionally fluffy pillow. And even though Kara was bound, she was not restrained too uncomfortably. There was a short chain embedded in the wall, very close to the ground, which was locked onto Kara's collar. Since it was situated toward the floor, Kara couldn't stand up with the wretched thing binding her, but when she was lying down on her mattress, the chain didn't bother Kara too much. Furthermore, if she really needed to, Kara could sit up, so long as she bent her head forward and kept it close to the wall. Of course, that wasn't the extent of Kara's bondage. There were wrist cuffs as well, to ensure that Kara wouldn't murder her Master in his sleep. But the leather cuffs she wore at night were lined in sheep's wool, to reduce irritation. And, thankfully, they were bound in front of Kara, so that she could lie on her back to sleep. Indeed, there was nothing cruel or unusual about sleeping beside Lord Arlington. If anything, Kara's accommodations were rather luxurious for a lowly conquest slave. Even so, Kara disliked the arrangement, and preferred to sleep in her own windowless room. Primarily, this was because she found the situation extremely awkward. After all, Kara and Lord Arlington were enemies, involved in a battle of the wills. Given this, Kara could rationalize being tied up in front of Lord Arlington or being forced to kneel by his feet. Those activities were degrading. Those activities were acts of war, and they belonged to the battlefield. But sleeping on the floor beside Arlington's bed? Drifting off into dreamland together? That was just weird, and Kara didn't like it. Furthermore, she had treasured her evenings over the past week, precisely because they had been free of Lord Arlington. Now, even those precious moments of solitude were lost to Kara, and Arlington's company would be ever present, which was worrisome. Even after Kara had been bathed and dressed for the evening, she had been unable to fall asleep, simply because Arlington had remained awake, bustling about his room. For this reason, Kara hadn't felt comfortable closing her eyes. From the comfort of her little mattress, she'd watched her lord suspiciously, in case he had a sneak attack planned. But Arlington's evening activities had been rather mundane. He'd finished up a few emails, taken a shower, ordered a cup of tea, and crawled into bed. Now, it had been hours since the lights had gone out, and even though Arlington was no longer a threat, Kara couldn't sleep. Not with the night's events still fresh in her mind. She turned to a small, digital clock on Arlington's night stand and read the rime: 2:13am. The little red digits were blinking, and it bothered Kara. Worse still, Arlington was snoring ever so slightly. And the sound wasn't just annoying, but out of place, too. How could it be that Arlington, one of the Four Lords of Isleydor, was snoring? Was it really Lord Arlington, Kara's tormentor, who was making those awful noises? Kara thought it bizarre and unsettling that Arlington should snore. Perhaps because, to her, the man still wasn't a full human being, and it was hard to imagine that Arlington had bodily functions or physical needs. Using the moonlight from a nearby window, Kara scanned her surroundings and tried to make the most of the evening, since sleep was out of the question. Without any distractions to disturb her observation, Kara soon noticed quite a few interesting knick-knacks around Arlington's room. She hoped they would give her some insight into Arlington's mind, but as she peered into the darkness, Kara found herself growing disappointed. Most of the items she saw were typical of a rich man's home, and therefore, of little interest. There were a few elaborate paintings, a glass paper weight, a coat hanger, and a miniature stone garden on Arlington's desk, but those were the most interesting pieces. And even the more atypical ornaments, scattered about Arlington's room, weren't very insightful. It was a little odd, but there was a framed picture of a cat on Arlington's desk, dressed in a tiny sweater and not looking happy about it. And, to accompany the photo, there were a few decorative, porcelain cats lovingly placed on bookshelves, a night stand, a dresser, and other such places. Suddenly, Kara remembered a comment Alyssa had made, back at the Martkorp Auction Hall. The Weapons Specialist had spoken of a pair of kitten slippers, which supposedly belonged to Lord Arlington. But did they exist? Arching her neck a little, Kara turned her eyes toward the dark space under Arlington's bed and, sure enough, there they were. Was the man obsessed with cats? And if so, then why hadn't Kara seen a live one? Then, amidst the darkness beneath Arlington's bed, Kara thought she saw a shoe box. It seemed to be covered in dust, unopened in ages, and Kara scooted on her stomach towards the cardboard container. She was fairly certain it would posses nothing but an old pair of sneakers, perhaps used for yard work. But Kara was bored and wanted to explore. Carefully, so as not to disturb Arlington, Kara inched ever further towards her prize, until the chain around her neck was fully extended and Kara could go no farther. But when she reached out her arms, Kara was able to brush the box with her fingertips and, with a little fenangling, managed to pull it forward and into her hands. To her immense fascination, it was filled to the brim with old photographs. And moving into a ray of moonlight, Kara got to work. Most of the photos, Kara noticed, were of an older man, who strongly resembled Lord Arlington. He had the same cold, blue eyes and the same wide, intimidating stance. But the older man had a much shorter haircut, which was graying in several places, and an ugly scar across half of his face, as if he'd been trapped in a fire. Arlington was embracing the man in nearly every photograph, forcing Kara to conclude that he was Arlington Senior. Kara knew very little about him, of course, since he'd been far less important than his son, the Fourth Lord of Isleydor. There were other photographs in the box, of course, depicting various events and well dressed people. In one photograph, Arlington was wearing a party hat and smiling for the camera, as an important looking man blew out the candles on a birthday cake. At first, Kara didn't even realize that Arlington was in the photo, for he seemed so out of character, with a colorful cone atop his head and blue icing smeared over his cheek. Kara didn't like the Lord Arlington in the picture. She didn't recognize him and, for some strange reason, that frightened her. Quickly, Kara set the photograph aside and continued to dig through the shoe box. But, as the minutes wore on, she became bored with the venture. Some of the photographs were interesting, certainly, but none of them were particularly helpful, either. None of them spoke of Lord Arlington's weaknesses, nor of his fears and desires. There was nothing in the shoe box that Kara could rightfully use against her cruel Master. She was just about to put her find away when, scraping the bottom of the box, Kara decided to skim through one last handful of images. Among them, Kara found a picture of a girl. Or, rather, she found a half of a picture. A large portion of the image had been burnt away, leaving only the girl's face and her upper torso. Clearly, someone had intended to destroy the image and had been unable to finish the job. It appeared as if the fire of a candle had been applied to a corner of the photograph and flames had worked their way up from the bottom of the picture toward the young woman's face, before being put out with a sprinkling of water. For, indeed, there were water stains on the image as well, which distorted the girl's face, ever so slightly. Kara thought the woman in the picture was beautiful, with incredibly strange, green eyes. There was something off about those eyes, and Kara couldn't quite put her finger on why. At least, that is, until she remembered her last trip to the ocean. The girl's eyes were an odd shade of green, Kara realized. They were a soft sea-green, and the girl had probably dyed them that way. The woman in the photograph had blond hair, too, and was wearing a backless sundress and a wide brimmed hat. Perhaps the photograph was taken at a local park, or at a public beach. But then, Kara noticed something that made her heart skip, and she wished she could understand the sight before her. For, upon the girl's back, there appeared to be an unfinished dragon tattoo. And it was identical to Lord Arlington's. Or, at least, it was as similar to Lord Arlington's as an unfinished tattoo could be. There were, really, only two major differences between the two designs. The girl's dragon, first of all, had an empty, flesh colored eye socket, whereas Lord Arlington's dragon had piercing, yellow eyes. And, secondly, the lower half of the girl's dragon was missing, replaced by a trail of disembodied scales. Kara stared at the image for several minutes, trying to figure out why the girl depicted and Lord Arlington had similar tattoos, but she came up empty handed and finally put the picture away. And, as the evening wore on, Kara finally drifted off to sleep. When Kara finally woke up, it was because Arlington had the shower running, and the noise startled her. Looking at a nearby clock, Kara noted that it was precisely ten minutes after six, and groaned into her pillow. She hadn't fallen asleep until three in the morning, and her eyes were lidded heavily with sleep. Mumbling silent curses to herself, Kara began to pull a blanket over her eyes, so as to shield them from the florescent lights above, and paused. There was something new in Kara's field of view, and her heart very nearly stopped. Not three feet away, beside Lord Arlington's desk, there was a metallic briefcase with a coded lock on its side. There was also a pair of handcuffs attached to the briefcase, with one cuff locked over its handle and another dangling to the side. Thus, the bearer could literally attach himself to the briefcase, making it impossible for a thief to suddenly run off with it. Kara realized, almost immediately, that the briefcase was her one chance at escape, her ticket out of Arlington's hell hole. Kara's lord would not, of course, keep top secret information at his home office. To suppose so had been hopeful fantasy. But if, for some reason, Lord Arlington needed to transport confidential documents, he would certainly use a briefcase like the one in front of Kara. And with that, the rebellious slave sprang into action. Lord Arlington was currently in the shower, so Kara had time, but she didn't know how much time. Worse still, the briefcase was locked with a code, and Kara could only guess at the password. She tried "Lord Arlington" first, then "password," and finally "123456." None of them worked, and Kara cursed, perhaps a little too loudly. There were an infinite number of passwords possible, and Kara had no idea where to start. She was a fucking medic, not a computer specialist. It would be impossible to get the damned thing open before Arlington had finished washing up, and Kara knew it. But luck seemed to be with Kara, for she'd found the briefcase in the first place, and she decided to test the limits of her good fortune a little more. Wracking her brains for some inspiration, Kara quickly went to the shoe box under Arlington's bed and shuffled through the photographs, until she found one depicting Arlington Senior and a birthday cake. There was a date on the back and she tried it. Miraculously, it worked. Kara thought she could hear an angel choir above her then, singing songs of joyous success and impossible, but glorious coincidence. And with that, she opened the briefcase tentatively, glancing at the bathroom door every few seconds, listening for the turning of a tap. There was a stack of papers inside the briefcase, several of them containing blacked out words and numbers. Quickly, the panic in her veins making her break out in a cold sweat, Kara skimmed through the leaflets, looking for key words like "confidential" and "parallel." Most of the files were useless to Kara, but she did find one sheet with the words "parallel project" written across it and studiously looked over the document. She didn't have time to read the entire page, let alone memorize it, but she could burn a few key terms into her memory. There were four locations listed, which were in Scorce, Nardia, Calihistra, and Terall. Kara tried to picture the places in her mind's eye, branding the words into her brain as best she could. Kara had just finished up and was closing the briefcase---making sure to put it back in its original location---when the sound of running water stopped, leaving only silence. The bathroom door knob was turning now, and Kara rushed back to her little mattress, trying to look as if she'd just woken up. But Kara's face was flushed and her forehead was shiny with sweat, from the stress of her recent ploy. Lord Arlington would surely notice. Kara was sure of it. He would see the fear in her eyes, her nervous trembling, and her flushed features. And then, Arlington would become suspicious. But, Kara realized, not if he caught her doing something disobedient or crude, something to explain away the redness in her cheeks and the pallor in her eyes. And with that, Kara had pulled a dress shoe from under Arlington's bed. As he exited the bathroom, she spit into it, her eyes never leaving Arlington's beautiful blue ones. It was a full bodied loogie too, complete with snot. His bare chest dripping with water and a towel wrapped about his waist, Arlington stared at Kara with a look of incredulity. "Did you just spit in my shoe?" he asked, his voice more surprised than angry. "I mean, seriously?" Kara could only nod, dumbfounded. She'd been acting purely on instinct and wondered if, perhaps, she had over done it just a little bit. But Arlington wasn't upset, just a little annoyed and even, perhaps, amused. It appeared as if he had somewhere to be, and couldn't afford the luxury of anger. "You aren't very bright, are you?" Arlington continued, as he crossed the room and reached for some cologne. Kara only narrowed her eyes at him, insulted. "I'm serious," Arlington told her, hanging up his towel and stepping into a newly pressed suit. "What, exactly, do you think that's going to accomplish? You think I only own one pair of shoes, or will miss owning that particular pair? Or do you think that, just maybe, I'll have Bremmel go out and replace the shoes? And then have your disgusting mouth gagged every night for the rest of the week?" And he finished dressing in silence, before cuffing the metallic suitcase to his wrist and leaving Kara alone. As she suspected, Mister Karp came in a few moments later to fetch Kara and guide her through the usual morning routine. The entire time, Kara could feel herself trembling in the warm afterglow of success. She kept running the information she'd gathered through her mind, over and over again, in an endless loop, to ensure that she wouldn't forget it. But Kara found that, though freedom was close at hand, the realization had yet to fully sink in. There was happiness, sure, but it wasn't full bodied. It seemed vaguely thin, and even distant. For it was hard to believe that so many coincidences had aligned themselves in her favor, giving Kara exactly what she needed to claim her freedom. And it had all happened so fast, that the memory of Kara's lucky break was foggy and dreamlike. Kara kept wondering if she were missing something--if she had made some sort of mistake--because the whole affair had been so anticlimactic. Still, Kara told herself, tomorrow there would be another meeting of the War Time Operations board, and though she had been disobedient, Kara expected to be dragged along. Arlington had softened a little over the past few days, probably because Kara had submitted to him so readily after her torturous phone call with Uncle Florence. He must think the sudden resurgence in rebellion, since it was a minor, a mere aftershock of total submission, to be dealt with gently. Either way, Kara knew that she would soon be free, and the world seemed a little more colorful as a result. But shortly after lunch, Kara was returned to Lord Arlington and the world around her darkened once more. Initially, Kara was merely anxious and disappointed. Arlington usually worked during the day, and Kara had hoped to be free of his presence until evening. But in all honesty, it wasn't the loss of solitude that most disturbed Kara. Instead, it was the layout of Arlington's bed, which had been altered sometime during the late morning hours. The sheets had been changed, of course, but there were also some additions to the four poster bed. Most notably, there were now leather restraints at each of its four corners. A small part of Kara had hoped that, since escape was so close, she would be able to leave Isleydor without ever going to bed with Lord Arlington. And in all fairness, her hope hadn't been entirely unreasonable. After all, Arlington had indicated on several occasions that Kara's sexual training was to be taken slowly, and intercourse had appeared to be a far off, future endeavor. But as Mister Karp pushed Kara into the bedroom and left, Kara realized that she had been a little too optimistic. Arlington must have only recently arrived home, for he was putting away his autumn jacket as Kara stepped into the room. He didn't turn to look at Kara, or even bother to acknowledge her presence, so Kara knelt next to her little mattress and waited for further instruction. Now that she had information on the Parallel Project stored in her mind, Kara was a lot less rebellious, and the reasons for this were two fold. First of all, feigned submission was a lot easier to bear with the certainty of escape warming Kara's heart. And, secondly, the risks associated with disobedience had markedly increased ever since Kara had opened that metal briefcase. Before, Kara had only risked the possibility of escape when she disobeyed. Now, she risked certain freedom. And the joy of obstinance was, quite frankly, no longer worth that risk. "Strip," Lord Arlington ordered, still not looking toward Kara. Reminding herself that any price was worth freedom, Kara took a deep breath and willed herself to obey. She removed her clothes as quickly as possible, so as to take advantage of Arlington's turned back and diminish the humiliating impact of the activity. And then, without being told, she assumed the classic slave position, legs spread and hands behind her head, fingers interlocking. Oddly enough, the gesture came with ease. Kara wasn't sure exactly why, either. Perhaps, with freedom so close at hand, Arlington's demands no longer seemed threatening. Perhaps, to some extent, Kara suspected that Arlington wouldn't break pattern and bed her. Either way, Kara felt calm and at peace. Finally, Arlington turned toward Kara, as gorgeous as ever. He was still wearing a suit and, along with it, a blood red tie. Sinister colors always complimented his imposing air, and "blood red" was a more than appropriate choice for attire. Furthermore, Arlington's dark hair was expertly parted, so that his dark locks framed a predatory face, and his eyes were as cool and blue as ever. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 13 Kara would never forget those eyes, she thought. Not even after she fled to Nardia. For as long as she lived, Kara knew that those blue eyes would haunt her memories and, perhaps, even her dreams. But at present, they looked pleasantly surprised, and even a bit enthusiastic. For Arlington was now turned toward Kara, and able to see her petite figure displayed before him. The site was enthralling. After all, Kara had obeyed promptly and without delay, stripping upon command and presenting herself for inspection without the need for further persuasion. It pleased Arlington greatly to see his rebellious little slave so sensually compliant, her skin exposed and ready for use, her eyes frightened but submissive. But then, Arlington changed his mind and decided, quite suddenly, that there was something peculiar about the girl. His eyes filled with concern and confusion, Arlington suddenly strode toward Kara with purpose. His footsteps were so determined that Kara involuntarily backed away, but Arlington wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close, preventing any retreat. "That's weird," Arlington said out loud, not to Kara, but to himself. He was tracing the lines of Kara's face and then her lips, watching the muscles beneath twitch in response, his ministrations investigative and analytic. He then stared into Kara's eyes for a few moments, so that she fidgeted in discomfort. And suddenly, a new facial expression crossed Arlington's features, one Kara had never seen before. It was intrigued, and a little bit frightening. "What happened?" he asked her, a command underneath his tone. Kara didn't know what to make of the inquiry, for it was so strange and out of place. What did Arlington mean by asking her such a question? Didn't Arlington know where she had been that morning? Kara had been following the same routine, day after day, hadn't she? And she assumed that the routine was tailored to Arlington's specifications. "Master," Kara tried, not sure what had upset him. "I'm sorry, but I can honestly say that I don't know the meaning of your question." "You're not fighting me," Arlington replied coldly, his eyes sweeping over Kara's body, so that she began to feel even more naked. "And there must be a very good reason why you aren't fighting me, considering that neither the coffin nor the whip have been very effective deterrents. Five hours ago, you were spitting into my shoes. And now, you're offering yourself for inspection without need for command." And Arlington wrapped his fingers in Kara's hair, pulling her forward so that she lost her balance and fell to her knees. Crouching beside her, Arlington forced Kara's eyes to meet his own, and looked at her with a dangerous expression. "Why is that, pet?" he asked, pronouncing each word with force. "Would you like to tell me what has changed since I've been away?" Oh, no. Oh, god. Kara had over done it. Kara had gone too far. For a moment, there was only a flash of panic, which distorted everything around Kara. She couldn't see anything distinct, only a blur of color. And instead of sounds, pronounced and meaningful, Kara could only hear a rush of noise in her ears. But a moment later, she had returned to herself, kneeling on the floor with Arlington's hand wrapped in her hair. What could she say? What could she do? How did he know everything? How was he able to read her mind? When Kara looked into Arlington's eyes, she could feel her heart beat suddenly quicken with unbearable clarity. And Arlington must have felt it too, for he grinned sinisterly at her. "I don't know what you're talking about," Kara whispered finally, her voice far more hoarse than she had intended. "If only I had a nickle...," Arlington laughed coyly, and Kara paled a little bit under his gaze. But, miraculously, he let go of her hair, so that she fell forward onto the floor. "Anyways, I took the afternoon off for a reason," Arlington continued, his voice calm and even. Not furious. Not angry. But, why? Why wasn't he more upset, if he knew? "And this doesn't change anything. I think I should be able to get what I want from you, and all without having to deviate from my plans. Isn't that nice?" Arlington didn't know, Kara realized, feeling stupid. Just a moment ago, blinded by panic, Kara had felt completely and utterly exposed to Lord Arlington. She'd felt as if Arlington were, quite literally, reading her mind. For a moment, Kara had thought Arlington was able to see every thought behind her eyes, and had found the source of her sudden submission hidden in them. Was that a result of Kara's conditioning? Had Arlington finally made a dent in her psyche? It was a frightening prospect, but Kara couldn't bother with the possibility now. The important thing to realize was that Arlington didn't know anything, except that Kara was hiding something. He didn't have any idea what that "something" was, and if Kara allowed Arlington to get into her head, like he had just a moment ago, there was a chance she could blow everything. Another panic attack, and all of Kara's well made plans of escape could dissolve into nothing. This was a make it or break it moment, Kara realized. But Arlington hadn't broken her yet, and Kara had no intention of giving him that satisfaction now. Not when freedom was so close at hand that Kara could taste it, sweet and savory. "Go over to the bed for me, and lie down," Arlington ordered, from above, his voice intrigued. Kara stood up and, being very careful not to look at Lord Arlington, trotted over to the bed. She was frightened, that was undeniable. But Kara didn't have to let that fear control her. And, as she lay down on the bed, she reminded herself of this fact. Arlington could do whatever he wanted to her body. Hell, perhaps he could even manipulate her mind. But Kara's actions were her's and her's alone. And when the night came to an end, Kara promised herself that Arlington would know nothing of Greenwood and Alyssa's true nature, nor of her plan to escape. There were warm hands on Kara now, tying a limb to each best post, so that she was stretched out like a star. But Kara didn't look at Arlington as he worked. Kara didn't acknowledge his presence, or the warmth of his breath on her skin. Instead, she stared straight up, and focused on a dark spot upon the ceiling. It looked a little like a rabbit, if Kara squinted her eyes hard enough. Although it must have been a deformed rabbit; its head was a little lumpy. And it looked like it had three paws, instead of four, which was a little disturbing. Breath in... Breath out..... All is well that ends well.... "What are you going to do to me, my lord?" Kara sighed, expecting the worst and resigned to that fact. After all, didn't Arlington intend to punish Kara, for breaking his precious sex slave's little nose? And now, didn't he have good reason to up the ante, in order to extract information from Kara? So obviously, to hope for mercy would be be foolish, laughable even. "You sound nervous, pet," Arlington cooed, as he moved to the night stand beside his bed. There was a wooden box on top, no bigger than a briefcase, with leather straps tied across it. As he continued to talk, Arlington began to undo said bindings, working away at them diligently, but carefully. "There's no reason to be so frightened," he told Kara, and his words were sincere. "I think you'll rather enjoy this." And with that, the final strap came undone. Kara desperately tried to peer inside the little box, but could not angle her head the right way. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be nervous?" Kara hissed in response, testing her range of motion as best she could. Surprisingly, she could move around quite a bit, even if it would be impossible to get up from the bed. "I thought I was being punished, and now you tell me I'll enjoy your cruel games?" "Oh, you'll enjoy it," Arlington grinned, sitting on the bed beside Kara and lovingly stroking her soft belly. His skin was warm to the touch, and made Kara twitch under his grasp. "I call it punishment because I know that, while you will moan with pleasure, you won't want to. You won't want to enjoy what I have planned, and it will drive you positively mad to realize that you do." And Arlington drew a finger across Kara's breasts, watching them rise and fall as she breathed, hypnotized. So, Kara thought, Arlington did intend to bed her. She could tell by the hungry look in his eyes, momentarily subdued, but predatory never-the-less. Did he really expect Kara to enjoy it? Was the man's ego that greatly out of proportion? And as Arlington rested his hand between Kara's legs and onto her petite mound, Kara lost it. She couldn't help but buck away. "Are you bat shit crazy?" Kara screamed at him, the amused look in his eyes making her insane. "Do you honestly think I could enjoy being fucked by you, you narcissistic bastard? That you have some kind of magical penis, so overwhelmingly seductive, that I will surely swoon at the sight and forget that I am being fucking raped? That'll I'll forget all of the horrible things you've done to me? You're a lunatic, Arlington! You're a god damned lunatic!" And Kara struggled away from Arlington's grasp. But surprisingly, he took the hint and moved his hands away, before standing to his feet once more. "Is my narcissism really that obvious?" Arlington laughed. "Oh, well. I'll have to work on that later. But for now, let me ask you this: you're a medic, right?" And Arlington moved back toward the little wooden briefcase. But Kara didn't give Arlington the satisfaction of a response. He damn well knew she was a medic. "Then you've probably heard of Anterline. In fact, I'm sure you have." And Kara watched as Arlington removed a thin little syringe from his box, pressing down on the plunger so that a stream of liquid was emitted from the tip. He tapped the side then, too, testing the device for functionality. "That stuff is illegal," Kara hissed, trying to remain calm, but it was hard. It was very, very hard. A surge of adrenaline was rushing suddenly through Kara's veins, and she couldn't fucking think. Not with her heart beating so loudly in her ears. Not with her body breaking out in a cold sweat. Taking several deep breaths, Kara willed herself to calm down. Arlington was lying. He had to be. The syringe was probably filled with saline solution, and this was just another mind fuck. "I'm not stupid, Arlington. That shit is illegal, and you know it." "It might be out right illegal in Calihistra," Arlington admitted, still holding the syringe. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised by that at all. Your people are so prudish. But here in Isleydor, Anterline is a controlled substance. You can get hold of a few cubic centimeters if you have a terminal illness, as a mechanism for dealing with pain." Arlington stepped menacingly towards Kara. "But you can also get some if you have an Exotic Slaver's License. Guess which one I have, pet?" And Arlington set the syringe down, so that he could remove a bottle of disinfectant from his little box, and then some cotton balls. "Arlington, please, that stuff is ridiculously addictive," Kara begged, her eyes pleading. But when Arlington failed to acknowledge Kara, she changed her approach. If her master intended to use the drug, she could at least make sure that he did so properly. "Arlington, that stuff is controlled for a reason. How many cc's are in that syringe?" Kara asked, no longer frightened, but serious. She was in the mindset of a medic now, and panic was replaced with cold, calculating reason. "Are you sure it's the correct dosage? I'm about 5 feet and four inches, maybe 125lbs. Did that kit come with a little chart?" If Arlington was going to use that stuff on Kara, she wanted to make sure he didn't kill her with it. Part of the drug cocktail contained a synthetic form of adrenaline. Too much, and Kara would have a heart attack, right there on Arlington's bed. God, if Kara had to die, she'd rather it not be naked on Arlington's god damned bed. "Don't trust me, pet?" Arlington asked gently, as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. God, the sound was sinister. But Kara only sneered at Arlington. "Trust a politician?" she laughed, a little too cynically. "With a syringe? I wouldn't trust a politician with Tylenol." Arlington seemed to find that humorous, for he laughed, an interesting grin on his face. "I suppose that wasn't entirely unfair," he admitted, setting a chair beside the bed. Soon after, he sat down, grabbed Kara's upper arm, and swabbed a small circle of flesh with disinfectant. Although Kara's restraints weren't too terribly tight, she didn't move away. It would be a wasted effort, and she would rather not be picked with the needle too many times. Better for her if Arlington found a vein on the first or second try. Instead of fighting, Kara took several deep breathes, willing her body to relax and her natural adrenaline levels to go down. If she could manage that, Kara knew that the Anterline would be less overwhelming. All in all, Anterline was an extremely powerful pain blocker and pleasure enhancer. The stuff contained a small dose of synthetic adrenaline, so that the contents of the drug would run their course quickly, making their way through the entire circulatory system in no time flat. The other components both removed the body's capacity to feel pain and made it more susceptible to pleasurable stimuli. If a person were on Anterline, his pituitary gland would more readily release endorphins, such that analgesia was much easier to achieve. Back home, Anterline was called the "Chocolate Drug," because after taking it, a person could literally reach ecstasy with a tiny square of chocolate. Or a cute kitten video. Or a scoop of ice cream. Literally, any pleasurable stimuli became a drug in its own right after a person took Anterline. Anything that felt good or looked good or smelt good could induce an unusually pervasive high. It was only a moment later that the needle of Arlington's syringe punctured skin, and a cool liquid was injected into Kara's veins. Almost immediately, she could feel the initial hit of adrenaline. As an artificial "flight or fight" response was suddenly induced in Kara, she couldn't help but fight against her restraints. Worse still, her heart rate increased at an unnatural rate, so that Kara felt quite nauseous and dizzy. Clenching her teeth against the sudden assault, Kara willed her body to calm, waiting for the adrenaline levels in her blood stream to become dilute and leave her in peace. And then, afterward, there was a sudden alteration in Kara's perception. The soreness about her bound wrists was gone, the pain from the recent puncture wound was gone, and even the crick in her neck was gone. But in their place, Kara could feel the satin cloth of Arlington's bed sheet caught between her legs, and as it brushed her clit, a warm pang of arousal shot through her. Oh god, Kara thought. Arlington was going to fuck her and, against her will, Kara was going to enjoy it. "Good stuff, isn't it?" Arlington grinned, and Kara could feel herself growing nauseous. It wasn't fair, that Kara should have to undergo this final torture, a mere day before her victorious escape. Fixating on the little rabbit shaped splotch above her, Kara tried center her attention on it, to block out any and all pleasurable feelings. But a moment later, there was a dark blindfold over her eyes, and the loss of sight seemed to intensify all other senses, including that of touch. Kara could then feel the bed dip underneath her, as Arlington got onto the mattress beside her. And utterly helpless, Kara could only stiffen as Arlington brought his fingers against her sex. There was hardly any pressure, but instantly, a spark erupted and then sizzled out in Kara's core, causing her to tremble ever so slightly under Arlington's grasp. Kara couldn't see her master's reaction, but she did hear an honest chuckle, and felt very violated by that laugh. Then, there were more fingers between her sex, moving past her lips to caress and flick the tiny, pink nub at Kara's center. Normally, to be touched there so suddenly wouldn't be arousing, but irritating. However, under the influence of Anterline, Kara's body needed no foreplay. Arlington's ministrations were instantly pleasurable, causing a tiny knot of need to grow between Kara's legs as Arlington's kneading motions became progressively faster. Kara fought it, though. She lay as still as possible, refusing to meet Arlington's touch. Kara also bit her lip, refusing to respond with any noise whatsoever. Kara may not have been able to help the sensations coursing through her, but she didn't have to give Arlington the satisfaction of her responses. "God, you're soaked already," Arlington cooed. Gently, he brought his hand to Kara's face, so that he could wipe the wetness on her cheeks. Then, following a rustling of cloth as Arlington removed his clothes, Kara's lord gripped her hips and thrust into her warm cavern, forcing Kara to cry out at the sudden assault. He knew what he was doing too, and thrust at an upward angle, so as to hit Kara's G Spot several times over. As he did so, a steady heat began to build up in Kara's loins, which rippled up through her tummy and to her aroused, erect nipples. Still trying not to react, Kara found that she had a handful of cloth in each fist. She clenched her fists harder and harder as the knot in her stomach tightened, and then Arlington's mouth was around her nipple, suckling ever so gently. "Stop it!" Kara cried, as Arlington's fervent thrusts intensified, so that she could hear a squelching sound between her legs. "My lord, please stop it! Please, stop it!" Coming like this, with Lord Arlington inside of her, would be unbearably humiliating. Kara had always thought to herself---secretly, of course---that while Arlington could have her screams of pain, he would never have her screams of pleasure. But he intended to take even those, and Kara could hardly stand it. "My lord, let me go! I'll do whatever you want me to, and I'll apologize to Alice! Please, please!" It was awful; it was the worst feeling in the world. And Kara could feel tears start to form in her eyes. Then, Arlington lifted Kara's legs, so that they were on his shoulders, and thrust downward, impaling Kara ever deeper. There was hand on her ass now, kneading the rounded bun hungrily, so that Kara's pussy tingled pleasurably. And she could feel it now, an orgasm building between her legs, warm and itchy and insistent. It coiled through her belly, until her legs were straining with the effort of holding it off. But in a moment, Arlington's mouth was on Kara's nipple, and she exploded. She couldn't help it. There were stars flashing in front of her eyes and her pelvis was thrusting against Lord Arlington's hips. Kara bit back a scream then, but couldn't contain it entirely and a little moan escaped her lips. "There's a good girl," Lord Arlington praised, and Kara reached up her bound hands to claw at his face, but they were still restrained. Arlington's face must have been just out of reach. "Now, then," Arlington laughed, pushing Kara's wrists down and holding them above her head. "That's no way to treat your master after he's given you an orgasm. I'm being awfully nice to you, pet. You should be thanking me." And he began once more to thrust into her cunt. God, was he going to make her come again? Kara didn't want to; god, she didn't want to. But in a moment, yet another orgasm was building between her legs, this one far stronger than the last. "Please, let me go," Kara sobbed, her tears soaking into the blind fold. "I don't like this, Master. I've already had one, do I have to have another?" And she twisted under her lord, trying to dislodge his cock from her pussy. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 13 "Shh, little one. It's alright," Lord Arlington cooed, and Kara wanted to kill him. She wanted to bury a knife in his gut and twist it and twist it and twist it some more, until he screamed. She wanted to shove his head in a microwave and watch it explode. She wanted to bury him on the edge of beach, then sit back with a martini and watch the tide come in. Kara hated him. She hated him so fucking much. "I know this is a hard lesson for you, pet," Arlington continued, oblivious to Kara's murderous fantasies. "But you must trust me. Relax, little slave, and enjoy it. Not everything in your life has to be so miserable, if only you would let me tame you." Kara could feel Arlington's fingers in her hair now. He had let go of her wrists and was caressing her cheek, kissing the sensitive ring of flesh right below her collar bone. Inch by inch, he moved his lips closer to Kara's ear, until she could feel his hot breath against it. "Now, why don't we talk about that little secret you've been hiding?" he whispered, and Kara stiffened. "I don't have a secret," Kara insisted, trying to sound sure, even as arousal tainted her voice. "Really, I don't." But Arlington didn't like what he heard, and decided to let Kara reap the consequences of her refusal. Carefully, he pushed himself deeper into Kara, thrusting over and over again into her tight hole at an impressive pace. She tried to wriggle out from under him, but Arlington was a strong man, and easily held Kara in place with the weight of his body. He grasped a breast in each hand then, and kneaded furiously, until overwhelming want returned to Kara's sex and she could feel the familiar itch returning. Her thighs trembled and swayed with the onslaught of arousal, for Arlington made sure to move downward against Kara's clit as he thrust, so that it was massaged between them. And with that, Kara could feel her center tightening, harder and harder and harder, until she thought she might explode once more. "Please, stop it! Let me go!" Kara screamed, gripping onto Arlington's bedspread, in some mad attempt to hold back the inevitable. "Let me go! Please, please! For the love of god, have mercy!" "Tell me what I want to know," Arlington replied, his voice a lustful threat. "Do as I say, and I'll give you five minutes to compose yourself. Deny me, and I'll keep right on going, until you're just a trembling little heap under me, coming and coming and coming, over and over again. By the time I'm done with you, you'll hardly be able to walk straight." And to emphasize the threat, Arlington pressed against Kara's G Spot and ground his hips against her pelvis. "My lord," Kara insisted, her voice a soft little sob. "Please...I don't have anything to tell you. I swear I don't...." "Say my name, then," Arlington ordered, and Kara's face blanked. "You're going to come in a moment," he explained. "And when you do, I want you to scream my name. Obey, and this ordeal can be over with just as soon as you tell me your little secret. Disobey, and we'll go another five rounds. Sound fair?" Kara was barely able to hear him over the screeching in her ears and before her eyes, there was only static. In a moment, Kara's reality narrowed to the little nub between her legs and the the sensitive spot along her cunt. Her core was tightening ever further, her erect nipples bristling in the cool air. And in an instant, like a loaded spring, Kara unwound, her entire body shaking in the throes of an intense orgasm. "My Lord Arlington!" she screamed, much louder than she had intended, the defeat in her tone complimenting the lewd arousal of her moans. "That's my girl," Arlington praised, slapping Kara's ass triumphantly. She pounded against his chest furiously, but it did not move him. "Now," he smiled, his voice soft. "Let's try this again. Tell me about that little secret you are hiding." As Arlington continued to pound into her, heightening her arousal once more, Kara realized that she couldn't lie to him. She didn't know how, but Arlington could read her mind as if it were an open book. Somehow, using just the tone of Kara's voice and the tension in her body as indicators, Arlington was able to deduce when she was being honest and when she was not. He would know if she lied, and he would keep on cracking away at her until she broke. But, Kara wondered, what if she told Arlington part of the truth? Not the whole truth, of course. Just enough to give him whatever physiological indicators he was looking for? Kara decided it was her only shot, and she took it. "I know you didn't actually capture my Uncle Florence," Kara admitted, her voice trembling. God, she hoped she wouldn't give too much away. "Is that so?" Arlington asked, slowing himself inside of Kara. "Because I've been told I'm an excellent liar. I wonder how you came to that conclusion?" And he ran a ran along Kara's throat, sensual and threatening. "Alyssa told me," Kara answered, wondering if this were really the right path to take. "We sat next to each other at the Martkorp Auction, and she told me you liked to bluff. And my uncle is a smart man. You were bluffing when you told me you'd caught him. And that means he'll probably come for me. I'm betting I'll be free in a very short while." And Kara could feel her heart beat quickening beneath her breast, her palms turning cold. Even her voice was choked with worry. But luckily for Kara, those seemed to be the signs Arlington was looking for, because he suddenly withdrew from her sex. "I see," Arlington mused, and Kara could hear his footfalls on the carpet, as he turned to remove her blindfold. "I suppose you thought complacency would make you more accessible?" Kara nodded. And Arlington bought it. Kara couldn't believe her luck, but Arlington bought it. Victory had never tasted so sweet, for in one more day, Kara would finally be free and Arlington would become nothing more a distant memory and a bad dream. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 14 Author's Note: As always, thanks for the comments and ratings. I adore them. And for those of you eager for the plot to move along, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you. HisPet21 * The day of the board meeting, Greenwood invited Lord Arlington to lunch. And, luckily for Kara, Arlington decided to take her along. They ate in the garden since it was an unusually warm day, and Kara thought the sun on her skin a pleasant sensation. But overall, the meal was a humiliating experience. Throughout its entirety, Kara was hand fed by Lord Arlington, while Greenwood watched. Worse still, Kara had to listen to Arlington as he described her most recent training sessions to Greenwood, in agonizing detail. Luckily for Kara, eye contact restrictions were in effect, so that she didn't have to look at the men while they talked about her sexual conditioning. Thankfully, Greenwood soon changed the topic of conversation, and began to discuss Calihistra's take over. He opened a little briefcase as he talked, bogging Arlington down with visual presentations and paper work. It was intentional, of course. Greenwood was distracting Arlington, so that Kara's lord would lose track of the time. And, as Greenwood had hoped, it worked. When Arlington finally checked his watch, he cursed a little at the hour, and immediately began to pack up. There was a Legislative Debate he had to attend, and punctuality would be imperative to his image. "Greenwood, would you mind watching the girl until tonight's board meeting?" Arlington asked, obviously anxious. "I'm so sorry to do this to you, but I really can't take her with me. And besides, since we are having the meeting at your place again, it would be a big help." Arlington took out his phone then, to call for his driver, instructing the manservant to swing around front and pick him up. "Of course, my lord," Greenwood answered, sincerely. "It isn't a problem at all." He had, after all, planned on watching Kara. The plan had been a gamble, of course. There had always been a chance that Arlington wouldn't lose track of the time. There had always been a chance that his lordship wouldn't leave Kara with Greenwood. But after many years as a double agent, Greenwood was a master of manipulation, on par with Arlington. He played his supposed "co-workers" as he might a cello, and Kara soon found herself in Greenwood's den, a glass of water grasped in her hands, all without a hitch. Since it was a beautiful day outside, the shades of Greenwood's den had been opened to let in the soft, autumn light. The fire was lit too, in order to warm the room and its occupants. And to heighten the peaceful ambiance, a record was playing classical music. Greenwood knew all of the composers on the record, and pointed them out as symphony after symphony began and then ended. Kara couldn't keep up with his commentary, but she thought the sound positively beautiful and wished she could lie on the carpet before the fireplace listening to it forever and ever. But, of course, there were pressing matters to attend to. After waiting a few moments, to ensure that Arlington had really gone, Greenwood turned very seriously toward Kara. "Did you find anything?" Greenwood whispered, his voice oddly monotone. It was clear, from the blank expression in his eyes and his smoothened features, that Greenwood was trying to assume some semblance of calm. Perhaps, he wished to appear uninvested in Kara's answer, so as not to upset her with the intense pressure of their situation. But the poor man wasn't doing a very good job at hiding his true emotions. He sat back a little too rigidly in his chair, and his knuckles were white with the strain of grasping onto the arm rests. Greenwood desperately wanted good news, even if that good news was unlikely. "I have four locations," Kara confirmed, and it was as if an invisible tension had drained from the room, freeing its occupants of an oppressive darkness. Kara felt especially liberated, enough to visualize herself in Nardia, a free woman. In her mind's eye, Kara could see herself at a local Nardian pub, with a pint of amber beer in her hand and maybe some fried frog meat on a skewer. Kara decided that, once free, she would stay up all night dancing with strangers and getting progressively drunk, until the local talent actually sounded good. Then in morning, Kara would find a grassy hill and climb it, so that she could watch the sun rise over the landscape, covering it in dark orange and bright pink tones. God, Kara hadn't seen the sun rise in a long time. In Calihistra, Kara had never voluntarily stayed up late or woken up early to watch a sunrise. Her parents had to force her into it, even on New Years Day, when the "Dawning of the Future" was celebrated. But now, for some odd reason, Kara didn't think she could survive another day without a sunrise. Of course, accompanying Kara's joy was a feeling of sinister satisfaction. After all, Kara had finally beaten Arlington. Despite a full week of torturous training sessions and twisted mind games, Kara would leave Isleydor intact, unbroken by one of the world's best interrogators. Better yet, she would leave knowing that her freedom was both earned and well deserved. After all, Arlington had tried to thwart Kara's plan of escape, and Kara had defeated him. Despite Arlington's creepy, mind reading talents, Kara had managed to hide the secret of Greenwood and Alyssa from her lord. The bastard had fucked up. The dick wad had failed. God, Kara liked the taste of those words between her teeth, together like that: Arlington and Failed. Although the terms "Arlington" and "Dick Wad" also went well together. So many choices; So little time. "I found a single sheet of paper, containing details on the Parallel Project," Kara continued. "And then, I memorized four of the locations listed." She watched with warm satisfaction as Greenwood's stern features melted away to form a more human face. His eyes were lighting up now, disbelieving but overjoyed. "But I'm a little worried," Kara admitted, casting her eyes momentarily downward. "Will that be enough? For bartering purposes, I mean?" But Greenwood, ecstatic, was quick to reassure Kara. "Now, don't go thinking like that," he laughed, standing to his feet and rushing over to embrace the girl. He smelt of sandalwood and his skin felt warm and comforting against Kara's own. It had been weeks since anyone had touched her with something besides evil intent, let alone affection, and Kara allowed herself to enjoy the safety of Greenwood's massive body. "Please, for the love of god, don't fret," Greenwood continued, the happiness in his voice serene. "What you have is more than enough, I can promise you that. Like I said, Nardia's intelligence is grasping at straws. They would take far less than what you have to offer." And patting Kara on the back, Greenwood withdrew from his monstrous bear hug. There was a grin on his lips, genuine and boyish, which seemed out of place on the man's typically solemn face. But with escape so close at hand, the color was returning to Greenwood's cheeks, giving the man a softer look. And with that, Greenwood gestured enthusiastically at Alyssa, motioning for her to come forward and join them in celebration. But strangely, Alyssa ignored Greenwood's shouts of excitement and his enthusiastic waving. In fact, Alyssa didn't look the least bit enthralled by the trio's good fortune. If anything, there was a darkness to her expression that was almost depressed, or maybe even guilty. Rather than joining in Greenwood's embrace, Alyssa remained standing beside the window, the autumn light illuminating her stern features and her short blue locks, which were tied back in a pony tail. Kara tried to better read the woman's expression, but the hood of Alyssa's jacket was up, so that her face was overcast with shadow. "Do you have a copy of the document?" Alyssa asked Kara, her voice grim and serious. "No," Kara replied, a little irritated. Alyssa's tone sounded accusing. But Kara couldn't keep a copier in her skirts or under her collar. How the hell was she supposed to have copied the document down? By hand? There hadn't been enough time. And besides, Kara had been successful in her mission. The trio were all going home, so what right did Alyssa have to be upset or judgmental? But rather than voice her anger, Kara bit her tongue. She was still dependent on both Alyssa and Greenwood for an escape route, and didn't wish to make either angry by becoming defensive. "I'm sorry," Kara offered instead, though reluctantly. "There wasn't enough time to copy anything down. I memorized a few key terms, and that was all I could manage." "And that, I think, is more than enough," Greenwood began, his features as bright and hopeful as ever. "So, if you please, Alyssa---" But Alyssa had no time for Greenwood. In fact, she ignored his words completely. Stepping away from the window, her muscles bunched up like a cat's, Alyssa approached Kara with a determined air, not unkind but demanding. She removed a pad of paper and a pencil from her hoodie as she walked. When Alyssa was a mere foot away from Kara, she shoved the items into the slave's hands, and pointed to a blank sheet. "Write it down," Alyssa insisted, her tone forbidding any argument. "Write all four locations down on this sheet of paper, so that you won't forget them. Then, I'll hang onto the information, until we meet up with our respective guardians." "Now, see here," Greenwood insisted, suddenly concerned. Quickly, he snatched the pad of paper away from Kara, and looked at her with an apologetic air. "I don't think that's a good idea, Alyssa," he told the Weapons Specialist. "In the unlikely event that we're caught, having physical evidence of intelligence like this," and he waved the pad of paper around, "could cause us problems. Hell, it could even get us killed. Better if Kara keeps whatever information she's got tucked away in her mind. I doubt she will forget it. Then, when we get out of Isleydor, we can discuss the details." And with that, Greenwood crossed the room and headed for the liquor cabinet. "It's still a little early," he admitted, turning toward Kara with a smile. "But this is a special occasion. What's your drink, sweetheart?" "I don't have a route for her, Greenwood," Alyssa said quietly, but unapologetic. "She needs to write her intel down." Upon hearing this, Kara turned to Greenwood for direction, unsure of what was going on. What was a route? Would Kara need one of those? But Greenwood wasn't moving. Kara couldn't even see his chest rise and fall as he breathed. Furthermore, his features were no longer joyous and excited, but grim. "Please tell me you are joking," Greenwood hissed, turning toward Alyssa with rage in his eyes. "You had better have a very, very good reason for this, Alyssa. Are they taking us in pairs, or something?" "No," Alyssa replied, her voice curt. She lit a cigarette then, her face betraying neither concern nor care as it suddenly glowed in the open flame of a match. "But Kara doesn't have any combat or stealth experience," Alyssa insisted. Then, with an exhale, her face was obscured by smoke, before reappearing suddenly. "My contact and I talked about it, and we both agree that Arlington's slave will only slow us down. But you'd be doing the right thing, by staying behind," Alyssa told Kara, her voice gentle. And she gripped both of Kara's shoulders in a strange embrace. "You'd be doing both us and Nardia's intelligence a huge favor." "Excuse me?" Kara very nearly screamed, and she ripped her arms free of Alyssa's grasp. "Are you insinuating that, after all I've been through to save your asses, you intend to leave me behind? With Arlington? Do you have any idea what I've suffered at his hands? What that evil bastard is capable of?" Kara couldn't believe what she was hearing. She was angry, sure. But Kara was also aghast. She hadn't thought it possible, that her allies could betray her like this. And there was panic, too. Kara could see her happy fantasies fading away, of the pub and of the sunrise in Nardia, only to be replaced by Lord Arlington's sinister face. Kara opened her mouth then, to scream and shout and curse Alyssa out, but Greenwood beat her to it. "You fucking bitch," Greenwood growled, and his voice was surprisingly matter-of-fact beneath all the anger. With quick, determined steps, he strode toward Alyssa and then stopped, a mere three inches from her face. His fists were trembling by his sides, and Kara wondered if he might hit her. But he didn't. "I don't know what's happened to you, Alyssa. But right now, I couldn't care less. I thought, at the very least, that the woman I love would have some degree of integrity!" "It's not personal," Alyssa insisted, as Greenwood coughed in a wreath of her cigarette smoke. "It's business only." "Do I look like the kind of man who respects such arbitrary distinctions?" Greenwood screamed, in the midst of another coughing fit. "You let Kara assume all of the risk, for our sake. We are literally about to ride on her tailcoats to freedom, Alyssa." And he gestured wildly toward Kara. "Yet, you want to leave her behind, after all of that? Have you no shame, or have you just gone mad?" Greenwood lost it then, and raised his fist as if to strike Alyssa, but caught himself just in time. Alyssa didn't even flinch. If anything, she looked amused. "You're gonna hit me, Greenwood?" Alyssa smiled, tossing her cigarette onto the carpet and stamping it out. "You aren't gonna hit me. You're just a big ole teddy bear." "Maybe I am," Greenwood admitted, his eyes hurt and his tone frightening. The man then lowered his fist by his side, defeated. "But I'm not going to let you betray a friend and an ally, who has risked everything to save our sorry asses. Your contact should still be in town. You're going to go find him, get a third underground route, and be back here in an hour." Alyssa opened her mouth to argue, but Greenwood shut her up with a look. "Or I am not going," he told her, his voice threatening. "And you will be on your own." This response seemed to surprise and upset Alyssa. Instantly, her smug features dissolved away, leaving behind only worry and a hint of guilt. But Alyssa did not give into Greenwood's demands immediately. Instead, she began searching her partner's features for a hint of weakness or a break in his forceful demeanor. Alyssa's eyes were awfully intense as she stared Greenwood down, but the double neither turned away nor blinked an eye under Alyssa's gaze. He wanted her to see the resolve in his heart. And she must have for, a moment later, Alyssa was huffing angrily, before putting the hood of her jacket down, flipping open a cell phone, and trotting out of the room. "Are you going to leave me?" Kara hissed, once Alyssa was gone. Her eyes were aflame, but also concerned and accusatory. "And what about Alyssa? Is she really trust worthy? Will she give us away?" Greenwood winced guilty at Kara's tone, then bowed his head shamefully. It was clear that he had no intention of leaving Kara behind. "I am extremely sorry about that," Greenwood insisted, and he approached Kara warily. "Listen, sweetheart. Alyssa is....Oh, I don't know. Overly pragmatic? A little too cold? But she'll follow through. That's just the arrangement we have. And I don't see what choice you have, other than to believe me and give this a shot." His voice was a little apologetic, embarrassed even. And, Kara realized, Greenwood had a point. So, rather than throwing a temper tantrum, Kara sat down on the carpet and decided to let bygones be bygones. But she was only interested in talking business now, and any affection she'd had for Greenwood and Alyssa was long gone. "Alright," Kara sighed, toying with her glass of water. "Why don't you explain to me how this is going to work. Clearly, I haven't the slightest idea what an "underground route" is, or how you're going to get rid of this annoying tracker." And she pointed to the raised lump in her back. "Sounds good," Greenwood replied, relieved to be moving on. Carefully, he sat down in an arm chair across from Kara and sighed, trying to regain some composure after their recent upset. When, finally, calm had returned, Greenwood spoke. "Here is the deal," he began. "Our first order of business is to deactivate that tracker implanted in your back. But getting a Martkorp Deactivation Unit is both difficult and expensive. Just yesterday, I found an unslaver willing to let me rent one, but it was a last minute arrangement, and the device hasn't arrived yet. It should be on my back porch sometime this evening, and once Arlington leaves for the night, we should be able to try it out. His lordship has to go to Bremmington tonight, and has already asked me to watch you." Kara nodded, satisfied. That seemed to be a simple enough procedure. "Alright then," she pressed. "What's an underground route?" "Well now, explaining that will be a little more difficult," Greenwood admitted. "But, I beg you, bear with me." And Kara watched as Greenwood stared up into the ceiling, trying to figure out the best method of explanation. "The idea is this," he finally began, after a long silence. "You don't want to make this kind of escape in a large group. Large groups are unwieldy, difficult to coordinate, and clumsy. They are more likely to be tracked down than, say, an individual. Plus, it's a good idea to spread out a bit. That way, if one person gets caught, the others still have a chance at escape. Are you following me so far?" Kara nodded. That all made sense to her. "Good," Greenwood replied, pleased. "Very good. So then, this is how the escape will work. When Alyssa comes back, each one of us will get a sealed envelope, containing our personalized "underground route." An "underground route" is nothing more than a series of instructions, specific to your situation, that describes where you ought to go and what you ought to do in order to meet up with your guardian. He'll be a Nardian Intelligence Operative, sent to escort you out of the city and to some central location, where we'll meet up. Only the guardians will know the exact nature of the central location, however. They'll be well versed in interrogation resistance, so that will be safest for everyone involved. Still following me?" "Kind of," Kara admitted. She wanted to make sure that, before the evening was out, no questions remained in her mind. "So, if I am to understand you, we won't be escaping together? We'll be taking different routes out of the city, following different guardians?" "Exactly," Greenwood praised. "That is exactly right. Tonight, each of us will open our own envelopes, at precisely midnight, and will follow the instructions within. But, you must wait until midnight to open the envelope, or else the timing of your escape will be off and you'll miss your guardian. And you must not tell Alyssa nor myself what your instructions are. That way, if one of us gets caught, we won't be able to give your location away. And that's the gist of it," Greenwood finally finished. "Any questions?" But Kara shook her head. She didn't have any further questions for Greenwood, nor any worries that needed to be addressed. Kara spent the remainder of the afternoon enjoying Greenwood's record collection. It was lovely to be able to sit in front of the fireplace, sipping on water and juice, without cuffs around her wrists or a collar around her neck. And, to be honest, Kara needed some time to recuperate after Arlington's latest training session. Greenwood must have known that, and he gave Kara her space. He also had the sense not to ask any questions. For that, Kara was immensely grateful. Honestly, after tonight, she never wanted to speak of nor hear of Arlington ever again. As far as Kara was concerned, Arlington would become nothing but a distant nightmare to her, to be forgotten soon after the Nardian border was crossed. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 14 But eventually, evening came to pass, cloaking the neighborhood in darkness. And so, reluctantly, Kara allowed Greenwood to put her cuffs and collar back on, in preparation for Arlington's return. Yet, she couldn't help but twitch as the cold leather touched her hot skin, causing Greenwood to wince sympathetically. Every time Kara flinched, he flinched, as if they were playing a game of Copy Cat. It would have been funny, under any other circumstances. "I am so, so sorry," Greenwood apologized, over and over again, as he cuffed Kara's hands in front of her. "Really, I am. But just a few more hours to go, right? And I know you have the will to last a few more hours." Obediently, Kara knelt on a little throw pillow beside Arlington's assigned seat, and willed herself to get into character. It was hard to get comfortable, though. Hidden in Kara's panties were her underground route and a small dagger Greenwood had given her, in case something went wrong. It was sheathed, but Kara still worried that it might escape its leather casing and bite into her flesh. Or, probably worse, fall out from between her legs and give the lot of them away. Although, Kara had to admit, her panties fit snugly and she was probably worried for nothing. Alyssa, meanwhile, was completely nude and bound once more to the wooden "X" before the fireplace, practicing a feigned struggle. Greenwood, too, was preparing for the night's events, pouring over the board meeting's itinerary. Kara could tell by the look on Greenwood's face that he was back in character, and was very slightly frightened by that fact. The Greenwood who had befriended Arlington was brutal, so Kara was sure to remain quiet and unobtrusive. Soon, however, people were filing into the room and sitting down in their respective seats, greeting Greenwood cordially and pouring themselves glasses of wine or bourbon. And then, Kara knew that Arlington was there with her. He didn't speak, but Kara could feel his predatory presence behind her, and he ruffled the girl's hair before sitting down. "How was she?" Arlington asked Greenwood, petting Kara idly and picking up a printed itinerary from the meeting table. "Not bad," Greenwood mused, pouring himself a glass of wine. "She fidgets a lot though, my lord. But I suppose you'll get around to that eventually." And he laughed. God, Greenwood could laugh as cruelly as Arlington when he wanted to, and Kara found that impressive. The rest of the War Time Operations Board was soon assembled at the meeting table. And, Kara realized, she recognized all of the faces from before: Arlington, Greenwood, Lady Charlotte, Myiat, Judith, and Torts. Of course, since eye contact restrictions were in effect, Kara could only venture the occasional upward glance. But she didn't mind. The faces around Kara were sinister anyway, and she preferred not to look at them. There was lots of noise as the present company got settled, and Arlington quickly red through the evening schedule. He seemed about ready to start, when a messenger came in and presented Arlington with a manila envelope, before bowing and heading back out. Confused, Kara watched as Arlington pulled a large photograph from the folder, although she couldn't see the image it depicted. And ever so slowly, Lord Arlington's eyes furrowed, first with confusion and then with a strange expression of triumph. Without a word, he slid the photograph to Greenwood. And then, ever so slightly, Greenwood paled. "Do you know what this is?" Arlington asked, and his voice was so sinister that room was suddenly quiet. But Greenwood didn't answer, and Kara could feel herself growing worried. "Because it looks like your slave, on the corner of Beaumont and Trenton," Arlington pressed, pointing out indicators in the picture that Kara couldn't see. "This photo was taken by one of Charlotte's men just four hours ago." Which was, Kara realized, precisely when Alyssa had left that afternoon. "And while I can understand that Alyssa might have gotten out, I can't imagine why she would want to come back. Why is that, Alan? Why would Alyssa break free, only to come back to you? She doesn't look too terribly comfortable, strung up on that cross." It happened in under a second, and Kara was amazed that anyone was able to move that fast. One minute, Alyssa was tied to the wooden "X" before the fireplace. The next minute, she had broken free of her chains and was somersaulting across the floor. Quick as she was able, Alyssa reached under the closest arm chair and withdrew a loaded pistol that had been bolted under the seat. She only got two shots in before Arlington had overturned the meeting table, allowing the War Time Operations Board to use it as a shield, but Alyssa didn't miss. There was a splatter of blood and a sudden cry as Lady Charlotte collapsed, her left arm limp and her right knee cap shattered. She was clutching her injured knee with her good arm, cursing profusely, as Torts dragged her away to safety. And though Kara was terrified, it was satisfying to hear someone from their side screaming for a change. "Kill that bitch!" Charlotte screamed, her voice hoarse from pain. "Goddamn it, kill her! Kill her, now!" But Alyssa wasn't an idiot, and quickly ducked behind a wooden chest. It was a good thing too, for not a minute later, a spray of bullets were embedding themselves in the wood, creating a sound not unlike raindrops against a roof. "Help me, Greenwood!" Alyssa screamed from behind her shelter, checking the barrel of her gun for ammo. "For god's sake, help me!" But Alyssa was unable to locate Greenwood as the assault on her continued, trapping her where she sat crouched. When, finally, there was a pause in gunfire, Alyssa figured it was because her enemies were reloading. Quickly, she dove out from behind her shelter and rushed the War Time Operations Board, hoping to do as much damage as possible before being shot and killed. When Arlington stood from behind the overturned table, Alyssa cocked her gun with deadly intent, but didn't pull the trigger quick enough. For a man as massive as Arlington, he was ridiculously fast. In a moment, he had gripped Alyssa's wrist and twisted it painfully, so that she dropped her gun. But Alyssa's fists were also deadly weapons, and she threw a rapid punch in Arlington's direction. But, to Kara's horror, she missed. Arlington ducked out of the way, his footwork impressive. Then, with renewed vigor, he threw several punches Alyssa's way. Backing out of reach, the Weapon's Specialist put her fists up to her face for protection, dodging each blow with relative ease. But Arlington was backing Alyssa into a corner, and when she realized his intention, Alyssa tried to hold her ground. It was a mistake. The next time Alyssa threw a punch, Arlington caught her fist and threw her into a glass display case. There was an awful popping noise as Alyssa's shoulder became dislocated and the glass behind her shattered, so that several shards embedded themselves in her back. But Alyssa didn't cry out. Hell, she didn't even flinch. Grabbing a shard of glass from the now ruined display case, she wielded it as a weapon and slashed away at Arlington, making a deep cut along his forearm, so that he cursed. Now done with Alyssa's games, Arlington reached into his cloak for a pistol, when there was a cry from Greenwood. "For god's sake, don't hurt her," Greenwood begged, his voice soft and pleading. "For god's sake, Arlington, don't hurt her. She's practically unarmed now, and I am willing to trade a lot of information for her safety." Kara saw that the double agent was standing now, his hands raised above his head in surrender. And, miraculously, Arlington moved his hand away from the holster on his hip. This seemed to disturb Alyssa, for she watched Arlington with concerned eyes. "Greenwood," she hissed, her voice betraying intense worry. "Greenwood, what do you think you are doing?" There were guards now, in black body suits, approaching Alyssa on all sides. They stepped forward cautiously, even though they far outnumbered Alyssa and were all heavily armed. Alyssa, on the other hand, was still completely nude, injured, and bearing only a shard of glass, which had cut into her hand so that it was dripping red with blood. "Don't do this, Greenwood," Alyssa begged, as she backed away. "Don't let Arlington turn me into a weapon. For god's sake, don't let him turn me into a weapon." "It's alright, Alyssa," Greenwood cooed, trying to sound confident and in control. But there was a slight tremor beneath his tone, and Kara could tell that the man was terrified. "It's alright, Alyssa. Really, I'll handle this." "Like hell you will!" Alyssa screamed, vigor returning to her. With rage etched into her features, Alyssa charged the nearest guard, grabbed him by the arm, and flipped him onto his back. While he gasped for breath, Alyssa turned to her next opponent, downing him with a well placed punch. But a moment later, she was overwhelmed by several more guards, and all hope was lost. As the guards pushed Alyssa to the floor, cuffing her in the process, the Weapons Specialist struggled madly, twisting like a slippery fish beneath her opponents. "How dare you let them do this to me!" she screamed, turning burning eyes toward Greenwood. "Traitor! Coward! How dare you let Arlington reduce me from a human being into a tool for manipulation! Don't give him anything! Don't give him a single goddamn inch! If you really loved me, you wouldn't do this! You'd shut your mouth and let them shoot me!" Alyssa must have hit a nerve, because Greenwood was suddenly screaming at her. "Do not tell me how to love you!" he cried, his face angry and sad. But underneath his tone, there was also intense hurt. "Goddamn it woman, don't tell me how to love you! I will love you however I damn well please, and you will just have to live with that! I will love you however I god damn please!" And a moment later, Alyssa had been dragged from the room. "Frisk him," Arlington ordered. And, without further delay, a guard had approached Greenwood. The double agent sighed, resigned to the situation, and spread his legs for the procedure. When the guard was done, all of Greenwood's weapons had been taken from him, two pistols and a dagger among them. "Have a seat," Arlington continued, his tone casual. "And keep your hands outstretched on the table in front, where I can see them." But Greenwood knew it was an order and, cautiously, obeyed. The room was quiet then, except for Charlotte's silent cursing. But when she had been carried from the room to an ambulance downstairs, even that noise was absent. "So," Arlington began, sitting across from from the double. "This is rather disappointing. I really liked you, Greenwood. But then again, that's not your real name, is it?" The question was both earnest and sincere. But Greenwood shook his head insistently. "Intelligence only," the double replied, his voice clipped, but very serious. "Personal information wasn't part of the deal. I can give you some minor details on an insurgent group in Calihistra, and even the location of a dynamite mine. But no names, Arlington." "So, in other words," Arlington grinned, lighting a cigar, "you have have a wife and kids back home?" "Spare me, Arlington," Greenwood hissed, his eyes betraying nothing. "We've been working side by side for the past five years. By now, I ought to know how you operate, and your mind fuckery won't work with me. So please, don't waste my time. I am offering information in exchange for Alyssa's guaranteed safety, and I want a straight forward deal. I don't think that's too terribly unreasonable." Arlington thought for a moment, but then nodded. "No, you're right," his lordship replied. "That isn't unreasonable of you, and I suppose we can work something out." And Arlington turned toward a guard. "Garrett," he called, his voice clipped. "Have Mr. Greenwood here transported to Bremmington. Cell Block E." But as Garrett stepped toward Greenwood to fulfill the order, Myiat stood pointedly to her feed. "This is Alan we're talking about!" Myiat hissed, her black locks a mess, probably from ducking for cover. After all, Myiat had been avoiding gunfire with the rest of the War Time Operations Board. It was possible that she'd even fired at Alyssa. "Double agent or not, Alan has saved your life more than once, Arlington. He's deserves better, and I won't allow this." The general's black eyes were aflame with something peculiar as she spoke, and she actively avoided Greenwood's glance, even as he turned toward her. "You cannot treat Alan like this. It is most unbecoming of a lord, if I may be so bold." "You're skating on thin ice, Myiat," Arlington hissed, his eyes intrigued. "Why don't you take a time out? Go grab a coffee or something?" He motioned toward the door enthusiastically, indicating that Myiat should leave, and quickly. "After all, you do not seem to be in a reasonable frame of mind." "Don't patronize me, Arlington," Myiat growled, and she placed a hand threateningly on the holster of her gun. Arlington mimicked the gesture and the two squared off, but Myiat didn't budge. "I'm under the protection of Lord Sillias, Arlington. You don't have the authority to talk to me that way, and I'll be damned if I allow myself to be bullied by the likes of you. Stop throwing out idle threats, and grow some balls. If you wish to have me demoted, then fill out the god damn paper work, and let it be over with!" And with that, Myiat begrudgingly moved her hand from her hip and walked off, her black cloak trailing behind her. With a flick of her wrist, the general motioned for her body guards to fall in step behind her and like shadows, they were gone. As Greenwood was led away in cuffs, Kara tried to remain calm. From behind the upturned meeting table, where Kara had been pushed, she peered at Lord Arlington, waiting. First, Kara waited to be dragged off to prison. Then, Kara waited to be taken home and encased in the coffin. Because, surely, Arlington knew of Kara's escape plan. He knew that Greenwood and Alyssa were spies. Logically, he must also know that Kara had been recruited to steal intel for them. But as the minutes ticked by, Kara realized that no one was paying any attention to her, least of all Lord Arlington. And in a moment, Mister Karp had arrived, to take Kara home on her master's orders. As she was led outside and into the evening air, Kara realized that Arlington was oblivious. But the realization was hard to accept, and Kara resisted. Mister Karp was on the curb now, gesturing toward the dark interior of a cab. But Kara couldn't bring herself to obey and, instead, turned back toward Greenwood's home. For a moment, Kara sat staring at the front porch, and expected Arlington to suddenly burst through the the entry way, his eyes livid. He would rush down the front steps, an accusatory finger pointed at Kara. There would be cruelty in the man's eyes, too. And of course, his characteristic smile. But Kara's fantasy was suddenly interrupted, unfinished. For Mister Karp had grown impatient, and tossed Kara into the back seat of the vehicle without a word. Following Greenwood's arrest, the entire neighborhood was blocked off with police tape and the traffic was subsequently held up for miles. As a result, it was an hour before Kara arrived back at Arlington's home. She was more calm and collected then, but also strangely horrified. Kara's underground route was useless now, since the tracking device embedded in her back was still activated. And without a Martkorp Deactivation Unit, Kara couldn't leave Arlington's manor to meet up with her designated guardian. It was such a shame for Kara to have an underground route in her hands and yet, be unable to use it. Mister Karp was obviously tired as he led Kara up stairs and down a long hallway. It took a moment, but Kara eventually realized that Mister Karp was not leading her into Arlington's bedroom. He was leading Kara to her old living quarters, the windowless room beside an extraneous living space. Arlington wouldn't be coming home until late---he had spies to deal with, after all---and probably didn't want to disturb his slave's sleep when he returned. And sure enough, Kara soon found herself in the little living space beside her room, when a powerful urge hit. It was a strong urge, determined and sudden, which overwhelmed Kara in strange ways. She couldn't let an underground route go to waste, Kara realized. To do so would be both foolish and regretful. And with that, a brilliant idea blossomed in Kara's mind. Kara acted quickly, and was lucky that Mister Karp was tired. The handler's reflexes were slow, and in an instant, Kara had removed her dagger from the sheath beneath her clothes and was pressing the surprisingly sharp blade to Mister Karp's throat. The conquest slave knew that the handler was far stronger than she and, if given enough time, would be able to spring away and subdue her. Clearly, brute strength would be a foolish tactic. It was time for Kara to take a page out of Lord Arlington's book, and try her hand at a little mind fuckery. "I'm sure you know that I'm a medic," Kara began, trying to sound as sinister as possible. She took her time then, dragging her blade across a prominent bulge in Mister Karp's neck. "This thing here," she told him, "is the carotid artery. It carries oxygenated blood to the head, and when you consider just how fucking close your heart is to your head, you can imagine the rate at which this fucker pumps blood." Kara pressed the blade ever harder against the handler then, to emphasize her point, watching as he stiffened under her grasp. "A man your size probably contains---Oh, I don't know---maybe five liters of blood? Trust me, if I cut this little vessel right here, you'll be emptied of blood so fast that only half of your life will have time to flash before your eyes. Nod, if you get my drift. Scream, and I will kill you." It worked, for Mister Karp nodded then, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. The handler was also trembling every so slightly under Kara's fingertips, and the medic smiled to herself. She needed Mister Karp to fear for his life, if she intended to extract information from him. And to up the intensity, Kara tenderly drew her dagger across Mister Karp's throat, watching him gasp piteously as a small cut made its mark. Excellent. Kara's victim was ready for questioning. "Where does Arlington keep Tamius Sue?" Kara demanded, her tone merciless and threatening. "In your old cell," Mister Karp answered, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You know, the stone cell. Without any windows." Kara silently heaved a sigh of relief. If Mister Karp spoke the truth---and he certainly seemed sincere---then Tamius Sue was in Arlington's torture room, down the hallway to Kara's left. That meant Tamius would be accessible, and Kara's plan had promise after all. Still, she would need a code in order to get Tamius free, and Mister Karp would need to give it to her. "The code, you idiot!" Kara spat, and the handler shuddered fearfully. "I need the god damn code! And don't even think about lying to me, or I swear to god, I will shove this thing into your occipital lobe, and you'll never see again." Kara caressed the base of Mister Karp's skull with her blade, trying to do so with confidence and prowess. She wasn't sure the blade could pierce a man's skull, but the handler wasn't taking any chances, and answered Kara quickly. "Seven, ten, and forty-nine!" Mister Karp gasped. "I swear, that's it! Seven, ten, and forty-nine!" "Such a good boy," Kara cooed, and she reached around Mister Karp's belt for his tazer. Before the man could react, she pressed the device into his side, watching as convulsions rippled through his body. Then, quite suddenly, the handler's limbs went limp, and Mister Karp fell forward onto the carpet. Kara poked his side tentatively then, to make sure he was indeed unconscious, before grabbing an arm. The man was ridiculously heavy, but Kara couldn't just leave him lying on the floor. If he woke up before Kara's plan came to fruition, all would be lost. Luckily, Arlington's torture room was filled with restraints, and it was easy enough for Kara to bind and then gag the sleeping man. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 14 Now done with Mister Karp, Kara strode purposefully toward her old cell and paused before the door. It was still as imposing as ever, with a thick lock reminiscent of a bank vault's. Kara could remember her first night in that cell, which had been completely dark. Light hadn't even shown under the door or around its edges, since there were no cracks for light to shine through. And with a shake of her head, Kara punched in the code, watching as the door swung open with a grace unbecoming of such a massive entity. It was dark inside, certainly. But there was a white creature on the floor. Not a white creature, Kara realized. It was a girl in a straight jacket. Kara approached cautiously as the girl struggled in her bondage, very clearly frightened. It was definitely Tamius Sue. For although the girl was gagged and blind folded, she had the same basic physique as Kara's fallen general and the same gorgeous, blond hair. Her footsteps tentative, Kara realized that the next phase of her plan would have to be handled very, very delicately. Tamius Sue was on the defensive, and if released, she might beat Kara into a fine pulp. Even more worrisome, Tamius Sue was undoubtedly traumatized, and had probably been handled very harshly. After all, Arlington considered Tamius Sue to be his greatest challenge, and Kara thought her own punishments unspeakably cruel. If the medic didn't approach her plan with prowess, she could push Tamius Sue into a state of shock. Kara could not forgive herself if that happened. "My name is Kara Chrystein," Kara began, keeping her voice soft and nonthreatening. "I am not here to hurt you, but to rescue you." Kara waited then, to see if Tamius would stop struggling. At the very least, Kara needed Tamius to acknowledge her presence. But despite Kara's words, Tamius continued to fight against her restraints. In fact, her flailing motions had become even more fervent and there were now panicked moans beneath the gag. It was almost as if the general couldn't hear Kara. Oh, god, Kara realized. Tamius was wearing earplugs, which meant that the woman could neither hear, see, speak, nor move. And at the sight of Tamius before her, maddened by the lack of stimuli, Kara suddenly grew nauseous and had to look away. How long had Arlington kept Tamius like that, in complete sensory deprivation? Hours? Days? A Week? Kara bent down next to Tamius then, to remove the earplugs. From a medical perspective, Kara wished she had more time to reintroduce Tamius to sensory stimuli. Normally, you wanted to do these sorts of things gradually. But, quite frankly, time was limited. And so, with little ceremony, Kara removed both earplugs from Tamius' ears. Not surprisingly, the fallen general panicked when a hand touched her cheek, and thrashed ever more violently. And as she watched the poor woman scream, Kara hoped that Tamius would have the strength, in spite of her torment, to escape while she had the chance. "My name is Kara Chrystein, a conquest slave belonging to Arlington," Kara repeated, once the earplugs had been removed. "I am not here to hurt you, but to rescue you." And, thankfully, Tamius Sue stilled. "I am going to free you of those bindings now," Kara continued, watching as Tamius' breathing evened out. "My guess is that they are locked on, and I don't have time to find a key. So, of course, the cloth will have to be cut away. But don't worry. I promise not to hurt you. Please nod, if you understand me." Tamius nodded then, and Kara was overjoyed by the reaction. Scrounging around in Arlington's torture room, Kara soon found a pair of scissors in a nearby drawer, before returning to Tamius. Diligently, she first cut away Tamius' gag, and then her blindfold. Kara only moved onto the straight jacket when Tamius could see Kara's face, and could ascertain that the medic was no enemy. And as soon as the last strips of cloth had been cut away, Kara jumped away from Tamius, anticipating the worst. "Are you okay?" Kara asked the general, throwing her scissors away so as not to appear threatening. At first, Tamius ignored Kara completely, allowing overwhelming sensations to course through her body and then soften. Kara noticed that the general's eyes teared in the light. And, even more interesting, she was wobbly on her feet from many hours of restraint. But once the initial shock of sensation was over, Tamius turned toward Kara with a confident air. She was a beautiful woman, even following hours of torment. The muscles beneath Tamius' white gown twitched dangerously, as gorgeous as a lion's. And the fire beneath the general's eyes burned with an intensity rivaling that of the sun. "No," Tamius told the medic, her voice tense. "I'm not alright. But you said you had a rescue planned, and I'll be damned if a little sensory deprivation is going to keep me from such an opportunity. So, why don't you tell me where we stand?" "Long story short?" Kara began, and she stepped back toward Tamius. It was weird, but the danger of the situation had made them instant friends, and Kara felt at ease in Tamius' presence, now that she knew the woman was sane. "Simply put, I have an underground route that I can't use," Kara continued. "It will only be good for the night. And so, I'd like you to have it." And Kara pushed the aforementioned envelope-crumpled, but intact-into Tamius' hands. "I don't get it," Tamius admitted, smoothening out the envelope's wrinkled corners. "Why is this route good for me, but not for you?" "There's nothing wrong with the actual route," Kara explained, her voice calm and collected. "But with my tracking implant still activated, I can't risk the journey. It was supposed be deactivated this evening but, well, that didn't happen." And Kara saw Greenwood in her mind's eye, begging for Alyssa's safety. God, his grey eyes had been so terribly sad... "And you don't think I have a tracking implant?" Tamius asked incredulously, pointing to the lump along her back. "As much as I'd like to accept your offer, I think we have the same problem." "No, we don't," Kara replied, and her voice permitted no argument. It was certainty made sound. "As a medic," Kara continued, "I can remove your tracking implant, but I can't remove mine. It would be impossible to perform such a delicate surgery on my own back, but I could probably take care of yours in under twenty minutes. If we're going to do this, though, we have to act fast. That envelope needs to be opened by midnight." And Kara turned toward Tamius, a grin of perverse satisfaction on her lips at the prospect of winning---just once---against Lord Arlington. "So are you in, or not?" "Oh, I'm in," Tamius grinned back, the fire in her eyes brightening. "I guess Arlington picked the wrong slave to fuck with, huh?" Kara believed that the compliment would warm her heart for a years to come, and was very grateful for that. Perhaps, it would even keep Kara going long after Tamius left, when the medic found herself in a dark hole, never again to see the light of day. For, surely, such a fate awaited anyone who dared to free Arlington's most prized slave. But enough about that... Kara rummaged around Arlington's torture room as quickly as she was able, gathering together all the unnecessary supplies. With the mindset of a medic keeping her calm, Kara managed to find disinfectant, latex gloves, several scalpels, and even a a small face mask. But the one thing Kara couldn't find was a strong, local anesthetic. Kara could have used chloroform, of course. But it would be unwise to knock out Tamius Sue completely. It would take hours for her to awaken and recuperate after being put to sleep, and as soon as the procedure was over with, the general needed to flee. "We're fucked," Kara told Tamius, searching diligently through a number of drawers which had already been searched and found wanting. "There isn't any local anesthesia in here strong enough for this kind of surgery. I've got benzocaine and lidocaine, but they won't do anything for you." "And why is that?" Tamius questioned, sitting awkwardly in a corner, too ignorant of the procedure to be of any help. "They're both topical anesthetics," Kara explained, dumping the contents of an entire drawer onto the floor and sorting through the items with her foot. "In other words, once I get past skin, it'll start to fucking hurt. You don't use a topical if you have to cut through muscle." And Kara cursed the situation, kicking the useless knick-knacks before her in frustration. There was nothing there, not even morphine. "Look, I'm a tough cookie," Tamius assured Kara, her voice certain. "I've broken bones on the battlefield and taken bullets to almost very part of my body, and then dealt with the pain when there was no more pain medication to go around. I don't need any anesthetic, especially not for a procedure that only lasts twenty minutes. Just give me something to bite down on, and let's get this show on the road. It's already eleven." And the general looked anxiously toward the only clock in the room, her voice betraying a hurriedness that made Kara uncomfortable. After all, Kara thought, you couldn't rush a surgery. You couldn't speed these sorts of things up, and expect the same high quality results. "I appreciate your bravery, but that's not the real issue here," Kara explained, willing Tamius to understand and taking a deep breath to calm herself down. She needed to focus, goddamn it. Tamius' escape was dependent on Kara's medical expertise, and the little trophy slave could not afford the luxury of panic. "I'm gonna be cutting really close to some important nerves," Kara continued, her voice concerned. Then, she ran a hand up and down her spine, to demonstrate. "Martkorp puts its tracking implants near the spinal column precisely because it makes them difficult to remove," Kara insisted. "If you twitch while I am operating--even a little bit---you could end up paralyzed from the waist down. I am sure you're willing to endure feelings of pain, but I'm a lot more worried about your physical responses to pain. Which, by the way, can't always be controlled." But then, an idea hit Kara, and she couldn't help it. Kara started laughing, and she couldn't seem to stop. When she finally did catch hold of herself, Kara had tears in her eyes and had to wipe them away in order to clear up her blurred vision. The idea was ridiculous, but brilliant, too. And Kara had only Lord Arlington to thank for it. "Praise Lord Arlington," Kara grinned wickedly, giving credit where credit was due and turning toward the far wall. There, embedded in the stone, there was single, solitary drawer. When Kara opened it, Tamius looked at her with confusion, for it just kept coming and coming and coming. When the drawer was fully extended, it looked to be about the length and width of a person. "This," Kara explained, "is the coffin. And I can personally guarantee that, while you are restrained in it, you won't be able to move a fucking inch. So, I suppose, our problem solved." And Kara rushed off to wash her hands and disinfect, still giggling a little like a maniac. Because fuck Lord Arlington, that's why. And, also, because Arlington was about to learn that karma is one mean bitch. Ten minutes later, and Tamius was lying atop the metal bed of the coffin, her back facing upward. The general was tied down with leather straps in several places, and Kara had even retrieved a posture collar for good measure, so that Tamius couldn't move at all. The slaves had tested the set up, of course, to ensure that the operation wouldn't be dangerous. And the coffin wasn't pushed back into the wall. It was still sticking out, positioned under a bright florescent light that Kara had brought in from the living space. With preparations complete, Kara carefully disinfected the skin around Tamius' back and applied a little topical anesthetic because, what the hell, it was better than nothing. Then, steadying her hands, Kara made the first incision. There was blood, of course, and Kara diligently wiped it away, to keep her view clear. Meanwhile, Tamius was being pretty tame about the whole thing, at least for the first few minutes of the procedure. But as Kara cut ever deeper, Tamius began to groan into the leather bit she'd been given, biting ferociously into it. And though Tamius couldn't move, Kara could see her body flush red as pain began to roll through the general's body. God, Kara hated to operate without appropriate anesthesia. She had only done it a few times before, on the battlefield, when medical supplies had run low and patients were forced to use a few shots of whiskey as a pain reliever. But luckily for both Kara and Tamius, this particular procedure was short, and Kara soon had the annoying little tracking implant in her forceps. It was a simple matter afterward to sew Tamius back up, and then untie her. Tamius' departure was quick, and unceremonious. After all, it was nearly midnight when Kara finally finished her operation, and Tamius needed to get going. But before she left, Kara gave the general her pitiful dagger, some old clothes from the windowless room, and some rope from Arlington's torture chamber. Then, with profuse thanks, Tamius opened a window in the living space, tied one end of a rope to the mantle of the fireplace, and shimmied downward into Arlington's backyard. When Tamius had safely landed, the general tugged on the rope, signaling for Kara to untie it from the mantle. Kara did so, and Tamius merely gathered the rope up and disappeared into the darkness, a free woman. And with that, Kara had done her good deed for the day. Kara had no illusions that she would get away with the act of kindness. Eventually, Lord Arlington would notice Tamius' absence. Then, when he found Mister Karp's unconscious body, he would realize that Kara was the responsible party. Kara would then be broken, violently and without mercy. Hell, Arlington might even kill her. But since these were inevitable, Kara decided that any stress she felt would only be wasted effort. Refusing to fall away into depression, Kara decided to enjoy the next several hours as best she could. Quickly, Kara locked the still unconscious Mister Karp in her old cell, then headed out into the living space. She didn't dare venture outside of the room, for fear of running into a servant. But the living space had a television, and Kara even found a drawer of snacks. With her feet up on the coffee table and a blanket wrapped around her middle, Kara felt pretty damn good. Before her, the television was on, displaying a sitcom. It wasn't a bad show, either. Kara laughed out loud several times, maybe even a little too boisterously. But what was a movie without the popcorn? Kara also had several snacks, which she had stolen from a little cabinet. There were mini powdered donuts, some beef jerky, a bag of gummy worms, and even a hand full of expensive looking chocolates. And Kara enjoyed eating Arlington's expensive things. More specifically, she liked ruining Arlington's expensive things, which was a pleasure in and of itself, simplistic and clean. Kara made sure that, when she opened a bottle of wine from the cooler, it was the best bottle available. And though she didn't smoke, Kara decided to try out a few or Arlington's fanciest cigars, just for the hell of it. It was three in the morning and Tamius was long gone when the door to the living space opened. Kara looked up just in time to see Arlington, as he walked into the room. The man was startled to find Kara awake, and even more startled that she was loose in the house and watching television. But instead of getting angry, he only laughed, shutting the door behind him. "Is this your idea of rebellion?" Arlington teased, leaning against the far wall. "Because I just caught myself a double agent, and nothing you could do would spoil my evening." Kara couldn't have asked for a better set up if she'd written the damn thing herself. With a victorious expression on her face, Kara merely leaned back in her seat and replied, with a coy smile on her face, "Are you sure about that, my lord?" Then, with great ceremony, Kara lifted Tamius' blood encrusted tracking implant upward and into the firelight. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 15 Author's Note: Thank you, fabulous readers, for all of your support, amazingly helpful comments, and ratings. It's taken me quite a while to set up for what I hope will be a thrilling ride as the story progresses, and I appreciate your patience. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the next, which I have eagerly awaited writing for about a month now. HisPet21 * Arlington stared at the square slab of metal in Kara's hands, his eyes perplexed. Clearly, his lordship didn't realize that the black device was a tracking implant. But Kara was okay with that. She didn't mind waiting for Arlington. In fact, Kara rather liked the suspense. But, more importantly, Kara wanted to savor the changing expressions on Arlington's face, when he finally realized that Tamius Sue was gone. His initial feelings of confusion and intrigue were merely the prologue to a much more interesting story. But, Kara had to admit, they were also entertaining in their own right. Arlington was always so sure of himself, and Kara enjoyed seeing bewilderment on his face for a change. Anger would come eventually, and Kara planned to savor the emotion when it consumed Arlington. But for now, uncertainty would serve as a fine appetizer. After all, a finale was no fun without the initial, subdued display of fireworks, to create awe through juxtaposition. As Arlington approached Kara--his footsteps cautious, but determined--a light ignited behind his eyes and gradually intensified, until it became a full blown flame. The confusion on Arlington's face was gone now, recently replaced with cool conviction and an analytic air. And with that, Lord Arlington snatched the tracking implant out of Kara's hands, in order to study the metal square up close and confirm his suspicions. For several minutes, his lordship turned the implant over and over again in his hands, squinting at the rough edges and then the device's registration number, which was printed on the black surface in silvery white ink. When realization and then rage finally settled across Arlington's features, Kara was not disappointed. First, there was a spark of shock in his lordship's eyes, and a momentary glimpse of disbelief. It was as beautiful as watching a shooting star slash across the sky, before disappearing into blackness. Then, Lord Arlington cracked, so abruptly that Kara could almost hear his calm shatter and then fall away, like broken glass. The man's face had become ugly and lopsided with intense anger, as it should be, for Arlington's beautiful features had always seemed out of place on his cruel face. And was there a hint of embarrassment? Maybe a little humiliation? Indeed, there was a flush coloring Arlington's face, turning it a brilliant shade of red, dark and foreboding and positively gorgeous. If anyone else had been before Arlington then, the poor soul would have surely fled from his lordship. And if running were impossible, the miserable creature would have at least backed away from Lord Arlington, and possibly tried to find a weapon for self defense. But Kara was done running from Lord Arlington. In all honesty, she had only put on a facade of obedience and fear for the sake of a possible escape. And now that the escape had been botched, Kara no longer had any reason to bow before her lord. Instead of running, Kara stayed sitting on the couch, a victorious smile on her lips. As Arlington drew ever closer, she made sure to brand every expression on his face--especially the humiliation--into her brain, where it could be recalled for future inspiration. Kara did not wish to forget a single moment of her glorious victory, and hung onto the triumph of the moment with a vigor most unbecoming of a slave. But Kara wasn't a slave, not by a long shot. Kara was unbroken, untamed, and unremitting. And now, Arlington also knew that she was a force to be reckoned with. Now, he knew that Kara shouldn't have been underestimated, under the false presumption that she was merely a medic from the countryside of a fallen nation. For Kara Chrystein was so much more, and she liked feeling on par with Arlington for a change. "Do you see this smile?" Kara asked, as Arlington turned toward her with a murderous expression. But as the monster's presence became ever more pronounced, Kara's eyes betrayed no fear. There was only a sinister sense of triumph behind her irises, and even a hint of amusement. "I want you to burn this smile into your memory," Kara told her lord, and she pointed to a dimpled cheek. "Even when I've been broken by you---which I know will happen eventually, as I am only human. But Arlington, even then, when I am just a doll under your feet, I want you to unwillingly recall this expression. And you'll know then that, at least once, I beat you. You'll remember that there was a time when I wasn't so soft, and threw your miserable ass into the fire in order to watch you burn. Because you can't erase the past, Arlington. None of us can. And so the fact will always remain that, today, I won. I beat you, you miserable fuck wad, and you'll never be able to go back and fix that." "Where is she?" Arlington hissed, moving onto the couch and forcing Kara to lie down on it. For there was nowhere else to go, if Kara wished to back away from Arlington's grasp. Soon, they were both atop the sofa, with Kara lying below Arlington's massive form, mere inches separating the beauty from the beast. And there, Arlington remained, breathing hot air onto Kara's face, his eyes wonderfully, fabulously livid. God, humiliation suited the man well. Kara thought that Arlington almost looked handsome. "I will ask only once, Kara," his lordship told her, his voice trembling and threat underlining every uttered word. "Where is Tamius, and how did she get out?" "I don't know," Kara answered, and it was the truth. But to ensure that Arlington realized this, Kara looked up into her lord's eyes with an honest, unblinking stare. His lordship was, after all, a mind reader and Kara wished to capitalize on that fact. "I know not where Tamius is, or how she got there, or where she intends to go afterwards," Kara continued, keeping her voice even. "I know only that she is gone, and is probably very, very far away by now. She disappeared into the darkness, like a ghost. And like a ghost, who knows the manner of her disappearance, or of her eventual reappearance?" Then, quite suddenly, Arlington cursed under his breath. It was so violent and sudden an outburst, that Kara jumped ever so slightly. But for some reason, Arlington's wrath was no longer directed at Kara, and he hardly noticed that she moved. Standing from the couch, Arlington rested his face in his palm and groaned. When his features emerged into the firelight once more, there was a fresh wave of anger, different from before. And, Kara realized, this anger was self directed. "Greenwood!" Arlington hissed, and he leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Goddamn it, how could I have missed them! How could I have missed so many signs! An underground route, of course. Goddamn it, Arlington!" And with that, Lord Arlington headed for the doorway, his footsteps quick and light. Kara knew why, too. He had seen the truth behind Kara's eyes, and didn't have time to deal with her. Instead, Arlington was opting to search for Tamius, on the off chance that she was still within tracking distance. And as the door to the living space slammed shut, Kara could hear a gentle clicking sound and realized that she had been locked inside the room. But Kara didn't mind. What was one more locked room? One more closed door? One more barrier to freedom? Kara couldn't leave Arlington's manor anyway, not with a tracking implant embedded in her back. And so, with nothing better to do, Kara returned to her sitcom. And as she popped a chocolate into her mouth, Kara wondered if it might be wise to finish off another bottle of wine. When Arlington finally did come back, having a little alcohol in her system couldn't hurt. An hour or so later, the door creaked open and Kara looked up from the television set. But to her immense surprise, Kara didn't see Lord Arlington enter into the room. Instead, Kara saw a well built woman nearly seven feet tall, who's toned muscles flexed with an earnestness that was most intimidating. The woman's violet eyes, Kara observed, were soft, yet serious, which seemed to mitigate her imposing figure. But Kara still didn't like the way her broad shoulders blocked out the light behind her, nor the impressive width of her stance. The woman must be a cop, Kara reasoned, for she wore a black body suit and was decorated with a number of sinister weapons. Perplexed by Arlington's absence, Kara opened her mouth to question the woman, but his lordship trotted in after the cop, and Kara fell silent. "The girl is my private property," Lord Arlington was saying, in the midst of an ongoing conversation. His voice was both clipped and irritated, indicating that he was most displeased with the discourse. "I expect my property rights to be respected and upheld by the law, Constance," he continued, trying to sound forceful. "And as a woman of the law, I anticipate that we won't have any problems." "Come on, Arlington," Constance sighed, running a hand through her short, silvery locks. "Property rights aren't inalienable, and you know that. If national security is at stake, then I am allowed to confiscate personal property as I see fit. The girl's just released a war time criminal into Capital City, and she has to be taken in for questioning. That's the protocol. If you don't like it, take the matter up with my supervisor." "Let me handle the questioning," Arlington insisted, turning off the television set for quiet, before turning back to Constance. Kara, meanwhile, was completely ignored, which turned out to be a good thing. Since no one was paying her any heed, Kara was able to sit back and watch the conversation as she might a movie, popping the occasional chocolate into her mouth and sipping on a half filled glass of red wine. "I know the girl better than anyone else," Arlington continued, his voice earnest. "So I should be the one to handle her." "No, Arlington. Absolutely not; I simply can't allow it," Constance growled, her voice firm. Apparently, Arlington had already asked this question several times, and was pestering Constance for a different answer. "Protocol forbids me from allowing an interrogator to handle a family member's case. We can't just ignore a potential conflict of interest. I'm sorry, but a house slave falls under the legal definition of "family," and you'll have to sit this one out. It would be unethical of me to make an exception in your case, whether or not you're the Fourth Lord of Isleydor." "Oh, dear god," Kara laughed, unable to help herself. And upon hearing the outburst, both Arlington and Constance suddenly turned toward Kara, their faces stern. But the conquest slave couldn't care less. She was still high from her recent victory, and caution seemed to be a ridiculous concept. Kara was fucked as it was, so there was no real reason for her to hold her tongue in front of Arlington or feign respect for his guest. "I don't think you should be using that word," Kara continued, her tone amused. "I highly doubt that either one of you is familiar with the term 'unethical,' or even know what it means. I mean, who is in charge of these supposed 'Ethical Standards'? Do you have a retarded duck on your payroll, or do you just throw a bunch of proposed standards into the air, and whichever ones hit the ground first become official?" The harsh insinuation was the last straw for Arlington, and Kara could see that in his eyes. With a pronounced gesture, his lordship raised his hand in order to strike Kara. But to the slave's immense satisfaction, the blow never landed. In a moment, Constance had moved between Arlington and his target, blocking Kara from view. "Arlington," the police woman warned, her voice sympathetic but stern. "You can't do that. Technically, the girl is in my custody now. If you hit her, it's considered police brutality and I have to report the incident to my supervisor. Then, we'll both be getting flack for it and you'll probably end up with a fine." "Now, that's interesting," Kara blurted, before she could stop herself. Somehow, the words managed to slip past Kara's lips before her consciousnesses could evaluate them. In fact, they were already out in the open air when Kara comprehended them for the first time. But she hadn't lied. Constance's words were indeed "interesting." So, Arlington couldn't touch Kara, could he? At least, not while she was under arrest, right? The night was just getting better and better and better, and Kara thought the situation simply sublime. In fact, it was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. With a twisted smile, Kara flipped Arlington off and watched as he rippled aggressively, like a massive dog trapped behind a wire fence. But he did not hit her, though his fists were clenched by his sides and trembling with the need for release. "Fine!" Arlington spat, a little more loudly than he had intended. And, recognizing the violent nature of his outburst, Arlington took a deep breath and smoothened his features. Only when he had collected himself did Arlington turn back toward the police woman. "Fine," he repeated, with a defeated sigh. "Very well, Constance. I understand that you are caught between a rock and a hard place, so I'll give way. But could you at least set the girl up with Johnson or Bertrond, as a personal favor?" "I'm not going to waste one of my good interrogators on a conquest slave," Constance snorted, unrelenting. "Both Johnson and Bertrond are fully booked this week, and I'm not going to overload them during a transition period. We've just finished cleaning up in Calihistra, and with Nardia on the radar, the Intelligence Bureau is demanding a progress report every fucking week." Constance then pulled out her smart phone, and began to scroll through a document of some kind. "I can give the girl to Taylor," the woman finally said. "But that's the best I can do. And besides, you'll get your slave back in a week. She doesn't look like she knows much, so we won't hold her long." But Arlington had stopped listening to Constance a few sentences back. "The intern?" his lordship bristled, aghast. "You're going to give my girl to the intern? As practice?" And he gestured wildly toward Kara. "Constance, the girl is at a very delicate stage in her training, and if I am going to lose her for a whole week, I'd like to have her with someone a little more intimidating. I don't want to reward the girl's behavior with a comfortable week long getaway. I'll lose all of the progress I've made." "What progress?" Constance question, indicating Kara with condescension in her tone. "Because it looks like the girl has her feet up on your couch, drinking your wine, and smoking your cigars." And Kara, just to emphasize Constance's point, loudly gulped down the rest of the alcohol in her glass. "And I am pretty damn sure she flipped you the bird a few minutes ago. Whatever imaginary progress you think you've made, I doubt it'll be lost in Bremmington. In fact, seeing a slave so poorly trained makes me wonder if I ought to have your Exotic Slaver's License temporarily revoked." "You can do that?" Kara gasped gleefully, fully enjoying herself. With an excited air, she pointed vigorously toward Arlington, a smile on her lips. "How many times do I have to insult him in front of you, do you think, before we can make that happen? Because I've saved up quite a few good ones." And counting off on her fingers, Kara threw out some of her best. "Overzealous egomaniac. Womanizing bastard. Self-centered control freak. Oh, and fuck wad. That's a classic, of course." God, Kara loved the shade of red coloring Arlington's face. If she ever escaped, she would have to buy curtains in that color, for Arlington's embarrassment was just too damn tasty. But Constance, temporarily sympathizing with Arlington, finally decided to give his lordship a break. "Look," she relented, sighing into the palm of her hand. "I'm not supposed to do this, but if it'll make you happy, I have a few free rooms available in Cell Block D. Since it's just for a week, I can hold her in there. The lights are on only seven hours a day, and she'll have zero access to the exercise yard. I know it isn't much. After all, the girl helped a captured general escape. But it's the best I can do and in a week, you'll have her back and can deal with the girl in your own way." Arlington opened his mouth for a moment, as if to argue, but thought better of it. Sitting down in a nearby arm chair to think, his lordship carefully considered Constance's offer, before finally nodding. His face was unusually solemn, but betrayed a begrudging acceptance. "Very well, Constance. Thank you," Lord Arlington relented, standing up and heading for the door. "Now, get the girl out of my sight. I believe you know the way out." Then, Lord Arlington left with a sweep of his autumn cloak. "Alright, girl," Constance sighed. And, turning away from the door, the police woman stepped pointedly toward Kara. As she did so, Constance detached a set of metal cuffs from about her waist, which clanked sinisterly in her hands. God, the woman was intimidating. With her confident aura and piercing gaze, Constance reminded Kara of a hawk. "Fun time is over," the woman continued, opening up the cuffs. "I don't want any trouble, girl. I had to get up in the middle of the goddamn night to deal with your sorry ass, and I am not happy about it. So, why don't you give me your wrists and we can be on our way. Any fighting on your part, and I am authorized to use injurious force." But Kara needed no prodding. She was eager to finally be free of Lord Arlington's manor, even if that meant being led away in restraints. And so, immediately, Kara stood to her feet and held out her wrists. Constance was definitely surprised by the sudden complacency, but hesitated for only a moment. Then, with little ceremony, she snapped the cuffs onto Kara, almost clipping her skin in the process. The metal felt cold against Kara's hot flesh, but she found the coolness oddly comforting. In fact, the weight and the bite of the cuffs gave Kara a sense of security. After all, they were the rebellious slave's ticket out of the hell hole she'd been forced to call home. Outside, it was cold. Autumn was briskly coming to an end, and winter wasn't far behind. Kara had hoped to see stars, but the night was overcast with dark clouds, and not even the moon was visible. There was just darkness, uninviting and cruel. In fact, the only light came from the headlights of a grey prison van, parked outside of Lord Arlington's manor. The back end was opened, revealing a tiny cell with a bench, and Kara was pushed inside. The ride to Bremmington, a military prison in Capital City, was uneventful and unexciting. There were no windows in the van, from which Kara could see out into the world. And even if there had been, there wasn't much to see. At six in the morning, most of Isleydor's citizens were only now waking up, if they were waking up at all, and the streets were virtually empty. When Kara finally arrived at Bremmington, she was promptly processed. Her handling was both rough and unceremonious, making Kara feel an awful lot like cattle. The poor slave was immediately stripped of her clothes, hosed down, and dressed in dark green prison clothes, just a thin shirt and a pair of pants. Prisoners weren't allowed any shoes or undergarments either, so Kara was constantly cold, especially her feet. The concrete of the building's floors sapped the heat right out of them, so that Kara was always hopping from one foot to the other. Eventually, though, the exercise became tiring and she gave up, allowing her feet to grow cold and then numb. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 15 But the worst part of the whole ordeal was being fitted with a thick, metallic collar which was wrapped around her neck. The collar served two purposes. First and foremost, it was installed with a tracker, and Martkorp's implant was deactivated to avoid conflicting signals. Secondly, if Kara were ever to leave Cell Block D unattended, she was told that an electric shock from the collar would knock her unconscious. The atrocious thing was bulky and uncomfortable, and dragged Kara's head down just a little. But Kara reminded herself that she would be free of Arlington for a week, and her spirits were almost immediately brightened. Once Kara had been fully processed, she was taken to the Interrogation Block for questioning. There were numbered rooms lining either side of a long hallway, and Kara was eventually led into Room 13. All in all, it was a typical Interrogation Cell. There was a table, two chairs, and an overhead light. As Kara entered the room, she also noticed that it was already occupied, and that two people had been awaiting her arrival. The first occupant was Taylor, Kara's interrogator, who sat across the table, chewing on a pen and reviewing the slave's file. She was roughly as old as Kara--maybe twenty five, or twenty seven--and wore her naturally red hair in a tight bun. The second occupant was a shy looking gentleman who sat in the corner before a typewriter, a stenographer. And that was pretty much it. Another prisoner might have been intimidated by the scene, but Kara was unimpressed. Arlington's torture room was far more horrific, and the Interrogation Block provided Kara with a nice change of scenery. The interrogation was short. At most, it lasted twenty minutes. Kara was merely hooked up to a lie detector and asked a series of questions, none of which were difficult to answer. In fact, Kara was able to answer every single question with the word "no," making the stenographer's job embarrassingly easy. So easy, even, that he eventually became bored and was staring off into space between questions. Do you know where Tamius Sue is? .....No. Do you know where she is heading? .....No. Do you have any good guesses? .....No. Finally, Taylor became bored with the questioning and dismissed Kara to her cell. And for that, Kara was grateful. The elation from her recent victory had not yet worn off, but Kara was still exhausted from the past day's events. She hadn't slept in over 24hrs, and she desperately needed some time to herself. Kara needed some privacy to recuperate and, perhaps more importantly, to consider her abysmal situation. For now, she was safe inside Bremmington, where Arlington couldn't get to her. But eventually, Kara would be returned to her master, and she needed to decide, once and for all, how to approach that fact. Escape seemed completely out of the question. Once returned to Lord Arlington's Manor, Kara would be placed on lock down. There was no doubt about that, not even a sliver. And so, the questions haunting Kara were these: Should she fully submit, so that Arlington would allow her to retain some sense of her former self? Or, should she resist and endure further torment, until her mind turned to mush and she was nothing but a sex doll? The former seemed wise, but shameful. The latter was ideologically justifiable, but impractical. Following the interrogation, a bulky guard in a black body suit arrived, to escort Kara to her cell. It took the pair a surprisingly long amount of time to get there, too, most probably because Kara was tired and her footsteps were heavy. For at least a half hour, the slave was led through several winding hallways, and past many closed doors. As they walked, Kara noted that the entirety of Bremmington seemed to be nothing but grey concrete and fluorescent lighting. But finally, Kara and her escort reached an elevator, and proceeded downward into the bowels of Bremmington, as Cell Block D was below ground level. After traversing past a great many floors, the elevator finally came to a stop and the doors parted. Kara then realized why Constance's placement of Kara had been such a huge favor. Cell Block D was very clearly a maximum security cell block, and Kara most definitely didn't belong there. She was a low priority prisoner, and would normally have been taken to a less sinister cell block. But Arlington wanted Kara to be as uncomfortable as possible while in prison, and it seemed that he would get his wish. On her way to the Interrogation Block, Kara had seen several other floors, and none of them looked quite like Cell Block D. The floors above ground level housed cells that were open to the hallway, so that prisoners could shout across to each other. The rooms had been large, too. Some had even been equipped with phones, or a television. But Cell Block D consisted of a long, concrete hallway that was damp, and foreboding. Fluorescent lights flickered above, making an annoying buzzing sound that was sure to give Kara a headache. And then, painted along the walls, was the ominous "Cell Block D" insignia. But Kara was most worried about the cells themselves, which were concrete cubes roughly five feet wide by five feet long. They weren't open to the hallway, either. There was only a small opening, like a mail slot, at the base of each door, for the insertion of food. Although, even those slots were bolted up tight, when not in use. And when Kara was introduced to Cell 05--where she would remain for the next week--she saw that it was very poorly furnished. There was a straw stuffed mattress lying on the floor, dressed in the poor imitation of a blanket, which was thin and full of holes. In addition to this, there was only a toilet and a sink, both of which were old and rusted with use. Soon, Kara was pushed inside of the cell and the door was locked ominously behind her, leaving the poor girl all alone. Or, at least, Kara thought she was alone. But there was an odd scratching noise in the corner of her cell, and Kara decided to investigate the sound. Initially, she suspected that the culprit was a rodent. Surely, Bremmington would be crawling with the disgusting creatures. However, the sound belonged to neither a mouse nor a rat. Instead, Kara watched as something small was pushed through a tiny, hardly noticeable hole in the wall beside the floor. Curious, Kara knelt by the opening in order to see what was being passed though: a gum wrapper, the lead point of a pencil, and a sliver of eraser. There was something written on the bubble gum wrapper too, although it was hard to read. The slip of paper had been written over many times, so that it had become dark grey with smudged graphite. And even though someone had tried to erase the residual pencil smudges, the endeavor was clearly hopeless. But eventually, Kara could make out something in the upper left hand corner: "Address: Cell 09." "Pass it along," said a disembodied voice. It seemed to come from nowhere, and startled Kara so badly that she jumped away from the wall with a little screech. It was a gruff male voice too, toned and deep, but not unkind. And after Kara had reclaimed her bearings, she realized that it had come from the cell beside her. "There should be a small hole, just like this one, near the floor on the other side of your cell," the male voice continued, nonchalant and causal, as if Kara hadn't just screamed. "We're on the odd numbered side, so the note's supposed to be delivered two cells to your left. James is in the cell beside you. Just knock on the wall when you're through, and he'll finish the delivery." Intrigued, Kara gingerly picked up the tiny gum wrapper, so as not to drop it, and the associated writing utensils. Or, more accurately, the disembodied pieces of writing utensils. They must have been very precious, Kara thought, for in a maximum security cell block, supplies of any kind must be hard to come by. And as Kara walked toward the opposite end of her cell, to deliver the tiny message, she attempted to read it, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Don't look at a message that isn't for you, by the way," the disembodied voice warned, gentle but firm."It's rude, and it's dangerous." "Alright," Kara replied, though reluctant. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Then, as instructed, Kara pushed the bundle of items into the aforementioned hole. Apparently, there was no need to alert James to the package, either. For the note disappeared almost instantly, as someone on the other side gripped and pulled. "Successfully delivered," Kara proclaimed, and sat back next to the wall from whence the disembodied voice came. "So," pondered the voice, cool and casual. "May I ask what you are in for? Of course, if you're uncomfortable discussing that here, I understand. There'll be cameras somewhere hidden in the ceiling, so be careful what you say." But Kara didn't mind bragging a little bit. After all, the slave was rather proud of her escapades. "Aiding and abetting in the escape of a Class "A" Wartime Criminal," Kara explained, reciting a line from a confession she'd been forced to sign. "And from what I can tell, it was a very successful escape, by the way." "Well, all be damned," the voice laughed. "Very good news. And may I ask who the escapee was?" "General Tamius Sue," Kara replied, unable to hide the pride in her tone. "General Tamius Sue, the East Side Combatant." "No, shit?" the voice asked, and it was suddenly incredulous. Kara could hear shuffling on the other side of the wall, as her neighbor inched closer. "Tamius?" he questioned, making sure he'd heard Kara right the first time. "Of the White Horse Rebel Alliance? Arlington's primary trophy slave?" "The one and the same," Kara grinned, unable to help herself. "Can I ask what Rescue Regimen you were from?" The disembodied voice sounded earnest. "I hear you guys have been slowly working your way inward from the border, but I didn't expect anyone this far inland so soon." "I'm not from a Rescue Regimen," Kara admitted. "I didn't even know there were such things. I'm just a lowly secondary trophy slave of Arlington's, and he just happened to fuck up one day. That's all. I'm Kara Chrystein, by the way. I was medic in Gardok during the war. Nice to meet you, Mister...." "Karrington," the disembodied voice replied. "Ben Karrington. And yes, I am rather pleased to make your acquaintance as well." This time, it was Kara's turn to sound incredulous. "Did I hear you right?" she asked, trying hard to keep the astonishment out of her voice. "Ben Karrington? Head of the White Horse Rebel Alliance?" "Indeed. And if we should ever meet face to face, I will give you my autograph." And Karrington laughed, his voice genuine and boyish. "But seriously," he continued, subduing an emergent chuckle in his throat. "Let's not make a big deal out of that. There is no more 'White Horse Rebel Alliance,' except for a few insurgent groups. As far as I'm concerned, there isn't anything left for me to lead. And a general without his men is no general at all. You and I are just two miserable souls in the same god awful place. And I am just a condemned war criminal, like everyone else." "I thought you were sold at the Martkorp Slave Auction?" Kara pressed, now very curious about her neighbor. "I thought you were an owned man?" Kara wanted to know everything she could about Karrington then, and she had good reason to. Karrington was, after all, the ultimate reason Kara had joined the military in spite of her parent's objections. He was the reason Kara had gone to Gardok, instead of surrendering to Isleydor after the Primary Counselors had. Karrington was, quite frankly, the reason Kara had ended up at a Martkorp Auction and was sold to Lord Arlington in the first place, if one only followed the chain of events far enough back. "But not anymore," Karrington replied, and his voice was suddenly clipped and defensive. "It's a long story, and I'd rather not talk about it." Kara then noticed that there was a second hole in the wall, reducing the separation between her and Karrington. From where she sat, it was about eye level, and Kara used it to peer into Karrington's adjacent cell. The hole was so tiny that Kara didn't get a very clear view of her neighbor, but she did mange to see a single grey eye, filled with kindness and an insatiable light. Very suddenly, the eye looked right back at Kara, and it startled her. For it was fiercely intrigued and seemed to pierce past Kara's barriers and into her soul, making her feel both naked and strangely violated. Quickly then, Kara turned away. But it was only a momentary loss of calm, and the conquest slave was soon peering into the hole once more. "So," Karrington prodded, a smile in his one, visible eye. "It's awfully easy to get bored in here, day after agonizing day. If you have any good stories, I would be much obliged. And if you aren't too prudish, I have a marvelous story about an old man and a prostitute I could tell you in return." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 16 Author's Note: What a relief it is, to finally publish this particular chapter! It has been rolling around in my head for forever, and I finally have it down on digital paper. Yay! If you have been enjoying my stories, I would love to know your opinion on this particular chapter, and which character you find most intriguing at this point. I'm really just curious, honestly. As always, I am indebted to you all for your support. It keeps me invested in the story, and in my characters. Seriously, all of your comments mean a LOT to me. And finally, some rumors have started to go around that this is the last chapter. It isn't. I am pretty sure you guys would kill me if I left it here, and I hope you soon see why. HisPet21 * Kara's time at Bremmington was, overall, quite pleasant. In fact, Kara considered her captivity at Bremmington to be an enjoyable, week long vacation. Certainly, Kara's accommodations were less pleasant than they had been at Lord Arlington's Manor. Kara's mattress was filled with straw, so that it was painfully itchy. And if that wasn't bad enough, Kara was fairly certain that a family of mice lived in her mattress. It was cold too, since Kara's clothes were made of a thin, synthetic material. And worse still, the tap water from the sink was always red with rust and undrinkable, so that Kara only had access to fluids at lunch and dinner. The meals themselves were equally unpleasant, and the portions were far too small. But Kara adored her miserable little cell, because it was completely free of Lord Arlington's evil presence. And as far as Kara was concerned, any time away from Lord Arlington was inherently agreeable. By her third day at Bremmington, Kara had established a routine. In the early morning, the lights would flicker on and Kara was taken by a guard to shower, alone. Normally, showering at Bremmington was a group activity, but as a resident of Cell Block D--albeit, a misplaced one--Kara was watched very carefully whenever she was taken from her cell, and was never permitted to interact with other prisoners. After the shower, Kara would receive clean prison clothes and was then taken to the usual Interrogation Room. Taylor always asked her the exact same set of questions, and Kara always answered the same way, with a series of successive denials. The interrogator was usually annoyed with Kara, and the slave couldn't blame her. It was clear to the both of them that Kara had no useful information, and that her answers were only being tested for consistency as a matter of protocol. Finally, following the questioning, Kara would be returned to her cell for lunch and Karrington would lead the pair in a series of exercises, which he had developed to "stay strong and sane." Kara wasn't any good at push ups, sit ups, jumping jacks, or pretty much anything else. To some extent, she was even glad that a wall separated the two, so that Karrington couldn't watch her flail about miserably. Then, when the lights went out in the afternoon--for the cell block was cast in darkness for 17hrs each day--the two prisoners would tell each other stories, in order to pass the time. Kara's specialty was fiction, particularly of the science fiction and fantasy varieties. Before the war, Kara had been something of a book addict, and had an impressive collection of novels back in Telma. On Karrington's whim, she would tell him fantastic stories of dragons, and robots, and alternative dimensions. Karrington enjoyed them all immensely, and always repaid Kara with a tale of his own. But Karrington wasn't very good at making up stories on the fly. So instead, he focused on nonfiction. The man had a fascinating past, and Kara was never disappointed with his stories. For the former general had been born into a military family, and personal tales of wartime had been passed along through the generations. They were always filled with excitement, triumph, and unbearable sadness, making Kara cry on a few occasions. And so, Kara Chrystein and Ben Karrington became good friends. They meshed well together, and enjoyed each other's company immensely. But perhaps more importantly, they were trapped together in a world filled with darkness and despair, such that reciprocal sociability was a mutually beneficial arrangement. After all, with predators all about, circling and circling like half-starved sharks, friendship was a very valuable commodity, necessary for maintaining one's sanity. In such a place as Bremmington, bonds between prisoners formed with surprising quickness and lasting partnerships blossomed with an ease unfitting for the outside world. Not that Kara or Karrington particularly cared. On Kara's fourth day of captivity, the lights flickered on as they usually did and the cell block's occupants began to stir in unison. With a groan, Kara rolled out of bed and lazily scratched her irritated back. The straw in her mattress hadn't been changed in ages, and she was developing a rash. Concerned with the state of the sore, which now burned painfully, Kara moved toward her cell door and held out her wrists in anticipation of her escort. And, sure enough, she could soon hear the door being unlocked, as a guard came to fetch Kara for her morning shower. The medic would be sure to treat her rash with soap and hot water. Maybe, Kara reasoned, she could even get a guard to take her to the infirmary. But when the cell door swung open, there was no guard in the doorway. Instead, there was Lord Arlington, wearing a dark blue cloak and a sinister smile. Kara immediately jumped to the back of her cell, more from shock than anything else. But she quickly regained her composure, making sure to smoothen her features and stand tall. After all, Arlington couldn't touch her, at least not yet. And though frightened, Kara grabbed onto that fact and allowed it to give her strength. "You aren't allowed in here," Kara hissed, making sure to keep her voice steady and confident. But secretly, she wondered if Arlington had weaseled his way out of needing to abide by appropriate protocol. "You need to leave. You aren't supposed to be in my cell. You aren't supposed to see me until the week is out, and they've finished questioning me." "Oh, but I'm not here on business," Arlington grinned, stepping into the room. A guard followed in after him and set down a wooden chair, so that Arlington could take a seat. And, Kara noticed, the man was back to being his cool, collected self. "I'm here for pleasure only," his lordship continued, tapping an obnoxiously pink 'Visitor's Badge,' which was clipped onto his front pocket. "A little paper work, some gentle prodding, and it's amazing what you can accomplish in spite of the bureaucracy." "Five minutes, my lord," the guard insisted, his voice tense. But Kara wasn't surprised by his nervous tone. Giving orders to Lord Arlington was a lot like poking a lion with a stick and hoping it wouldn't kill you. "Then, my lord, I must insist that we depart," the guard finished. And the poor man closed the cell door behind Arlington, in order to give Kara and his lordship some semblance of privacy. However, the perceived privacy was an illusion. Kara knew that Karrington was listening in, for as she glanced toward the right most wall, the little hole there suddenly darkened, as if someone were looking in and had blocked out the light. God, Kara didn't want Karrington involved in this. He was untainted by the knowledge of her torturous enslavement, and Kara didn't want him to treat her differently because of it. She didn't think she could stand being pitied, not even for the next few days. "Of course, I'll only need two minutes," Lord Arlington told Kara, a wicked grin on his face. And he leaned forward in his seat, to better see Kara and watch her reactions. "True, you still have a few more days of precious freedom," Arlington continued, his voice serene. "But lest you forget, I thought I would stop by and remind you that I own you, Kara. I own every inch of you, and that is no exaggeration. I could even kill you if I wanted to, but you know that I won't. It would be too easy, and I paid a lot of money for you." Lord Arlington paused then and adjusted his visitor's badge, giving Kara time to let his words sink in. Then, he turned back to her, his face tight. "I know you must be very proud of yourself, after freeing Tamius Sue," he admitted. "I hope you find that little ego boost worth the price you will pay. Surely, you must realize that with Tamius gone, you're now my primary trophy slave. Now, all of my attention will be devoted to you. Such a lucky girl, you are." Kara stiffened at that, frightened by the truth of Arlington's words. But when a smile crossed over his lordship's features, she quickly relaxed, determined not to give into him and entertain him with her reactions. But in another moment, Arlington was standing to his feet and approaching Kara, his footsteps pointed and intimidating. In spite of herself, Kara became frightened and tried to maneuver around Arlington, but he easily blocked her path. Eventually, Kara backed herself into a corner, completely at her lord's mercy. There, with no means of escape, the slave could only cringe as Arlington grabbed her face in his hands, his grip painful. "Enjoy these next few days as best you can," Lord Arlington told her, his voice dangerous but playful, as if he were a cat with a cornered mouse. "Because these next few days will be your very last as Kara Chrystein. When I get you home, I am going to lock you in a deep, dark hole for a while, until you honestly can't remember what the sun looks like. And when I finally do take you out, no amount of begging and screaming is going to sway me toward mercy. I will relentlessly crack away at your spirit until it shatters, no matter how long it takes. Every fear that you have, I will expose. And then, I shall use those fears against you, until you no longer think of yourself as 'Kara Chrystein,' but only as 'Arlington's Girl.'" Arlington touched Kara's face then, in a gentle and yet sadistic caress. His hands were warm, and his body pressed firmly into Kara's, until she could feel her lungs compress and the air within leave them. "And just when you think you can take no more," Arlington continued, almost endearing. "Just then, I will fuck you senseless until you are writhing in pleasure and the agony of knowing that it is I who bring you such pleasure. Think about all that, while I'm gone," he whispered in Kara's ear. "Better yet, dream about it." With a sinister smirk, Arlington wrapped his fingers in Kara's hair, pulling her head to the side in the process. When her face was tilted to the left and a cheek was exposed, Arlington planted a soft, threatening kiss upon the skin. Until that moment, Kara didn't think it possible to describe a kiss as 'threatening,' but she knew better now. Arlington's kiss had been just that, warm and soft and barely brushing the skin, but with a pent up hunger that bordered on the edge of release. "Have a good day, pet," Lord Arlington whispered, brushing Kara's ear with his soft lips. Then, without any ceremony, he let Kara go and walked back towards the cell door. Forcefully, he knocked upon the metal mass until it opened, and in another instant he was gone. It all happened so fast that Kara could hardly believe it had happened at all. But it had, and Kara could feel Arlington's words begin to take their emotional toll. He had intended, of course, to scare her and he had succeeded. With the future so dark and foreboding, Kara couldn't help but feel afraid and alone, especially now that her recent victory was a thing of the past and was no longer able to warm her spirits. Kara wanted to collapse then, to fall to her knees and sob. But first, Kara walked to her straw mattress and picked up the worn, grey blanket that lay atop it. Tearing away a small section of cloth, she lodged it into the hole between her and Karrington's cells, so that he couldn't watch her cry. Then and only then, did Kara lie down on her mattress and bury her face in the straw, making sure to keep her tiny sobs quiet and subdued. Her tiny body trembled with the effort of remaining soundless, and she gripped the mattress with both hands, allowing the sharp strands of straw to dig into her palms. A few times, she thought she could hear Karrington start to say something through the wall, but Kara ignored his voice, imaginary or not. And she stayed like that for an hour, before a guard finally came to escort her to the shower room. The guard who cuffed Kara and then escorted her from the cell block was new, but Kara didn't particularly care. She was still upset after Arlington's visit, and even more upset that Karrington had witnessed it. In fact, Kara was so absorbed in her misery that she didn't even realize when her escort--a short woman, with wavy brown hair--took her down the wrong hallway, and into an elevator instead of the shower room. But when the guard gripped Kara's collar and threw her against the elevator wall, her mind suddenly withdrew from the darkness and was pulled back into the present. "What are you doing?" Kara whispered hoarsely, strongly suspecting that she was about to beaten. So called, "Friendly Fuck Ups" weren't unheard of in Bremmington, and occasionally a prisoner would be abused for the fun of it. Of course, these beatings were expressly forbidden under the Employee Guidelines, but a guard couldn't be punished unless caught. And most guards didn't get caught. "Hold still," the guard replied, pulling a device that strongly resembled a radar gun from her belt. Kara winced then, as the device was pressed against her collar. But then, with a high pitched beep, the ordeal was over and Kara was released. "There," said the guard, putting the device away and withdrawing a pistol. "The collar has been deactivated. Stay close to me, keep your head down, and shoot if you have to." And the guard gave Kara a gun. For a moment, Kara was too stunned to speak. As the elevator ascended, she could only turn the gun over and over again in her hands, appreciating the weight of it and the cool feel of metal against her fingertips. Many times, Kara had fantasized about obtaining a gun, and now there was one in the palm of her hand. But why had she been given a gun? And what could she do with a gun, trapped in the bowels of Bremmington? As she pondered these questions, Kara suddenly became afraid. What would the other Bremmington guards think, when they saw her with a gun? Certainly, they would shoot on sight, and Kara didn't want to die. Perhaps it was her mother's "Never Give Up, Never Surrender" policy that had given Kara the will to survive, in spite of all that she had endured. But regardless, even if life for Kara was synonymous with enslavement, she most definitely didn't want to die. "Excuse me?" Kara choked. She felt frightened, confused, and unabashedly excited, all at the same time. Kara hadn't thought that combination of emotions possible, not until now. "What the hell is going on?" With a sigh, the guard turned toward Kara. She was a petite creature, but her bright green eyes held a ferocity that was monstrous. Like all other Bremmington personal, she wore the standard black body suit and had a utility belt of weapons. But, Kara noticed, some of those weapons weren't typical of a guard. There were, for example, a few grenades and even a stick of dynamite. And in addition to these, there was an unusual handgun, loaded with darts instead of bullets. Kara noted that the guard was assessing her quickly, noting the confusion in Kara's eyes before deciding to speak. And when she did so, the guard's words were hurried and stern, commanding even. "I only have to time to explain this once," the guard warned, her face tense. And Kara nodded her understanding, a silent promise to listen to the escort's words carefully, so as not to miss a single word. "I'm Commander Ciara, and I'm from a Rescue Regiment in Southern Nardia," the guard announced, loading a pistol from her utility belt and poising it in her hand. "We've been planning a jail break here for months, and I owe Florence Querren a favor. You made the pick-up list last minute, and here we are. Right now, we have the surveillance system bugged, and all cameras are running on a loop." Which, Kara realized, must be a good thing, for there was a camera in the elevator with them, pointing downward. "In about fifteen minutes, the electrical system will shut down, and we'll have ten minutes before the back-up generators kick in. In that time, we'll head to the roof and escape via helicopter. Once we enter Nardian Air Space, there'll be a Jet Troop to protect us. In short, we have thirty minutes to get out of here. Fall behind, and you'll get left behind. We don't go back for anyone, regardless of the circumstances. Are you following me, Ms. Chrystein?" And Kara, dumbfounded, nodded. "Good," Commander Ciara acknowledged, her features serene, but serious. "Now, you might want to keep your head down." And the woman pointed her pistol toward the elevator doors, which were just now parting. "Apparently, we've been found out, and the second floor is a war zone." Kara hit the deck as the elevator doors opened, and could hear a series of successive shots being fired above her. The entire floor smelt strongly of gunpowder and blood, a combination not unfamiliar to Kara and her old Medical Unit. As she cowered, Kara could feel her arm being gripped and she was dragged out of the elevator and into a hallway, where she was released and told to stand. And obedient as ever, Kara got to her feet and followed Commander Ciara down a twisting hallway, rife with dead bodies and discarded shells. "Wait, wait!" Kara cried, as they ran though Bremmington, the sound of gunfire ever present. "We have to go back! I have a few companions--Alan Greenwood and Ben Karrington--who we need to take with us!" "They're not on the list," Commander Ciara replied, clearly annoyed. They were, after all, in the middle of a gun fight and Ciara needed to focus her attention on staying alive, not on Kara's persistent questioning. "We can't break every miserable soul out of Bremmington, and that's just how it is. Now, move!" And she pushed Kara across a recently cleared hallway. But Kara couldn't believe what she was hearing, and ignored Commander Ciara's irritated tone. "Ben Karrington isn't on the list?" she pressed, incredulous and concerned by the certainty of Ciara's features. "Are you telling me that the head of the White Horse Rebel Alliance isn't on your pick-up list? How is that possible?" "The White Horse Rebel Alliance is dead," Commander Ciara replied, this time making her tone threatening. Clearly, she intended to frighten Kara into shutting up. "Karrington is useless to us, Ms. Chrystein. There isn't any room for him on our pick-up list. Now, stay close!" As Kara was led behind a wall of concrete, she saw that there were several other armed personnel from Ciara's Rescue Regiment, all wielding weapons and attempting to mow down a wall of guards, who were blocking the Nardians' access to a nearby stairwell and elevator. Ciara had said that they would need to head to the roof, and the Bremmington combat personnel were trying to impede the regiment's progress upward. Quickly, Kara checked the ammo in her own weapon and noted that she had about ten shots. As she prepared to help with the gunfire, in spite of her poor aim, Kara realized that Alyssa Terrance had been freed and was also aiding in the fight. Kara couldn't believe that the treacherous woman had made it onto Ciara's pick-up list, but she must have or she wouldn't be running around unbound. Kara wasn't sure when she made the decision to stay behind, for it wasn't a conscious decision. Somehow, while the gunfight around her continued, Kara's mind processed the recent events without her, and concluded that she could not leave without Greenwood or Karrington. As Ciara and her team dashed across the now cleared floor and towards the second floor stairwell, Kara could see Alyssa Terrance step in front of her. And, while the rest of Ciara's team was distracted, Kara pressed the cold barrel of her gun to the base of Alyssa's head. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 16 "We aren't leaving," Kara told Alyssa, her voice certain and unwavering. In response, the Weapons Specialist carefully raised her hands in surrender, and Kara could feel her resolve strengthening. "I am going back to get Greenwood and Karrington," she continued. "And you are going to help me." "Don't be stupid," Alyssa hissed, turning her head and glancing over her shoulder, so that she could see Kara's burning eyes. "We have only twenty minutes before the Rescue Regiment's helicopter takes off, and there isn't enough time to get Greenwood or Karrington. Either you and I make it out of here alive, or none of us do." "I'm not doing this because it's smart," Kara told the Weapons Specialist, her voice cold. She was tired of Alyssa's bullshit, and the woman's self-centered attitude. "I'm doing this because it is the right thing to do, and sometimes you have to take risks for the sake of your conscience. Besides, you owe me. This is all your fucking fault, and you know it." Then, for a split second only, Kara thought she saw Alyssa wince. But in a moment, the stiffness in Alyssa's muscle had resumed and Kara continued her threatening monologue. "If you had just picked up an underground route for me when you were supposed to, Arlington would have never found us out," Kara cried, her voice bordering on a scream. Her hands were shaking violently now, the gun in her hands unsteady and unsure. Kara couldn't tell if her poor grip on the weapon was due to her anger or to her rising fear, because she couldn't believe that she had a gun pressed to the head of another woman. "It's your fault that Greenwood and I ended up here," Kara hissed, her voice low now. "You owe us. But even if you won't help me because its the right thing to do, perhaps you'll do it because I have a gun to your head." And to emphasize her point, Kara cocked the gun ever so slightly. "Help me," she declared. "Or I'll blow your fucking brains out." Kara clicked the safety off of her gun, and watched as Alyssa's muscles tensed beneath her prison uniform. For a moment, there was an anxious silence as Kara waited for Alyssa to reply. The only sound was the breathing of the two women, shallow and soft. And in that silence, Kara realized that she had made a mistake. Alyssa was a trained Weapons Specialist. The woman could easily duck away from Kara and knock her unconscious. And Kara, a mere medic and a horrible shot, wouldn't be able to react in time. And did Kara even have the guts to shoot another woman? Had she been bluffing this whole time, to herself and to Alyssa? Wouldn't Alyssa recognize the bluff for what it was? But suddenly, an emotion not unlike guilt crossed over Alyssa's features and although they were normally stern, her eyes momentarily softened. The tension in Alyssa's muscles slackened then, so that Kara could see her entire body settling down in resignation. A regretful sigh was even emitted from Alyssa's soft lips, although Kara almost didn't hear it. And Alyssa, it seemed, had the appearance of a woman defeated. "Okay," Alyssa said, nodding her head in agreement. "Okay, you got me. Can you take down your weapon now?" And Kara, nodding, slowly removed her gun from the back of Alyssa's head. Before heading over to Cell Block E, Alyssa and Kara looted the corpses on the second floor. When they were done, both Kara and Alyssa were wearing bullet proof vests and had acquired two more for Karrington and Greenwood. They also stocked up on weapons, including several pistols, roughly three hand grenades, a tazer, and a bulky weapon that Kara didn't recognize. When asked about it, Alyssa explained that it was a portable machine gun with a high density cartridge, capable of mowing down roughly sixty men in under three minutes. It didn't look anything like a machine gun to Kara. In fact, it didn't look a gun at all. It was just a large, rounded cylinder with a handle, which was supposed to be steadied against the bearer's hip during gunfire. Then, once Kara and Alyssa were loaded up with weapons, the pair dashed toward the nearest stairwell. They decided to get Greenwood first, who was located in the basement of Bremmington. Normally, it would have been difficult to traverse the halls of Bremmington's lower levels and infiltrate Cell Block E. After all, it was a maximum security cell block, even more thoroughly guarded than Karrington's. But Nardia's Rescue Regiment served as a lucky distraction. Most of Bremmington's combat personnel had been recruited to handle Ciara's team, and there were only a few guards left on each floor. It was a simple enough matter for Alyssa to point and shoot at the poor bastards, taking out each one with an ease most unbecoming of murder. The Weapons Specialist barely glanced up when she fired her gun, knocking down guards as she might still targets. Clearly, Alyssa was unimpressed with the combat personnel of Bremmington. Kara could tell by the way she snorted in disapproval, each and every time an employee was shot dead. Cell Block E wasn't at all like the one above it, where Karrington still awaited rescue. That cell block, Kara remembered, had been cold, damp, and filthy. Cell Block E, on the other hand, was bright and sterile, much like a dentist's office. The florescent lights above were unbearably bright too, reflecting off of the smooth, white surfaces of the cell block so that the environment was blinding. Kara found it hard to believe that the lighting wasn't intentional. It was surely used to assault the occupants' visual senses. Worse still, the cells were completely sealed and ridiculously small, big enough to allow a man to sit, but not high enough to permit standing. Kara shuddered at the sight, her sympathy for Greenwood almost overwhelming. But Alyssa was unmoved by the arrangement, and with little ceremony, shot down the only two guards who remained on the block. "Expendables," Alyssa hissed, spitting onto one of warm corpses as they passed by it. Strangely enough, they found Greenwood's cell with ease. In fact, it was labeled with a metal plaque, bearing the inscription "Alan Greenwood, Number 275." Of course, in order to unlock the cell, they needed a key. But Alyssa found the appropriate one without a problem, on a ring beside a guard's dead body. Soon, the cell door was open and the women were able to peer inside at the recently captured double agent. Greenwood was merely sitting in his cell, wearing the same prison uniform Alyssa and Kara were wearing, with a metal collar wrapped tightly around his neck. At first he looked perplexed, but a moment later there was a genuine grin on his face and a glint in his eye. Kara wondered how the poor man was able to smile, for he had clearly been abused. His left arm was in a cast, but Kara's eyes were most prominently drawn to Greenwood's face. The entire left side was bruised and bloody, as if Greenwood had taken several direct punches. And when the man grinned at his companions, Kara noticed that he was missing a tooth. "Well, now," Greenwood greeted, stepping out of his cell and standing to his feet. There, he brushed the dirt from his clothes and straightened the sleeves of his shirt. "If I had known that I would be entertaining guests, I would have cleaned up a little better," the man continued, gesturing toward his face. "Please pardon my abysmal appearance. I haven't had the time to wash up or apply any concealer." His voice was a soft chuckle, and Alyssa couldn't help but give the man an endearing slap on the back. "Shut up, Greenwood," Alyssa laughed, tossing the man a gun, which he caught midair. "Put on the bullet proof jacket, and let's get the fuck out of here. None of us have time for your sarcasm." "I thought it was funny," Greenwood pouted, as he slipped on the bulky vest. "Are we picking up anyone else?" "Ben Karrington," Kara confirmed, gesturing toward the stairwell. "And we don't have much time." After finding a Deactivation Unit on a guard and frying Greenwood's collar, the trio headed upstairs to Karrington's cell. On the way, Alyssa explained--in a voice that was both serious and worried--that Ciara's team would soon be gone and with it, the escapees' only distraction. The little group was most definitely pressed for time, and would have to act fast if they wanted to have any shot at escape. Once the Nardian Rescue Regiment left, Bremmington's combat personnel would become available to retaliate. At that point, the trio would no longer be able to enjoy the cleared hallways and the absence of guards now gracing their path. It was easy enough to shoot the only guard on Karrington's cell block, release the general from his concrete prison, and deactivate his collar. When Karrington emerged, Kara was able to see the entirety of his body for the first time, at least since she'd arrived at Bremmington. Karrington wasn't a tall man, and stood only a few inches higher than Kara. However, the man made up for his height with his bulk. His arms were huge, though not disgustingly so, and he had a ripped chest that rivaled that of a body builder's. Blond locks framed a kind, boyish face that seemed too soft for such a muscular man. And then, there were his unnaturally grey eyes, so genuine and readable, almost like a child's. As Kara's eyes skimmed down the fallen general's body, she realized that he was eyeing her in the same way, taking in every inch of her skin. And while Kara had seen Ben Karrington before, on television and in newspaper articles, he was seeing her for the very first time. It was inappropriate, given the circumstances, but Kara could feel a soft blush rising in her cheeks. That is, until Karrington saw Greenwood and his eyes turned dark. "You!" Karrington screeched, rushing toward Greenwood with his fist raised. "You miserable, conniving bastard!" Luckily for Greenwood, Alyssa intercepted Karrington and blocked the punch. "He's a double agent, Karrington," she insisted, her voice firm and unremitting. "Back off, and let's go, before we lose our chance." But Karrington wasn't convinced. "You were at my trial," he cried, pointing an accusatory finger at Greenwood. "I would recognize you anywhere, even with half of your face fucked up. You had me sentenced to enslavement, after the war." "And what was the alternative?" Greenwood questioned, as calm as ever. "Execution?" The double agent had his hands raised above his head, in order to make Karrington feel more at ease. "I was one of only four judges to vote in favor of your life, and I can promise you that it wasn't easy. Even then, Arlington suspected that there was a double agent on the board, and I had to undergo a week of Character Evaluations after I voted against a death sentence." "Karrington, we have to go," Kara insisted, gripping one of his massive biceps affectionately and trying to sound soothing. "The man is telling the truth. Even if you don't trust him, please trust my judgement of his character." And though Karrington seemed reluctant, Kara could feel the tension in his muscles suddenly slacken. "Very well," Karrington replied, turning toward Greenwood. "But I'll be watching you." "I wouldn't expect anything less," Greenwood grinned, and he offered Karrington a pair of matching pistols. "Hopefully, by the end of the day, I can prove my innocence to you." "Alright ladies, we can exchange recipes later," Alyssa growled, reloading a pistol. She shot down guards and Bremmington personnel as one might swat away flies, and had to reload often. "If we want to get out of here, we need an actual plan." And now that she had finished reloading, Alyssa turned to Greenwood. "Alan, you've worked here for the past several years. Any bright ideas?" "Well, wait one second," Kara insisted, looking up at a clock mounted in the cell block, its digits glowing red. "We still have time before the Rescue Regiment's helicopter leaves. Commander Ciara said that there would be a ten minute wait period after the power went out, and that hasn't happened yet. Isn't our best option to try and make a break for the roof?" "Absolutely not," Greenwood interrupted, and Kara's face fell. She couldn't imagine how the team would escape Isleydor's Capital City without the Rescue Regiment. Bremmington was in the middle of the goddamn country; It wasn't as if they could make a run for it. Going by air seemed the best option, and Kara doubted that they would be able to find a helicopter or a plane in Bremmington. And, even if they did, it would be difficult to access. "I'm sorry my dear," Greenwood continued, sympathetic to the look of hopelessness on Kara's face. "But there are fourteen floors to this place, and it would be nearly impossible to fight our way to the roof before the Rescue Regiment leaves. Plus, going up is problematic. It's easy to get trapped when you are too high off the ground to jump and run." "So, your proposed plan?" Alyssa pressed, impatient. "I just gave up a guarantee of freedom to hang back with you boys, and I think it's time you start pulling your weight. Especially you, Alan. So, what's the fucking plan?" "There's a weapons lab on the ground floor," Greenwood replied, ignoring the rude implications of Alyssa's tone. "They've got armored vehicles stored there, and the first floor isn't too far off. If Alyssa can drive, we can probably make it out onto the road." "The road?" Kara cried, incredulous. "That's our brilliant plan? We're gonna drive an armored vehicle into the middle of Capital City, a civilian population? And then what are we gonna do? Just hope that nobody follows us? We're as inland as it is possible to be! We'll never make it to the border!" "Got any better ideas?" Greenwood asked, and Kara realized that she didn't. Kara and her comrades were only two floors below ground level, so making it up to the weapons lab before being recaptured wasn't inconceivable. The escapees only needed to traverse a few stairwells and race through two cell blocks--Cell Block C and Cell Block B--before freedom could be realized. Then, once the first floor was breached, the weapons lab would be easily accessible. At first, Kara wanted to save time by taking the elevator up, but Greenwood had vehemently opposed the idea. As far as the double was concerned, an elevator was just a prison cell waiting to happen. If the power were cut whilst the group was inside, they'd be trapped and their escape attempt thwarted. And so, quickly, the group made its way up the first stairwell, navigating the twisting steps with deliberation and caution. The caution was especially important, too. For when they reached Cell Block C, Alyssa was suddenly motioning for her team to get down and join her behind a concrete partition. The giant, grey slab separated the stairwell from a long hallway, which constituted Cell Block C. And since each stairwell only connected two floors, the team would have to cross Cell Block C and reach the next set of stairs in order to continue their ascent. "What's the problem?" Karrington hissed, his voice a harsh whisper. He was hunched up next to Alyssa, keeping his massive body out of sight and behind the partition, a gun in each hand. "I thought there were only a few guys to each floor?" "Word of our little foray must have gotten out," Alyssa replied, checking the arrangement of weapons about her belt. Then, just to be sure that their ammo supply wasn't too low, she rummaged through the contents of a backpack she'd looted from a corpse and filled with supplies. "Ciara's team hasn't left yet, or the hallways would be swarming with guards. But somebody knows we've got our own little escape attempt going on, and has decided to send a few guys our way." "How many?" Greenwood asked, his voice analytic. In reply, Alyssa carefully took a shiny, silver gun from about her waist and slowly angled it around the corner. There, reflected in the weapon's sheen, Kara could see the hallway before them and a series of guards. The men, all dressed in black, were extraordinarily imposing and were aligned like a wall, so as to form a blockade. Apparently, they knew that Kara and her comrades intended to reach the stairwell across the hall, and had been ordered to impede the group's progress. "Seven, maybe eight guys," Alyssa replied. "Do we want to use a grenade?" "And waste it?" Greenwood snorted, his eyebrows raised. "Ridiculous, you've only got a few of those. We can take eight guys." And he turned toward Karrington, his voice serious. "Which side do you want, Ben?" "Right," Karrington grunted. "Unless someone also has that preference?" "Greenwood can't take the middle with a broken arm, so I will," Alyssa replied, squaring her shoulders for an assault. "Greenwood can have the left side, which should suit him just fine." "And me?" Kara questioned, staring at the gun in her hands and wishing she could shoot better. "What do you guys want me to do?" "Keep your head down, medic," Alyssa replied, and she pushed Kara towards the floor. Then, in an instant, all three military personnel were past the partition and shooting into the wall of guards blocking their path. And, against her better judgement, Kara peeked out from behind the partition in order to watch the battle unfold. To Kara's immense surprise, Greenwood was done first. He didn't charge his opponents, like Alyssa and Karrington did. Instead, he stepped carefully, but lightly onto the floor and set up for his first few shots. Squaring his shoulders, Greenwood aimed in an unrushed manner, as if he were about to shoot through cardboard targets instead of men. The lack of fear he displayed was unsettling, as was his unhurried pace. Greenwood, Kara realized, had the mannerisms of a sharp shooter. And sure enough, when the double agent finally pulled the trigger, as calm as ever, all three men on his side were down within a manner of seconds. In that time, Greenwood was hit twice in the chest, but stumbled backward with an irritating degree of grace, unharmed thanks to the bullet proof vest. Alyssa wasn't finished quite so quickly, but Kara suspected that she intentionally took her time. The first two men in the center of the hallway were shot down almost instantly, but when the third man came into view, Alyssa put her gun away and decided to finish the fight at close range. She allowed her opponent to throw the first several punches, dodging them with the grace of a dancer and with a twisted smirk characterizing her face. Then, when the guard had been given his chance, Alyssa swung forward and up, breaking the man's jaw with a disgusting crunch. He screamed in agony, clutching at his face until Alyssa drove a blade into his neck. When the carotid artery was punctured, streams of blood rushed out of the wound like water from a hose and Alyssa's prison uniform was drenched in the sticky, red mess. Karrington, meanwhile, was involved in his own little battle. He wasn't much for guns in the first place, and didn't wish to waste bullets when ammo was in short supply. So, instead of shooting, Karrington killed all of his opponents using brute strength. The first guard was slow at the draw, and Karrington easily killed the man whilst he was still fumbling with the holster on his belt. Gripping the upper and lower ends of the guard's head, Karrington twisted violently. The man's neck then snapped, and he went limp. The general's next attacker, on the other hand, was a bit trickier. Reaching for a pistol on his belt, the guard shot haphazardly a few times, and even managed to graze Karrington's arm with a bullet. But soon, the general was upon his opponent, and the gun was twisted out of the guard's grasp. Then, Karrington bashed the poor man's head against the concrete wall, watching as chunks of skull came off and fell onto the floor. "Let's go!" Karrington screamed, as soon as the last opponent had been killed. "Come on out, Kara! Let's go!" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 16 As Karrington motioned furiously for her to join them, Kara stepped out from behind the partition and was awestruck. There were eight downed guards on the floor, their blood pooling together and turning the concrete red. Then, standing before the massacred men, were three of Calihistra's foremost badasses. Until that moment, Kara hadn't really believed their escape possible. But now, she realized that if ever there was a chance, this was it. It didn't matter that her team was in the bowels of Bremmington, or in the middle of Isleydor. With a Weapons Specialist, a Double Agent, and a War General on Kara's side, anything was possible. Quickly, she followed her group into the next stairwell, her bare feet sloshing through warm blood. And when she turned around to look at the murdered guards one last time, Kara saw a trail of petite, red footprints which led from the massacre to her. The second stairwell connected Cell Block C to Cell Block B, and the team of escapees quickly ascended it. As they did so, it became apparent to Kara that there were more guards now, sent to recapture them. The numbers were not overwhelming, but the rush of opponents did slow Kara and her comrades down. It was unfortunate, but as they hurried toward the next floor, Alyssa had to use all three of her grenades to clear the path before them. Since their opponents had the high ground, a gunfight was both senseless and stupid. But when all four companions were crouching behind yet another partition, on the outskirts of Cell Block B, they realized just how problematic the loss of grenades really was. For this time, blocking the hallway before them, there were a solid twenty men, too many to fight. And without any explosives, access to the stairwell across the hall and to the first floor seemed impossible. "Goddamn it!" Greenwood cursed, his voice low. And though he tried to subdue his anger, the double agent hit at the nearby wall in frustration. "We could handle ten men, no problem. But twenty? That's more than six men for each us. We'd be overwhelmed. There is no way we can rush these guys, at least not without a few explosives." "I've got a portable machine gun," Alyssa began, removing the bulky, cylindrical weapon from her back pack. It was one of the few weapons she had left, and the group's ammo was running dangerously low. "This thing can easily mow down a team of twenty men, in no time flat." "Perhaps," Greenwood admitted, eyeing the massive device with interest. "But it is far too bulky to ease around this partition. Unless you expose yourself to enemy gunfire, there's no way you can properly aim that thing." Alyssa paused for a moment, looking at the clumsy device in her hands. But then, a cunning smile twisted her face and made it sinister. With earnest, Alyssa began to rip away at the cloth of her green prison uniform, wrapping several strips around a hunk of concrete freed by a recent explosion. She only stopped when the rounded parcel was roughly the same size, shape, and color of a grenade. "They don't know we're out of explosives," Alyssa grinned. "Want to bet a beer and a sandwich they fall for it?" "I'm not so sure I want to bet on men's lives," Greenwood began, reluctantly. But his protests fell on deaf ears. For, not a moment later, Alyssa had tossed the imitation grenade around the partition and into the cell block, where their opponents stood poised and ready to attack. "Grenade!" one of the men screamed. "Fire in the hold! Hit the deck!" Quickly, Alyssa rested the cylindrical machine gun against her hip and swung her body past the partition, so that she now stood in the cell block. Before her were twenty men, cowering on the ground with their arms over their heads for protection. And while they sat low to the ground-- fearful of an explosion that would never come-- Alyssa flipped a switch on her machine gun and, in a blast of gun fire, mowed every single one down. The weapon had a powerful kickback and pushed Alyssa rearward, but she dug her toes into the ground and resisted the temptation to fall. Blood shot upward from Alyssa's enemies, splattering her already soaked garments with yet more red dew. And a few flecks of disembodied flesh threw themselves upon the woman's cheeks, marking them with the spirit of battle. But finally, the gunfire ceased and Alyssa let go of her emptied weapon. When Kara looked down at Alyssa's waist, she could see a circle of burnt cloth and a huge blister, roughly the diameter of a baseball. The heat from the machine gun had burnt through Alyssa's clothes and then her skin, so that Kara finally understood why Alyssa was covered in scars. "The first pub we hit up after this, you owe me a beer and a fucking sandwich," Alyssa laughed, her eyes genuine. "And it's not gonna be a cheap beer, either. Oh heavens, no. I'm gonna get me something imported, and a huge ass burger." But the joyous moment was short lived. Soon, two large slabs of metal were coming down from the ceiling at either end of the cell block, in an attempt to ensnare the group of escapees within the narrow hallway. Normally, this tactic--referred to as an "Emergency Lock Down"--was used to trap rebellious prisoners during a riot, but it could also be used to recapture Kara and her friends. Quickly, the four team mates dashed toward the opposite stairwell, in order to duck under the metallic slabs before they touched the ground. Alyssa, Greenwood, and Karrington made it through just fine. But Kara tripped and fell over a corpse before reaching the stairwell. As she scrambled to her feet, the metallic slabs sealed her inside the cell block and among the dead. Piteously, she banged on the metallic doorway and tried to cry out to her companions. But no sound emerged from the other side, and Kara couldn't decide if she'd been left behind or if the metal slab was merely sound proof. "Help me!" Kara screamed, banging furiously on the door. "Help me! Please, Greenwood? Karrington? Can either one of you hear me?" In a state of near panic, Kara frantically searched the walls for a button or a code panel, anything that might be used to lift the horrible door. But in spite of her best efforts, Kara found nothing and clutched her pistol to her chest, for some semblance of comfort. Trying not to descend into a depressed state that would make her useless, Kara trotted toward the locked door on the other side of the cell block, in case that one had an emergency release. And to her immense relief, Kara watched as it slowly lifted back into the ceiling. The lights suddenly flickered off, and above Kara there was an abrupt and insistent whirring noise, which slowly died out as Bremmington's electrical system went off line. But Kara didn't panic, or even flinch. For as darkness consumed her, Kara remembered Commander Ciara's Rescue Regiment. It was they who had cut the power, to give them an extra edge during their attempted escape. But even though the back-up generators wouldn't be kicking in for another ten minutes, Kara watched as the emergency lights in Cell Block B flickered to life. And in the warm, red glow from their tiny bulbs, Kara could see Lord Arlington. His lordship's presence was so sudden and unexpected, that Kara screamed and jumped away from him. In the process, she dropped her only pistol, causing an ominous echo to reverberate through the cell block. But as Lord Arlington stepped ever closer to Kara, his features beautifully serene, Kara couldn't bring herself to go back for the gun. Instead, she stepped away until her back was pressed firmly against the far door, her breathing ragged. Kara, quite honestly, couldn't believe that the man before her was Lord Arlington. The notion was ridiculous, absurd even. How could Lord Arlington be here, when Kara was in the process of escape? How could someone so evil exist in a time of such hope? And yet, there he was, holding a gun and covered with blood stains. "Well, well, well....look what I've caught," Arlington grinned, standing before Kara and trying to brush the debris from his cloak. The gun in his hand was still smoking, and there was a tiny fleck of blood above the man's right eye. But most disturbing of all were the emergency lights, which cast Arlington's features in a crimson glow and deepened the shadows of his face. Given the corpses littering the floor, the smell of blood lingering in the air, and the persistent glow of red light, it suddenly occurred to Kara that she might be in hell. For certainly, Arlington resembled a demon and Kara was just a lost little angel, who desperately wanted to go home. God, she just wanted to go home. "I would have come sooner, and I apologize for the delay," Arlington continued, his voice even. "But I was upstairs dealing with a different group of escapees. Business before pleasure, as always." And Arlington shrugged, as if the encounter were both casual and friendly. "But now that those Nardian scum have been dealt with, I finally have time to deal with you. Of course, I had hoped to catch all four of you in here. However, I am sure that my men will take care of those other rats." But Kara couldn't breathe, let alone think, and Arlington's words meant nothing to her. All that mattered was that Arlington was there, with Kara. And, worse still, Kara was all alone. It suddenly dawned on Kara that she had, in fact, been abandoned by her comrades. She couldn't blame them, of course. Time was of the essence, and Kara's allies probably didn't have the means to retrieve her from the cell block. It was only right that Karrington, Greenwood, and Alyssa should leave her behind. Still, Kara had wanted to see another sunrise with all her heart, and now there would only be darkness. Only darkness, until the day she died. "Now, why don't we get you home," Arlington continued, putting away his gun and stepping ever closer toward Kara. He took his time too, enjoying the sound his footsteps made on the concrete, loud and frightening. "After all, you and I have a lot of training to catch up on, don't we, pet?" God, the man's smile was positively horrifying. Why did it have to be so goddamned horrifying? And suddenly, Kara could feel herself sinking deeper and deeper into cold, dark water. It was thick and blinding, filling up her eyes and ears with a terrible silence, unrelenting and deathly. As the ocean of despair crashed all around Kara, she suddenly wondered why she had bothered to hope in the first place. Arlington always won. Always. Certainly, Kara had freed Tamius Sue. But with respect to her own sanity and freedom, Kara had never beaten Arlington before, and it had been foolish to wish for anything different. Arlington had made Kara come against her will, and then he had made her beg for mercy. He had thwarted her initial plan of escape and then visited her in Bremmington, even though it was against protocol. So why was Kara so surprised, upon realizing that Arlington had recaptured her? Every hope Kara had, Arlington dashed against the rocks. And hope just didn't seem worth the effort anymore. It was tiring, oh so tiring. And all Kara wanted to do was close her eyes, and fall blissfully into submission. Kara just wanted to give up, so that the limbo she existed in--somewhere between hope and despair--would finally fade, and she could find peace once more. Kara collapsed forward and onto her knees, the concrete below her cold and red. She didn't totally understand why she was on her knees, only that Arlington seemed less frightening from that angle. Indeed, it seemed natural for Kara to be on her knees in front of him. Anything else was improper, and dangerous. And as Arlington's blood soaked boots came into view, Kara somehow knew that this was the end. If Arlington managed this--his final victory over Kara--then the tiny light inside of her would die out, and Kara would be unable to reignite it on her own. There was a terrible crack in the air then, much like a whip, and Kara cringed. Arlington was going to beat her, wasn't he? He wanted her to beg for his mercy, didn't he? Suddenly, Kara could feel a tight, deathly grip on the collar of her prison uniform, and she cried out in an ugly sob. With great force, the cloth was yanked upward, and Kara knew that Arlington was going to look into her eyes and savor the fear behind them. But the eyes looking down on Kara weren't Arlington's cold, blue ones. Instead, she saw grey eyes, which were kind and gentle. And Kara realized, quite suddenly, that it was not Arlington who held her in his arms. It was Ben Karrington, and the light behind his eyes reignited the spark within her soul, only recently stamped out. "You're okay," Karrington told her, and the certainty in his voice held no room for argument. He wasn't asking Kara a question, but instead reciting a fact. Furthermore, Kara couldn't help but believe him. The conviction in Karrington's voice was enough evidence in itself. It pulled Kara back from the brink of darkness and into his arms, strong and unrelenting. Kara felt safe, then. Although no words passed between the two comrades, Kara knew that Ben would not abandon her. "I've got you," Karrington continued, gripping Kara by the waist and lifting her to her feet. "I won't let go, either. Don't look at him. Just look at me." Kara couldn't help it, though. Against Karrington's advice, she looked up at Lord Arlington and became momentarily entrapped by his gaze. But in an instant, Kara had wrenched her eyes away from Lord Arlington's cold, blue ones and was instead taking in the pained expression on his face. The monstrous villain had collapsed onto the ground and was clutching his right knee, the pant leg of which was colored with dark, red blood. It appeared as if the knee cap had been shattered, and Arlington was cursing silently under his breath. It was then that Kara saw a smoking gun in Karrington's hand, and put two and two together. The crack that Kara had mistook for a whip was actually Karrington's pistol, which had downed Arlington in the middle of the cell block. "Hands up, Arlington," Karrington demanded. And although the general possessed an even tone and smoothened features, his eyes betrayed an explosive anger that was intensified by the contrast. "Give me an excuse, and I will kill you. And I'm pretty lenient in my use of the term 'excuse.' Breathe funny, and I'll lodge a bullet in your brain." "Come now, Karrington," Arlington purred, his voice maddeningly arrogant. He then raised his hands above his head, in a gesture of surrender. In spite of the injuries Arlington had suffered, Kara noticed that he looked surprisingly calm and serene. Only a few unusual wrinkles in lordship's brow testified to his pain. And even on his knees, Arlington maintained a commanding aura and an intimidating grin. "You're one of the good guys," Arlington continued, unwavering. "You wouldn't kill a man on his knees, with his hands in plain sight." "When you see a venomous snake, you don't wait until it's coiled to strike before killing it," Karrington explained, his voice cold. With a determined air, he raised his pistol a few inches upward, until the barrel was aimed between Arlington's eyes. "When you see a dangerous animal, you put it down," Karrington continued. "You kill it off before it has the chance to attack." "Such a smart young man," Arlington praised, as condescending as ever. Then the grin on his face widened further, though Kara hadn't thought it possible. Why was Arlington being so cocky? How could he emit such confidence, even with a gun pointed at his head? "You're too smart to shoot me," his lordship continued, calm and collected. "After all, how much ammo do you have left between the four of you? I've seen the surveillance, and I'd guess it isn't much. Maybe five full loads, in total? You aren't out of Bremmington yet, and as a military man, you understand that a single bullet can make a remarkable difference. Do you really want to waste one on a latent threat?" It wasn't the best defense in the world, but Arlington wasn't finished yet. And, like any good politician, he knew his audience well and saved his best argument for last. "But let's just suppose, for a moment, that you do want to waste a perfectly good bullet on me," Arlington continued, acknowledging the murderous look in Karrington's eyes. "Even then, it would be unwise to kill me. What do you think your actual chances of escape are? If you kill me--One of Isleydor's Lords--and are caught, all four of you will be executed, including the girl. Trust me, there will be no exceptions." With a tip of his head, Arlington nodded in Kara's direction. And at the gesture, Kara stepped back a few inches, her heart thudding sickeningly in her chest. To Kara, it felt as though Arlington had marked her for death with that sinister nod and she felt quite nauseous. Furthermore, the worry in her eyes must have been obvious, for Karrington suddenly gave her a concerned look and distress wrinkled the skin of his brow. The expression did not go unnoticed by Kara, nor by Lord Arlington. In fact, Lord Arlington was watching Karrington's face intently, as a hawk might watch a mouse. Kara recognized that look, both inquisitive and intrigued. It was the same look Arlington always used on her, when he wanted to see inside her soul or read her thoughts. And when anxiety distorted Karrington's features, Kara could see a wicked glint in his lordship's eyes. It was a knowing glint, filled with secret realization. "How adorable," Arlington mused, a twisted smile darkening his features. There was something strange about Arlington's look then, both disturbing and poignant. It took Kara a moment to recognize the emotion, and even then she had doubts. Jealousy? Was that jealousy behind Arlington's eyes? No, it couldn't be. Arlington was not a jealous man. In fact, Arlington had no need for an emotion such as jealously. He could have whatever he wanted. And if an object of desire was not freely offered up to his lordship, he could always have it taken by force. "He's right, Karrington," Greenwood said, his voice betraying reluctance. Kara could see him now, and his face was anxious. But to her surprise, Alyssa was nowhere in sight. "Don't do something stupid, just because you don't want him to be right," Greenwood continued, earnest. "We have to leave, and we have to leave now." Suddenly, in a swift gesture, Karrington moved as if to shoot Arlington. But then he paused, his finger poised over the trigger. A regretful sigh escaped the general's lips, and Kara knew that a decision had been made. Although Karrington kept his pistol trained on Arlington--so as to keep the villain helpless and compliant--he also relaxed his trigger finger, ever so slightly. And Kara couldn't believe it. Arlington was on his knees, seriously injured and in the perfect position for a swift execution. And they were going to let him go. Arlington knew it too, for there was a satisfied smirk on his lips. "There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lord Arlington asked, the smugness in his voice driving Kara near madness. For a moment, she seriously considered snatching the pistol away from Karrington and killing the monster herself, but she would surely miss and an entire load of ammo would be wasted. "See what we can accomplish when we sit down and talk things out, like civilized men?" Arlington continued, very pleased with the situation. "You are neither a man nor civilized," Karrington spat, defeat and rage contorting his face. "You are pig, Arlington. That is all you'll ever be." And with that, Karrington turned away from his lordship and, instead, directed his gaze toward the man's former slave. "Come on," the general grunted, and he gripped Kara by the upper arm so as to pull her forward. Soon, they were racing toward the stairwell together, past the now opened doorway, but Kara fell momentarily behind when she heard a sinister voice behind her. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 17 Author's Note: Thanks again for all of the wonderful comments, ratings, and favorites! I super appreciate them! And, honestly, I am blown away by all the enthusiasm for the previous chapter! Sorry for the delay with this chapter. My goal is to get into a 1-2 Chapters/Week habit, but alas, life happened and I fell behind last week. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. Not too much sexual stuff in this chapter, but I super promise that the next 2-4 chapters will have plenty of sexual fun times and not so fun times. Furthermore, keep in mind that the Tale of Arlington describes events of the past, and its many parts will not necessarily be posted sequentially or back-to-back. Cheers! HisPet21 * Arlington cursed hoarsely under his breath and looked out over the tiled roof. Just beyond its dark surface, he could see a winding country road and a thick, expansive forest that went on for miles into the distance. Only a tall, concrete wall separated the Blake Family Mansion from the wildlife preservation they had established, more for their own protection than for that of the local flora and fauna. It wasn't a bad tactic, either. Traversing the vegetation had been extremely bothersome, and Arlington was disappointed to find that he still wouldn't have the target taken care of by the end of the night. Worse still, coming in from the roof appeared to have been a terrible idea. It was frightfully dark, but the Blake Family Mansion was still illuminated by a full moon and hundreds of twinkling stars, uninhibited by the light pollution one would find in a city. In that that shimmering white, Arlington could make out three small explosives, arranged in a small semi-circle around him. They had been triggered when Arlington climbed onto the roof--probably equipped with motion sensors--and he could see the tiny timers on each counting down rapidly from ten. There wasn't enough time to climb down the mansion wall and make it to the yard. Arlington would have to jump, and worry about the ground on his way down. Sprinting to the outermost edge of the roof, Arlington quickly leapt over the side, the incessant whining of three timers hissing obnoxiously in his ears. As he tumbled into the sky, there was an earth shattering explosion and Arlington could feel ferocious heat on his back, but the fire was the least of his worries. The ground was fast approaching, and Arlington didn't want to spend another six months in a body cast. But luck was on the young assassin's side, given that Arnold Blake's property was decorated in botanical gardens. With a grunt of effort, Arlington grabbed onto a tree branch five feet before he hit the ground, the skin of his palm tearing as bark slid over flesh. For a moment, Arlington remained there, dangling precariously over the ground. Blazing heaps of roofing fell all about him, and some scorching debris almost hit him directly. To avoid the troublesome wreckage, Arlington took a deep breath and heaved himself upward, seating himself atop a tree branch. There, he was able to watch as black smoke rose upward and into the sky, partially eclipsing a silvery moon. The scene would have been quite breathtaking, had Arlington bothered to enjoy the night sky and the twisting of flame and smoke, as it mutilated the once peaceful view. But Arlington could feel nothing but anger clouding his mind, and the fiery display before him only served to fuel that wrath. There was nothing left for him to do, except to sit by helplessly and watch as the entire mansion was quickly engulfed in flame, indicating that the Blake Family wasn't at home and probably hadn't been for several weeks. And if that were the case, Arlington had been dragged out into the night for nothing. Sleep was a precious commodity for a young assassin with a heavy case load, and the man was not happy to have lost a good night's rest without good reason. "Marko," Arlington hissed into the microphone of his communication device, which wrapped around his ear like a tiny headset. "It appears as if Mister Arnold Blake was expecting us. The entire place is booby trapped, and the whole family is gone. Surveillance was your job, Marko. I thought you told me that they would be in town tonight." Although Arlington was justifiably upset, he tried not to make his tone sound too accusatory. After all, Marko was normally a reliable partner and Arlington couldn't help but wonder if the blunder was, to some extent, his own fault. The young assassin usually checked over Marko's intel before using it, and had slacked off because of his busy schedule. Arlington had just returned from a hit job in Scorce, and the Blake case was a last minute favor. Still, he should have checked over Marko's work. Mr. Blake, in spite of his disgusting business habits and poor intellect, was still a Class "C" Target, and Arlington should have taken his case more seriously. "David, I swear to god, all of my sources said that the Blake Family would be home tonight," Marko replied, his voice betraying genuine shock and concern, even over the white noise and broken static plaguing Arlington's ears. It was difficult to get decent reception this far out into the country, even with top notch equipment. "I have no idea where they went if they aren't at home," Marko continued, but then there was a guilty pause on the other end of the line and a deep breath. "Unless--" "Unless...?" Arlington prompted, his brow furrowing. "Unless what, Marko?" "Unless my last correspondence got intercepted," Marko finished quickly, well aware that he was about to be berated. "The line wasn't entirely secure, but we were fairly certain no one was listening in, so I didn't think that--" "You didn't think you had to follow protocol?" Arlington growled, growing more exasperated by the second. Suddenly, he felt an intense urge to hit Marko, and was glad that his partner was safely hidden away a half mile down the road. "Did your gut instincts tell you that? Your brilliant, fail safe instincts?" This time, Arlington made sure that his voice dripped with condescension, and then mockery. Arlington was angry with Marko then, but even more angry with himself. He should have never agreed to help with the Blake Assassination, but now it was too late. According to guild policy, a Crimson Dragon couldn't back out of a job once he'd agreed to participate, and it appeared as if the Blake Case was about to become messy. Arlington hated haphazard, messy hit jobs and the prospect of another made him groan involuntarily. Even worse, Arlington hated having to chase his victims down, like some sort of hound dog. Tracking down targets was not only a tiresome chore, but an unnecessary and juvenile tactic for a proper assassin. A good kill--as defined by Arlington--was quiet and clean, achieved using careful planning and clever manipulation rather than brute force. And for that to be feasible, a target couldn't know of his fate until it was too late. But if the Blake's knew that they were being targeted--as Arlington strongly suspected--then he would have no other choice than to chase them down and bring out the artillery. It would be unrefined and crude, Arlington realized. His style of kill was bloodless and involved sneak attacks, like poisoned wine or booby trapped doorways. Not the inevitable, massacred mess the Blake Assassination would have to become in light of Marko's blunder. "You dragged me all the way out into the goddamned countryside with bad intel?" Arlington cursed once more into the microphone, and he could almost hear Marko wince with shame on the other end. "What were you thinking, conducting correspondence without a fully secured line? I almost got blown into a million tiny pieces, Marko!" But then, Arlington remembered Master Greyson's last training session and his invaluable words of wisdom: "The difference between a mere killer and a highly trained assassin, my boy, is collected calm and a clear head." And, begrudgingly, Arlington took a deep, relaxing breath. "Serves me right," he mumbled. "Trusting your intel, without looking through it myself..." "I really didn't think it would be a problem, David," Marko insisted, apologetic now. "I swear I didn't know--" But as Marko continued to excuse himself, Arlington quickly hissed at him to be quiet. There was an odd sound coming from the Blake Family Garage, and suddenly Arlington could see its retractable door lift upward, allowing a sleek, black vehicle to shoot out onto the winding driveway. Someone had been watching Arlington, perhaps to confirm various rumors that Mr. Blake was, indeed, on the Crimson Dragons' hit list. Of course, there was no guarantee that Mr. Blake himself would be the culprit behind the wheel or even in the vehicle, but it was certainly possible. Mr. Arnold Blake was, after all, known for his extreme paranoia and foolish demeanor. Arlington wouldn't be at all surprised if he had stayed behind to see his attempted assassination first hand. If that were indeed the case, it was a mistake that Arlington intended to make deadly. As the car sped away, Arlington dropped down from his perch above the ground and ran for the mess of bushes where he'd hidden his motorcycle. God, he loved that motorcycle. It had been a gift from Master Greyson himself, and the beautiful machine was one of the latest models commissioned by Isleydor's Central Weapons Lab. "Some idiot stayed behind to watch me work," Arlington whispered into his microphone, upturning the kickstand of his motorcycle and allowing the beast to start up. "Whoever it is, they're eastbound and moving fast. Cut them off about a half mile from the reservation border, and I'll come in from behind. If it's Mr. Blake, leave him for me. If it isn't, we'll see." With that, Arlington sped away from the Blake Family Mansion, which burned ever more brilliantly against the dark, deadly sky. Wind cut sharply across Arlington's face as he rode, pushing black locks out of his eyes and enabling him to gain on the escaping vehicle in the distance. The car Arlington pursued was a bulky thing, not nearly as aerodynamic as his own mode of transport, and within moments the assassin was only a few car lengths behind it. It was then that a bald gentleman in an expensive suit poked his head out of the driver's side window and began to fire at Arlington. In response, the younger man only smiled triumphantly, more than pleased with the change of events. After all, the bald man was Mr. Archer, Blake's personal bodyguard, and his presence meant that the target was well within reach. Perhaps the night would not be a total waste after all, Arlington thought, as he swerved craftily across the road, making it impossible to properly hit him and steer a vehicle at the same time. Assassins of Arlington's skill--especially those belonging to the Crimson Dragon, the most well-renowned of Isleydor's three Assassin's Guilds--didn't usually work in pairs, so Mr. Archer was completely unprepared when a second man on a motorcycle moved in front of him and shot out the front tires of Mr. Blake's vehicle. As a result, the black car fishtailed until it connected with a large oak, screeching to a halt and leaving an ugly skid mark in its wake. Not a moment later, Mr. Archer had somersaulted onto the street and started firing at Marko, but his first few shots were haphazard and missed their mark. It was a deadly mistake, and would cost the body guard his life. For before Mr. Archer was able to get a clean shot, Arlington executed him, leaving a gaping wound in the man's skull. With a subdued thud, the body guard fell to the concrete, blood pouring from his mutilated head. And his employer was left all alone, defenseless and afraid. Carefully, Mr. Blake opened the back door of his car and tried to sneak out onto the asphalt. With the grace of a wounded elephant, he crawled along the street in an attempt to reach the trees and make a run for it, but his attempts were more comical than they were evasive. After all, Mr. Blake was a very large man and well dressed in an obnoxiously red suit, so that he stuck out like a blood splatter on the dark road. Furthermore, he was sweating profusely and panting loudly, so that even a blind man could have followed along behind him. When Mr. Blake finally did make it to the tree line, Marko decided to halt his progress, shooting once into the air and then twice in front of the obese creature. But Marko didn't kill the man. After all, Mr. Blake belonged to Arlington. It was only fair that, in exchange for helping Marko with his case load, Arlington should get credit for the Blake Assassination, especially since he needed only one more scale to reach senior status. "Not so fast, Mister," Marko cooed, his imposing footsteps drawing ever nearer toward the trembling target. The assassin was a tall man, matching Arlington in height, but he had brown eyes and almond hair, which gave him a lighter appearance. The muscles in Marko's arms were a testament to the many hours he spent in the weight room, and his fair skin glistened sinisterly in the moonlight. "Now, no slinking off into the trees," Marko continued, nonchalant. "We've got you now, and your time would best be spent saying your last prayers, or whispering your last goodbyes. Hope you have an up-to-date will. If I knew a Crimson Dragon was after me, I'd have one drawn up within the day." "Please," Mr. Blake begged, getting on his hands and knees, like they all did. It was a disgusting display, Arlington thought, as he watched the trembling target start to blubber, tears making his face obscene and ugly. Arlington promised himself then, that if he were ever to be assassinated or executed, he would neither beg nor cry. He would die beautifully and dignified, not some trembling wreck. "Please, I have a wife," the target continued, as Arlington approached, a loaded gun in one hand. "I have children. They need me, my good sir. Please, have mercy. I am begging you." "I can see that," Arlington sneered, still feeling disgusted. "And I must say, you aren't doing a very good job of it." The little man's face fell then, and he redoubled his efforts, crawling toward Arlington on his hands and knees. But the assassin wanted no part of Mr. Blake to touch him, and he roughly kicked the target away, so that Mr. Blake lay on the ground, clutching his side. "As to your wife and children," Arlington continued, checking over his weapon. "I am sure that they will all do fine without you. You've amassed quite a fortune, Mr. Blake. Neither Mrs. Blake nor the twins are going to starve, and you know it. Now stop blubbering, and why don't you face me like a proper man. I'd like to give you a dignified death, if you'll have one." But Mr. Blake only sat up on the concrete, still sniveling and begging. Apparently, the man had no intention of going down like a man, and would prefer to be executed like a dog. "Please, I have money!" Mr. Blake continued, insistent. "I am a millionaire, after all. Wouldn't you boys like your futures guaranteed? No finances to worry about? All the money you need to attract women? All your desires fulfilled?" Quickly, Mr. Blake turned from Arlington's face to Marko's, trying to discern the impact of his words. When the latter began to smile, hope lit up behind Mr. Blake's eyes. Was the brown haired one about to take him up on his offer? Was there a chance of escape, even now? As Marko's smile widened still further, the target nodded his head excitedly. "That's right," Mr. Blake continued, the prospect of survival warming his heart. "All the money you could want, I guarantee it. Women too, of course. Real estate, even." But Mr. Blake had misread Marko's grin--which was borne from mockery, not desire--and when the assassin laughed, his face fell. "Looks like we've caught ourselves a genie," Marko smiled haughtily, savoring the fresh terror on Mr. Blake's face. "And it looks like he wants to grant us our wishes. Oh, what are you going to wish for, David?" Then, Marko turned sinisterly toward the target, whose face betrayed intense shock and hurt. "Tell me, Mr. Genie," the assassin teased. "What are the rules? Can I wish for more wishes, perhaps? Or isn't that allowed? Can I impose upon a person's free will? I have so many wonderful ideas--" "Don't tease the target," Arlington sighed, rolling his eyes at the scene before him. In reply, Marko gave his partner a pouty look, but Arlington ignored him. Turning toward Mr. Blake, Arlington grabbed the man's collar and pulled him toward the side of the road. It was difficult, given the man's weight and his piteous struggling, but Arlington managed. "I don't have time to harass the poor man, and get his hopes up for no reason. Let's just finish the job and get back to the lair." With that, Arlington pressed the nozzle of his gun to the back of the target's head, and poised his finger over the trigger. "Any last words, Mr. Blake? And no more begging. Whatever you have to offer, we neither need nor want it. This little pause is for your benefit, not ours. I'll give you two minutes. Use them wisely." "God, David, are you still doing that?" And Marko laughed knowingly--a laughter that could only be shared among close friends, cruel but kind all at once. Then, he eased his lean figure against the target's downed vehicle, so that the moonlight was caught in his gorgeous eyes. "You're quite the sentimental bastard, aren't you?" he continued. "If you aren't gonna tease, then just shoot the man and let's be done with it. The whole "last words" routine is getting kind of old." Arlington opened his mouth to protest then, but Marko gestured at him dismissively. "And I don't want to hear that story about the old man who spent his last two minutes pointing out constellations, or the rich woman who told you about her wedding day. They're just the exceptions that prove the rule. The rest of them all waste their time begging. It's tiresome, and idiotic." "What do you think?" Arlington asked, digging the nozzle of his gun more firmly into Mr. Blake's head. "Are you going to waste the time that I give you?" "Please, Sir," Mr. Blake begged, proving Marko's point beyond the shadow of a doubt. The target's voice was becoming blurred by hideous sobs now, both wet and loud. "Please, please! Have mercy! For the love of god!" Then, Mr. Blake moved as if to turn toward Arlington and clutch at his riding cloak, by the assassin berated him with a blow to the head and the target was silent. "See?" Marko admonished gleefully, gesturing toward the target with a wide grin. "You're just torturing the poor guy, anyway. Put him down already. Besides, do you really think Master Greyson would approve of you getting all intimate with your targets?" The last question contained just a hint of threat, or maybe warning. Either way, it was more than a gentle tease. "Are you going to tattle on me?" Arlington hissed. Honestly, he wasn't afraid of Master Greyson's wrath, but Marko's taunt had embarrassed him. A sentimental killing style was not endorsed by the Crimson Dragons, and would certainly not receive the approval of Mater Greyson, one of the guild's most famous players. If Arlington's "Two Minutes" spiel were ever revealed to his superiors, he would lose credibility as a result. "No, of course not!" Marko insisted, lifting up both of his hands in show of good faith. "We're brothers by trade, you and I. I am just looking out for you, that's all. Cross my heart, and hope to die." Then, to further emphasize his point and demonstrate his loyalty, Marko drew an imaginary "X" over his chest. Meanwhile, Mr. Blake still hadn't shut up and was screaming over his assassins' conversation. "Please!" he cried, his face a mess of snot and salty tears. "Please, let me go! I'll do anything! I swear it!" Arlington looked down at the man dejectedly and realized then that Marko was right. By allowing Mr. Blake to live still longer, with a gun pressed against his skull, he was only torturing the poor man. With a disgruntled sigh, Arlington pulled the trigger of his pistol and watched as blood splattered upward from the target's skull. Now quiet, Mr. Blake could only slump forward and onto the ground, with a strange grace only befitting the dead. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 17 "Let's call a clean up crew," Arlington said simply, tucking away his pistol and staring up into the night sky. It was still clouded with thick, black smoke, reminding Arlington of the burning mansion down the road. "If we don't do so soon, that fire is going to spread to the wildlife reservation and that might be a costly. We're responsible for causalities and unnecessary damages, after all." The assassin's voice was oddly quiet, and his partner most definitely noticed. "Why so glum, brother?" Marko teased, patting Arlington affectionately on the back. "You're at two hundred and fifty kills now! You have senior status! Where does the next scale go?" Marko traced the cloth covering Arlington's back, hinting at the unfinished tattoo beneath. "If Blake was a Class "C" Target, that means that the face will be filled in, right?" "Yes," Arlington sighed, turning away from Marko and toward his discarded motorcycle. The young assassin knew that he was being childish, but he didn't care. Mr. Blake's blubbering had upset him, and he couldn't seem to shake an ugly feeling that was gnawing away at his heart. Why did their last words always have to be "please" or "I'll do anything" or "name your price"? Why couldn't his targets actually put their last minutes to good use? Arlington found his business depressing, and not just because it involved murder. Really, it was the nature of his targets' deaths that bothered him. The way they chose to die was usually pathetic, and oddly horrifying. "Come on, don't be like that," Marko insisted, following along behind Arlington. The two men had been friends for a few years now, and Marko was quick to decipher the reason for Arlington's foul mood. "So, Mr. Blake is a pitiful weakling?" he shrugged. "Who cares? You're officially the biggest badass on campus! With Mr. Blake taken care of, you're now the youngest student to reach senior status! We need to go and celebrate! Beers on me, of course." "I'm tired," Arlington hissed, pulling out a phone and texting instructions to the Crimson Dragons' clean up crew. "I've been out of the country all last week, and the jet lag is bothering me." "Don't lie to me, brother," Marko insisted. "You don't have to put on a front for me. I get it, you've got guilt sickness. It happens to the best of us, there's no shame in it." "I don't have guilt sickness," Arlington insisted, but his tone was defensive and betrayed his true feelings. Quickly, the assassin put away his phone and straddled his motorcycle, hoping to escape Marko's piercing gaze with a little distance. "I just have things to do tomorrow," he continued, starting the machine up. "Master Greyson is increasing my hours in the sparring room, and since I'm a senior now, they'll be giving me an apprentice to work with." "Oooh, an apprentice," Marko cooed, and he blocked Arlington's path. "So, the student becomes the teacher. Master Greyson will be proud, I'm sure. And aren't you at all excited, maybe just a little?" Marko pinched the air with his thumb and forefinger, indicating what he meant by "just a little." "No," Arlington said flatly, and Marko sighed, frustrated by his partner's stubbornness. "As a senior, my case load is about to double. And now, on top of that, I have to teach some little idiot how to fight and kill? I honestly don't know how I'll fit that in with my training regimen." But there were other reasons for Arlington's foul mood and his lack of enthusiasm. As he well knew, time with a newbie would be time away from the field, and Arlington wanted his dragon tattoo finished as soon as possible. Truth be told, the young assassin had no interest in pursuing murder as a career, and had only joined the Crimson Dragons to give him an edge in the political arena. Isleydor had always been a militant country, especially from a cultural and political perspective. It was impossible for one to get a good position in government without some military or combat experience, and working as an assassin was one way to get that experience. Once Arlington was finished training with the Crimson Dragons and repaying his debt to them with a few more kills, he planned to get a job as a body guard and start making connections at the top of the power ladder. By his late twenties, he could be running for public office. Maybe, by his early thirties, he could be working as a legislator. Arlington's father even hoped he could run for the position of Fourth Lord some day, since Lord Harold's health was quickly waning. The young assassin thought that idea ridiculous--he'd never be able to garner enough support for so high a position, not when he came from one of the less renowned aristocratic families--but he indulged his old man's fantasies anyway. "I did all of the work," Arlington told his partner, as he upturned the kickstand of his motorcycle. "So, it's only fair that you stay behind and wait for the clean up crew." And with that, Arlington sped off into the night, leaving a disgruntled Marko behind. The next morning, Arlington rolled out of bed with an irritated groan and headed across his dorm room toward the shower. His living quarters were quite small, and the only furniture he was allowed consisted of a mattress and a desk. But soon, all of that would change. Once Arlington's senior status became official, he would be moved into one of the better dorms and would finally be allowed a living room, and possibly even a kitchen. The prospect was exciting, but daunting at the same time. There were perks to having senior status, but a number of new responsibilities as well. Arlington was already stressed out by his case load, and now he had a young apprentice to deal with. But Arlington pushed the annoying thoughts aside and disrobed, intending to enjoy his morning shower. It wasn't unusual to go days without bathing while on the job, and Arlington enjoyed the activity immensely as a result. As he stepped into the steaming rush of water, Arlington sighed deeply and leaned against the tiled bathroom wall. There, he remained and allowed the pelting droplets of water to massage his aching muscles. Arlington preferred extra hot baths, and the warm water melted soothingly into his flesh and traversed into his core, where it consumed his entire being. As he began to lather himself with soap, the young assassin took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with luxurious steam. God, it was a heavenly experience and Arlington was disappointed that he would have to bathe quickly. Fifteen minutes later, Arlington was strutting across campus in his brown cloak and a thick over shirt. It was cold in the mountainous air, and Arlington's breath came in little puffs of steam, which rose a few inches into the sky before dissipating. At least, though, it had yet to snow. Arlington hated the cold, even more than he hated the onslaught of mosquito's that accompanied summers in Bundhaven, the campus where all three of Isleydor's Assassin's Guilds--the Midnight, Emerald, and Crimson Dragons--conducted training. It was located in a discrete patch of forest along one of Isleydor's rural regions, so of course the place was crawling with loathsome forest critters and constantly felt the stirring of the weather. Arlington much preferred the city, where he had been raised, to the quiet and discomfort of the countryside. And to escape the chilly grasp of his environment, Arlington quickly traversed past the dormitories and toward a large, brick building with a green door. Inside, warmth returned to him and Arlington gratefully made his way down several hallways, until he reached Mr. Panda's Office. "David," Mr. Panda grinned, gesturing enthusiastically at Arlington, once he saw that the young assassin approached. "Come in, my boy! Come on in!" Mr. Panda served as the tattoo artist for all three guilds, and Arlington found his eccentricities to be quite fitting for a man of his profession. Namely, Mr. Panda wore several rings in his thick, grey beard and his bald head was decorated in a number of inked constellations. He had a weird laugh too, which resembled snoring. Although only god knew how such a strange sound was possible. All along the walls of Mr. Panda's office, there were a number of tattoo designs, some used as honorariums for particularly gifted assassins and others used for personal decoration. However, most of the designs depicted the three dragons representative of their corresponding guilds. Members of the Midnight Guild received a dragon tattoo with black scales, which flew across a dark blue, starry sky and upward toward a full moon. Members of the Emerald Guild, on the other had, preferred a dragon tattoo with green scales, which roared ferociously from the safety of a luscious forest. And, finally, members of the Crimson Guild had upon their backs a red dragon tattoo, which was perched upon a mountain and breathed flame. As a new assassin collected kills of varying difficulty, the basic outline of his tattoo would be filled in, scale by scale. The dragon's eyes were the most prized portions of the tattoo, and were filled in only when a trainee conducted a Class "A" Assassination, completely on his own. Arlington, of course, had come to Mr. Panda's office to receive another red scale, in light of the Blake Assassination. Familiar with the routine, Arlington gracefully removed his cloak and shirt, to reveal the unfinished crimson dragon inked onto his own back. Most of the dragon was filled in by then, but the wings were still primarily outlines (to be filled in following fifty Class "B" Kills), and the eye sockets of his dragon were still ugly and gaping. However, the face of the dragon, which was reserved for Class "C" Kills, was missing only a single scale, to be filled in by Mr. Panda that very morning. Once it was, Arlington would officially become the youngest assassin ever to reach senior status among the Crimson Dragons. In preparation for the procedure, Arlington quickly laid down upon a red leather recliner, which stood in the center of the room. There, he waited, propping his head up on muscular arms. "You must be very excited," Mr. Panda began, situating himself on a chair beside Arlington and snapping on a pair of latex gloves. The tattoo artist's dimpled cheeks revealed sincere happiness on Arlington's behalf, giving him an almost grandfather like appearance. For one with such an intimidating demeanor, Mr. Panda was always in a cheerful mood. "This will be your two hundred and fiftieth scale, am I right?" he continued, preparing to fill in the aforementioned ink. "And that makes you a senior among assassins. I must say, I am impressed. To be a mere twenty three years old and to have accomplished all that is quite a feat. You're a smart boy, David, and you'll go far. Mark my words, and Master Greyson's. I know he's proud of you, too." "Thanks, Panda," Arlington replied, unable to stop a smile from marring his cool features. Mr. Panda's happy air was irresistibly addictive, and Arlington couldn't help but share in his enthusiasm. "I mean it, too," he continued, trying to sound insistent. "I appreciate all of the support. But, you know, it was just another job." "Just another job? Oh, come now," Mr. Panda admonished, pressing an ink filled needle against Arlington's skin. The young assassin winced just a little, but more from the cold of the metal than the sharpness of its pointed tip. "You should try and be a little more prideful, at least for the sake of your younger self," Mr. Panda insisted, filling in the red scale upon Arlington's back. "He would be thrilled to realize how far you've come. Such a terrified lad you were, and oblivious to your own skill. I remember when I did the outline of your tattoo, when you were just a scared shitless kid. Do you remember when you were assigned to Master Greyson? I caught you crying in the courtyard. You thought you'd be killed within the week, or at least disabled. I believe your exact words "fucked up beyond belief," weren't they?" "Can we not talk about that?" Arlington hissed, disliking any mention of his soft underbelly. Mr. Panda grinned knowingly, but honored Arlington's request and finished up his work. "Fine," he teased. "You know, to laugh at oneself is a sign of wisdom. And you'll need to assume the appearance of wisdom, at the very least, for the sake of your new apprentice. She's a feisty one. I think you'll like her. She's got your same cynical attitude, and she's just as much of a smart ass." As Mr. Panda threw away the used needle and tossed his latex gloves away, Arlington sat up straight and began to appraise the man's work in a nearby mirror. "You've met Arilyn?" Arlington asked, uninterested in the conversation but looking very pleased with his tattoo. "Of course, my boy," Mr. Panda replied, and he gestured for his next appointment--a shy girl, with a half finished scorpion along her arm--to enter. "Who do you think did her outline? And Arilyn's been credited a few scales from some previous work, too. Meet up with her yet?" "No," Arlington replied dully, standing to his feet and buttoning up his shirt. "I'm on my way there now, though, to complete her initial evaluation. And then we'll see how suited she is to this lifestyle." After traversing the campus once more, Arlington finally arrived at the sparring room and cautiously opened the back door. He wanted to observe his young apprentice before introducing himself, and headed into a shadowy corner, so as to remained unnoticed. The sparring room was a large, open space surrounded on all sides by mirrors--so that trainees could observe and correct their maneuvers--and the floor was covered in a layer of thick, protective mats. It possessed an unpleasant, musky odor as well, which was worsened by the persistent stench of disinfectant, used to clean the mats daily of sweat and blood. Scrunching his nose up against the appalling scent, Arlington settled himself against a wall and spotted Arilyn to the far right, already in the midst of a duel. He recognized the girl from her transfer file, only eighteen and rather small. But there was something about Arilyn that made her beautifully ferocious, in spite of her age and size. Maybe it was the way the girl moved. For Arilyn had an acrobatic fighting style, which allowed her to turn over in the air and slide along the mats like a lithe little bird, unaware of gravity's existence or the pull of the earth's core. Even when her opponent swept to the side, Arilyn was able to change direction seamlessly, chasing after her prey as a hawk might, deadly and determined. But there was something else, Arlington realized, that drew him to her. At first he thought it was her long blonde hair, which was held back with red ribbon. Assassins usually opted to cut their hair short--so that it wouldn't obstruct their view--and Arlington thought it mysterious that any woman on campus should have shoulder length locks. But then, Arilyn danced under an overhead lamp, and the light caught in her eyes. It was those eyes that truly entranced Arlington, for they were a fierce green color that reminded him of a frothy, angry ocean. They also seemed to embody a strange paradox, appearing both soft and unalterable at the same time. As he stared into their depths, Arlington couldn't help but wonder if training an apprentice wouldn't be so bad after all. Arilyn wasn't doing too poorly for a freshman, certainly. Arlington knew the boy she fought against--Johnson, an assassin of sophomore status, who trained under Master Lilus--and Arilyn seemed to be winning, which surprised her soon-to-be master immensely. The girl wasn't as strong as Johnson, but she was quicker and dodged blow after blow until her opponent was winded. Then, with muscular legs that rivaled those of a horse, she kicked her enemy into the far wall, until he doubled over with pain. Once the victor had become obvious, Arilyn stood for a few moments before her defeated adversary, panting lightly in the cool air. Pale skin contrasted starkly with the black pants and shirt she sparred in, loose enough to permit ample movement without completely hiding her form, sumptuous and curved. When Johnson tried to stand to his feet and failed, Arilyn offered the boy her hand and pulled upwards. Arlington had to admit that the girl fought well, for one so inexperienced. Still, it was unacceptable for a newbie, who hadn't even been on campus for a full week, to have defeated a sophomore. He would have to correct that error, as was his duty. "You," Arlington hissed violently, emerging from the darkness and startling both assassins. But when Arilyn and Johnson only looked up at him in confusion, Arlington pointed condescendingly at the latter. "Did I just watch you, an assassin of sophomore status, get your ass kicked by a freshman?" Quickly, the poor boy averted his eyes, but Arlington wouldn't have it. "I asked you a question," the senior hissed, yanking the boy up by his hair. "So, of course, I expect an answer. Did you or did you not just get your ass handed to you by a newbie?" "Yes, sir. I did," Johnson replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. When Arlington finally let go of his hair, the boy stared back down into the floor, humiliation turning his cheeks a dark red. "That's completely unacceptable, Johnson," Arlington told him, and the boy winced at his condescending tone. "Get me your progress pad and a pen. I'm putting you down for five demerits, to be repaid by the end of the week. Either the weight room or the obstacle course, your choice. But she shouldn't be able to beat you just by flying around like a sparrow." "But, sir!" Johnson protested, his voice concerned. The boy had probably earned quite a few demerits already, and was worried that he wouldn't be able to pay them back, at least by the end of the week. But it was the boy's own damn fault that he risked a demotion, and Arlington felt no sympathy. "Now!" Arlington hissed. "Argue with me, and I'll add another five." Then, while the boy scurried away toward his back pack, Arlington turned to his new apprentice. He was momentarily startled by the girl's appearance, both smug and overly confident, which was unusual for a freshman in her first week of training. Normally, the newest members of the Crimson Dragon were jumpy creatures, easily intimidated and quite shy. But not Arilyn, it seemed, for she wore a cocky grin on her face, triumphant and proud. Arlington thought it a little disgusting and decided that he would have to begin by doing away with that narcissistic attitude. "Wipe that ugly smirk off your face," Arlington told her, watching as Arilyn's eyes became perplexed, though the reason was lost on him. "Then, take your shirt off for me, turn around, and stand still." Arlington expected immediate obedience, as was appropriate for an apprentice, but Arilyn only furrowed her brow and scowled. "Excuse me?" she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, and Arlington groaned. She had seemed so promising only a moment ago, and now she was talking back to him. God, why did he have to get the difficult one? Why couldn't he have an apprentice more humble, or even a little shy? "What do you mean by waltzing in here and telling me to take off my clothes?" Arilyn continued, her tone accusatory. "I've heard of hazing before. The seniors always tease us underclassmen, just because they can. But this is a bit ridiculous, don't you think? Bordering on sexual harassment, even?" "Oh, don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," Arlington growled, and he moved toward Arilyn until there were only inches between them. He intended to establish, right there and then, where the balance of power lay. It was better that Arilyn learn her place sooner, rather than later. "First of all, I have no interest in your lady parts," he asserted, his voice clipped. "Really, I'm only interested in the tattoo upon your back. Mr. Panda told me that you've already earned a few scales, and I'd like to see them." Arlington watched then as Arilyn's eyes widened in horror, understanding straightening her out. Good, let the little bird figure out for herself just what she'd done and who she had offended. "Furthermore, I'm supposed to be your trainer," he continued, emphasizing the last word to make their relative positions clear. "But if you insist on being a pain in my ass, I can hand you off to one of the lesser guilds, and you can mouth off to their trainers. Sound fair?" The threat had its intended effect, for the girl suddenly stopped breathing, her voice caught in her throat. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 17 "I'm sorry, sir," Arilyn corrected, as soon as she was able to speak again. Her face had turned suddenly pale and she averted her eyes toward the floor, a sorry attempt at remedying the situation and dulling the impact of her rude outburst. "I promise, sir, that this won't happen again. I only thought that--" "I don't care what you thought, so don't bother to explain," Arlington hissed. "Take your shirt off, and then turn around." He then made a small twirling motion with his finger, gesturing for Arilyn to spin in place. "Not another word out of you. Just do as you're told while I deal with your opponent, or I will make good on my threat." When Arlington had finished filling out a portion of Johnson's progress pad, he turned back to his new apprentice. This time, Arilyn had removed her shirt, and she stood in the open air wearing only a plain white bra and her black sparring pants. Tiny goosebumps spread like wildfire along her arms and shoulders, giving the girl's normally smooth skin a rugged look. Her breath came in little gasps too, making her appear even more vulnerable. Arlington liked the way her tiny body trembled, and the fear characterizing her face. He found it both strangely beautiful and appropriate, given the girl's position. Apparently, she had realized the degree of her error and had lost her overly confident aura to humility. It was as it should be, for an apprentice before her waiting master. Without a word, Arlington stepped behind Arilyn and placed a hand on each shoulder. The little apprentice gasped sharply at the contact, for Arlington's hands felt cold against her heated skin, still sweaty from her last duel. Carefully, he gripped her blonde pony tail and tossed it over her shoulder, so that it now lay against her front rather than her back. But even with her hair removed, Arilyn's tattoo was still partially obscured by a bra strap. To her horror, Arlington undid the clasp without even bothering to warn the girl and pushed the freed cloth aside. In this way, he was able make out the Crimson Dragon upon her back, which consisted mostly of black lines and unfinished scales. Quickly, Arilyn grasped the cloth around her breasts, to ensure that it didn't fall away, feeling a panic that was apparently lost on her training master. But she stilled as Arlington drew a finger over those scales--few in number--which had been colored red. He was whispering carefully under his breath, counting them. The man's voice, she thought, was strangely soothing. Finally, Arlington stepped away from Ariyln, to inspect the illustrated dragon upon her back at a distance. The girl had fifteen crimson scales, he noted, indicating that she had accomplished an equal number of kills. That alone was impressive for a newbie, but the scales were also located on the fore legs of her dragon tattoo, which was indicative of several Class "F" Targets. That, too, was impressive for a freshman assassin. Not that Arlington would admit that to his apprentice. Until he sparred with her, one-on-one, he felt himself unable to pass judgement on her skill, even if she had defeated Johnson. And she had already proven to have a displeasing attitude, which was problematic. "Put your shirt back on," Arlington snapped, watching as the girl quickly redid the clasp on her bra and pulled the black garment over her head. "Then turn around and face me. We're going to spar." Arilyn nodded her head obediently and got into position, assuming a wide stance and putting her weight on the balls of her feet. There was a small bounce in her knees that Arlington took note of, indicative of an acrobatic fighter, one who would rely primarily on fancy maneuvers to escape her opponent's reach. Of course, Arlington had just seen such tactics in action, but was surprised that Arilyn intended to use the same fighting style twice in a row. Surely, she had more than one combat technique at her disposal, and would vary her approach so as to catch her opponents off guard? If not, then how would she fare against the more experienced assassins of her status? Arlington also noticed that the girl kept her eyes trained on him, completely ignoring her surroundings, which was a dangerous move for any assassin to make. To obsess over one's opponent, and to completely ignore the landscape, was instinctual, but stupid. Good god, how had Arilyn beaten Johnson, with so many weaknesses marring her style? The poor boy must have been sick and off his game. But Arlington decided to temporarily halt his critical analysis. This was supposed to be a learning experience for him. After all, Arlington was only sparring with the girl to learn of her strengths and weaknesses, so as to prepare a proper training regimen. He could address the girl's flaws during their duel, showing his apprentice her errors through experience, rather than instruction. "When's your next resting period?" Arlington asked, removing his cloak to reveal a sleeveless white shirt, muscular arms protruding on either end. He wore matching pants as well and quickly kicked off his shoes, assuming a stance similar to that of his apprentice. "I believe freshmen get a one week break after their first few days of training, to re-evaluate before making a commitment. Isn't that so?" "Yes, sir," Arilyn acknowledged, her brow furrowed in confusion. It seemed such a bizarre question to ask, but Arlington had his reasons. "Good," he told her, a disturbing smile twisting his face. "Then it's okay if I break a few bones. After all, you'll have a full week to recover, and our medical technology on campus is quite good." He watched as the apprentice's face became marred with horror, before she re-assumed an aura of feigned calm. Arlington had no intention of hurting the girl that badly, of course. But he wanted to see how well Arilyn fought under genuine terror. For similar reasons, Master Greyson had used the same mind fuck on Arlington when they first sparred. "Ready?" Arlington questioned, watching as Arilyn nodded toward him. "Then, go!" Arlington charged at Arilyn and watched as she flipped over backwards several times, her hands hitting the mat over and over again, enabling her to spring rearward and away from her opponent. But she used the same maneuver too many times, and Arlington quickly picked up on the pattern. The next time Arilyn tried to back flip away, he grabbed her ankle in the process and threw her to the ground, where she gasped for breath. "Lesson One," Arlington told her, watching as she clutched her sides. "Don't be so damn predictable. And when you're thrown to the ground, gently exhale, or the wind will be knocked out of you." He offered Arilyn his hand then, and helped the girl to her feet. "Again," Arlington demanded, and Arilyn assumed her fighting stance. "This time, try to vary things up a bit, or I won't be so gentle with you." Arilyn nodded, and gestured for her master to continue the fight. When Arlington charged her, she stepped carefully to the left and out of the way, but her master possessed impressive footwork. Quickly, he changed direction and threw several punches Arilyn's way, all of which she dodged. Arlington noted that she did not return any punches or even bother with an attempted kick. Instead, Arilyn merely continued to lead him around the room, somersaulting backwards and jumping out of the way of his attempted blows. Was she hoping he would burn out? Did she really think her endurance was greater than that of her training master's? If so, not only was her approach ill suited to her opponent, but it also put way too much control in his hands. By remaining on the defensive, Arilyn was allowing Arlington to control the pace of the duel and the direction of their fight. Arlington decided to show the girl her error, carefully directing his punches so that Arilyn backed away in a controlled manner and, finally, into a corner. "What are you going to do now?" Arlington asked his apprentice, as she fell back against a wall. With satisfaction, the master watched as Arilyn's eyes lit up with horror, upon realizing what had transpired and how easily she had been tricked. "You can't keep jumping out of the way, like a little bird. Come on, there's a way out of the corner. How are you going to escape me?" Instead of offering a reply, Arilyn directed a punch toward Arlington's face. He caught her wrist and pushed it back, easily pinning the girl's arm over her head and against the wall behind her. The apprentice resisted, of course. From the sudden redness of her face, Arlington could tell that the poor girl was putting a lot of effort into her struggles, though without much noticeable effect. Arilyn's upper body strength was atrocious, he realized. Arlington supposed that was why she relied so heavily on defensive maneuvers and, when she did attack, usually resorted to the use of her legs. And, sure enough, the little apprentice tried to kick her training master in the groin. But her attacks were embarrassingly predictable, and Arlington easily grabbed her ankle with his free hand, even as it swept up toward him. Then, when Arlington had the girl suspended in mid air--her right arm pinned above her head and left leg lifted off the floor--he let her go and watched as she gasped for breath on the ground. The sight was absolutely pathetic, and Arlington groaned irritably. How the little idiot had managed fifteen Class "F" Kills was beyond him, but he didn't care. If Arilyn didn't prove to have at least a few redeeming qualities, and quickly, he intended to pass her off to the Midnight Dragons. Arlington had neither the time nor the energy to work with a blank slate. "What did I tell you about exhaling when you get thrown?" Arlington hissed at Arilyn, as she struggled to her feet. Her pained expression was so annoying, that Arlington couldn't bear to watch. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked back toward his discarded cloak, mumbling to himself. Even if he did decide to train Arilyn, he wouldn't know where to start. The girl had so many weaknesses: poor upper body strength, abysmal observation skills, and limited offensive maneuvers. How had she managed fifteen Class "F" Kills? How? "I'm sorry," Arilyn offered, finally standing to her feet and brushing herself off. "It's only my first week here, and I didn't realize you were going to drop me." The girl's tone, though she tried to hide it, was rife with irritation, and was even a tad accusatory. Arlington wouldn't tolerate that sort of disrespect from any freshman, let alone his own apprentice. "Excuse me?" Arlington inquired, spinning back around to face Arilyn. "Did you just try and argue with me? Do you want my instruction, or not?" "Yes, sir," Arilyn hissed, clenching her teeth against the torrent of insults she was certainly holding back. "Of course, I want your instruction. But if you could be a little bit nicer about it, and maybe even--" "Excellent," Arlington grinned, and he clapped his hands mockingly. "I'm glad we're on the same page, and that you are eager to be my apprentice. And as my apprentice, I expect that you won't try and debate with me, or argue with me. In fact, I only ever want to hear one of three phrases leave your lips." With that, Arlington held out a single hand and began to count off on his fingers. "Your vocabulary ought to consist of 'Yes, sir' or 'Of course, sir' or 'I think my arm is broken, may I go to the infirmary, sir.'" He watched carefully as Arilyn opened her mouth to protest--clearly upset by his ludicrous request--but Arlington interrupted her before she had a chance to speak. "What is this?" he inquired, withdrawing his favorite pistol from within his cloak. "Um, a gun?" Arilyn ventured, with a shrug. "A gun?" Arlington pressed. "That's seriously the best you can do? Let me guess, you don't know the model, or even how many shots it can hold?" But Arilyn, instead of answering, cast her eyes toward the ground, a clear indication that she hadn't the slightest idea what he was asking of her. Great, Arlington thought. On top of everything else, he now had an apprentice who couldn't even tell the difference between a six shot and a ten shot. "I don't like using guns, anyway," Arilyn quickly added, renewed confidence sparkling in her eyes. The girl stood a little taller then, prepared to defend her ignorance. "I only kill at close range--you know, with knives or brute force. If you are going to kill a man, you should at least give him a small chance at saving himself. It's only fair. Sniper rifles, bombs, grenades--all that fancy equipment is dishonorable, and unfair." "Oh, dear god almighty," Arlington moaned, massaging his temples furiously. The girl was giving him a headache, and he wondered how his initial impressions of her had been so off base. "Please tell me that you did not--just a moment ago--insist that an assassin ought to go easy on his target?" Arlington begged. "Please, for the love of god, tell me that you were joking." "I didn't say go easy on a target," Arilyn protested, striding toward her training master with defiance written on her face. "You weren't listening to me at all. You're just putting words in my mouth. I just said that you shouldn't surprise a target, like some thief in the night. It's undignified, and unfair. It's a technique only fitting for rats." Of course, the poor girl didn't know that Arlington's preferred style of kill was subversive and sneaky, and that she had essentially just called him a sewer rodent. But Arilyn would pay the price for her insulting comments anyway. "That's it," Arlington proclaimed, standing from the wall and putting his cloak back on. "I am done with you. There are plenty of freshmen who would love to train with the youngest assassin ever to reach senior status, and I won't waste my efforts on an ungrateful, argumentative brat." Arlington headed for the door then, his footsteps frightfully certain. "Go clear out your dorm," he continued. "I'm moving you down a few notches, to go work with the Midnight Dragons. You aren't suited to wear red upon your back." At this, Arilyn's face fell, and the earnestness of the situation made her humble. Quickly, she rushed for the doorway and held up her hands as if to stop Arlington in his tracks. "Please, sir, I apologize for my attitude," she begged. Arlington tried to walk around her, but she was a quick little thing, and he couldn't get by. "Wait! Master, please wait and hear me out!" Arilyn pleaded, trying to break past his cold demeanor. "I'm just a little new to all of this, but if you give me chance, I know I can become worthy. Please, sir. I promise not to be argumentative anymore." As Arilyn's options began to run dry, she found herself forced to resort to yet more humiliating tactics. Piteously, the girl clutched her hands in front of her, in a classic plea, and moved to get upon her knees. After all, such a demotion was extremely embarrassing, and could not be undone once put into the system. It was possible to move up a notch if you started in a lower guild, but once moved down a notch, progress forward was forbidden. In other words, an assassin only got one chance to be trained among the Crimson Dragons, and god have mercy on the poor souls who blew that chance. "Get up, little idiot," Arlington hissed, ignoring the girl's pleas and pulling her to her feet. "I've had to deal with begging little slime balls all week, and I don't want to have to deal with it on campus. Get out of my way. You're a one trick pony, and you shouldn't be here. You only ever bounce around on those winged feet of yours, and while impressive, it's not good enough. You're outclassed, sweetheart." But when he looked back down at the girl, Arlington found that her eyes had became round and sorrowful. He felt a little bad for her then, and decided to soften his words. "I'm sorry," he added, not unkind. "But that's the truth." "I'm a one trick pony?" Arilyn whispered, her voice hurt. "I mean, maybe, but I am good at what I do." "Indeed, you are. But it's dangerous to become too dependent on a single fighting style, or even weapon," Arlington explained, watching Arilyn's face pale still further. But it was only fair that she be told the reason for her demotion, and Arlington had no intention of holding back the truth. "Remember, hunting lower class targets is a lot like putting down dogs," he continued. "In that case, bigger guns and better moves are all that matter. But once you make your way up to Class "B" and Class "A" Targets, you'll find that your enemies are often better equipped than you are, and have stronger body guards at their disposal. In that case, the only way to win is to outsmart your enemy, and manipulate him into doing whatever you wish. To trick him into killing himself, if you will." "And how do you do that?" Arilyn replied, trying to get on Arlington's good side by asking thoughtful questions. "How do you manipulate a target?" "You learn to read minds, of course," Arlington said simply, and he strode once more for the door, taking advantage of Arilyn's distracted demeanor in order to do so. But the girl quickly regained her voice, and persisted, much to Arlington's annoyance. "Can you do that?" the apprentice questioned, rushing in front of Arlington once more. The response had caught Arilyn off guard, and she was genuinely curious. But when she realized that her question could be interpreted as an argument, she quickly covered her mouth. "I'm sorry," Arilyn begged, earnest. "I didn't mean to argue. It just seems so bizarre? I mean, reading minds?" "Indeed, it does seem bizarre, but that his how the very best among us operate. Including, of course, my own training master, Walter Greyson," Arlington answered. When he finally reached the doorway, he put his hand on the knob and pressed his weight against it, preparing to leave. "But mind reading is child's play," he finished, as if in farewell. "If only you know your enemy well enough, of course." "Let me try," Arilyn begged, tugging on Arlington's sleeve with desperation in her eyes. "Give me one more chance. I only need three days. We'll spar again, and if I win, you'll train me. Please, Master Arlington? Please?" It was a stupid suggestion, of course. There was no way in hell the little idiot could beat Arlington, but he was impressed by her gull and decided to throw her a bone. "Fine," he told her, and he stepped back out into the cold. "Three days, and that's it. Same time, same place." Sighing into the frozen air, Arlington moved as if to walk toward the weight room, when he felt a gruff embrace enveloping him. Instinctively, Arlington ducked down and lunged for his assailant, but recognized Marko a few inches before his fist hit the man's face. With a friendly chuckle, he lightly slapped Marko instead. "You scared the shit out of me," Arlington laughed. After all, it wasn't unusual for a rising assassin to become the target of an enemy guild, and he had had a few close calls in the past, even on campus. "So, how did it go?" Marko grinned gleefully, bouncing around and trying to peer past Arlington at the doorway behind him. "I heard you got a girl. Is she cute? Does she have a nice butt, or one of those flat ones?" "We were doing an initial evaluation, to see if I would continue with Arilyn or not," Arlington snickered, and he rolled his eyes. Marko had always been something of a ladies man on campus, and he was proud of it, too. "I wasn't paying attention to her butt, and I don't see why it should matter to you, either." "The Crimson Dragons have very high 'Butt Standards,' and as official Butt Inspector for the guild, it is my duty to ensure that those standards are upheld," Marko joked. Then, he twisted his head around suddenly, as the door behind Arlington opened and closed, but it was a man who exited the sparring room, not Arilyn. "But that aside, what did you think of your new apprentice?" Marko pressed. "How are her skills?" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 18 Author's Note: Hello, fabulous readers. As always, thank you for all of your wonderful comments, ratings, and favorites, which have been so encouraging and helpful. Seriously, you guys make me a better writer and because of your comments, I feel that the story has majorly improved since its first chapter. This, in particular, is one of my favorite chapters to date, even if it is rather long, so I hope you enjoy it. And, as promised, there is now sexyness as well as plot. If you find that 7.5 pages is too much to get through in a single sitting, I suggest reading pages 1-4 and 5-8 as separate hunks, although the division is imperfect. Sorry for the delay, but let me know what you think, please, and happy reading. HisPet21 * Removing the annoying prison collar from Kara's neck had been difficult and dangerous. It was metallic in nature and had been wrapped around her skin very tightly, leaving virtually no space between iron and flesh. But with a little creativity and some garden shears from Mirianna's shed, Karrington had managed to cut the horrible thing off of her. Now, Kara stood in one of her host's two bathrooms, staring at her reflection curiously. She had just taken a bath and rivulets of water dripped down her bare back from her soaked locks. The steam still lingering in the air made tiny goosebumps ripple all along Kara's skin, so that her pink nipples stood out at attention and her luscious curves glimmered with warm dew. But Kara's image was marred, most prominently by the red band around her neck, left over from the irritation caused by her collar. There was also a raised lump along Kara's spine, from her Martkorp tracking implant, and she couldn't stop running her hands over it. The thing had been deactivated during Kara's processing at Bremmington, but it still creeped her out, like a parasitic insect below her skin. Carefully, Kara wrapped her hair in a towel and vigorously rubbed the cloth along her locks, trying to dry them as best she could. When her hair had gone from doused to damp, Kara was able to pull a brush through her brown mane and tie it behind her in a ponytail. But as Kara turned away from the bathroom mirror to reach for a borrowed toothbrush, the Slave Registration Number inked below her shoulder caught her attention. For a few moments, she merely stared at it, entranced by the bold black digits, which contrasted starkly with her pale flesh. In fact, the juxtaposition was almost hypnotizing. But as Kara whispered that number under her breath, it became suddenly and unbearably obscene, and she could feel an angry hurt rising in her chest and consuming her. As if her life depended on it, Kara suddenly found herself scrambling around in her host's bathroom drawers, until she found a barber's shaving blade. Then, she turned so that she could see her tattoo reflected in the mirror, and began to cut away at it. There were better, safer ways to remove a tattoo, and cutting away at the inked skin certainly wouldn't eliminate it. But Kara couldn't wait. She felt an incessant need to at least mutilate the evil brand. Biting against the pain—the glorious, life affirming pain that was indicative of her freedom—Kara sliced over the ink until thick, red blood obscured the tattoo's meaning. Trying to ignore the trembling of her hands, Kara turned on the sink, leaving red fingerprints on the knobs, and watched as hot water gushed into the basin. Slowly, she washed the barber's blade of blood and then her hands, but decided to let the streams of red liquid marring her back remain. She couldn't bear to wipe away the bloody mess hiding her horrible tattoo, and decided to let it scab over. In the morning, when it was a series of dried cuts, she could disinfect the area and apply a bandage. And with that, Kara took a deep breath, wrapped a towel around her body, and moved toward the door. But with her hand on the knob, she paused once more to look back at herself. "You're going to be okay," Kara told her reflection, and she exited out into the hallway. Greenwood's room was directly across from Kara's, and he was just turning in for the evening when she appeared, her back decorated in red stains. Concerned, the old man scrunched up his face and moved toward her slowly, until he realized how proficiently she was bleeding and quickly raced to her side. "Dear god, girl!" Greenwood screeched. "Are you okay? What happened?" He tried to touch Kara's wound to inspect it, but she pushed him away. "My own personal brand of therapy," Kara explained, and Greenwood suddenly nodded, understanding. "Besides, it'll scab over by morning, and I'll be fine." Greenwood was such a kind hearted soul, and Kara didn't want to cause him any undue concern, even if her dark past was none of his business. Kara's room was a tiny little thing, with an old bed in the center. Throwing her towel in a nearby hamper, Kara switched off the lights and crawled under the bed's pink covers, completely nude. For a moment, she simply lay there, savoring the bittersweet combination of bliss and anxiety that had plagued her ever since her escape from Bremmington and Lord Arlington's accompanying threat to track her down and drag her back. Kara was just about to close her eyes, when she spotted a shadowy figure in the corner of her room, tall and frightening, so that she almost screamed. But there was a hint of moonlight coming in from a nearby window, and Kara soon realized that what she had mistook for a man was merely a coat rack with a hat draped over it. Kara remembered Lord Arlington's words then, that she would be sleeping with the lights on until he caught her. And, in spite of herself, Kara turned her head and eyed the light switch. "It's just a stupid coat rack," Kara hissed, furious with herself for allowing Arlington's scare tactics to intimidate her. "Stop being an idiot, and go to sleep. Jeez." But, unfortunately, falling asleep was easier said than done. In spite of herself, whenever she opened her eyes, Kara saw quavering tendrils in the darkness that looked like fingers and strange shadows that resembled men. The house was old too, and it creaked something awful, awakening Kara with a start on several occasions. Eventually, she gave up and, grumbling to herself, crossed the room toward the light switch. Kara was just about to flick it on and head back to bed when soft, but angry voices assaulted her ears and she pressed herself against the door to listen. First, she heard Greenwood's voice, which was quiet and sincere. "Are you going to sit outside her room all night?" he asked. "Isn't that, you know, a little creepy? Stalkerish, even?" "You never know what might crop up in the middle of the night," Karrington's voice replied, defensive and a little closer to the doorway. "Kara didn't have to come back for us. She could have left us in prison to rot away and die, as your girlfriend apparently intended, but she didn't. Honestly, I owe her my life," Karrington continued, and his tone became almost endearing. "I fully intend on repaying that debt, too. There is no way in hell that Arlington is going to get his slimy hands on her again, not while I'm around." "You've only known her a little while," Greenwood protested. "Not that I think it isn't wise to try and repay Kara for her kindnesses, but she's a strong girl. Give her some credit for that, and don't push yourself on her too fast. Arlington's pretty bad, Ben. Worse than Judith, even. She's going to have a lot of scars and you'll need to respect that." "You should have listened to way that pig talked to her," Karrington snarled, and there was a loud bang as he hit the wall. The reverberations reached Kara's ear, pressed against the door, and she almost cried out from the pain. "You don't talk to women like that," the man continued, earnest and upset. "You don't say those sorts of awful, horrible things. You just don't. And I won't let anyone ever talk to her like that again." As Greenwood wished Ben a good night, Kara moved back over to the light switch, intending to head off to bed as well. But there, with her finger pressed against the plastic protrusion, Kara paused. Suddenly, with Karrington outside her doorway, the darkness no longer seemed so thick and oppressive. Even the coat rack in the corner appeared less sinister, and its resemblance to a man waned. Turning back toward her bed, Kara decided that she would not need the lights on after all and she crawled back under the covers, drifting off to sleep almost instantly. *** Arlington tried, once more, to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Bremmel had already brought him several cups of coffee, but not even caffeine was able to sustain his lordship. For the past twelve hours, he had been handling the aftermath of the jail break at Bremmington and there had been much to do: approving public announcements, arming the police for a city wide search of the fugitives, fighting off an incessant entourage of reporters, preparing for the reconstruction of the Montarieve Bay Tunnel, and handling the capture of Commander Ciara's Rescue Regiment. When Arlington had finally earned a few hours of sleep, his attempts at rest could hardly have been considered a success. Even after falling away into darkness, his lordship had been plagued by bizarre dreams and restless moments in limbo, somewhere between waking and sleeping. And yet, it was not the sleep deprivation that most bothered Lord Arlington, but the immense embarrassment the jail break had caused him. His lordship had lost both of his trophy slaves in under a week and the grand nature of Kara's escape, in particular, had made him the laughing stock of every major news station in Isleydor. Arlington couldn't even make it from the front door to his car without being harassed by a trespassing reporter hiding out in the bushes or even, in one instance, masquerading as his driver. The paparazzi were insufferable little pests, like gnats. Swat one away, and dozens more were upon you in a moment to take its place. Of course, Arlington wasn't in any danger of losing his position, which had been a permanent arrangement ever since his Final Re-Evaluation, roughly a decade ago. Still, the escape of Lord Arlington's trophy slaves would damage his reputation and make it more difficult to navigate Isleydor's political bureaucracy. The older, wiser politicians would know better than to disrespect his lordship over such a trivial matter, but the younger generation of legislators and judicial representatives—who would be cocky and over confident after being voted into office—would have to be knocked into line. That would take time Arlington didn't have, not with Nardia's take-over on the horizon. He needed to recapture Tamius and especially Kara as soon as possible, in order to break them both and reassert himself amongst his peers. Groaning into the palm of his hand, Arlington carefully looked down at the press release he was working on, to be completed within the next few days. His lordship had a horrible headache and his knee was bothering him, but he dared not take any pain medication, for fear of becoming hazy and unable to focus. God, there was so much to do. In fact, there was too much to do and Arlington wondered if he might have to pull another all nighter. "My lord?" began a soft, sultry voice, and Arlington turned in his seat to find Alice at the door to his office. She was holding the breakfast tray he had ordered, with a fresh cup of coffee, eggs, and toast. Normally, Bremmel brought him his meals, but Alice was known to badger the butler into letting her do it when something was on her mind and she wanted an excuse to see Arlington. "I hope you don't mind, my lord," Alice continued, setting the tray on Arlington's desk and kneeling beside his chair, the yellow dress she wore cascading around her in waves. "It's just that Mr. Bremmel is so busy and he needed a little help. So, of course, I offered to bring your food up." "I'm sure that's exactly how it happened," Arlington smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. Alice tried to smile innocently in reply, but it was clear from the way that she fidgeted that she wanted something. "What is it, pet?" Arlington asked her gently, glad to be pulled away from his work, if only for a moment. "We both know that you didn't come here out of the kindness of your heart. So, why don't you spill and tell me what is on your mind?" "Did you get it, my lord?" Alice blurted, and she peered over the top of Arlington's desk at the cubbyhole where Bremmel kept his mail. "Did you look at it yet? I think it's there. The yellow package, with the red stamp." She pointed avidly at the parcel, clearly trying to reign in her excitement and failing miserably at it. But then again, that's why Arlington loved the girl so much. Alice had always been easily excited. Give the girl a lollipop and a hug, and she'd be happy for a week. "Oh," Arlington chuckled, understanding now. Teasingly, he held up the package and moved as if to tear it open, but paused. "Should I open it now?" he asked Alice, a playful shimmer in his eyes. "Or after breakfast, maybe? The eggs will get cold if I don't eat them soon." "I could heat them up for you," Alice offered, her beautiful eyes frantically darting to the package in Arlington's hands and then back to his face. "It wouldn't be a problem at all, my lord." "Gee, I don't know," Lord Arlington mused, tapping his fingers against his desktop, as if in deep thought. "I'm not much for re-heated food, pet. Yes, I think we had better wait until after breakfast." "Please, open it now?" Alice begged, and she turned to more subversive tactics. Arlington didn't have a chance to move away before she had grabbed his left hand and started to kiss it adoringly, because she knew how much he enjoyed it. Then, when she let go, Alice began to tug insistently at his sleeve. "Please, my lord! Please! If I have to wait any longer I am going to die of anticipation! You would feel bad then, wouldn't you? Every time you visited my grave, you'd see the epitaph on my headstone: Here lies Alice, who died of anticipation. And, of course, the guilt would be unbearable." "Unbearable, you say?" Arlington inquired, and Alice nodded vigorously. "Well okay, then. I wouldn't want to bite off more guilt than I can chew. You win." He chuckled as Alice—whose emotions were always so readable—released an audible sigh and quickly tore open the package. Inside was a book coated in bubble wrap and once the padding had been removed, Arlington held in his hands a hard copy of Alice's recently released book, compliments of her publisher. The title was rather plain: The Hunting Patterns of the Mibanese Hawk. But the illustration on the front cover was stunning, depicting a black hawk with red wing tips as it dashed across the sky, narrowing in on a fleeing sparrow. And, of course, the author's name, Alice Leighton, was beautifully printed at the bottom. "I wonder if the author will honor me with an inscription?" Arlington inquired, and Alice jumped to her feet to sit in her lord's lap. "Why, of course I will sign your book," Alice smiled, putting on her most scholarly face and flipping open to the foremost flyleaf. Reaching for a pen, she pressed the ink filled tip to the paper and then paused. "To my most loyal fan and adoring lord," Alice finally began, reading her inscription out loud as she wrote it. "Thank you for all of the support that has made this book possible." Then, with a flourish, she signed her name. Alice was just about to hand the book back to Lord Arlington when she looked down at his right leg and gave a little gasp of horror. It was forcibly straightened in a brace she hadn't noticed before, and much of the leg was wrapped in a metallic cast, with glowing lights along its sides. "You're hurt?" Alice inquired. "Unfortunately," Lord Arlington admitted. "Yesterday, a band of prisoners from Bremmington got loose—including, by the way, my secondary trophy slave—and I was shot. Don't worry though, pet," he assured his girl, who was still cringing empathetically. "The doctor says I'll be good as new in a week and a half. These sorts of casts speed up the healing process quite a bit, and I have access to the best medical care available." "Are you in much pain?" Alice pressed, touching the strange cast tentatively. "Do you want me to go to the pharmacy and pick up some of the better pain medications?" "No," Arlington replied, shaking his head dismissively. "Those things make me a little loopy, and I have to focus. There is so much to do, since we'll be moving our forces into Nardia soon. And now I have to deal with the repercussions of this prison break, and get my trophy slaves back." Exasperated, Arlington sighed into the palm of his hand. "God, there is just so much to do." "If you have a few minutes, my lord, perhaps I can provide some more natural pain relief." Sliding from Arlington's lap, Alice knelt under the desk and between his legs. The girl was careful not to jostle her lord's injured knee as she unzipped his dress pants and pulled out his semi-hard cock. Placing her hands on his hips to steady herself, Alice wet her soft, pink lips with her tongue and quickly engulfed his member in her mouth. Her pulsating flesh was wonderfully warm and her gentle suckling quickly aroused Arlington, so that he became fully erect. Gradually, he felt his lengthening cock press firmly against the inside of Alice's cheek as it grew, and growled pleasurably. But though the sensations were delightful, Arlington suddenly gripped his girl's hair and pulled her off of his pulsating member. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right," Arlington told Alice, his voice suddenly hoarse with lust and hunger. The stress of the past twenty-four hours had made him desperate for some sort of violent, physical release, which was exactly what Alice offered. "Take the dress off," Arlington ordered, his voice impatient. "And any under clothes too, of course. If you're going to suck me off, you're going to do it naked." Obediently, Alice gripped the cloth of her dress and pulled it upward and over her head in a single, fluid movement. As it turned out, she wasn't wearing a bra and her small, but gorgeous breasts stood eagerly at attention, the pink nipples erect and aroused. Trying to look sexy and alluring, Alice gripped both tits in her hands and kneaded the flesh eagerly, watching her lord's cock twitch in anticipation. But although Alice loved to tease, Arlington hated teasing and the girl was quick to move her mouth back down upon his cock, but was stopped suddenly. "I said all under clothes, including the panties," Arlington growled, not angry but filled with perverse desire. As he watched Alice slide the panties past her thighs and down her ankles, he gripped his aroused member and stroked it vigorously, unwilling to wait until she'd finished. Her mound was still wrapped in a chastity belt, but the device was small and unobtrusive, leaving the girl's gorgeous, shaven cunt open to view. "Good girl," Arlington praised. "Now, back to work." And he held out his engorged cock. Alice was a tiny creature, and when her lord was fully erect, she had a difficult time swallowing his entire member. As a result, she had a tendency to work her way up to it. Tentatively, Alice gripped Arlington's cock in her right hand and jerked him off vigorously, while simultaneously lapping at the purple head. A droplet of salty sweet pre-cum dripped from the tear shaped opening and onto her tongue, which made her own arousal grow insistently between her legs, egging her on further. Releasing her master's cock, Alice pushed her tongue up and down his shaft, pressing tightly against the skin before easing a few inches of it into her warm, waiting cavern. There, she thrust her head onto and off of his cock, going a little farther toward the base each time. But Arlington soon grew inpatient and Alice could feel his fingers in her hair, right before his lordship pulled her head all the way down onto his cock. Tears sparked in her eyes from the annoying gag reflex that had always plagued her, but Arlington didn't mind. He rather enjoyed the pained expression on his darling's face, and loved that she willingly indulged his sadistic tendencies. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 18 "Swallow my cock," Arlington hissed, and he groaned lustfully as the muscles in Alice's throat massaged his pulsating member, pushing him further and further toward the edge of orgasm. "Such a good girl," he groaned, his eyes half lidded with lust. "That's it, sweetheart. Suck it nice and hard for me." Arlington wanted to thrust himself fully into Alice's mouth then, but couldn't do so with an injured knee. Instead, he placed his hand lovingly on the back of Alice's head so that he could guide it, and looked down at her. The girl's face was red from the effort of holding him down her throat, and there were tear stains on her cheeks. "No teeth," Arlington warned her. "And keep your lips wet and tight." Then, Arlington grabbed Alice's hair and thrust her head onto and off of his cock, allowing her groans of discomfort to pulsated through his member. "God, your mouth is so sweet, pet," he hissed. "Moan for me. Louder. That's it. I want to feel you groaning against my skin, like a good pet." Alice's tongue pressed tightly against the underside of his engorged penis and in a moment, Arlington was ready to explode. "Don't waste a drop," he ordered, and he spewed his hot load down the slave girl's throat, allowing her gentle sucking to milk the last of his orgasm dry until the aftershocks had subsided and he grew soft. "Better?" Alice questioned, once Arlington had let go of her hair and allowed her to sit back on her haunches. Tentatively, she licked a smudge of cum from her lips and looked up at he lord expectantly. "Of course, I can stay here all day," Alice continued, helpful as ever. "I can call in sick on your behalf and whenever you're ready for another, I'll be available. The rush of endorphins dulled the pain, did it not?" "Yes," Arlington admitted with a gentle sigh, savoring the peace following his orgasm. Indeed, the endorphins swimming through his veins had softened the sharpness of his headache and eliminated the pins and needles in his injured knee. "Thank you, pet," Arlington smiled. "I think I'll take you up on your offer. Go ahead and call in sick on my behalf. Let your employer know that your master will be needing your services today. I presume someone else can fill in for you at the aviary. When you're done cleaning up, report back to me." Obediently, Alice stood to her feet and pulled her clothes back on. With quick steps, she trotted over to the doorway, but paused momentarily upon the threshold, her hand lingering on the door knob. There was an itch scratching away at the back of Alice's mind, bothering her immensely. And, before she could stop herself, Alice opened her mouth to alleviate the awful irritation. "Do you really need that other girl back?" Alice asked, but she immediately regretted her inquiry. Realizing that she had over stepped her bounds, Alice pushed open the door and intended to dash away, as if she hadn't said anything. But, of course, Lord Arlington wouldn't allow her to escape so easily. "Stop where you are," Lord Arlington told Alice, his voice very slightly dangerous. For a moment, the girl considered pretending that she hadn't heard him, but after considering the possibility of success, succumbed and remained still. "Turn around, Alice," demanded the sinister voice behind her, and she did so, her face rife with worry. "Now close the door and come here," Arlington finished, beckoning with his index finger. Hesitantly, Alice obeyed and knelt by her lord's left side, averting her eyes toward the carpet. "Are you jealous?" Lord Arlington asked her. "No, my lord," Alice whispered, her voice hoarse. "Pet," Arlington warned, his voice chiding. "You know better than to lie to me. Look up here, and answer honestly." Tentatively, Alice looked up into her lord's blue gaze and winced at the intensity of it. "Are you jealous of my trophy slaves?" "Only the brown haired one, who punched me," Alice quickly blurted, as if being jealous of one girl was better than being jealous of two. Then, when Arlington raised a condescending eyebrow in her direction, she clasped her hands together piteously. "I'm sorry, my lord," Alice pleaded. "But I can't help how I feel." "Why do we always have to do this?" Lord Arlington groaned, massaging his temple irritably. "First it was Katherine, and then Isabelle. Every time I get a new girl, we have to go through this." "That's not true," Alice protested, her voice hurt. She had put a great deal of effort into getting along with the other girls, and was upset that he hadn't noticed. After all, Alice had done so for his sake. "I've been getting better, my lord," she insisted. "Really, I have. I didn't make a nuisance of myself when you brought home Susan or Anne. But this other girl is just, well, different." "Different how?" "You let her sleep in your room," Alice growled, digging her fingernails into the skin of her knees. She had to admit that there were other reasons for disliking Kara, but that was the worst of it. "And you take her to your business meetings," Alice added, layering it all on. "And you look at her differently, too. I can't explain it, but I can tell. You feel differently about her." "Well, obviously," Arlington admonished, and Alice looked up in him in surprise, having thought that he would deny it. "Kara is a conquest slave," his lordship continued. "Of course I am going to treat her differently than I treat the rest of you girls. She has to be properly broken in before she can join the household, and that requires that I keep her close to me for long periods of time, even at night. And I only take her to business meetings because her role, as a trophy slave, is to symbolize my military prowess." Lord Arlington didn't admit that there were other reasons he never brought Alice along on business trips or to board meetings. Both him and his associates were abusive toward their conquest slaves, and Arlington didn't want to scare his favorite girl. "But do you like her?" Alice pressed, and although she tried to hide it, her voice betrayed sincere worry. "If Kara didn't possess several qualities that I liked, I wouldn't have bought her," Arlington admitted, pausing thoughtfully for a moment, trying to put his finger on exactly what it was that drew him to Kara. After considering his feelings, Arlington realized that it was Kara's eyes and their intensity that most fascinated him. They held a powerful fire. Like any fire, he didn't want the girl to get out of hand, to escape his control and set the world around him aflame. But the mere fact that her fiery nature could destroy him, if only he let his guard down, made the girl thrilling and beautiful to behold. Even if Arlington had to relentlessly crack away at her spirit in order to control her, he had never intended to destroy the fiery essence of her personality, only to contain it. True, Arlington had looked into her eyes to ensure that she was succumbing to him, but that had only been half of the truth. Arlington had also been ensuring that he hadn't gone too far, that the spark in Kara's eyes was still there even after their training sessions. The girl was remarkably resilient. "I don't see why you would like anything about her," Alice spat, angry now and oblivious to her lord's train of thought. "She certainly didn't like you, the last time I saw her. I'm pretty sure she hates you." And with that, Alice sneered in disapproval, unable to comprehend how such an ungrateful slave could earn favor with her lord. "She isn't supposed to like me," Arlington replied, defensive. "At least, not yet." It was true, too. Kara was Arlington's most difficult case since Arilyn and with a smart, strong willed girl such as Kara, there was no sense in trying to be reasonable. Such a girl would never willingly give up her hopes and dreams in order to assume a life of slavery, and any submission exhibited would be feigned. No, the way to train a rebellious slave was to bombard her with unbearable cruelty until she cracked. Then, a proper master would gradually soften up, so as to become the very comfort the terrorized girl sought. Arlington had completed the first phase of the plan successfully, he knew that much. After Querren had called Kara—a very lucky break, indeed—she had most definitely succumbed to him. And afterwards, Lord Arlington had tried to soften up a little, even allowing Kara to get away with the occasional insult. The girl had recognized his softness, but it had confused her. Even given Kara's amazing capacity for self reflection---which had been a major obstacle in her training---she hadn't understood Arlington's progressive leniency. Then, of course, Greenwood had instilled hope in the girl and ruined everything. When Arlington finally caught Kara, he would have to start from scratch, and the realization made him curse under his breath. "Kara would have learned to love me eventually," Arlington continued, his eyes glazed over in thought. "It might have taken a little longer than I anticipated, because she seems to find sexual torment much worse than physical torture. But I would have found a way around that. And besides, Kara has so many weaknesses—" But with that, Arlington paused, suddenly aware that he was explaining himself to a slave, which was most inappropriate and would further encourage bad behavior. Perhaps it was because Alice was his first girl, but Arlington had a soft spot for her and often found himself treating her as an equal when he ought to be asserting their respective positions. He adored the girl, surely, but she was still a slave and certain actions could not be tolerated. "Bend over the desk," Lord Arlington ordered, and Alice paled a little. The girl was usually very obedient, so punishments were rare and were always upsetting for her. In fact, Lord Arlington had only disciplined Alice for two kinds of transgressions: the occasional show of shyness—at the start of their relationship, she had refused him anal sex a few times on the pretext that it was 'dirty'—and incorrigible jealousy. Her worst show of disobedience had occurred after Lord Arlington had received Katherine--his second girl--as a gift. The day after he had broken Katherine in, Alice had poisoned the new girl, not enough to kill her, but enough to make her ill for two weeks straight. The pale little slave was usually timid, but she could be a devil when she wanted to be. Arlington had been furious, of course. As punishment, he had thrashed Alice's backside so hard that she had been forced to spend an entire week lying on her stomach. Ever since then, Alice's shows of jealously were more subdued, but reinforcement of that first lesson was occasionally necessary. "I'm sorry," Alice tried, giving Lord Arlington the most sorrowful, guilty expression she could muster. She was attempting to evade her rightful punishment, although a part of her knew that it would be in vain. "I shouldn't have lied to you," Alice continued anyway. "And I shouldn't have asked such rude questions. I'm very, very sorry, my lord." "Over the desk," Lord Arlington growled. "And stop trying to weasel your way out of it. When I want an apology, I'll ask for it. Right now, I want to see those cheeks burning." Dutifully, Alice moved so that she stood between Lord Arlington and his desk. There, she turned away from her lord and rested her torso on the desktop, so that her gorgeous behind was roughly at eye level. Normally, Lord Arlington would spank her over his knee if he felt so inclined, but given his recent injury, that was impossible. And, although she was being punished, Alice felt the ordeal to be somewhat more humiliating when her body was pressed against cold wood instead of her master's warm flesh. She cringed a little as Arlington lifted her skirt up and over her rear, revealing the rounded globes of her ass. Still, Alice's panties were in the way, forcing Arlington to pull them past her thighs, until she could feel cold air against her still wet cunt. "Count them for me," Lord Arlington ordered. "If you miss one, I'll start over." Then, with a pronounced gesture, Arlington lifted his hand and smacked Alice hard, leaving her right ass cheek red and tender. She shuddered a little when his hand connected with her flesh, pressing her into the wood of his desk. "One, my lord," Alice gasped, unused to the pain. Arlington occasionally spanked her in the bedroom, going so far as to use implements for his pleasure, but he was more gentle with her then and her arousal on those occasions made the pain warm, and even luxurious. "Two, my lord," Alice gasped again, as her left ass cheek was made to endure the same treatment. "Three, my lord." "Tell me, why are you being punished?" Lord Arlington asked, landing another blow on Alice's backside, which was reddening nicely under his ministrations. Of course, he made sure to alternate between cheeks, so as to keep the pain evenly distributed. "Four, my lord," Alice cried, her voice becoming hoarse from the pain. She tried to lift herself off of the desk a little, so as to face her lord while answering him, but Arlington pressed her tiny frame back into the wood. "I am being punished for lying," Alice sniffled. "And for asking rude, jealous questions." "Good girl," Lord Arlington praised, raining four successive blows down on Alice's ass. This time, the girl screamed a little in agony and shuffled miserably on the desk, but she did not try to get up again. "Just a few more, pet," Arlington promised, hearing the pain in his girl's voice. "Now answer me this, who gets to decide who I will and will not fuck?" "You do, my lord," Alice screamed, as two more smacks landed on her sore, worn out behind. "Nine and ten, my lord," she moaned, biting back tears. Arlington was a lot stronger than Alice, and he could make a spanking hurt like hell when he wanted to. "And yet," Lord Arlington continued, "you presume to tell me how many girls I am allowed to have in my own house? You harass the other women I bring to bed, and then I have to deal with the mess you've made in the morning? You can't do that, pet." His lordship's voice was sympathetic now, and he carefully took Alice down from the desk and set her in his lap. There were a couple of tears on her face, which the girl tried to hide, but Arlington wiped them away gently. "There, now," he said, titling her chin up so that their eyes met. "That wasn't so bad, was it? I care about your feelings, sweetheart. But you are the slave, and I am the master. What I say goes, and if I want another girl to grace my sheets, then it will be so. But I will never, ever allow what I have with you to be diminished by the presence of another girl. You're my first, and you get a certain degree of priority. You know that." Then, Lord Arlington pressed his lips to Alice's, sliding his tongue between her warm lips and possessively teasing her until she responded in kind. While their two tongues wrestled against one another in the warm, wet cavern of Alice's mouth, the little slave found her arms digging hungrily into her lord's shoulders. She screeched and moaned a little as he reached back under her dress and fondled one of her breasts, making her skin crawl in glorious, torturous arousal. When both of Alice's nipples had hardened and pressed against the cloth of her dress, Lord Arlington brushed his fingertips against them and moaned into her mouth. But, when there was a rude knock at the door, he pulled away briskly, setting the girl back down on the floor. "I shouldn't be doing this, in light of your recent behavior," Arlington told Alice, his voice serious. "But if you want, you can sleep in my bed for the rest of the week, and if you behave, I'll allow you to cum for me later tonight." The girl screeched a little in excitement, and kissed her lord on the cheek in a show of thanks. But the knocking on the door had become more insistent and, sighing, Arlington turned toward it. "Come in," he snarled, and the butler poked his head past the door. "Lady Charlotte has arrived, my lord," Bremmel offered, and his voice trembled nervously. Perhaps the woman had been kept waiting and had been badgering the poor man. "May I let her in?" "Show her upstairs," Lord Arlington answered, and he glanced down at Alice, whose face had suddenly turned dark with worry. The slave had certain people instincts, and Lady Charlotte made her nervous. "Go ahead, pet," Arlington agreed, seeing the question in Alice's eyes. "I'll call for you when she's gone." Without hesitation, Alice leapt from her spot beside Lord Arlington's chair and raced for the door, so as to escape before his guest arrived. Unfortunately, in her haste to get away, Alice ended up running full force into Lady Charlotte. The woman was wearing a red dress suit and black stockings, with her hair tied behind her in the usual bun. But in addition to these, Lady Charlotte also wore a metallic cast wrapped around her right leg and was hobbling about on crutches. Terrified, Alice cowered in front of her lord's guest, whose hand was raised in order to strike her. "Stupid little idiot," Charlotte growled, pushing Alice away so as to better aim for the girl's face. "My leg is in a cast and you've jostled it. Luckily for you, my arm is healed or I'd be hitting you with a metal encased arm." And with that, Charlotte prepared to make good on her intent, but Lord Arlington's voice stopped her. "Don't do it, Charlotte," Arlington warned, his voice laced with threat and his eyes livid. "Oh, that's right," Lady Charlotte grinned, a knowing glint in her eye. And, though reluctantly, she lowered her hand and eyed Alice condescendingly. "My apologies," she offered, her voice insincere. "I forgot, my lord, that you have a soft spot for the flat chested one." The slave cringed at that and quickly darted past Charlotte, racing toward the door with renewed vigor. "You know, Charlotte, it's one thing to help me break in an insubordinate slave, like Ms. Chrystein," Lord Arlington began, as his guest hobbled into a nearby chair. "But it is another thing entirely to insult my well behaved slaves right in front of me. Alice is a sensitive creature, and I intend to use her later." While Lord Arlington considered his slaves to be property--to do with as he pleased--he still thought of them as people. Lady Charlotte, on the other hand, thought of her slaves as objects and Arlington needed to make an argument she could sympathize with. "Just as I expect you not to drag your muddy feet over my carpet or purposefully knock over my décor, I expect you not to harass my slaves," Lord Arlington tried. "Please, Lady Charlotte. Not in my own home, for god's sake." "Fine, my lord," Lady Charlotte relented, but her tone was disapproving. "I still don't see why you let them run around your manor like this, as if it is barn. Filthy creatures, sex slaves. Good in bed, but back to the toy closet when you're done with them. That's my policy, anyway." "I suppose that in some cases, such as Elandra's, that's best," Lord Arlington agreed, although he didn't truly believe it himself. And yet, Lord Arlington still needed to keep Lady Charlotte happy. For over a century, her family had run the Bounty Hunter Division of the Executive Branch. And just as an army is more loyal to its general than to its king, Isleydor's bounty hunters were more loyal to Charlotte than they ever would be to Lord Arlington. Having to please people as powerful as Lady Charlotte was rather annoying at times, but it came with the territory of his lordship's position and he lived with it. "Oh, the 'She Slave' doesn't have a name anymore," Lady Charlotte casually replied. "By the time I'm done with her, she won't even remember what it was like to be human. But it's only what the darling creature deserves. As you know, my lord, the two of us have a history." Bored and eager to get to business, Charlotte pulled out a pad and pen, flipping through a list of names as she talked. "Anyway, my lord, let's begin. You want to hire some of my men to track down that little brat of yours? I understand that she's got three other fugitives with her, which could make things problematic." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 18 "I'm not worried about Alyssa Terrance or Ben Karrington," Arlington insisted, pondering the situation before him. "They might be strong, but at the end of they day, they're nothing but super soldiers. Defeating them only requires stronger men and bigger guns. It's Greenwood that I'm worried about. He's the brains behind that little group and unlike Kara, who is quite smart for her age, he has the background to worm his way out of the country." "Do we even know who Greenwood really is?" Lady Charlotte asked, tilting her head curiously. "Not in the slightest," Lord Arlington hissed, and he dug his fingernails into the arm rests of his chair. Alan Greenwood had been occupying his thoughts nonstop since the escape. The double agent had fooled Lord Arlington for over five years, and his lordship had never suspected that he was the leak on the War Time Operations Board. The man was beyond clever, and Arlington hated to be beaten at his own game of mind reading and manipulation. "But mark my words," Arlington continued, his voice tight. "I'm going to find out who that old crone is and tear him a new one when I do." "And you're not worried about Ben Karrington?" Charlotte teased, an irritating smile on her face. "Because I saw the surveillance and he had quite the little smooch session with your girl. Aren't you at all worried that he'll spoil her?" "Not really," Arlington said flatly, although inside he was fuming. Yet, his anger was not directed at the kiss. Lord Arlington knew Kara well. She wouldn't fling herself into the arms of the first man she met outside of Bremmington. Kara was smart, and she would give herself time to heal before starting up a relationship. No, it was Ben Karrington's words that most upset his lordship. The boy had told Kara "I've got you" and "I won't let go." He had protected Kara, and she had let him. For some reason, that fact made Lord Arlington's blood boil. "Still, I want the girl back within a week and the rest of the fugitives in prison," Lord Arlington snarled. "Of course, the Executive Branch will pay your men well. Twenty-five percent up front, and the rest when those escapees are back where they belong." *** It was still dark outside when Kara awoke, but she couldn't sleep any longer. After bandaging her injured shoulder, Kara slipped on some old clothes graciously donated to her by Mirianna—a pair of jeans and a baggy black t-shirt—and tip-toed out into the hallway, so as not to disturb the rest of the household. Ben was still sitting on the floor beside her door, casually cleaning a pistol. He looked much better without his prison uniform. Instead, Ben wore a pair of black pants and a navy blue t-shirt, which complimented his muscular form in interesting ways. "Well, good morning," Kara greeted, feigning surprise. She didn't want Ben to know about her eavesdropping. But, more importantly, Kara didn't want to admit to Ben that she knew of his protective tendencies and approved of them. "What a coincidence," she laughed. "It appears as if you're an early bird as well." "Not really," Karrington replied, looking up from his work and putting his pistol into the waistband of his pants. The general's gray eyes were positively gorgeous and glimmered softly under the fluorescent lighting. "I've been up all night," Ben admitted, much to Kara's surprise. "You know, keeping an eye on things." "You mean keeping an eye on me," Kara blurted, before she could stop herself. "So, you heard Alan and I talking last night, did you?" Ben grinned, standing from the floor and brushing the dust off of his pants. "I hope you don't mind my being a little over protective. I'm not trying to stalk you or anything." In response, Kara raised an eyebrow, as if to accuse him of that very sin. "Whoa, there," Ben insisted. "I'm being serious. It's not that I think you're incapable of taking care of yourself, but between the four of us, you're the one with the least military experience. Plus, your room is right across from Greenwood's, and I still don't trust him yet." "Honestly," Kara sighed, rolling her eyes. "If Greenwood wanted to kill, rape, or maim me, he'd have done so already. He's had plenty of opportunities. Now, how about we head downstairs and get some coffee, Mr. Stalker?" It was a playful dig and Ben grinned wickedly in response, glad that Kara wasn't angry with him. The pair then headed downstairs to brew a fresh pot of coffee in Mirianna's kitchen. The stuff was stale and sour, but Kara didn't mind and moaned luxuriously as the black liquid slid down her throat. "Marvelous," Kara sighed, pouring herself another cup. "Much better than what we got in prison," Ben agreed, sipping away at his own mug. Then, warily, he turned toward Kara. There was a question on his lips, Kara could see that much, but Ben decided to defer to an indirect mode of inquiry. "I suppose," he began, cautiously. "Well, I suppose you had much better fare at Lord Arlington's Manor, when you were his slave." "Surprisingly enough, when you're forcibly hand fed a meal, it loses its flavor," Kara retorted, more than slightly uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. She didn't like Ben's tone or being referred to as "Lord Arlington's." Soon, she found herself staring into the dark liquid of her mug and trying to disappear into it. "Look," Ben began, sympathetic and gentle. Carefully, he rested his hand atop Kara's and caressed her skin, his motions affectionate and warm. "I'm sorry about what happened to you," Ben offered, his eyes kind. "And if you ever need someone to talk to, then you know where to find me." Kara wasn't sure where the anger came from, but she was suddenly slamming her mug on the kitchen table, so that the coffee within sloshed over its sides and made a mess. "Listen, and listen closely," Kara hissed, glaring very seriously at Ben. "I do not want nor need your pity. As far as I am concerned, anyone who pities me is no friend of mine. Got it?" Ben cringed and nodded in reply, quickly withdrawing his hand from Kara's own. But his response only made Kara feel guilty, further fueling the fire that now burned beneath her breast. Wasn't being pitied bad enough? And now, on top of that, Kara had to endure being feared? Mumbling to herself, Kara stood from her seat to retrieve a few paper towels, by which she could clean up the spilled coffee. "I'm sorry," Kara finally offered, as she wiped up the brown water before her. "It isn't your fault." But Ben was still eyeing Kara warily, as surprised as a deer in the headlights, and his expression was more than irritating. "God, will you stop cringing like that?" Kara hissed, her wiping motions growing more vigorous. "Will you stop looking at me like I'm some wounded animal, irrational and ready to attack at any moment?" "I don't think of you as a wounded animal," Ben whispered, and he grabbed Kara's wrist as it swept by him. Surprised, Kara almost wrenched her arm away from the general, but his grip was oddly comforting. "I promise, I don't think of you like that," Ben continued, his voice gentle and sincere. "You're strong and beautiful and I know you can handle yourself just fine. It's just that..." And the man paused for a moment, looking for the words that alluded his grasp. "I just don't know what you want, Kara." Ben let go then and Kara backed away a few paces, only to find that she was just as confused as he was. For a moment, she pondered her time with Lord Arlington, her subsequent escape from Bremmington, and her kiss with the general, so soft and affectionate. "I don't know what I want," Kara told him, her voice quiet. "I mean, I enjoyed what we had. Really, I did. But it might not have been real." She looked up at Ben then, to gauge his reaction, but the man was stoic, probably for her sake, to eliminate any pressure. "I don't know you," Kara continued. "And you don't know me. We met under extreme duress and we're probably drawn to each other for that reason, starving for kindness. The two of us like feeling a closeness that we've lacked for quite sometime, but we may not really like each other, specifically. If that makes any sense?" "I'm such an ass," Ben groaned, sighing into the palm of his hand and catching Kara completely off guard. She hadn't meant to imply that at all and opened her mouth to say so, but Ben held up his hand for silence. "Listen," the general told Kara, his voice serious. "That kiss wasn't an accident exactly, but I didn't plan for it, either. I certainly didn't mean to confuse you. I was just scared and it just kind of happened, but you're right. I don't know you." And yet, Ben's last sentence was spoken in a noncommittal way, as if the man didn't completely mean what he'd said. Turning away from Kara, the general stopped to think for a moment and began tracing a dark stain on the table before him. "Well, that's not entirely true," Ben corrected. "I picked up a few things at Bremmington. You're a bit of a bookworm, Kara. That's for sure. You've got a strong sense of pride, of which you are very protective. And you care about the people around you, perhaps a little too much. After all, coming back for Greenwood and I was an idiotic thing to do, no matter what your reasons were." And, with an endearing smile, Ben looked back up at Kara. "I like all of those things about you, Kara," he told her. "But I'd like to know more." "Oh my god, will you two get a room already?" Alyssa groaned, slinking into the kitchen in a pair of black jeans and a pink tank-top, which was covered in grass stains. The clothes Alyssa wore were more of Mirianna's hand-me-downs, so they were a little big for the weapons specialist, but she modeled them well. Eager for a pick-me-up, Alyssa walked over to the stove and lifted the coffee pot from its surface, sniffing the watery brown liquid within. But the coffee must not have been to her taste, for the weapons specialist merely wrinkled her nose at it in disgust. "Yeah, no," Alyssa sneered, heading toward the fridge instead. "It's almost seven. It's not too early for a beer." "Fifteen minutes," Greenwood proclaimed, lounging in after his cynical girlfriend. Mirianna had lent him one of her deceased husband's old suits, and the older man looked rather handsome, his gray eyes mischievous. Kara was amazed to find, however, that the purpling bruises had all but disappeared from Greenwood's face, although the swelling remained. "We have an appointment in an hour we don't want to miss," Greenwood continued. "I have an acquaintance who can help us out." "How did you do that?" Kara asked the double, incredulous. "Do what?" "Your face is healed. How did you do that?" "Oh, it isn't healed," Greenwood chuckled, his eyes alight. "But thanks for the compliment. I'll take your word for it that my make-up skills haven't completely waned away. It was tricky, but I used to do my own touch ups back when I worked in the theater business." After disposing of her old collar and prison clothes, Kara was given a single pistol and a disposable cell phone. Then, without further delay, the four fugitives slunk out into the morning chill. Even though it was still dark outside, Kara could see a thin line of orange hovering over the horizon, a subtle indication that the sun was about to rise. The sight was positively beautiful and it hurt, leaving a dull ache in Kara's heart. She desperately wanted to watch as darkness faded into light, but remaining on the street was dangerous. Policemen were still actively searching for the fugitives, and every billboard in town had been converted into a "Wanted Poster." In fact, Kara could see her face in the window of a cafe across the street, which had yet to open. It was time to leave, and a dark van with tinted windows was awaiting the fugitives outside of Mirianna's house. Briskly, Greenwood walked up to the driver's side window and spoke to whoever was inside, before motioning for his companions to enter. The van moved quickly through Capital City and Kara pressed her face to the window the entire time. While in Isleydor, she had been confined to the Martkorp Auction House, Lord Arlington's Manor, and Bremmington, with the occasional visit to Greenwood's house. So, not surprisingly, it was a bit of a shock to find that the world around Kara wasn't entirely sinister and for all intents and purposes, normal. Children were walking to school with brightly colored back-packs, people were purchasing breakfast from street vendors, shops with themed window displays were opening up for business, and a dog walker was being dragged along by ten monstrous canines. How odd, Kara thought. For the past two weeks, she had endured physical and psychological torture, while the world around her had continued to function regularly, oblivious to her plight. It was unfair, but the realization was comforting at the same time. It was nice to know that the entire world had not yet been swallowed up by darkness. Finally, the van entered into a sketchy part of town, filled with shady looking characters. The streets were primarily composed of condemned buildings and hoards of street vendors, most of which were selling illegal contraband on rolling carts, the better with which to flee should the local police arrive. Kara could see a gentleman in rags selling unregistered guns and a well dressed woman handing out bags of black and white powder to skittish people who appeared to be going through withdrawal. Eventually, Kara and her companions were driven through a dark alley and up to the loading dock of a large, concrete building. Inside, the four fugitives found a musky living room decorated in red, shag carpeting and beaded drapes. It was filled with smoke, and Kara quickly lifted her t-shirt over her mouth and nose. The medic didn't want to inhale any sort of drug laced air, and though ill suited to the task, her t-shirt would do well enough. But as it turned out, the drug parlor—where patrons lounged about on tattered upholstery and smoked hallucinogenic herbs—was just a front for a far more risky operation. Soon, Kara found herself being led past the living room and into a tidy office, which seemed completely out of character, given the nature of the neighborhood. A large gentleman in an out-of-date, orange suit was sitting behind a desk, with an array of book shelves taking up the space behind him. He smoked an expensive looking cigar and was being carefully watched by a lanky man in a brown suit, who appeared to be his body guard. The name plate on his desk read "Albert Cross," although Kara doubted it was the man's real name. "Mr. Cross," Greenwood greeted, stepping forward to shake the man's hand. Instinctively, Kara and the rest of her companions agreed to let the double speak for them. This was, after all, his world. "I am so happy that you could find the time to meet with us," Greenwood continued, and Kara could tell from his tone that he meant every word. Mr. Cross was, apparently, a major hot shot in Isleydor's underworld and the fugitives were lucky to have gained an audience. "I understand that you are a very busy man. We promise not to take up too much of your time." "Nonsense!" Mr. Cross laughed, his eyes greedy. "You bring me such fabulous business, and then apologize? We're all friends here, Alan Greenwood. Don't look so nervous." Then, to demonstrate his enthusiasm, Mr. Cross gripped Greenwood's hand with both of his own and shook vigorously, before sitting back down to adjust his dirty tie. "Now, to business," Mr. Cross began, pulling some paperwork from a squeaky drawer. "You all know what I do, right?" "Mr. Cross is an unslaver," Greenwood explained, motioning toward the plump man. "Wealthy families pay him to get their sons and daughters out of Isleydor's slave market. But, sometimes, he's sought out by rival countries to sneak political criminals, such as ourselves, out of the country. He's that good." "Greenwood, you flatter me," Mr. Cross smiled, pressing his hand to his chest in mock embarrassment. "You shouldn't do that, or my head will get too big for my body and I'll hardly be able to stand." The unslaver laughed then and Greenwood laughed along with him, in order to keep up appearances. But, almost too abruptly, the laughter stopped and Mr. Cross' features became serious. "Although, Greenwood, let's be honest. You four don't stand a chance without me. Have you seen the news? The billboards? The hourly patrols? You need me, Greenwood. And you know what they say about supply and demand. This isn't going to be cheap." "I am well aware of that," Greenwood replied, his own features becoming stern and business like. Carefully, he slid forward in his seat, so as to close the distance between himself and Mr. Cross. "But I was under the impression that Nardia's Intelligence Agency agreed to pay for our fare." "Not exactly," Mr. Cross began, tapping his fingers upon the desktop casually. The sound set Kara's nerves on edge, but she maintained an expressionless face and fixated on a softly ticking clock instead. "Nardia doesn't want you four back," Mr. Cross continued, with a half-hearted shrug. "It hurts, doesn't it? But that's the truth. You're a washed up bunch, and you've got no practical use. But you do have very, very valuable information. That's what I want, Greenwood. I want the intelligence you've gathered and in exchange, I can move you across the border. Later, I intend to sell your intel to Nardia, and that's how I'll make my money. Sound fair?" "I don't see why not," Greenwood replied, though he was fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. "Of course, I assume that Nardia's Intelligence Agency has already agreed to all of this." "Yes, of course," Mr. Cross smiled, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "What do you take me for? A bloody fool? I have over half a dozen high profile clients from that country, and many more to come, if you know what I mean." He elbowed his body guard with a knowing chuckle, and Kara couldn't keep the disgust from her face any longer. She'd always envisioned unslavers as noble souls, fighting for justice, but Mr. Cross was only rescuing slaves for the money. He preyed on the weak, and hinted at the oncoming war with Nardia as a farmer might hint at a high prospective crop yield. Of course, the war would result in more kidnapped slaves and more business for Mr. Cross. "We'll have you out of here by noon, I expect," Mr. Cross continued, scribbling some instructions on a sheet of paper and handing it off to his body guard. "I have a tech all ready to go. We'll just get little miss explosives expert hooked up to a memory enhancer, and it'll be a done deal." Kara wasn't stupid and knew that Mr. Cross referred to her. Immediately, she turned toward the unslaver, both confused and a little concerned. But that concern grew ten fold when she noticed Greenwood, who had visibly stiffened and paled beneath his make-up. "Listen, Mr. Cross," Greenwood began, his tone laced with worry. "Ms. Chrystein has a few locations memorized, in reference to the so-called 'Parallel Project.' But that's all we have to offer. I'm sorry, but that's all we can afford at this juncture." "Well, I'm sorry, too," Mr. Cross sighed. He leaned back in his chair then, with a dangerous look in his eyes. "Greenwood, you know that isn't enough," he continued. "Let's be honest, here. You already owe me those four locations you mentioned. My guys prepared those underground routes for you, one of which you used on that general, Tamius Sue. You owe me for those. Nardia's Intelligence Agency hired me to get you out, but since they never got the intel you promised, I didn't get paid." Quietly, Kara cursed under her breath. In her panic to free Tamius Sue, she had forgotten to pass along her intelligence. Kara was lucky that Mr. Cross had followed through on Tamius Sue's behalf, and he knew it. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 19 Author's Note: Good day, wonderful readers! Thank you for all of your comments and support on the last chapter, which I am glad was received so well! It's always nice to get some insight into what people do and do not like, as well as how the story itself can be improved upon. This week's submission is a little on the short side, but I think it is pretty hot. And as a heads up, there have been quite a few "Tales of Arlington" as of late, but be aware that the next 3-5 chapters will probably be straight up "Main Story Chapters." Enjoy and pretty please, rate and comment if you have the time/ feel so inclined! HisPet21 * God, the girl was a beautiful creature. She stood in a corner of the room, fidgeting nervously with the cuff about one wrist and biting her lips in agitation. Her nude body was a work of art that god was most certainly proud of and it glistened in the firelight handsomely. Arlington couldn't help but admire her form, allowing his eyes to roam over each sweet curve and secret crevice. Long, raven black hair framed a delicate face with deep set eyes, dark as the night sky. Then, there were rosy lips and cheeks that were very slightly flushed, adding a warm color to the girl's normally pale face. Her breasts were rather small, but seemed to suit her. The rounded flesh was clearly soft and the pink nubs upon each stood at attention, hardened by the open air in spite of the warm fire. And finally, there was her adorable, pouty behind. Arlington looked forward to throwing the girl over his knee and spanking her senseless, until her bottom glowed a deep red and she squirmed in delicious agony. An evil grin wormed its way across his face and he looked down hungrily at the shaved mound between the girl's legs, soft and untouched. But the predatory look on Arlington's face disturbed Alice, and she liked his devilish smile even less. As his eyes continued to sweep over her exposed body—unwrapping her inch by inch—she became frightfully intimidated. His eyes seemed to look beyond her flesh to the fear she was trying to hide, and Alice felt violated. Almost subconsciously, she took several steps back, attempting to melt into the far corner of the room and escape her lord. Her hands unfurled—whereas they had been clenched at her sides moments before—and she quickly covered her breasts with one arm, simultaneously cupping her mound in the other hand. What the poor girl didn't realize was that Arlington wouldn't tolerate such evasion in a woman he owned and had every right to stare at. Within a few brisk, determined strides, he'd reached the girl and gripped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. His gaze must have been rather intense, for Alice immediately tried to pry her face away from his grasp and escape it. But when a growl of disapproval reverberated deep within Arlington's throat, she stilled, the subtle threat not lost on her. Alice might be a timid creature, but she certainly wasn't stupid. "You will not try to hide yourself from me," Lord Arlington ordered, his voice dark and unrelenting. The tone was enough to set Alice straight and she moved her hands to her sides, though begrudgingly. There, they morphed back into trembling fists and Arlington could tell that the girl was putting a great deal of effort into maintaining self control. Alice desperately wanted to smack his hand away from her face. Arlington could see that in the tension of her body and in the rebellious nature of her eyes. And yet, she did not fight him. It was a start, but Arlington would demand much more of the girl before the night was out. Some things she would give him willingly, out of respect for the arrangement they had made. But Arlington suspected that he would have to take some of what he wanted by force, starting with the much needed acknowledgment of his ownership. "Your body is mine," Lord Arlington hissed and Alice cringed, but he remained unmoved. The girl needed to get used to the idea of being owned, sooner rather than later. "It is mine to look upon as I wish, and your evasion will not be tolerated," his lordship continued, tightening his grip on Alice's chin. "Furthermore, I expect that you will stop biting your lips. If you keep that up, they'll dry out." Gently, Arlington ran an index finger over the pink, puckered flesh, but it was too late. His skin brushed over raised scabs and chipped flesh, even finding a little blood. Alice winced and tried to move away—upset by the intimacy—but Arlington's grip was immovable and he sighed at the abysmal state of her cracked skin. "Your body is mine now, and I expect you to take good care of my property," Arlington growled, angered by the damage. "Am I understood, pet?" Alice hesitated for a moment before answering, still unwilling to admit that she belonged to someone. It had been only a few days since her initial purchase, and Alice was still coming to terms with a lifetime of slavery and the freedoms she had lost as a result. But finally, the girl came to her senses and relented to Lord Arlington's demands. What use was there in fighting him? Where could she go? What could she do? And besides, the man had essentially saved her mother's life. It was something to consider, if nothing else. "Yes, my lord," Alice finally whispered, yet her tone was both insincere and implicitly resistant. Luckily for Alice, when Arlington glared down at her, she realized her mistake and corrected it. "And I'm sorry," Alice continued, her voice softer and more subservient this time. "I'm sorry for...well...you know? For...for...covering my self. On purpose. You're right. We had a deal, and if you want to look at me, then..." The girl's voice drifted off into oblivion, leaving the room quiet, save for the crackling of the fire. Lord Arlington stared deep into Alice's eyes for a moment—allowing her to writhe in the intensity of his gaze—before nodding in approval and releasing the girl. With his back to her, Arlington began to remove the red vest he wore and then the dress shirt underneath, until he was topless. Meticulous as ever, he hung both items up and turned back toward Alice. She gasped when she saw him, eyeing the smooth muscle beneath his skin with an emotion akin to both amazement and fearful appreciation. Gazing at his firm body was like observing a majestic waterfall, beautiful but powerfully frightening. Alice couldn't help but stare for several seconds at the hardness of Arlington's abs and then his navel, which rested softly above a bulging groin. A bright blush exploded in Alice's cheeks at the sight, which spread throughout her neck to her shoulders. Her crimson cheeks made Lord Arlington grin wickedly, and he crossed his arms over his chest, making sure they flexed in the process. "Come here," Lord Arlington ordered, sitting atop the bed and patting the space beside him. The invitation made Alice pale, but she resigned herself to her fate and eventually stepped out of the shadows to sit beside her lord, making sure to keep a solid six inches of distance between them. It came as a complete surprise when Lord Arlington grabbed her about the waist and pulled her toward the center of the bed, so that Alice squealed a little in terror. Soon, she found herself in Lord Arlington's lap, her back pressed against his naked chest and his legs on either side of her own. His lordship had leaned back against the headboard and his hands rested on her soft hips, playing with the skin gently. "Open your legs," Arlington ordered, and Alice stiffened. "W...wait!" Alice screeched, and she snapped her legs shut. When Lord Arlington moved his hands down to her thighs—in order to push them open himself—she responded by grabbing his hands in her own, a piteous attempt at pinning them down and preventing further progress. "Please, I'm not ready," Alice begged, twisting herself around so that Arlington could see the fear in her eyes. In all fairness, she had tried to prepare herself for this moment, envisioning herself with Lord Arlington and attempting to come to terms with her status as a sex slave. But reality was more...well, real. And frightening. "I don't want to do this," Alice insisted, hoping for some leniency. "I'm not ready, my lord. It's not fair." "You're right, pet. It's not fair," Lord Arlington agreed, and he kissed Alice's neck gently, starting just below her ear and finishing right below a shoulder. The girl shuddered in response, a mixture of fear and unwelcome desire twisting her gut. "But life isn't fair, pet," Arlington insisted, blowing hot air onto Alice's neck. "You belong to me, and I will use you however I see fit, whether you are ready for me or not. Now, say it. Say, 'I belong to Lord Arlington.' And then, I want you to open your legs for me, dear." "I...c...can't," Alice whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse. "I'm... I'm... scared, my lord." Arlington thought he could hear the beginnings of a sniffle then, and he breathed in the girl's scent, subtle and sweet. Her delicious fear was both palpable and exciting, so that Arlington could feel his erection growing harder, pressing up against the zipper of his pants. "It's just, I've never slept with a man before," Alice screeched, feeling his cock press up against her behind and causing the words to tumble out of her mouth in a hurried mess. "And you only bought me a few days ago. I don't know you. And you don't really know me, either. If I could just have some time to get used to you. I mean, if we could just, I don't know..." "Go on a date?" Lord Arlington laughed, and Alice cringed at the sarcasm in his voice. "My dear girl, where exactly do you think you stand in this relationship? Because if you are unsure, let me clarify the situation. I am the master, and you are the slave. I speak, and you obey. Really, it's quite a simple concept, don't you agree?" "My lord, with all due respect, I think that may be a gross over simplification." "Really?" Lord Arlington pressed, and he moved his hands into the crevice between Alice's thighs. In one swift motion, he pulled them apart, exposing Alice's naked cunt to the warm air. The girl screeched a little in surprise and brought her hands to Arlington's, trying to wrench them away. When that didn't work, she tried to push her legs together again, her thighs trembling with effort. But Arlington didn't even break a sweat. This was easy for him. "That's a beautiful little pussy you have there," Lord Arlington whispered into Alice's ear, patting the girl's thigh as if she were a frightened animal. "You never kept it shaved before, isn't that right? How do you like having it bare and accessible to me? It's mine and you're mine, isn't that so?" But Alice just continued to try and shut her legs, ignoring Lord Arlington completely. Her defiance made him growl angrily and he dug his fingernails into Alice's soft flesh, hoping to gain her attention. It seemed to work, for the girl squealed and the strain in her legs lessened. "Say it, Alice," Arlington ordered, his voice dangerous. It frightened the girl, and her sniffling transformed into quiet sobs. "Say, 'I belong to Lord Arlington.' If you don't, I will lay you over my knee and spank you until you're a sobbing little heap. And then, when I'm done, I'll throw you over the bed, thrust into your unused cunt, and rip open your maidenhead. I'll fuck you violently and without mercy until you're bleeding all over my sheets. There will be no foreplay, and no warm-up. Is that what you want, pet?" "No!" Alice cried, the tears coming more freely now. And without realizing it, she cuddled closer to Lord Arlington, seeking comfort from him. It didn't seem to occur to her that she was withdrawing into the very man who was the source of her torment. But Arlington was pleased that Alice was warming up to him and with his hands still pressed against her thighs, he began to kiss her neck, reinforcing the response. She seemed to relax a little then, and sighed in defeat. "No," Alice pouted, her lips trembling. "No, I don't want that, my lord." "I don't very much want that either," Lord Arlington told the girl. His words must have surprised her, for Alice looked over her shoulder and into his eyes, relief sweeping across her features. Wishing to calm the girl still further, Arlington released Alice's thighs and began to run his fingers through her hair. And, to his amazement and delight, she let him. "I'd like to take things slowly," Arlington explained. "I'd like to warm you up a bit, and maybe help you get some enjoyment out of this also. But you have to let me, pet. If you fight me, then I will fight right back. I can be quite the evil bastard when I need to be." "Will it hurt?" Alice asked, her voice barely audible. "It will," Lord Arlington admitted, nodding solemnly. "But it is a necessary pain, and you will gladly bear it for me. Now, say it, pet. Tell me what I want to hear..." "I..." Alice began, choking on the words as if they were poison. "I belong to you, my lord." "Louder," Lord Arlington ordered, his voice firm. "I can barely hear you, pet. You'll have to speak up." "I belong to you, Lord Arlington!" "Better," Lord Arlington praised. "Now, open your legs for me. And this is the last time I'll ask you, Alice. It's tiring to have to pull them apart myself and I'll fetch a spreader if I have to." Arlington could feel Alice's body slump in defeat then, her heartbeat racing beneath her breast. And with a deep breath, the girl allowed her legs to relax and fall open, but her pussy was still hidden in the shadow of her legs. "It's a start," Arlington acknowledged. "But I want them a little wider...wider still...that's it, pet. You're doing just fine." Alice's legs were lewdly spread at this point, and her face was flushed a deep red from the embarrassment and terror of it all. She tensed up as Lord Arlington began to move her body around, re-positioning limbs and rearranging body parts as he saw fit. Carefully, he moved Alice's legs up and over his own, so that she sat in his lap with her legs lifted slightly into the air. The position also allowed Arlington to spread her legs a little further, just by pushing open his own. Next, he pushed down on Alice's shoulders, so that the back of her head rested against his chest. And, finally, he began to twist her arms behind her back, cuffing them together and placing them in the space between her rounded behind and the front of his trousers. It wasn't a very comfortable position, but it gave Lord Arlington excellent access to his girl's cunt and forced her hands to press up against his erection. "My lord!" Alice cried, once her hands hand been bound. Terrified, she tried to pull apart her wrists and found herself unable. Then, seeking some relief from her helplessness, Alice turned to look at Arlington with moist eyes, fresh tears spilling over and onto her cheeks. "My lord, please!" Alice begged. "This is unnecessary! I'll behave, I swear!" "Shhh, pet. Relax," Lord Arlington soothed, rubbing the girl's shoulders so as to calm her down. Still, Alice's tiny body trembled with miserable little sobs and Arlington did his best to wipe away her tears as they fell. For several minutes, she remained rigid and upset, but finally relaxed back onto her lord's chest and quieted down. "That's better," Arlington praised, caressing a cheek gently and bending down to kiss it with a possessive brand of affection. "I know the cuffs aren't comfortable, dear. And I know that you're frightened as it is, but I don't think you have the self control to keep your hands still, so this is how it has to be. Besides, I think you'll find that being bound is freeing in its own strange way. When you can't fight me, you'll be able to relax a little more into the sensations." Arlington grazed Alice's ear lobe with his teeth and she shuddered on top of his chest, mewling a little. "You just have to trust me, pet." "I'll try, my lord," Alice whispered, letting the warm skin of his ripped chest soothe her. "I'll try." But when Lord Arlington pressed his hand against her mound, she jumped a little, concerned and surprised by his touch. He was correct that, prior to being processed at Candato's Slave Market, Alice had never once shaved her pussy, so the intimacy of her lord's touch and the warmth of his hand against her bare mound was strange. But Arlington didn't do anything sinister. He merely rested his hand upon her sex and then began to probe her ear with his tongue. The sensation—warm, wet, animistic—was remarkably erotic and Alice could feel a light tingling extending outward from her ear and into the skin of her neck. She shuddered pleasurably as his tongue probed still deeper, exploring the crevices and caves of her ear, his hot breath a gentle breeze whispering seductively. Removing his tongue, Arlington nibbled gingerly on the girl's earlobe until she whined, both from pleasure and the confusion it brought. And to vary things up, his lordship began a trail of kisses that led down from her thoroughly abused ear to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, a particularly sensitive spot for most women. Arlington bit the soft flesh there, then swirled his tongue around the resulting bruise before Alice could become frightened by the violent act. Instead, she whimpered and twisted needfully, her eyes half lidded with ecstasy. With Alice's defenses down, it was easy enough for Lord Arlington to begin circling her clit with his fingers, rotating gently in a spiral which brought him ever closer to the pink nub at her center. Alice resisted for only a moment, lifting herself off of her lord's chest in a half hearted jump. But Lord Arlington quickly wrapped an arm around her torso and pulled her back into him, though she writhed a little in dismay. There, he held tightly onto her as she struggled, his grasp immovable, until she sagged in defeat. When she had curled up against his chest, Arlington let go and continued to work away at her body. As his fingers began to massage the soft folds of her pussy, Arlington could feel her lips swell with lust and saw that her clit had hardened a little under its hood, the entirety of her sex opening up to him like a blossoming flower. Gradually, Arlington inched closer to Alice's clit, until she was mewling miserably and trying to rotate her hips, to force his fingers toward that bundle of nerves which trembled and tingled in anticipation. When her lord finally obliged and had begun to massage the tiny nub, she thrust herself into his hand and moaned, but quickly closed her lips upon hearing herself. "No," Lord Arlington hissed, and he slapped the girl's trembling cunt with the flat of his hand, so that her legs jerked, attempting to come together. But, of course, Arlington's own legs were in the way, preventing her from closing hers completely. "I want to hear you moan, pet," Arlington explained. "Don't hold any of your noises back from me. Do you understand?" "Yes, my lord," Alice panted, her cunt reddening from the recent blow. Strangely enough, she found the warm afterglow of pain arousing and her dripping pussy ached anew, needing her lord's touch. "I understand, my lord. I'm sorry...just...please..." Arlington plunged two fingers into Alice's cunt and began to rub along her G Spot, so that she gasped and cried out and bit the skin of his chest lustfully. With one hand, Arlington continued to massage her clit and with the other he continued to finger fuck her, until the girl was partially lifted off of the bed, aching to meet his movements. "My lord," Alice whispered, her entire body tingling. "My lord it feels so good that it...it hurts a little..." Her core tightened then, and the electric spot between her legs began to harden and pulsate and harden some more, until a heady gasp and then a scream radiated from her lips. Writhing in her lord's grasp, Alice cried out and saw white sparks flash before her eyes, her whole body exploding with electric fire, burning her with painful, glorious release. "I'm cumming, my lord!" Alice screamed. "I'm cumming!" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 19 "There's a good girl," Lord Arlington hissed, as Alice's erratic movements drove him mad with arousal. As she continued to scream and buck, he grabbed her bound wrists and pressed her hands against the bulge in his pants, feeling her squeeze the sensitive tissue in ecstasy, still unglued and exploding in his arms. "Keep cumming for me, pet," Arlington moaned into the girl's ear, his body on fire. "There's a good girl. Take as long as you need." Moments later, Alice had sunk back against her lord and sat shaking between his legs. For several minutes, he held her tightly to him, keeping her body warm with his own heat and caressing her hair gently. Alice seemed to enjoy the attention and sighed pleasurably as he snuggled up against her form, showering her with tiny kisses and gentle squeezes along her arms, and shoulders, and hips. When he thought she had come back down, he gripped her hair in his hand pressed his lips against hers. There, Arlington held Alice in place as he plunged into her mouth, kissing her deeply and possessively. He explored her mouth like a true conqueror, running his tongue along her teeth, the flesh of her cheeks, and her own pulsating tongue. His ministrations elicited little moans and mewls from deep within Alice's throat, and Arlington thought it was glorious. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Arlington asked, withdrawing from Alice's mouth and watching her dazed face as it came to terms with the kiss. The girl looked up at him innocently, not sure how to respond, and he chuckled softly. "See? You got yourself worked up over nothing, didn't you? Now, open your legs for me." This time, Alice complied immediately and shuddered as Arlington ran a hand between her thighs and into her overly sensitive pussy, withdrawing moist fingers. "Lick them clean," he ordered, bringing them to Alice's lips. But the girl's demeanor changed then, and she shook her head viciously, closing her lips tightly. "That's gross," Alice declared, as if it were a simple fact of life. "I can't. That stuff...came out of me..." "It isn't gross," Lord Arlington insisted. The girl's prudishness surprised him and he growled at her, to make his displeasure known. "This is not vile, or disgusting, or anything synonymous with those terms. This is you, and I want you to know what you taste like. Lick them clean, Alice." And, just to prove his point, Arlington sucked the juice off one of his own fingers, so that Alice gave him a horrified little gasp. "Your cunt tastes so sweet," Lord Arlington grinned. "Now, your turn. Open up, pet." "No," Alice replied, and her tone became even more obstinate. "I'll have sex with you, of course. That was the deal we made, and I appreciate your helping my mother. But I don't have to do perverted things for you." "Is that so?" Arlington laughed, but it was a disturbing, sinister laugh. For the girl's words evoked in Arlington a primal, violent urge to control. Deep within his soul, the young lord could feel a dark desire growing, demanding that he possess, mold, and dominate the defiant little slave in his arms. Arlington wanted to crush that valiant spirit and twist it to his own ends. He wanted to see Alice doing all sorts of lewd, sick sex acts for his pleasure and amusement. And, of course, he would get what he wanted. Quickly, he wrapped both his arms around Alice's torso and pulled her body into him, so that there could be no escape. There, he rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered into her ear in a sinister, barely audible voice. "Oh, this is just an introduction, my dear," Arlington chuckled, and the darkness in his voice made Alice tremble. "I am going to do all sorts of wonderful, terrible perverted things to your body. And you are going to learn to love being a slut for my every whim and desire, no matter how disturbing or twisted. For example, I think we could have some fun with this adorable little nipples. We'll dress them up all nice and pretty, and then I'll be able to take you out and show you off at one of my yearly dinner parties." Alice redoubled her efforts at escape upon hearing that, no doubt upset by the embarrassment his words invoked. Alice was not an exhibitionist, that was for sure. But Arlington was pleased to see the bravado leave her, to see her twist in his arms. The girl deserved it, after all. "And some other rainy day, when I'm bored," Arlington continued, as Alice begged to be released. "I'll tie you up and suspend you from the ceiling, and maybe leave you there for a few hours while I jerk off all over your nude body, watching you squirm. Oh, and one of these days, I'm going to take you over my knee and spank you until your little bottom is red, and then I'm going to tie you down and fuck that pretty little ass of yours." "You can't!" Alice screeched, and her struggles became more insistent. Apparently, she was particularly repulsed by the thought of anal play and Arlington decided he would have to fix that. Might as well start now. Keeping one arm around Alice's body, Arlington drew his free hand down the girl's back and into the crevice between her ass cheeks, his fingers still wet with the dew of her cunt. "Please, don't!" Alice begged, as Arlington pressed against her tiny rosebud, loosening it up in preparation for penetration. "Please, my lord! Please! It's dirty!" "It might feel a little strange at first, pet," Lord Arlington whispered darkly, pressing more insistently upon her forbidden orifice, making her quiver in his arms. "But you'll learn to enjoy it. And one day, you'll be taking my entire cock up that gorgeous ass, and you'll love it." With that, Lord Arlington pressed a single, lubricated finger into Alice's warm behind and she gasped, her whole body jolting in his arms. Slowly, Arlington drew his finger into and then out of her tiny bud, feeling her shudder and coil. He then pressed a second finger past the two rings of muscle and began to stretch her opening, even as Alice's persistent please plagued his ears. "Are you going to do what I say, and taste yourself for me?" Lord Arlington asked, a slight threat in his voice. "Or should I go ahead and get a plug for this tight little ass? Eventually, I want you to be a slut for my every whim and desire and we have to start your training somewhere. What will it be?" "I'll taste myself!" Alice cried, her voice frantic. "Please! I promise, I'll do what you ask!" "Smart and pretty," Lord Arlington grinned. "I'm going to unclasp your cuffs now, and you aren't going to try and worm away. You're going to finger your cunt for me and then lick your fingers clean, understand?" Alice only nodded frantically and Arlington gave her a rewarding kiss on the cheek. Next, he released her cuffs and allowed her to tentatively bring her hands between her legs, fucking her ass with his fingers the entire time. "Good girl," Arlington praised, pushing his tongue into Alice's ear and hearing her moan a little. "Play with yourself for me, and have fun with it. That's it. Get those fingers nice and wet for me." Tentatively, Alice reached into the soft folds of her pussy with a gentle moan and began to finger herself. The cavern between her legs was soft and warm, so that touching it made her feel both sensual and pretty. Soon, her hands were slippery with dew and she could hear a squelching sound between her legs, which seemed to her obscene and nasty, but also strangely arousing. God, Alice wanted to continue fucking herself as long as possible, to hold off the inevitable, but knew that Arlington wouldn't tolerate too long a delay. Hesitantly, she put her sopping wet fingers to her lips and inhaled. Alice could smell her own musky arousal—tempting, but forbidden—and winced. But closing her eyes, she shoved the fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean, trying to finish up as quickly as possible. "No," Arlington ordered, his voice stern. "Savor the flavor. Suck on your finger as if it were my cock. Lick each digit like a horny little sex kitten." Distraught, Alice began to lap and lick at her fingers affectionately, even kissing the digits after she'd cleaned them, simply because Lord Arlington had demanded it of her. He commented on her actions throughout the entire ordeal, forcing her to lap up the juice from between her fingers and then fuck her own face with the digits. By the end of it all, she was slurping her own cum noisily for his enjoyment and would be subjected to painful pinches on her nipples and clit if she failed to be loud enough. Then, when Alice tried to remove her fingers from her mouth, Lord Arlington shoved them back in, declaring that she wasn't finished yet. She was told to moan and groan on command until he was satisfied, and was then ordered to rest her hands between her thighs. "How did you taste, pet?" Arlington questioned, still pumping his fingers into and out of the girl's ass. "Sweet and sensual, I'll bet." "Please, my lord," Alice begged, her voice trembling. She was beyond embarrassed now, and the fingers in her ass were starting to feel strange, in a good sort of way. The realization made Alice feel perverted and ashamed. "Please, don't make me talk about this..." "You're a sex slave," Arlington hissed. "You have one job, pet. From here on out, your sole concern should be whether or not you've managed to get my rocks off." And, to emphasize his point, Arlington ground his erection against Alice. "I have interesting fetishes, and you're going to indulge all of them. I don't care if it bothers you. Now, what did you taste like?" "A little sour," Alice relented, for Arlington had inserted a third finger into her ass. "A little sweet too, I guess. It wasn't too bad..." "Tell me that you find your cunt delicious." "I...I...think...I think my cunt is....delicious." "Good girl," Lord Arlington praised, kissing Alice deeply and tasting her on his lips. She was indeed both sour and sweet, quite the delectable little treat. "Now, I'm not interested in fucking you while you're a sobbing mess," Arlington admitted, licking his lips clean. It was true. He knew that there would be pain, of course. And hell, he'd probably enjoy that. But he wanted Alice to be at least a little aroused before hand and utterly wet, so that the pain wouldn't be quite as bad. He wanted the girl's first time to be somewhat pleasurable, even if he had to push her boundaries a little. "So, I want you to cum for me again, before I fuck you," Lord Arlington continued, his voice gentle. "I want you wet and slippery and a little wound up, too. Touch yourself, pet. Get yourself wet and swollen for me and then cum in my arms again." "My lord, please," Alice pleaded, her voice tight. "Can't you stop it first? Before I touch myself?" "Stop what, pet?" Arlington asked with a wicked grin, and he wriggled his fingers in Alice's ass, forcing her to squirm and gasp. "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Please take your fingers out, my lord." "Out of where?" "My....my...ass. Please, my lord. I don't like it and—" "No, I won't," Lord Arlington chuckled, and he stretched her tight hole a little further, making her cry out in a combination of embarrassment and lewd desire. The girl was starting to like it even more--Arlington could tell by the way she gasped and mewled in response--but he would need to reinforce her forbidden desires, even as she adamantly denied them. "I want you to cum with my fingers up your ass," Lord Arlington told Alice, and he gripped one of her wrists with his free hand, so that he could stroke her pussy with it. "No, what's going to happen? And I want details." "I'm going to cum," Alice obliged, her face beet red. "I'm going to cum with a finger in my ass." "That's right, you are," Lord Arlington acknowledged, a satisfactory grin marring his handsome features. "Because you're my perverted little fuck toy, aren't you? Say it for me, pet. You're my darling little slave slut, aren't you?" "My lord...." Alice began in protest, but she gasped as Arlington began to viciously bite the skin on her back, leaving tiny red welts. And suddenly, the girl's protests seemed foolish. "Yes," Alice moaned, her voice harsh with lust. "I'm your...your...fuck toy." At first, Alice's ministrations were none too enthusiastic and she played with herself as if she were unsure of what to do and where to place her fingers. The girl was probably nervous, and it showed. But Lord Arlington continued to probe her ass with his fingers and then lapped at the bite marks he had made. As he did so, the young slave could feel a strange new pleasure rise up from within her forbidden orifice. The sensation was disconcertingly foreign and resembled a dull ache, which raced up from the girl's muscled rosebud to her cunt, setting it alight with an insistent, almost painful warmth. The penetration made Alice feel violated and vulnerable, but against her better judgement, she found the intrusion strangely erotic, too. Soon, Alice was rubbing at her clitoris with renewed vigor, moving the bundle of nerves in a tight, rapid circle and fingering her wet cunt. It wasn't long before the frothy cream of her pussy was spilling onto her thighs, smelling obscene. With a finger in her ass and her clit on fire, Alice began to feel an impending orgasm building deep within her core, itchy and aching. Then, the tiny nub of the girl's sex began to harden and throb and push and twitch in glorious, sexual anxiety. Within moments, the spring of Alice's arousal had unwound and she exploded into a million shards of glass and plaster and light, whining and screaming her ecstasy. "My lord, I'm cumming!" Alice screamed, her whole body on fire. "My lord, I'm cumming!" That was Lord Arlington's cue. With the adorable slave writhing and screaming in his grasp, he found that he could wait no longer. In one fluid movement, he pushed Alice off of his chest and face first onto the mattress, so that she was lying on her stomach with her sopping wet pussy in the air, easily accessible and still quivering from the aftershocks of her recent orgasm. The violent push was a complete surprise for Alice and she inhaled sharply in response, moving her arms forward so as to brace herself for the fall. Then, she heard it. Behind Alice, Lord Arlington had knelt and she could hear the sinister unbuckling of his belt, followed by the whining of a zipper. Smooth hands were suddenly on either side of her hips, and then there was a set of knees between her legs. Alice instinctively tried to crawl away when the warm tip of a cock pressed up against her lubricated opening, where it slid along her slit in a teasing fashion. But the girl was held firmly in place, such that escape was impossible. There was no warning then, and no gentleness. In a single movement, Lord Arlington thrust his hips forward and drove his aching cock into Alice's pure, untouched cunt. He could feel the pressure of her maidenhead resist him and then give way, tearing violently and allowing him to push still deeper into her. Immediately, Alice screamed out in agony, an awful pain rippling up from within her cunt to consume her entire lower body. She could only describe the pain as a terrible sharpness, which reminded her of wooden splinters and torn skin and hot coals. Even as Arlington stilled—giving the girl a few moments to adjust to his girth—tiny beads of sweat broke out all over her skin, resembling tiny glass orbs which glistened in the overhead lighting. God, it was a terrible sensation, like being split into two separate beings. Alice tried to move away from the source of her pain, to remove the object of impalement. But Lord Arlington held the girl's hips in an immovable grip and she whimpered, terrified. "It hurts," Alice groaned, panting erratically underneath her lord. Apparently, she had realized that escape was impossible and stilled, but decided to try begging. "Oh, god. It burns. My lord, please..." God, the girl's pleas for mercy were such a turn on, and Arlington could feel his cock twitch within the girl's freshly speared cunt. The pain was causing her to clench his cock involuntarily, and she was tight enough to drive any reasonable man mad with desire. When Alice tried once more to escape, Arlington dug his nails into the girl's hips and pulled her back onto him, her moans of pain exquisite. Her thighs were trembling and when she looked over her shoulder, Arlington could see that her face was contorted with agony. The girl's crimson cheeks and the fear in her eyes turned Arlington on immensely. God, to have such power over another human being—to orchestrate pain and pleasure, like an engineer—provided him with a sexual thrill he had missed for several years. But no longer. He intended to drive himself mercilessly into the girl until he spoiled her with his hot cum, and then he would make her clean his cock with her adorable, pink tongue. The girl belonged to him, Arlington realized. It was a thrilling epiphany. "The pain doesn't matter now," Arlington groaned, his cock throbbing with arousal. He pushed himself slowly out of Alice, listened to her groan, and then plunged back into her with a violent thrust. As he did so, Arlington noticed just a hint of blood on his manhood and grinned. "This is for my pleasure now, isn't it?" "Yes," Alice gasped, the heat radiating from her body nearly visible. She had taken to clenching the sheets in her fists, her breathing labored. "Yes, my lord. It's for your pleasure." "Good girl," Arlington praised, and he kissed the back of his girl's neck, which was warm to the touch. Her skin tasted of fear and salt and desire, and the young lord lapped at it hungrily. "I'm not going to be gentle anymore," Arlington told his little slave, feeling her body stiffen and quiver beneath him, yearning to be possessed and owned. "It's going to hurt quite a bit, but you're going to stay still for me and scream for me, aren't you, pet?" But Arlington didn't bother to wait for an answer. Instead, he pushed full force into the girl's cunt. Her pussy was unbearably sore and she cried out, clutching the sheets around her as if her very life depended on it. But good lord, her wet cunt was so warm and tight and Arlington could instantly feel his balls throbbing with desire. He slid into and out of the girl easily, his cock slick with the juices of her previous orgasm. And given the pain he was causing Alice, her pussy involuntarily clenched and spasmed around his cock, trying to push him out and making him ache with perverse need. But he relentlessly tore on, panting hungrily in the girl's ear, his sweat dropping onto her back and his balls slapping against her thighs. "Tell me who you belong to," Lord Arlington growled, his balls tightening and his cock twitching eagerly. "Tell me who owns you, Alice." "I belong to you, my lord," Alice panted, her voice hoarse with pain. "Please, my lord..." "Again," Lord Arlington ordered, his voice boding no argument. "Louder this time, or I'll drape you over my knee and punish your insubordinate cunt with the palm of my hand." "I belong to you!" Alice screamed, her lungs straining with effort. "I belong to you!" The girl's terrified admission--echoing off of the walls--brought Lord Arlington to the edge and beyond. Gripping Alice's hips, he plunged into her once more and felt his balls tighten until his pulsating cock was releasing itself into her throbbing sex. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as his seed filled up the girl's cunt and spilled out onto her thighs in a glorious, perverted mess. Even after he had finished, Lord Arlington remained kneeling behind Alice, his cock still throbbing in her cunt and the aftershocks of his orgasm making him dizzy. Panting over the girl's rigid body, he took in the scent of their combined sweat and arousal, leaving little kisses and bites all over his slave's unmarked skin. But finally, his member softened and slid out of her moist opening of its own accord. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 19 "Turn around and clean my cock," Arlington sighed, sitting back up against the headboard and spreading his legs. "Get every drop of cum for me, pet. Now it's time to learn how your master tastes." Alice was still hesitant, but exhaustion had made her more compliant and she crawled to her lord. But when the girl paused before his massive form, Arlington was forced to grab a fist full of hair and shove her face into the juncture of his legs. Only when Alice had begun to gently suck his flaccid member (removing the cum like a kitten, with tiny flicks of her tongue), did he let go and relax into the warm sensations. Her moist tongue was so soft and luxurious, tentatively cleaning him until there was not a drop of his seed left. And the girl's ministrations made him shudder, his still sensitive cock twitching in earnest. But when she had finished, Alice got up from the bed without permission and headed for the door, quick and determined. Cum spilled out from between her legs and she cupped her cunt awkwardly, a sad attempt at hiding her shame. "Where do you think you're going?" Lord Arlington asked with a raised eyebrow and Alice stopped at the doorway, preparing to put on her discarded dress before leaving. "Who said you could go?" "My lord," Alice tried, her back turned to Lord Arlington and her voice a slight quiver. "I was going to return to my room for the night. And, perhaps, take a shower." "No, that won't do," Lord Arlington replied with a shake of his head, and Alice visibly cringed. "You'll shower with me tonight and you'll sleep in my bed." "But, my lord," Alice pleaded. "I'd rather not." "Now, sweetheart," Lord Arlington grinned, patting the bed beside him. "I didn't ask you what you wanted, did I?" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 20 Author's Note: Good day, wonderful readers. First off, I owe you all an apology for disappearing without a trace. I have no intention of abandoning this story and am back in business. Suffice it to say that some people in my family became ill, and I didn't have the time to write or forewarning to let everyone know I was going to be gone for a while. I certainly never anticipated that I would be out of commission this long. Anyways, here is the next chapter. It's not all that long, but I wanted to put something out there to get things rolling again. I hope you enjoy and again, I offer my sincerest apologies for the time away, but I assure you that I had good reasons. HisPet21 * Ben wasn't too happy about their situation, but didn't really have any choice in the matter. Greenwood had seamlessly assumed the role of their leader, dictating with authority how they would escape from Capital City and into Nardia. If there had been any point, Ben would have objected to Greenwood's plan. It irked him that they were placing all of their faith in Mr. Cross and his escorts for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the unslaver's status as a "Wanted Man" and his dedication to greed. Now that the man had his intel, what was to stop him from turning the fugitives in for an additional two million in bounty money? And why did the escapees need escorts anyway? Couldn't a former general, a double agent, a weapons specialist, and a medic/demolitions amateur get out of the country without any help? But Alyssa and Kara both trusted Greenwood and had dedicated themselves to following his direction. If Ben protested their current plan, he risked destroying the unity of his team and upsetting a very powerful unslaver. With a deep sigh, he finally quelled his nerves and resigned himself to the current situation, gently laying his hand over his pistol . If trouble arose—as it undoubtedly would—he wanted to be prepared, whatever that entailed. Carefully, Ben and his companions traversed a narrow hallway, then down a set of concrete steps and into a large, open warehouse. Leading the way were the two escorts assigned to them by Mr. Cross, who had been charged with breaking the four fugitives out of the country and getting them safely to the Nardian border. Ben had been assured that the pair was more than capable of arranging for their escape, but they were still a source of anxiety. The escort farthest ahead went by Mrs. Timmons, a very elderly woman with white, wispy hair piled atop her head and a twitchy set of eyes that made Ben nervous. Occasionally, an emotion resembling guilt would light up her face, as if she had something to hide. Not exactly a promising sight, Ben mused. And then there was the old woman's companion, a much younger man by the name of Avery who had dark hair, violet eyes, and an cocky grin. Not only was the lad a little young for a professional escort—hell, he could be Mrs. Timmons' grandson—but he also had an aura of over confidence that bordered on carelessness. The general had babysat many a young recruit and had no desire to do so again, especially not after his companions had paid for proper passenger into Nardia. But supposedly, Mrs. Timmons was a former bounty hunter under Lady Charlotte and Avery was once a slave hunter for Martkorp. They knew the system and how to beat it better than anyone, according to Mr. Cross. With a sneer, Ben decided to withhold judgment until they'd passed the city limits and entered into the surrounding countryside. As they descended into chilly air, the smell of the warehouse hit Ben, foul and poignant. The source of the stench was soon made apparent as he stepped onto the floor, which was covered in bat guano and rodent's nests. There were even signs of human activity here and there, in the form of tiny cardboard huts and shoddy tents, set up by the local homeless. The place must have been abandoned before Mr. Cross' arrival, which would also explain why such a massive structure was nearly empty, save for a few dark vans and several dozen cargo crates. And in a few days, even those would most probably be gone. Mr. Cross didn't stay in one place more than a few days at a time, maybe a week at most. In a few hours, only the man's drug parlor would remain. Ben suspected that it was a permanent arrangement, used for garnering some extra cash on the side as well as a convenient front. He probably had several such drug parlors throughout Isleydor, which he rotated through looking for new clients. It was brilliant, really. The best way to hide something dirty, it seemed, was to cover it in yet more dirt. What better way to hide the crime of unslaving, but with drugs and prostitutes? Quickly, the four fugitives were led through the eerie, concrete space and toward one of the many dark vans. There, Mr. Cross' escorts began unloading a number of crates and packing their contents into the vehicle. The trip from Isleydor to Nardia would take several days, especially if the escapees stuck to mountainous roads and stayed away from Isleydor's major cities. Necessary supplies included food, fresh water, blankets, and even a couple of tents. Then, of course, there were guns and extra ammo, in case something went wrong. These were cleverly stashed away in hidden compartments throughout the van and then on both the escorts' person. Ben didn't like that at all and the tension in his gut began to resurface, much to his dismay. He didn't like being less armed than Mr. Cross' employees, and he liked the look of the van even less. With its tinted windows, wide back end, and sleek design, the van screamed "suspicious." They might as well have added a decal on the rear window reading, "Illegal Fugitives on Board." And dear god, Mrs. Timmons and Avery were putting on bullet proof body suits. Sure, over them, Mrs. Timmons wore a flower patterned dress, while Avery wore baggy pants and a t-shirt. Really, the two looked like a grandmother and her estranged grandson ready for a picnic outside the city limits. But the mere fact that they felt the need for such heavy gear was disturbing, especially since neither Ben nor his companions had been offered anything resembling a bullet proof vest or even an extra gun. It was too much for Ben and while Mr. Cross' escorts were distracted, the general grabbed Greenwood and swung him behind a concrete support pillar, determined to get answers. Enough was enough and as the minutes ticked by, Ben was becoming ever more distrustful of Mr. Cross and their plan at escape. "I hope you know what you are doing," Ben whispered ferociously, pinning Greenwood up against the concrete support pillar. Warily, he eyed Mr. Cross' escorts, to ensure that they hadn't noticed his and Greenwood's absence, but they were as busy as ever loading the van. "We won't get a second chance," Ben hissed, turning back to Greenwood and shaking the collar of his shirt for emphasis. "Either we make it out of Isleydor and into Nardia now, or we never will. And I don't trust Mr. Cross. That man has one and only one god: greed. If it's advantageous for him to turn us in, then he will. And what do these two escorts have that we don't? I mean, you're 'supposedly' a double agent." Ben emphasized the word "supposedly," and the irritated look on Greenwood's face told the general that he'd noticed. "I mean, seriously. Your girlfriend is a weapons specialist, I'm a former general, and Kara is a medic. What skills do these escorts have that we don't? Kara paid an awful lot for these services, Greenwood. And I am not so sure that we're getting our money's worth." "Get off of me, Karrington!" Greenwood growled, pushing the man away from him and straightening his jacket. Quickly, he peeked around the pillar and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that they were not missed. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Could you be any more conspicuous? And you call that a whisper?" Greenwood looked livid then, but he soon managed to smoothen his features. "Listen, Karrington," he began, with a tone reminiscent of a teacher before his pupil. "Mr. Cross doesn't take kindly to rowdy clients and, as they say, it isn't wise to bite the hand that feeds you. You're just going to have to trust me on this. And now, if you'll excuse me..." With that, Greenwood moved to ease his way around the support pillar and toward the van, but Ben grabbed him once more and pushed him back in place, so that the air left Greenwood's lungs in a little gasp. "But see, that's the problem," Ben hissed, his voice dangerous. He would not allow Greenwood to dodge him yet again, like he had in Bremmington. Ben would not be ignored once more, not when he had Alan Greenwood—the devil in black himself—trapped against concrete and at his mercy. "I don't trust you, Greenwood," Ben snarled, blocking any escape with his massive form. "And I don't like you. I've really only put up with you for the past several days out of necessity and because Kara trusts you. Though I'm sure it's only because you're smart enough not to brag about your past, not when your meal ticket is a medic. The things you've done, Alan...I've heard so many stories...How can someone from our side have been so diabolically cruel? Even if the intent was to keep your cover? I mean, for the love of god..." Ben wasn't expecting to get such a visible reaction out of Greenwood, but he did. He could see the confession in Greenwood's form, in the tension that crept into the man's features and made his face ugly. He could hear it too, in the ensuing silence, which was thick with a dark, pervasive emotion. Was it guilt, perhaps? Maybe even self hatred? Or was it anger, at having been drawn out? "Alright! Alight! You've caught me!" Greenwood whispered ferociously, his teeth clenched against the torrent of emotions contained within. But the fury soon sizzled away to reveal deep, intense shame. The sadness in the old man's eyes made Ben want to apologize for prodding and walk away, for it seemed sincere. If it was all an act, then it was a brilliant one. And yet, who was to say that Alan Greenwood wasn't a brilliant actor? "It's true that at one point, I had to make some very difficult decisions," Greenwood continued, his tone rife with pain. "And, admittedly, I made the wrong ones. Trust me when I say that I have suffered a great deal for my sins already and I am sure that I will suffer even more when it is time to meet my maker. But I assure you, I am done with all of that utilitarian nonsense and I've been done with it for a while. I retired a couple of years ago, after I met Alyssa and well... Anyway, I've been nothing but Arlington's errand boy and a board member for quite some time. I just want to go home, like the rest of you, and forget any of this ever happened." "Does Alyssa know?" "Yes, Alyssa knows," Greenwood sighed. "She was my last case. I'm surprised you didn't figure that out for yourself. Our little "revenge" game has been the cover for our continuing relationship for over half a year, and it's the only reason no one was suspicious when I bought her at auction." "Hey, boys!" Mrs. Timmons screeched from across the warehouse, and both men turned suddenly in unison. The elderly woman was impatiently gesturing for them to come forward and Ben saw that all of their supplies had been successfully packed away. For a moment, Ben strongly considered asking for a few more minutes, but Mrs. Timmons began shouting once more and he thought better of it. "Come on, boys, you can compare schlongs later! We haven't got all day to pussyfoot around while you two play chicken!" Hurriedly, Ben headed toward the van and much to his surprise, Greenwood came into step beside him. The man's voice was low and barely audible—a series of successive whispers issued from the corner of his mouth—but when he strained his ears, Ben could make out the words. "Albert Cross won't double cross us, Ben. After all, the success of his business rests on a reputation for discretion," Greenwood began in earnest, as if trying to assuage as many of Ben's fears as he could before they reached the van. "And yes, the four of us are very capable when it comes to combat and stealth, but we aren't paying Mr. Cross for his escorts' skills. We're paying him for his contacts. In order to get out of the country alive, an awful lot of people will have to be bribed and Mr. Cross knows better than anyone who is for sale and who isn't." And with that, Greenwood quickened his pace in order to increase the distance between himself and Ben, effectively ending their conversation once and for all. "I said, get your butts over here!" Mrs. Timmons cried, and she smacked Greenwood's ass as he passed by, making him jump a little. When he backed away beet red, clearly embarrassed, and rubbing his bottom defensively, she laughed. "Come on, handsome," Mrs. Timmons grinned, a predatory gleam in her eye. "Don't be so shy. I love dangerous, wanted men and we'll be spending a lot of time together over the next few days. There isn't a lot of room in the van, so we'll probably be cramped up close together and—" "Hands off, grandma," Alyssa growled, slinking into view from behind the van. For a moment only, her eyes locked onto Ben's and her glare seared right through him, but she was soon focused on Mrs. Timmons again. Then, with a pronounced gesture, Alyssa smacked Greenwood's other ass cheek and stepped up beside him. "I own that ass," Alyssa declared, a devious grin on her face. "And you have to ask me nicely if you want to touch." "Alyssa," Greenwood whispered hoarsely, as if he wasn't already the center of attention. "Alyssa, we're in public..." "Cradle robber, eh?" Mrs. Timmons snorted, eyeing Greenwood first and then his much younger lover condescendingly. "Can't say I blame you. That's how most men are these days. Always looking to hook up with something younger." "Oh, don't get the wrong idea, grandma," Alyssa laughed, the grin on her face widening still further and making her face playfully sinister. "I came onto him, not the other way around. I suppose that makes me a grave robber then, doesn't it?" With a shrug, Alyssa grabbed Greenwood's hand and pulled him toward the back end of the van. "Anyway, he's my bitch, and you don't get to play dirty without my say so." "Alyssa," Greenwood begged, as they approached the rear of the van. "Please, not in front of people..." As a thoroughly embarrassed Greenwood was pushed into the back of the van, Ben emitted a reluctant sigh and moved to follow suit. Normally used for storing supplies, the rear compartment was large enough to hide all four fugitives with a little extra room besides, mostly used to pack away a few boxes of food and several gallons of fresh water. Ben could hear Kara in the back of the van already, chatting away with Greenwood and then laughing ecstatically a few minutes later. He didn't mean to, but in a few seconds he'd quickened his pace. If he were indeed dangerous, Greenwood wouldn't dare make a move now, but Ben still didn't like the thought of him alone with Kara. Ben was rapidly rounding the vehicle and about to climb into the van when Alyssa stepped out, grabbed his wrist, and swung him against the side of the vehicle. "This is your only warning, Karrington," Alyssa sneered, her face nearly pressed against Ben's. "Lay off the old guy. Whatever you think you know about Alan, you're way off base." Ben would have thought up some clever retort then, but as quickly as she'd come, Alyssa was gone and crawling once more into the back of the van. The rear compartment of the van was about the size of one of Bremmington's jail cells, meaning that it was small and cramped. The floor was a black, plastic type of material that absorbed heat like nobody's business and chilled Ben to the bone the moment he sat down. It wasn't an easy task either, as he found himself maneuvering around stacks of equipment and several small boxes. He finally settled on a spot across from Greenwood—the better to keep an eye on him—and next to Kara, though Ben made sure to keep a short distance between them. Kara very clearly wanted her space and the general wasn't unwilling to compromise, although he refused to outright ignore his protective tendencies. Kara was the least experienced among them when it came to combat skills, and all be damned if Ben was going to let her get hurt. It was an odd scenario though, even for Ben. Never before had he been so smitten by a woman he barely knew, whom he had met just a few days back. Perhaps Kara was right, and he was so starved for affection that he was drawn to her irrespective of her own personality traits. But as soon as the thought crept into his mind, Ben dismissed it as ludicrous. Kara attracted him because of her fiery personality, like a moth to a flame. Her body was stunning, there was no doubt about that. Kara's long, brown locks caressed a gentle, but unremitting face. And the woman's slender curves were hypnotizing to the point of being a safety hazard. But really, it was her determination and fierce compassion that compelled Ben to want her in his arms, blossoming under his gaze and touching him thoughtfully. Of course, until she was ready to open up to him, trying to establish anything more than platonic friendship would be impossible. And after her torment at Arlington's hands, Ben doubted she would willingly make herself vulnerable to love and then passion. Unless.... Well, Ben thought. Unless he made himself vulnerable first, and showed her that there was no shame in it. Ben didn't like the idea of opening up to Kara anymore than she seemed to like the idea of opening up to him, but one of them would need to be the first to budge. And Ben decided that, if need be, he would go first. God, he wanted her.... And dammit all, he would have her... The Rebellious Slave Ch. 21 Author's Note: Thanks, as always, for all of your comments, suggestions, criticism, and ratings. They are appreciated and help me immensely. Seriously, keep the constructive criticism coming full blast! While the last chapter was rather short and mundane, I am now back to writing longer, more in depth chapters. I hope you enjoy the story, and let me know your thoughts. HisPet21 * Kara looked about her carefully, taking in the cramped contents of the van. There was hardly enough space for Kara and her three companions, so she was none too pleased that Mr. Cross' escorts had decided to toss a few boxes of supplies in with them. As it was, Kara had a hard time getting comfortable and finally settled on sitting with her knees hugged against her chest and her feet pressed against the crate in front of her. Once situated, Kara forced herself to take several deep breathes and relax into the confines of the van. It vaguely occurred to her that she was ending up in small, cramped spaces far too often these days. First, she'd been confined to a cell in Bremmington, then to an examination table during her memory enhancement, and now this. With a low grumble, Kara pressed herself into the side of the van and tried to curl up into a ball, so as to conserve heat. The plastic like material of the floor sapped the warmth right out of her and there was a draft coming in from one of the windows. God, Kara hated those windows. Sure, they were tinted, but they still made her feel naked and exposed. Perhaps a flaw in the tinting would reveal her face to a guard at a security checkpoint or even to a pedestrian who recognized her from the evening news. True, she hadn't minded peeking out of the window on the way to Mr. Cross' sanctuary, but that had been earlier in the day when very few people were up and about. Once they left the warehouse, it would be midday and much busier. Not to mention the fact that they'd have to pass through a checkpoint to leave the city. Maybe if she tucked her head in a little, Kara could duck below the windows. It was worth trying, at least. But just as Kara was about to shift position, she heard a slight commotion outside and Greenwood—his face beet red—was crawling into the van with her. "You have got to help me," Greenwood whispered hoarsely, situating himself across from Kara. It was impossible to see him with the crate in her way, but she could hear the anxiety in his voice and knew that he was embarrassed about something. "Seriously," Greenwood pleaded, bringing his knees up to his chest. "I am going to get roofied on this trip. I just know it. All of the women are after me. I mean, I'm not bad looking if I do say so myself. Still, you'd think the women could control themselves." The tone in Greenwood's voice told Kara that he was half serious and she laughed, the outburst totally unexpected. "I'm sure it's not that bad, Greenwood," Kara chuckled, glad to have her mind taken off the cramped space and van windows, even if just for a moment. "What happened?" "That elderly woman came onto me!" Greenwood cried, peering at Kara from over the top of the crate between them. "She slapped my butt, and she didn't even ask me if it was okay!" This time, Kara erupted into peals of uncontrollable laughter and almost fell over onto her side. The double could be a jokester at times, but she'd never thought of him as shy or prudish. "It isn't funny!" Greenwood insisted, his voice low. "And then Alyssa went and did the same thing, right in front of everyone! Promise me you'll watch my back and I'll make sure that Ben keeps his distance. Deal?" But when Alyssa and then Ben crawled into the back of the van, the double agent quickly shut his mouth and shifted back into position. "Alrighty, ladies and gentlemen, here's the deal," Mrs. Timmons began, poking her head into the back end of the van and looking very slightly flushed. "In order to exit the city, we'll need to pass through a security checkpoint and thanks to you four, the guards are better armed and more riled up than usual." With a flourish, Mrs. Timmons tossed a black tarp into the van and watched as Ben caught it midair, confused. "When we reach the checkpoint, drape that thing over you," Mrs. Timmons explained. "We paid a guy off to look the other way. Not cheap, when the bounty on your heads is a whopping two million. As required by law, he'll have to do a thorough inspection of the van and that includes looking under the tarp, but don't panic. He'll ignore you and wave us through. The tarp will ensure that the security cameras at the checkpoint don't accidentally catch a glimpse of you when the back end gets opened up. Got it?" But without even bothering to wait for questions, Mrs. Timmons locked the fugitives away and they were off, driving once more through Capital City. Kara could feel her heart tingling with excitement as they passed out of the diseased, distrustful portion of town and onto a major highway. The speed of the vehicle underneath her reminded Kara of a freedom that wasn't too far off, yet the fear of recapture still lingered in her mind and poisoned her thoughts, creating a constant backdrop of anxiety that she couldn't seem to shake. To try and distract herself from evil thoughts, she risked a glance out the window and looked with awe at the cars beside them as they whizzed by. Soon, the van had exited onto a busy street in the West Shopping District of Capital City and Kara imagined herself amid the flood of people glancing in on fancy window displays and purchasing treats from food vendors. It was remarkable to Kara that in just a few short days, she might be shopping in Nardia's capital, Nulme. But as the van stopped behind a long line of cars waiting to leave the city, Kara ducked down below the window panes. The line was obscenely long and Kara groaned. The more time Kara and her companions spent in the city, the greater the risk of discovery and recapture. Clearly, security had been greatly increased since the fugitives' escape and the guards present were conducting more thorough searchers of each passing vehicle, resulting in a longer wait period. Up ahead, Kara could hear one particularly disgruntled citizen complaining loudly about the wait and being reprimanded for it. Curious, Kara peeked once more over the window ledge and saw several armed guards—rifles poised over their shoulders—marching along the line of cars and looking into them, occasionally stopping to open a trunk or talk to a driver. There were dobermans too, straining against their leashes and sniffing the air warily. As soon as she'd looked, Kara wished she hadn't and swallowed hard. "Alright, then," Ben began authoritatively, and Kara almost jumped from the sudden noise. "I suppose it's time to get ourselves situated, don't you think?" With that, Ben spread out the black tarp and handed a hunk of the fabric to Alyssa and Greenwood, so that they could drape part of it over themselves. Once finished, he turned toward Kara with a friendly smile and offered her one corner of the large sheet. "You too," Ben insisted. "And then all we have to do is lay low and stay quiet." But when Kara didn't respond right away, clearly nervous, he paused. "I promise we are going to be fine," Ben offered, his tone revealing more confidence than he felt. "Just a little while longer and we'll be out of the city." Kara nodded quietly, hardly daring to breath with all of the commotion outside. Tentatively, she lifted a corner of the sheet and tried to drape it over herself, but found it impossible. While in the seated position, Kara couldn't seem to get her entire body under the covering. Frustrated, she tried to reorient herself, but was still exposed. The tarp left her entire right side open to prying eyes. Then Kara felt Ben's hands on her shoulders and realized that he intended to help her out. "Here," Ben whispered in her ear, and he gently pushed her toward the van floor. "If you lie down, then we should be able to fit all four of us under the tarp." Deferring to his expertise in matters of stealth, Kara let Ben direct her until her entire body lay against the van floor. It was only then that she realized Alyssa and Greenwood were similarly situated. But with several small crates in the center of the van, Kara could only fit on the floor with Ben if she allowed herself to be pressed up against him, her pouty behind resting against the crotch of his pants and her arms crossed in front of her. At first, Kara found the position somewhat awkward, but found that Ben's even breathing calmed her nerves, like a gentle breeze whispering softly in her ear. Their bodies melted perfectly into each other and his heat seeped into her frozen core. In a moment, she'd relaxed into his form. There was nothing left to do then, except await their turn at the checkpoint and hope that Mr. Cross was as good as his word. Several minutes passed before the fugitives reached the city gate and the accompanying security checkpoint. With that, a number of guards began barking orders at Mrs. Timmons and the van shook as several doors were opened and then slammed shut. Oh god, they'd started the inspection. Kara listened intensely as the security guards gradually made their way from the front end of the vehicle toward the back, rummaging through the fugitives' "camping supplies" as they did so. With each passing minute, they eased ever closer to Kara's hiding place and the anticipation nearly drove her mad. Soon, Kara could hear the back end of the van being opened up and all calm left her. Immediately, she could feel her heart beat quickening beneath her breast and she feared it would give her away. God, it was so loud! Was it supposed to be so loud? Surely, the guards would hear her and come to reclaim her... But when rationality returned to her, Kara willed herself to relax and was surprised to find that Ben's hand was clasped in one of her own. He was squeezing it gently, reassuring her. Kara wasn't sure who had acted first, but it didn't matter. She squeezed back and noticed that Ben had eased his other hand over to the pistol in the waistband of his pants, ready for action at the slightest hint of danger. With that, the tarp was partially lifted and Kara winced in the oncoming light. Staring directly at her was a young man with deep blue eyes and brown locks, his unwavering glance piercing right through her. Kara stopped breathing then, unable to look away as his eyes raked over her entire body, his expression unreadable. For several seconds, she waited for him to scream out to his companions and sound the alarm or else to withdraw a pistol and arrest them himself. But nothing happened. Soon, it was over and the tarp was draped back over the four fugitives. "All clear!" Kara heard a guard outside call, his voice irritable and impatient. "Come on, let's go!" It wasn't until Kara felt the van beneath her move once more that she dared to breath again, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. But the fugitives weren't "out of the woods" yet, as it were. Cars driving along the highway near Capital City were still subject to random spot checks and on the off chance that they were pulled over, the four companions were instructed to remain under the tarp. It wouldn't be safe to emerge until they had reached the countryside to the north of Capital City, where most of the rural villages lay. It was quiet all around Kara as the van sped onward, the gentle rocking of the vehicle and the soft whirring of its engine soothing her. Combined with the stress of the past two days, they pushed Kara past the edge of exhaustion and she soon found herself drifting off to sleep, her body still pressed against Ben's and his warmth seeping into her skin. When Kara awoke, she found that the tarp was no longer draped over her body, but had been tucked around her as a blanket would. It was warm and cozy beneath the black material, but there was something missing, although Kara couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was several moments before she realized that Ben was no longer pressed up against her and as she looked looked about, Kara saw that he wasn't even in the back end. The loss of his warm body and reassuring presence disappointed her, but as soon as she recognized the emotion, Kara pushed it aside. After all, it was a stupid, irrational emotion. Kara liked Ben, there was no doubt about that. He was strong, determined, protective, and even a touch on the imaginative side. He was handsome too, by any objective standards. His cool gray eyes and sculpted body would surely make most women swoon, but Kara couldn't bring herself to see Ben the same way he saw her. She thought that, in large part, it was the timing. She'd just gotten out of a relationship—if you could call it that, Kara thought with a dismissive snort—and she had no real interest in men. But there was also something off about Ben. He had just met her and yet, seemed determined to get closer to her. That bothered Kara and made her wonder if Ben's feelings were genuine or imagined. Who was he really attracted to? Kara herself, or some imagined idea of her? Did he even know? With a sigh, Kara sat up, taking the tarp with her and wrapping it around her torso. Looking about, she saw that Greenwood and Alyssa had fallen asleep, both in the sitting position and leaning up against one another. Greenwood was snoring a little bit and Kara snickered softly, unable to resist. It was kind of cute, in an old man sort of way. Then, quite by accident, Kara glanced out the window beside Greenwood's head. Outside, she could see long stretches of forest, the leaves of the trees a vibrant array of orange, yellow, and reddish pink. As they sped by, the colors blurred together and formed something resembling the scales of an exotic fish, shimmering and shifting in the fading light. Ecstatic, Kara turned around and pressed her face to the nearest window, watching with fascination as the vegetation came into and out of view. She had grown up in the countryside and had spent many a glorious summer day in the woods, swimming in the deep poles along the creek and climbing the taller, older trees, just to feel the thrill of viewing the world from on high. All during her time as medic in Gardok, Kara has missed the countryside greatly and had missed it even more during her captivity. There was something serene and spiritual about the outdoors, a deep longing that could only be fulfilled by walking along a dirt road, feeling a gentle breeze, and smelling the warm air accompanying it. God, if only Kara could taste the air now, untainted by the pollution of the city and the smoke of factory chimneys. As if on cue, Mrs. Timmons leaned into the back end from the front passenger's seat and nodded her head toward the window. "We're far away from most major cities at this point," Mrs. Timmons told Kara, an understanding smile lighting up her face. "You can open a window if you want. Hell, you can even stick your head out and howl like a madman. No one is going to find us out here." Kara needed no prodding. In a moment, she had rolled down the window and was sticking her head out of it, so as to feel the wind as it whipped by them. The air was cold and cut sharply against her face, so that her cheeks started to go numb, but Kara didn't mind. The sudden onslaught of chilled air made her feel alive and well, in a way nothing else yet had. With a deep breath, Kara allowed herself to inhale the air, which was laden with the scent of smoke and softly decaying leaves and the oncoming snows of winter. It was a little silly, but Kara's favorite season had always been autumn, simply because she loved the smell of the air, spicy and bold. The annual Fright Festival in Telma was a bonus, as was the yearly apple cider and pumpkin spice soup her mother made. Then there were the wondrous sunsets—like the one gracing the sky beyond Kara's window—which were more orange than usual and oftentimes outlined in dark pink or shimmering gold. But, god, the smell of the fall...there was nothing else like it. Taking in another deep breath, Kara smiled quietly to herself, but the grin was soon transformed into a confused frown as they moved off of the road and into a clearing surrounded by trees. Alyssa started then, awakened by the rapid change in movement. Instinctively, her hand moved to the gun holster at her side and she sat bolt upright, her eyes scanning the landscape beyond the windows worriedly. "Why are we stopping?" Alyssa hissed, withdrawing her pistol. With her other hand, she punched Greenwood on his good shoulder, hoping to wake him up. "Alan," Alyssa growled, her voice furious. "Alan, get up!" Then, the weapons specialist redirected her attention to the front of the van. "You two want to tell me why we're stopping? This was supposed to be a straight shot from Capital City to the Nardian border." "Relax, lady," Mrs. Timmons sighed irritably, leaning into the back end once more. "Nothing to worry about. Just a small change of plans, that's all." "You call stopping mid trip a 'small change in plans'? Really?" Alyssa hissed, her eyes livid. "Because I was under the impression that we were only stopping along the highway in the event of an emergency. So where is the fucking emergency and is there anything I should be shooting?" "Calm yourself, Commander," Avery instructed. "You are far too jumpy for your own good." It was the first time Kara had heard him speak and she found his voice unusually deep for such a young man. "How did you..." Alyssa began, her tone incredulous, but it soon returned to a low growl. "Nevermind!" Alyssa spat, narrowing her eyes at Avery. "Just don't call me that. I don't like being patronized." But Alyssa's outburst only made Avery smirk, an odd glint lighting up in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Commander," the escort grinned, watching as Alyssa's face darkened. "It won't happen again." "Avery," Mrs. Timmons warned, glaring at him angrily. "Will you shut the fuck up already?" With that, she turned toward Alyssa, an apologetic smile on her lips. "Sorry about that. Kids these days, right? They're all assholes. Anyway, there's another checkpoint two miles down the road. We have a man under our employ there, who has been paid to wave us through. But there's a small problem." Mrs. Timmons carefully pulled out her smart phone and began flipping through a schedule of names, stopping at one and showing it to Alyssa. "You see this?" Mrs. Timmons asked, and Alyssa nodded. "Someone is on to the fact that we're out of the city and are paying off employees for safe passage. So, they've started shuffling the shifts of all the security guards in Isleydor, trying to slow us down. Our man was supposed to be on tonight, but he's been moved to an early morning shift, so we'll have to camp out." Begrudgingly, Alyssa nodded and crawled to the back of the van, opening it up with a sudden jerk and stepping outside to stretch her cramped muscles. Once finished, she placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the forest surrounding them, more analytic than anything else. "Alright, then," Alyssa began, looking back toward the van. "It's getting dark already. Who wants to help me scout out the area? And then we need to set up some tents, maybe get a fire going." "No problem," Kara replied, stepping out of the van and helping Greenwood to do the same. With a cast on his arm, getting about was still awkward. "I can put up the tents and get a fire going. I used to go camping a lot, as a kid. And then when I was on the run in the Middle River Forest..." But Kara sharply cut herself off, determined not to dwell anymore on the past. She was rummaging through the crates in the back end—looking for the appropriate supplies—when Ben came around from the front of the van, where he'd been helping with directions after Kara had fallen asleep. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 21 The Rebellious Slave Ch. 21 "Well, now," Lord Arlington chuckled, and Kara could feel the amusement in his voice stabbing at her dignity with the ferocity of a blade. Hanging her head in shame, she tried to block out his voice, but the authority of his tone commanded her attention. "You're so wet already, pet. And I've barely touched you. Do you know what?" And Lord Arlington smeared Kara's wetness along her lips, still clenched around a ball gag. "I think that secretly, in the darkest corners of your mind, you like being tied up and at my mercy." It was a ridiculous notion and Kara shook her head violently, denying every word. It wasn't true, not a single fucking word, and Kara moaned her protests into the gag. But Lord Arlington ignored her, releasing the bonds from around her ankles first and then her wrists. Immediately, Kara tried to bolt away—although in the darkness, finding an exit would be nearly impossible—but Lord Arlington pushed her roughly to the ground, pressing a boot firmly into the small of her back in order to prevent escape. Then, he was able to bend down and grab her by the hair, so that when he lifted his foot, it was easy enough to drag her to a corner of the room, the action making Kara's scalp burn. With that, Arlington sat down and draped a struggling Kara over his knees, forcing her arms behind her back and binding them firmly together. And although she kicked and fought, he was somehow able to spank her hard upon the ass, causing Kara to squeal out at the sudden pain. "By the end of this, I'll have you on your knees, begging me to take you," Lord Arlington threatened, raining several blows down upon Kara's ass and watching her struggle. God, the pain was horrible. Kara hadn't thought an open handed blow could elicit such a reaction in her, but it did. Each loud smack was followed by an intense sting, and then a dull ache that consumed her entire being. And to her horror, the ache seeped into her pussy and made it ache with desire. The realization terrified Kara, that she could actually want to be beaten and brutalized by this monster. The shame was killing her and Kara tried to wriggle away, to escape the torturous pleasure, but Arlington continued the onslaught. "Ah yes, you're enjoying this," Arlington laughed. "Good. I'll need that slave cunt all lubed up before I impale you on my cock and shoot my load into that pulsating, pink mess. Now, I am going to take out that gag and you are going to beg me to fuck you." True to his word, Arlington removed the gag, but Kara refused to give into his cruel mind games or her own desire. "Go fuck yourself, my lord!" Kara screamed, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and determination. "I will never, ever begged to be screwed by you!" "Is that so?" Lord Arlington laughed, and he reached between Kara's legs in order to pinch her clit. Kara inhaled sharply at that, but refused to give Arlington the satisfaction of a scream. And then to her utter horror, Kara felt him trace the crevice between her ass cheeks, all the way up from her bare cunt to her pink rosebud. "See, I am going to fuck one of these tight holes tonight," Arlington told Kara, his voice playfully dangerous. "Yet, I'm a generous enough master to let you choose. But, of course, I demand that you do so politely, as a proper slave should. Otherwise, I'll be choosing. And I don't think you'll like my choice..." Kara stiffened as Arlington ran his hands through the valley between her cheeks, pausing for a moment at her anus and playing carefully with the puckered skin. Kara got the threat and it definitely had an effect. If she had to be fucked, she'd rather not be ravaged from her back end. "Alright," Kara hissed, defeat polluting her voice. "Alright, my lord. Please, fuck my cunt." "It's a start," Lord Arlington acknowledged and he gave his girl an encouraging pat on her backside. "But you need to make me believe that you really want it. Right now, I'm just not convinced." There was sarcasm in his tone and it made Kara furious. "My lord, forgive me," Kara sneered. "But it's hard to be enthusiastic about your disgusting cock and faking that enthusiasm is harder than you'd think." "You're faking it?" Lord Arlington asked, and Kara could hear the grin in his voice. She didn't like that tone, predatory and playful all at once. "Well, I wouldn't want you to lie to me, pet," Arlington continued. "We can't have you feigning sincerity, can we now? But I think, with a push in the right direction, we can make your begging genuine." With that, Arlington pushed Kara onto the floor and straddled her waist, so that she was face down against the stone and unable to get up. Her ears straining for noise—for any indication of what was to come—Kara heard Arlington's belt buckle clink as it was undone, followed by the lowering of a zipper. Panicked, Kara tried to slink away, but Arlington grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto his cock. The size surprised her, filling her up with glorious, torturous pleasure. The sensation of Arlington's skin sliding along her own made Kara moan, but she knew she shouldn't want it and tried once more to get away. However, given that her arms were restrained, there was little Kara could do to resist her captor and she braced herself for a brutal fucking. Only Arlington didn't intend to fuck her just yet. He was just lubing himself up with her juices and was soon positioning his cock against her rosebud, building pressure against the tight sphincter and preparing to impale her. "No, my lord!" Kara cried, her voice laced with panic. "Please, not my ass!" "Your preference, pet? I'm still waiting." "My cunt, lord," Kara very nearly sobbed, her voice straining with the effort of remaining somewhat calm. "Please, fuck my...my slave cunt. Please, I'm begging you..." "I'm still not convinced, pet," Arlington sighed, gripping Kara's hips tightly and pressing himself firmly into her inexperienced ass. "You've got to express yourself better, if you want me to understand you." "Please, my lord!" Kara cried out, her body shaking with the humiliation of it all. "Please, don't do this! I beg you, fuck my pussy!" But still, Arlington pressed onward and as the head of his cock slipped into her pouty behind, the panic and ensuing pain made her sincere. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Kara screamed at the top of her lungs, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Lord Arlington! Please fuck my cunt! Pound it mercilessly! Cum into my slutty hole! Please!" With a grunt, Lord Arlington slid out of Kara's ass and slammed his cock into her sopping wet pussy, his fingernails digging into her hips. The forcefulness of his initial thrust made Kara scream out in agony and she realized then that she was totally powerless. Arlington was too strong and powerful for her, his massive form too weighty to escape and his grip too powerful to undo. Kara simply didn't have the heart to fight anymore and remained still, letting her lord fuck her however he wanted and sobbing quietly into the stone. With each thrust, Kara's breasts swayed against the ground and the pressure on her knees became more painful still, but she simply let the sensations happen, listening to her lord grunt above her. And then, something strange occurred. As Arlington continued to fuck Kara doggy style, the pain and fear she felt transformed into something delicious and exotic, a strange kind of anticipation that made her hunger for more. Somehow, being open to Lord Arlington and unable to stop him was arousing and though she wanted to fight it, Kara was soon moaning loudly, her pussy clenching the cock buried inside of her. Then she was meeting Arlington's thrusts, her core tightening slowly, but surely. "Spread you legs wider," Lord Arlington ordered, his voice hoarse with lust and an oncoming orgasm. "Wider still. That's it. Open yourself to me, pet." With her legs lewdly spread and her cunt speared by Arlington's shaft, Kara felt incredibly vulnerable and the helplessness she felt began to posses her mind, making her whimper and groan in needy anticipation. When Arlington responded by leaning forward and biting her back ferociously, Kara cried out and the warm pain turned to indescribable pleasure, moistening her up for yet a more brutal assault. The tiny nub between Kara's legs was swelling steadily now, the essence of her sex throbbing horribly and her inner woman tightening harder and harder and harder until Kara was sure she would shatter into a million pieces. And she wanted it, Kara realized. God she wanted it so fucking bad. And then, it was over in a flash of blackness. Suddenly, Kara's eyes snapped open and she found herself not in a dungeon, but sitting bolt upright in a sleeping bag, covered in sweat and gasping for air. In the darkness, Kara couldn't make out her surroundings and for a moment, was unsure of where she was. In Bremmington? Or Lord Arlington's Manor, perhaps? But then reality came back to Kara and she remembered that she was in a tent, camped out in Isleydor's countryside. Her heart beating widely, Kara willed herself to calm down, letting the world slowly return to her. It was still dark outside and the wind whipped at the sides of her canvas tent, making a horrible snapping noise. Then there were the crickets and frogs, noisily serenading the night away. The rape had only been a dream, Kara realized. And at first, that fact came as a tremendous relief, but it was short lived. With a groan, Kara parted her legs and saw that her pussy was creamy with dew. Even her thighs were sticky with cum. For the dream—as terrifying as it had been—had still aroused her, making her juice and swell in her sleep. God fucking dammit. "Traitor," Kara whispered down toward her pussy, her frustration getting the better of her. Reaching between her legs, Kara drew two fingers through her slit and lifted them toward her nose, the smell of her arousal strong and sweet. The former slave was thoroughly soaked and if she had been wearing underwear, Kara would have stained them. Clenching her teeth angrily, she glared at her treacherous sex once more. "Goddamn you," Kara groaned. "You stupid, fucking...cunt." Disgusted with herself, Kara carefully wiped the wetness away and made up her mind to go back to sleep. But after several minutes of wasted effort, Kara gave up. Her sex still throbbed with desire, making it nearly impossible to drift off into dreamland. All Kara really wanted was something to clench with her swollen pussy, something to pound against her g-spot and offer her release. Masturbation was always an option—Kara didn't have to share her tent with anyone—but all be damned if she was going to pleasure herself after having a sex dream about Lord Arlington. Fuck that idea, Kara thought. There was no fucking way. Kara's only real option was to take a short stroll around camp and cool off. Quickly pulling on her clothes, Kara stepped out of her tent and into the night. Immediately, she was hit with a blast of cold air and her cheeks began to grow numb. Burst after burst of autumn wind pelted her face and eyes and exposed arms, until the heat between Kara's legs finally began to die down. And with a triumphant smile on her face, Kara headed off into the darkness, searching for the fire they had built earlier that evening. It had been reduced to mere embers, but with some prodding and a little extra wood, Kara soon had it roaring to life once more. Then, sitting beside the fire, Kara allowed her mind to wander. One dream about Lord Arlington had been bad enough, but two? And what if there were other dreams Kara had experienced, but forgotten? Absentmindedly, Kara poked at the flames with the blunt end of a stick, watching tiny embers rise into the sky and contemplating her situation, as if from a far away place. With the crackling of the fire and the twisting of flame hypnotizing her, Kara was easily able to slip into her thoughts and become absorbed by them. There was no doubt in Kara's mind that being subjected to the drug Anterline was largely responsible for her lustful dreams. While training as a medic, Kara had spent three weeks on a psych ward in Gardok. Many addicts hooked on Anterline had been confined to the ward, but they never had cravings for the drug itself—which only lowered the threshold for experiencing pleasure, but did not elicit pleasure itself. Instead, addicts craved the "pusher pleasure" they used in conjunction with Anterline, usually chocolate or sex. And indeed, many addicts experienced withdrawal in the form of dreams. But it usually took five to seven doses of Anterline—administered over the span of a week or two—before a patient would be tortured by such withdrawal. Kara had only been subjected to a single dose of the drug and it bothered her that it was enough to cause the occasional sex dream. As much as she hated to admit it, Kara knew that there had to be more than one reason for her bizarre dreams. But what was the reason? Was it possible that, somehow, Kara wanted Arlington? It was an absurd notion and Kara wanted to ignore it, but felt compelled to explore all possibilities. If she wanted to escape her persistent sex dreams, Kara would have to be truthful with herself and couldn't afford to back out of an honest self-assessment. Was she, god forbid, physically attracted to Lord Arlington? It seemed possible, though repugnant. After all, if you ignored the fact that he was an asshole and a barbarian, Arlington was rather handsome. He was tall and muscular, showing off the chiseled form of a high end model. But what if, more horrifying still, a small part of Kara liked being powerless? After all, the most arousing aspects of her dreams seemed to involve a loss of control. On some subconscious level, was it possible that Kara had a kinky side to her, drawn out by Lord Arlington and the Anterline? No, it couldn't be, Kara thought, shivering in the autumn air. It just couldn't be. There was no way in hell. "Well, hello there," Ben greeted, stepping out of the darkness suddenly enough to make Kara jump. But the general only laughed, his tone jovial and boisterous. "No need to be so agitated," Ben chuckled, sitting beside Kara and warming himself by the fire. "I didn't mean to scare you. I tried waving, but you seemed so engrossed in your thoughts." "Well, I have a lot to think about," Kara shrugged and she added another hunk of wood to the fire, just to have something to do. Ben had interrupted her in the middle of some very troubling thoughts and she felt guilty, as if she'd just been caught doing something dirty. "After escaping from a madman and being on the run in a foreign country, a lot enters into your mind." For several minutes, there was silence, interrupted only by the crackling of wood and the chirping of lonely crickets. Wrenching her eyes away from the hypnotizing twist of flame, Kara watched as the smoke from their fire faded into the big, black sky. Here and there, stars peeked out from the vast expanse and twinkled merrily. Out in the countryside, the stars were so much more visible than they were in the city, where light pollution obscured their shine. It was another reason Kara preferred rural areas to urban ones. "So, what brings you out here in the middle of the night?" Ben inquired, drawing Kara out of her careful reverie. "I myself had a nightmare and couldn't get back to sleep. Just one of those nights, you know? I think the cold makes it worse." "Same here," Kara sighed, inching closer to the fire. "I awoke from a nightmare and thought a nice, quiet walk would do me some good, you know? Clear my head a little." Kara only gave Ben part of the truth, of course. In all honesty, her dream hadn't exactly been a "nightmare." Parts of it had been horrifying and the aftermath even more so, but Kara had rather enjoyed the experience while it was happening. "Anyway, I am excited to finally leave all this behind and get into Nardia," Kara added, trying to change the subject. "I think Avery said it would only be another day or two, at most. I've already decided that, first things first, I'm heading to a local pub, getting drunk, and dancing with strangers all night. Then I plan to find a nice, green hill and watch the sunrise. What about you?" "I intend to enlist in Nardia's military, if they'll let me," Ben replied causally, as if it were the most natural response in the world. "And if they're hesitant, I'll travel down to Scorce and try again." Kara frowned at him, a little more than slightly confused. "Really?" she asked, her eyebrows raised incredulously and her head cocked curiously to the side. "You mean to tell me that after all the shit we've been through together—enslavement, imprisonment, escape—that you intend to immediately jump back into the fray and start fighting?" With a very serious expression, Kara looked over at Ben and watched the flames dance in his eyes. "We lost, Ben," Kara told him, her tone unremitting. "Calihistra has been lost to Isleydor and that's all there is to it. Survivors like us need to move on, not dwell on the past." "I'm not dwelling on the past," Ben told her, and his eyes were very suddenly burning. Kara recognized that look from Bremmington, when the man had been in combat mode, splitting open heads and mortally wounding guards. Only seconds before Ben had been laughing, but now the man's eyes were hard and his lips had formed a thin, firm line. There was nothing even remotely lighthearted about his expression anymore and the sudden transformation frightened Kara. "This isn't over by a long shot," Ben continued. "Maybe Calihistra is captured, but Isleydor is clearly aiming for world conquest and I have no intention of letting them win. It wouldn't be right of me to convince thousands of people to sacrifice their lives for a cause I myself wasn't willing to see through to the end." "I'm so tired, Ben," Kara sighed. "I can see your point, but I'm ready to have my life back." "Do you know how the White Horse Rebel Alliance was founded?" Ben asked quietly, and Kara nodded. "I mean, my part in it? In becoming its founder and leader?" "Only the basics," Kara admitted. "Essentially, I was leading an army on the front lines when Calihistra's Primary Counselor's surrounded to the Four Lords," Ben began, and Kara picked up on a very slight hitch in his voice, a testament to his hidden rage. "And maybe if the counselors had given me a good reason for their surrender, I would have relented. But they sold out on us—on the men who had served and sacrificed for them—after being promised leadership positions in the "New Government" and, of course, all that entails. A government official in Isleydor is paid much better than one in Calihistra. An unbeatable deal, really. But I couldn't stand for that. I didn't intend to be the head of anything, but that's just how it turned out. It just sort of happened. My men were more loyal to me than they were to Calihistra's Primary Counselors and soon other military personnel were following my lead." "I joined the White Horse because of you," Kara admitted shyly. She had never intended to tell Ben that, but now the words just slipped from between her lips. "Your speeches were so encouraging, so confident and enigmatic. We lasted another two years because of you and your leadership." "But we still lost," Ben sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone contemplative. "Which means that the only difference between surrendering from the beginning and losing two years after the fact was more dead bodies." Kara looked toward Ben then, hearing the pain in his voice and sympathizing with him as a matter of reflex. But the man she saw wasn't broken or regretful. He was determined, a cold fire lighting up his eyes and making his skin glow in the firelight. When he was passionate like this, Kara thought that Ben looked a little taller and his firm muscles looked a little more intimidating. Like a lion, Kara thought, watching as Ben clenched and unclenched his fists, the knuckles white with effort. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 21 "My callousness forced us into a war we clearly couldn't win. Thousands of men died for a cause I supported out of a sense of moral duty, rather than the cold logic we, as soldiers, are trained to utilize. But I regret nothing," Ben told Kara, his voice a low and heady growl. "I made a choice, and then the men who followed me made the same choice. But their deaths and our loss is still on my head and it wouldn't be right to go on living without seeing this war through to the end. I started something and I intend to finish it, either as a soldier or as a general. I don't care which one. But I would never put my men through anything I wouldn't, myself, endure. Many fought to the death and I, too, will fight until Isleydor gives up on world conquest or else I die with my men." "You know, with the way you talk about war, I'm not surprised that your sleep has been tainted," Kara offered, unsure of what to say and needing to say something or else sit there gaping at Ben, like a bloody idiot. "I hear that lots of soldiers have nightmares regularly. Not that there's anything wrong with that." "Oh, I wasn't dreaming about the war. I rarely do. It's odd, really." "Well then, what got you riled up enough to take a stroll out here?" Kara asked, and Ben's face twisted into something ugly and sorrowful. It was a drastic enough change that Kara immediately knew she'd crossed some invisible line, though unknowingly. "I'm sorry," Kara cried, getting up and intending to go back to her tent. "I didn't mean to prod and poke about something so personal. I know I'm not comfortable talking about my issues and...Well, I'll just get going now." With that, Kara started a slow jog away from the fire, but Ben's voice stopped her in her tracks. "No, Kara, it's okay," Ben told her, defeat and a hint of resignation hitching in his voice. Kara could tell that he didn't wish to speak of his horrid nightmare, but something was compelling him to fight his instincts and open up to her. Kara knew that she should probably go back to sleep anyway, but was curious. "Sit down," Ben told Kara, and she did. "I guess I should get it out in the open anyway. They say it isn't healthy to keep secrets pent up like this. Does the name Judith Raynare ring a bell?" "The woman who bought you?" "Indeed," Ben chuckled darkly. "Indeed, she did. I'm not even sure why, exactly. Judith works as a weapons engineer and your typical conquest slave gets bought up by a war time opponent. That's why Arlington only made bids on slaves from the east side, which he was responsible for taking over. I expected Lord Dreymond, from the west side, to pick me up. But alas..." Ben's voice drifted off into oblivion and for several minutes, there was an eerie, unbroken silence. Even the crickets seemed to have quieted down, but Kara waited patiently, unwilling to push Ben. "It wasn't the pain that bothered me," Ben finally blurted, his face red. "It was the humiliation. God, the woman could be so cruel. But a few days into my captivity, I got free and found a gun. It's a long story, not worth repeating. Anyway, I didn't bother to worry about the tracking implant, I just wanted to get out. So in the dead of night, I crept through the manor looking for an unlocked door, an easy exit, a poorly secured window. Anything would do, really. It was an accident..." Ben stopped then, his voice choking up and his form deathly still. Then, with the flames from the fire reflected in his eyes, Ben whispered, "I shot a little girl." "I was panicked and it was dark," Ben hurriedly added, the words tumbling from his mouth in rapid, chaotic succession. "Judith hired a security guard to roam the Raynare Mansion at night and I didn't want to bump into him. And Judith breeds dogs, too. Big terrible things. Dobermans, I think. And anyway, I walk into the kitchen and see something move out of the corner of my eye. I didn't stop to think about it, I just shot." "I didn't know it was a child," Ben groaned, turning his eyes downward and staring into the dirt. Kara could tell from the anxiety in his tone that he was telling the truth and was distraught by the mistake. "I didn't even know Judith had children, let alone school age. And you'd think the height would have tipped me off, but she had tiptoed downstairs to get a glass of water and was standing on a stool so that...oh, god...so that she could reach the sink. She looked just like Judith, same hair color and everything. When the light from a window caught in her eyes and they were the same dark red, I just fucking fired. And then this tiny body falls onto the floor and her cup breaks. There's blood and water everywhere. And in front of me is this tiny person with dead eyes, still in her pink princess pajamas." "I should have made a run for it. I know that now, but at the time, it didn't feel right. Who shoots a small child and runs off? It's fucking cowardly, that's what. And the gun didn't have a silencer, so chaos ensues. I felt bad for the husband worst of all. I didn't even know she was married; I never saw the man before. Anyway, he's crying and screaming at Judith, telling her, 'You can't keep dangerous pets in the house when there are small children running about. No tarantulas, no anacondas, and no war time generals.' Just like that, and I'm trying to apologize. I'm on my knees, begging. Telling Judith, over and over again, 'I'm sorry, I thought it was you, Mistress. I swear to god, I thought it was you...' And you know what they do to dangerous pets, don't you? They get sent to the pound. Which is how I ended up in Bremmington." "But anyway," Ben finished, hurriedly getting to his feet and straightening his shirt. "I think that's enough sharing for tonight. Pleasant dreams, I hope." And with that, Ben was off, rapidly disappearing into the night. "It's not your fault, you know," Kara told him, and Ben stopped. She couldn't imagine the pain such an incident must have caused Ben and she couldn't let him leave without reassurance or sympathy. Kara needed him to know, at the very least, that she didn't blame him. "Things happen during wartime," Kara continued, her voice kind. "You made an honest mistake while trying to escape enslavement. Don't beat yourself up about it. There's no reason to feel guilt." "Now see, that's where you're wrong," Ben told Kara, his voice oddly contemplative. "Guilt is my lifeline. It saves me from the kind of monster I could become if I stopped feeling bad about shooting little girls, accident or not." With a shrug, Ben turned back toward Kara and smiled warmly. "I suppose it's irrational to feel guilty for a simple, easily justified mistake. But it's our irrationality that makes us human. It makes us fall in love with people we should hate, and sacrifice ourselves for causes we can't win, and strive for goals we cannot reach. It is what makes us beautiful. But anyway, there I go again, babbling. Good night, Kara Chrystein." And with that, Ben was gone. It was a good hour that Kara sat in the darkness, contemplating Ben's words. When she finally stood to her feet, she had no idea what she was doing or why. But Kara didn't care. There was something about Ben's words—whispered into the evening sky—that enthralled her and she needed to experience more. Hunching her shoulders against the cold, Kara marched across their campsite to Ben's tent and tentatively peeked inside. The general wasn't asleep and sat huddled in a corner, wrapped up in a blanket and pouring over a small book. When he saw Kara, he only smirked at her. "Well, now. What do we have here?" Ben grinned, turning down a page in his book to save his place and setting it aside. "I would never have taken you for a hypocrite. You seem to be a woman who means what she says." "Excuse me?" "Why, just this morning, didn't you tell me that 'no one who pities me is a friend'? And now here you are, because I told you my sob story?" Ben shook his head, tsking humorously at Kara and leaning against the side of his tent. "You know, I don't like being pitied much either." "It's not that," Kara told him, averting her eyes toward the floor. What the hell did she think she was doing? Why was she here? Kara didn't know, but decided to just go with the flow for once and trust her feelings. "I don't pity you," Kara whispered. "Really, I meant no offense." "Is that so?" "It's just that you're, I don't know..." Kara whispered, and a crimson blush rose in her cheeks. "I mean, you kill people for a living, but you have a conscience. I don't know a lot of men like that. Your protective nature creeps me out a little, but I also kind of like it and I think that's just you. You care about the people around you. And can I...I was wondering if...I could sleep in here, with you tonight?" Then, as Ben grinned widely at her, Kara quickly covered her mouth, blushing even more furiously. "I don't mean 'sleep with you' as in 'have sex with you.' Not that you aren't attractive, but since we're both having nightmares, I thought that—" Ben pulled Kara down toward him and she squealed in surprise, almost pulling away from him out of pure instinct. But when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her toward him, she relaxed. His muscled arms made her feel safe and secure, like a kitten curled against its owner's chest. God, he was so much bigger than her. It was like being a lamb beside a lion, which could snap her in two at any moment. Gently, Ben laid a blanket over them both and pressed Kara into him, until they were spooning comfortably. There were no more words after that, but Kara felt soothed by the massive man's rhythmic breathing and the rise and fall of his chest. Soon, she was able to drift off to sleep, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. The next day, Kara awoke early, but apparently not early enough. Ben was already up and about, packing for the day's journey. He must have been extremely careful when slipping away from Kara that morning. The pair had been tangled together like two wind blown ribbons and escaping Kara's grasp without waking her couldn't have been an easy task. She was grateful for the effort, though. The extra minutes of rest had done much to rejuvenate Kara and refresh her mind. And with a loud, obnoxious yawn, she stretched out her sore limbs and went outside to help with the packing and travel preparations. From there, Kara and her companions returned to the van and got through their second security checkpoint just fine, imitating the technique used back in the city and hiding under a black tarp. Moments later, the fugitives were back on the open road and Kara was able to breath a sigh of relief. For the remainder of the trip, she spent much of her time staring out of the window and admiring the autumn colors or day dreaming about the future, of beer and fried food and local bands that played far too loudly. But when Kara tired of her fantasies, she would play word games with her companions or chit-chat idly, mostly about the progressively colder weather. There were dark, foreboding thoughts plaguing them all, but no one was insensitive enough to bring them up. The sun had just begun to set—painting the sky in streaks of red and yellow—when Kara saw a third checkpoint come into view and Mrs. Timmons leaned into the back end excitedly. "This is it," Mrs. Timmons grinned, gesturing ahead of them. "This is the final security checkpoint and then we're a mere two miles from the border." With a little smile on her lips, Mrs. Timmons turned back to face the windshield. "Not a bad checkpoint, either. A few guards and a dog. No big deal. You guys know the drill by now." Kara leaned into the front end of the vehicle to get a better view and shivered. There weren't nearly as many guards out here—running a checkpoint in a rural region, surrounded by farming villages—as there had been in the city. Still, it was an intimidating sight. There were three kiosks and three adjacent, metallic gates blocking the road in the distance. Already, a few cars were lined up behind one gate, which would only be opened upon the completion of a vehicle inspection. Inside each kiosk, security guards sat and waited, but a few disgruntled figures with rifles were wandering the road up ahead, preparing to shoot at anyone who tried to run through the gate. Not daring to hope until she had crossed the border, Kara swallowed hard and hid under the tarp once more with her fellow runaways. Then below her, Kara could feel the van begin to inch forward as Avery drove them into line. "Oh, shit," Mrs. Timmons suddenly groaned and in the darkness under the tarp, Kara could feel her heart start to race. The escort's tone was fearful and apprehensive. Something wasn't right, and yet the four of them were so close. "Guys, get out from under the tarp. I'm going to need your help with something." Immediately, both Alyssa and Ben jumped up and were withdrawing their pistols. Kara hoped they wouldn't be necessary and that Mr. Cross' escorts would say so, but they didn't. "Our guy isn't here," Mrs. Timmons told them, her tone very matter-of-fact, betraying only a hint of tension. "I don't know what happened, but he isn't here. When it's our turn, we're going to have to run the gate. But the border is only two miles down the road. We should be able to make it." "Why do we have to run through the gate?" Kara choked, looking forward and at the guards surrounding them, black tinting the only barrier between their prying eyes and Kara's exposed body. "That thing looks really sturdy. Can't we just, I don't know, find away around this? Without having to go through anymore checkpoints?" Mrs. Timmons shook her head. "Sorry sweetheart, all roads leading out of Isleydor are guarded by checkpoints. They are unavoidable. And besides, we've got people in front of us and behind us." Starting to feel nauseous, Kara looked around and saw that Mrs. Timmons was right. There was a car in front of and behind their van, with guards on either side. "We're trapped in line," Mrs. Timmons finished. "But those gates aren't as heavy duty as they look. We'll be able to punch through. Pull up one of the compartments in the back. We've got a few guns stashed away." Immediately, Ben was wrenching the compartment open and browsing through the weaponry, handing various pieces of equipment to Greenwood and Alyssa. When he silently held out a pistol for Kara, she took it and tried to get comfortable holding the thing, but she was still clumsy with a gun. Meanwhile, Ben was rearranging the contents of the hidden compartment, making sure that ammo was easily accessible and that several extra weapons were on standby. With that, the four companions got low to the floor and under the windows, where they would be safest from gun fire. Kara lay across from Ben, clutching her weapon to her chest and trying to think through all the possible "what ifs" and potential life threatening scenarios, preparing her mind for the worst. And although he was busy peering up through the windows and readying himself for a road chase, Ben smiled reassuringly in her direction. "It's just a two mile chase," Ben soothed, reaching out and patting Kara's arm. "We can make that, easily. Just...Well, if we get separated somehow, shoot like mad." Inch by inch, their van approached the security checkpoint and the accompanying gate, which was blocking the road. Carefully peering out of a window, Kara watched as the car ahead of them was waved through the gate and a guard motioned for Avery to move forward, then come to a halt. But the escort had no intention of stopping. As soon as the car ahead of him had cleared the gate, Avery hit the gas, trying to get through before it had fully closed. Kara wasn't able to watch the entire scene unfold, however. Grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, Ben yanked Kara back toward the van floor just as the guards surrounding them opened fire. There was a horrible, pelting sound as metal hit metal and several windows were shattered by the onslaught of bullets, causing glass to rain down around Kara. With the screeching of tires ringing in her ears, Kara could feel the forward thrust of the van as it ran through the gate, dislodging it from its hinges such that the entire vehicle shook with the force of impact. All around Kara, there was chaos, a backdrop of sirens and gunfire making it all the more frightening. Mrs. Timmons was cursing at Avery as they raced down the road, shouting instructions to him before pointing and firing at their enemies, like a woman obsessed. Ben and Alyssa were also on the attack: leaning out of broken windows, aiming at their pursuers with heavy duty rifles, and reloading often. The noise and smoke and commotion made Kara's stomach sink more deeply into her gut, twisting and turning sickeningly. When she dared to look into the rear view mirror, Kara saw that there were two police cars following them and two guards on motorcycles. It wasn't much, but the whining of their sirens and the screeching of tires on asphalt made Kara's heart skip. Looking down at her gun with determination etched on face, Kara made up her mind to help with the shooting—as bad as she was with a gun—when she noticed that Greenwood wasn't doing his usual, badass sharp shooting. Instead, he was clutching his side and there was blood. Her heart quickening still further—if that were even possible—Kara crawled toward Greenwood, little pieces of glass embedding themselves in her knees. When she reached the double, Kara forced him to remove his hand from his side so that she could inspect the wound. "Is it bad?" Greenwood asked worriedly, as gun shots rang out from both sides. "It doesn't hurt too terribly, but I've been told that's a bad sign." With fear in his eyes, Greenwood examined his hands, colored red from the recent wound. "No, thank god," Kara replied, as she looked over the injury. There was blood, certainly, but not enough to account for a severe bullet wound. "It's just a bullet fragment, not very deep," Kara told him, taking off her shirt and hurriedly ripping it into several strands. We just need to keep pressure on it for a little while, until—" With a loud screech, the van came to a sudden halt and Kara was jerked violently against the van wall. With a loud crash, her head hit metal, disorienting her temporarily. But once the spinning in her mind and the ringing in her ears had ceased, the fear set in. Oh god, why had they stopped? Bile rising in her throat, Kara looked up from her handy work and saw that only one police car had been dealt with. As the fugitives stood stationary, a second police vehicle and two motorcycles came speeding toward them, heavily armed and ready for action. Kara was just about to jump into the front seat and see what was wrong when Ben grabbed her hand, opened up the back end, and pulled her onto the highway with him, largely deserted. "What are you doing!" Kara cried, wrenching herself free of Ben's grasp. "We're sitting ducks out here!" Forcefully, Kara tried to push herself back into the van, but saw that both Alyssa and Greenwood were exiting onto the pavement. "Ben," Kara whispered. "What's going on?" "The tires are shot," Ben replied solemnly. "We'll have to huff it on foot." Quickly, Kara whipped her head around and saw before her an impossibly tall wall, which stretched off into the distance on both her left and right sides. It was, maybe, a full football field's distance away and right in the middle of her line of view, Kara could see a metal gate disturbing the continuity of the wall's appearance. God, they were so close! The Nardian border was within walking distance! As if anticipating the fugitives' arrival, the Nardian Border Patrol—dressed in blue uniforms, the symbol of the hawk emblazoned on their vests—opened the gate and waved anxiously toward the four companions, offering them asylum. But not a single one dared to enter Isleydor's territory, at the risk of violating international law. Behind them, Kara could make out an ambulance and swallowed hard. The patrol suspected that, even if Kara and her friends did make it, they would enter Nardia with severe enough injuries to warrant a trip to the hospital. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 21 "We'll never make it," Kara whispered. The reality hit her hard and she could feel tears start to form in the corners of her eyes. The border was absolutely beautiful—bathed in golden light from the setting sun—but they would never make it past the gate. "We can't outrun a police car and two motorcycles." "Don't think like that," Ben told Kara, and it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. Grabbing Kara's arm, Ben turned her to face him and stared very seriously into her eyes. "We're going to make a fucking run for it and not a single one of us is going to look back." With that, Ben let go of Kara and pushed her forward down the road. There was something about Ben's tone that made Kara want to follow him. That tone held no room for argument and the confidence it projected was enough to give Kara hope, in spite of their impossible goal. When Kara was pushed forward, she decided to put her whole heart and soul into reaching the border and ran furiously, the wind whipping back her hair and the sound of sirens deafening. Trying to stay calm, Kara focused her attention on the border up ahead and blocked out everything else. She envisioned herself in a tunnel and at its end stood the gateway into Nardia. Nothing else mattered. Then, quite suddenly, Kara could hear the whirring of a motorcycle come up beside her and whipped around to shoot out at the noise. With an audible crash, the motorcycle fell onto its side and flew forward a few feet, its rider bleeding profusely and lying on the ground, immobile. ****** "My lord?" Grumbling to himself, Lord Arlington looked up toward the noise and saw a young man in the doorway to his Statehouse Office, dressed in the dark green uniform of a runner. He was fidgeting nervously, as if Arlington might spring up and bite him at any moment. Not that his fear was entirely unfounded. Arlington was in a bad mood and had been ever since intelligence had reported back to him and declared that his fugitives had, most likely, left the city. He'd been barking orders incessantly since then, trying to shuffle around checkpoint personnel to slow his prey down. But he wasn't nice about it and the pain in his knee made his wrath and uncouth behavior all the more pronounced. Anyone unlucky enough to catch him at a bad moment was reprimanded mercilessly. "May I help you, boy?" Arlington hissed, setting down his coffee mug and glowering at the poor lad. He'd just finished prepping for negotiations with Nardia, planned for latter that week. Isleydor had completed Phase I of their projected takeover—the initial bombing of several dozen farming villages—and it was time to move on to Phase II. Quite honestly, Arlington was tired and wanted to go home as soon as possible. "I was just about ready to leave and get some much needed rest, so this had damn well better be important." "My lord," the boy began, swallowing hard. "The fugitives have been found." Lord Arlington almost choked on his coffee. He turned slowly toward the runner, a horrible grin darkening his face and enhanced by the dark circles under his eyes, brought on by lack of sleep. "Are you sure about that, boy?" Lord Arlington asked, enunciating each word. Before he got his hopes up, Arlington wanted to be certain of the news. "We have them in custody or we just picked up on a lead?" "My lord, I've been told that they're less than a mile from the border and making a run for it as we speak." "You have got to be fucking kidding me! Less than a mile!" With a snarl twisting his face, Arlington slammed his coffee mug on his desktop, so that the poor young man before him jumped. Quickly, his lordship stood to his feet and grabbed at his crutches, pushing the runner aside and rushing out the doorway without even bothering to put on his cloak. "Boy, run ahead and get the surveillance set up in the conference room," Lord Arlington ordered, and the boy nodded. "I want the responsible police force captain on the phone when I get there and the personnel on this case waiting for me. But first things first, call in a backup squad to help our friends out at the border." As the boy disappeared, Arlington picked up the pace and proceeded down the hallway, being greeted by graceful bows and curt nods as he went. The florescent lighting above him buzzed irritably and made his rage all the more potent. The fugitives should not have been allowed to get so close to the border and Arlington intended to have the responsible party's head served to him on a platter. All be damned if after all the humiliation he'd suffered at the fugitives' hands, he was going to lose them a few feet from the goddamned border. As Arlington burst into the conference room, he was handed a phone and gracefully took a seat in front of the surveillance monitor. The video footage of the fugitives' attempted escape was streaming live and although there was no color, the visuals and audio seemed to be doing just fine. The runaways' vehicle had been incapacitated—thank god—and they were attempting to reach their destination on foot. Arlington heaved a sigh of relief. There was no way those four rats would be able to out run armed vehicles. In fact, just as Arlington put the receiver of the phone to his ear, he watched as a motorcycle raced up on Kara from behind. But to his surprise, she spun around and shot at her attacker. She didn't miss, either. A pleased grin wormed its way onto Arlington's face then and he caught himself admiring the way Kara held a gun, unsure but determined never-the-less. Although he intended to possess and then crush Kara into submission, a part of him was proud of her quick thinking. Such a dangerous, adorable little slave. Not that Arlington would ever be able to tell her that, at least not until she'd been fully broken. "Good evening, Captain," Arlington drawled into the phone, watching the battle before him with idle amusement. Greenwood had tripped and fallen, forcing Alyssa to pause a moment and help him up. "I see that you have quite the little battle on your hands, haven't you?" "They ran th' gate, me lordship!" Captain Haggart replied, his voice heady with excitement and his breathing heavy. It caused static to ripple in Arlington's ear and he moved the receiver away from him, disgusted. "Tis' such an honor, me lordship! To be talking wit'ch you and all!" "You don't get paid to flatter me, Captain," Arlington growled. "I want a status update." "Of course, me lord," Captain Haggart replied, a little more than slightly dejected. "Of course. We gots tem on de runs. I don't tink dere'll be any problems." There was a static filled pause then, and a deep intake of breath. "Me lord?" Captain Haggart whispered, his voice tense. "Yes?" "Dere's a two million dollar reward still, right?" "Of course, Captain," Arlington chuckled, listening to the excited squealing on the other end of the line. God, it was just too easy, motivating men to do his bidding. "But there are some minor requirements," Arlington continued, and he could tell that the Captain was listening closely. "I don't want a single scratch on the brown haired girl, do you understand? I don't mind if you need to incapacitate the others—as long as I get them alive—but shoot my girl, and there will be hell to pay." "Yes, sir! Of course, sir!" Just then, something on the monitor caught Arlington's eye and he paused mid-conversation. Karrington had raced toward Kara's side and was rushing her toward the downed motorcycle. As he tried to get it in working order—heaving it upright and fiddling with the controls—Arlington saw the boy give his girl an order. Pointing to the ground, Karrington was very clearly instructing Kara to hide behind himself and the downed cycle, outside of the line of fire. And without any hesitation, she did as she was told. Arlington could feel himself flush with rage and his eyes darkened, so much so that everyone else in the room could feel the tension in the air. Tentatively, Arlington rubbed his injured knee, still seething "And Captain?" Arlington inquired, a very slight hitch in his voice. "Yes, me lord?" "A bonus for the man who blows out the blond punk's knee caps," Arlington drawled, glaring into the screen before him. "So make sure that medical staff are on standby when backup arrives. We wouldn't want the poor boy bleeding to death. Not until I've had a chance at him, anyway." ****** "Does it still work?" Kara asked, watching as Ben upturned the abandoned motorcycle and attempted to start it back up. But as the engine roared to life, Kara knew her question had been answered. Ben hopped aboard and motioned for Kara to follow suit, not that she needed any instruction. Soon, she was propped up between Ben and the handlebars, shielded from view. Oddly enough, the shooting had largely died down after their van had been made useless. Which meant that Arlington must want them all alive, Kara thought, the realization making her sick. "Go, Ben! Go!" Kara screamed, and off they rode. "I'll drop you off at the border first!" Ben called loudly, the wind whipping his words away into oblivion and his blond locks tangling amongst one another. They were fast approaching the front gate, mere feet separating them from their pursuers. "Then, I'll go back for Alyssa!" "And Greenwood?" "Greenwood goes last, but I'll get him if I have time." Kara was about to object when, almost out of nowhere, a series of several assault vehicles took to the road in front of them and blocked their path. Arlington must have called for backup because, suddenly, there were dozens of guns pointed in their direction and Ben brought their motorcycle to a screeching halt. It was then that Kara noticed something odd about their situation. Although they were surrounded, not a single gun was pointed at Kara. They were all trained on Ben and somehow, Kara knew that Arlington was watching somewhere. He was probably sipping wine comfortably in front of some surveillance monitor, joking with his coworkers about what he planned to do with her later that night. Well, Arlington could do what he wanted with her, but she wouldn't allow him to hurt her companions. Carefully, Kara stepped off of the motorcycle and situated herself between Ben and the sinister weapons aimed at him. "Kara!" Ben hissed quietly, his voice earnest. "What are you doing?" "Trust me on this one, Ben," Kara replied, stretching her arms as wide as she could, in order to block her comrade completely from view. "Arlington won't risk my getting shot. If I die, then he never gets the chance to break me, which means he loses." An odd smile colored Kara's face then and made her eyes sinister. "And if there is one thing I know about that son-of-a-bitch, it's that he's a sore loser." The armed guards were descending from their vehicles now, inching closer to Kara and Ben. Already, Kara knew that Greenwood and Alyssa had been caught, for she could hear the weapons specialist cursing profusely and her lover trying in earnest to calm her down. But Kara had no eyes for them and instead stared at the oncoming policemen, her glare unwavering. There was nothing left to do except allow herself to be arrested and try to stay calm. With a deep sigh, Kara looked up into the sky and marveled at the beautiful mixture of colors, trying to burn them into her memory. She would need a comforting sight to keep her company in whatever dark hole where Arlington decided to keep her. And then suddenly, there was a deafening explosion. Kara's ears rang loudly and she could feel ferocious heat on her face, right before the resulting reverberations threw her to the ground. Commotion ensued and more gunfire, but Kara was too dazed to realize what was going on or why she had been thrown. ****** "Where the hell did they come from?" Arlington screamed, furiously turning toward the staff assigned to the missing fugitives' case. But all he got in return was a sea of blank, nervous faces. The useless fools had no idea what was going on either and his lordship turned back to the monitor. "Are they even from Nardia?" Arlington growled, more to himself than anyone else. "Because if they are, this is going to cost them during negotiations." Before him, Arlington watched as two pick-up trucks burst through the treeline, just as Karrington and Kara had been surrounded. It was almost as if the vehicles had been sitting there in the forest all day, watching and waiting for the fugitives' arrival and ready to offer a helping hand if it was needed. The surrounding vegetation was on fire, set alight by some bombs that had been planted along the roadside in advance and detonated from afar. Arlington's backup police force had been hit hard and several scorched bodies lined the roadway, smoke drifting up into the darkening sky and blocking out the stars of twilight. In the resulting chaos, Arlington's men desperately tried to gather up their wounded and several incapacitated victims lay in the street, clutching their ears and wounded limbs. With all of the screaming and shouting and gunfire, it was easy enough for the pick-up trucks to drive into the fray. Before they had even come to a stop, a number of armored men emerged from each one, firing into Arlington's forces with an impressive array of weaponry. They moved like a unit, professional and coordinated. They had to be military of some sort, but whose? And why oppose Arlington's forces for a washed up bunch of fugitives? It made no sense and Arlington grit his teeth as he watched the scene before him unfold. Slowly, the mysterious soldiers progressed forward, dodging behind debris and making their way toward the fugitives. As Arlington looked on, he noticed that Kara was starting to stir, having been thrown to the ground after the first explosion. She seemed to be okay and was soon heading for cover, although her feet were unsteady. But before she made it to a smoldering heap of debris, Kara collapsed, clutching her side as if she had been shot. Furious, Arlington searched the surveillance for the offender, one of his own men. The skinny creature still had a rifle pointed in his girl's direction, as if about to shoot once more. "Captain," Arlington hissed into his phone, and he could hear the man on the other end of the line gulp. "Put that man in the front. The one to the far left, beside the initial detonation point." "But sir, Charlie's a sniper," Captain Haggart protested, his voice distressed. "He isn't trained for, you knows, close quarters combat." There was static and shouts in the background, then the Captain's voice returned. "He be useless ta' you at close range wid the enemy, me lord." "Oh, I don't intend to use him as a soldier," Arlington drawled, tapping his fingers anxiously on his arm rest and watching worriedly as Kara inspected her wound. It didn't look serious—perhaps a mere scrape from a bullet that had passed by the skin without puncturing it—but Arlington was still worried. "He's already shown me he can't follow orders, so he's useless for combat," the angry lord continued. "No, I intend to use him as an example. Now, do as I've instructed and put him out front." The man didn't last long, of course. Within seconds, he was gunned down by Kara's mysterious rescuers and from then on in, no one dared aim a gun in his girl's direction. Still, the mysterious soldiers were moving forward at an alarming rate. Already, Greenwood and Alyssa had been freed. Ben had been given a gun too, and all three of them were fighting their way toward the Nardian border. And that's when Arlington spotted a man he recognized and it all became clear. He was an older man, but incredibly bulky, with a wispy white beard and a nearly bald head. But it was the intense, brown eyes that really tipped Arlington off. Normally, Arlington would have been ecstatic. He had been after the man for months, none too successfully. God, of all days, why did the miserable creature have to show his face now? "Goddamn it!" Arlington screamed. "Querren!" ******* "Come on now, get up!" Kara groaned miserably, her ears still ringing and her side burning painfully. The voice sounded familiar, but with all of the smoke and fire, it was impossible to see who it was. It wasn't Ben, Kara realized, although the individual was rather muscular and had a similarly deep voice. And he looked dangerous, wrapped up in expensive armor and hoisting a gun over his shoulder. Kara was unable to resist as the man bent down and began looking over her wound, checking the extent of the damage. "It's just a shallow wound, sweetheart. A bullet fragment, so no need to fret. Get up for me." As her mind began to refocus and her eyes cleared, Kara was finally able to make out the stranger's face and very nearly stopped breathing. It was impossible and yet, Kara's eyes would not deceive her. "Oh god," Kara groaned, tears forming in her eyes. Despite the gunfire and destruction all around, she reached up her arms and embraced the man warmly. "Uncle Florence, thank god. I was so worried. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to betray you. It was an accident. I was tricked..." The pain in her side and the chaos was making her woozy. It was hard to breath with all the smoke. "I'm so sorry..." "Come on, we have to go!" Kara heard Ben scream, and she felt herself being gently lifted to her feet. "Tamius' guys have made a clear path to the border, let's go!" And they ran. Kara wasn't sure how she managed it, but she did. Kara ran and ran and ran, until the she was past the gate and fell into the arms of the border patrol. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 22 Author's Note: Thanks for your patience, fabulous readers. This particular chapter gave me a really, really hard time, but here it is! Hopefully, the next chapter won't give me so much trouble, but we'll see. In the meantime, enjoy, and please feel free to leave comments, ratings, and suggestions. You know I love the stuff. Oh, and also, a special shout out to Inspector123. You'll see why. ;) HisPet21 * Kara relaxed back into her seat with a sigh of contentment and allowed her eyes to roam, soaking in the lighthearted atmosphere of "The Moldy Bucket: Inn and Tavern." She had chosen a large, wooden table in a far corner of the main dining hall, the better with which to survey her environment. Surrounded by so much laughter and music, it was hard to believe that her dark past existed and for a moment, Kara could almost believe the entire ordeal was a dream. Brightly colored, mismatched cloths decorated every table, gorgeously painted nature scenes lined the walls, and the wooden floors shook with a cacophony of dancing feet. But Kara was most entranced by an enormous fireplace taking up the wall directly opposite. Orange and red flame twisted fretfully around splintering wood, filling the air with the scent of apple wood. Then, there were roughly a dozen small, crystal chandeliers distributed around the room, reflecting its warm light into every shadowed nook and cranny. Near the bar, a band of youngsters had set up and were playing loud, obnoxious music. Kara laughed as the lead singer swayed his long hair to the beat, bawling out incomprehensible lyrics. Well, except for the occasional curse word, Kara thought with a grin. Everywhere, there was chatter and blinding cigarette smoke and drunkards on unsteady feet. It was hard not to get wrapped up in the happy noise, to be swept away into an oblivion of sensation. Outside, heavy rain fell in torrents, its droplets pelting against the roof and creating a rhythmic sound that was almost hypnotic. Occasionally, a flash of lightning would illuminate the darkened streets just beyond the bar's foggy window panes, so that and Kara could make out horse drawn carriages as they stomped through the mud and children splashing around in puddles, only to be herded indoors by their vigilant mothers. Kara herself was still drying off from the downpour, her hands wrapped around an earthen mug of something hot and soothing. When she'd asked the bartender for a recommendation, he had brought her this and although she didn't recognize the drink, she liked it. It resembled coffee—although it was a little sweeter—and from its warming effects, Kara could tell it contained alcohol, even if she couldn't smell the stuff. With an eager gulp, Kara finished off the rest of her drink and trembled pleasurably as the warm liquid coiled through her, making her entire body tingle and then relax in waves. When she finally looked up from her empty cup, Kara saw that both Uncle Florence and Ben had finally come in from the violence of the storm. They were apparently in the middle of some lighthearted conversation, laughing loudly and slapping each other on the back. Both men were an absolute mess, with their hair windblown, their boots flecked with mud, and their clothes soaked through, but neither seemed to mind. Tossing their cloaks to the nearest doorman, they soon spotted Kara and began the difficult task of dodging dancing couples and drunken patrons on their way to her table. It took a moment for Kara to notice, but as Ben approached her, the smile on his face seemed to widen and his eyes became mischievous. It was a contagious expression and soon, Kara could feel a similar smile spreading across her face and her heart fluttering ever so slightly. Maybe it was the smokey room, or the alcohol, or their last evening together, but Kara was growing rather fond of Ben. "Wow," Ben gasped, stepping back a little in shock as soon as he'd reached Kara's table. His eyes eagerly traced her body, starting at the brown hair framing her delicate face and ending at the curve of her hips, seated comfortably in their chair. It was the first time Ben had seen Kara in something besides baggy clothes or a prison uniform and she was pleased with the reaction. The tavern owner's wife had generously lent Kara some old clothes, among them a short red dress, a pair of fishnet stockings, and some black heels. For the first time in a while, Kara felt beautiful. "You look absolutely amazing," Ben continued, confirming her own thoughts and gaping stupidly at her. "I mean it, too. You're stunning." "You, on the other hand, are an absolute mess!" Kara laughed, gently punching Ben's arm and desperately trying to hide the blush rising in her cheeks. But it would do no good to be rude and Kara patted the seat beside her invitingly, then motioned for a nearby bartender to approach. "Anyway, what kept you two so long?" Kara asked, turning toward Uncle Florence in an attempt to change the subject. "I've been waiting here for over an hour!" "That escort of yours—Mrs. Timmons—took off," Uncle Florence replied, sitting across from Kara with a grunt and leaning back into his seat. Pulling a silver cigarette case from his left pocket, he lit one up and began to casually breath in the smoke, his eyes intense. "We looked all over for her—in the nearby woods, the town, every inn within a few miles—but she's gone for good and she took all of your supplies with her." "Don't we need those supplies?" Kara asked, looking up at Ben anxiously. But as soon as she recognized the tension in her voice, Kara made a conscious effort to relax and clear her mind of evil thoughts. It would do no good to adopt the mindset of a hunted animal, now that Kara was safely behind Nardia's walls. "I just don't understand why Mrs. Timmons would fly the coop, especially in her injured state," Kara explained, forcing her voice to remain level. "Why would she leave so suddenly, without telling anyone?" "Honestly, we don't know," Ben replied with a shrug, before sitting beside Kara and wrapping an arm around her waist. His very presence was reassuring and Kara instantly leaned into him, unable to help herself. It was a subconscious impulse, but even when Kara realized this, she couldn't pull away. The confidence Ben projected—the security his gesture promised—seemed to ease Kara's fears and she liked feeling safe for once. "It's really the lack of reasoning that bothers me most," Ben continued, absentmindedly running his hand down Kara's side and stroking her hips with his fingers. Kara could feel the soft fabric of her dress as it pressed into her skin, soft and sensual. "Mrs. Timmons wouldn't have fled with a broken arm and bruised ribs unless she were afraid of something," Ben mused aloud, staring off into the fireplace across the room. "Then, of course, we have no idea what happened to Avery. From the beginning, I've felt that there was something off about those two and maybe I should have been more adamant about it. They've been hiding something from us. When you've commanded as many men as I have, you learn to read faces pretty well..." Suddenly, Kara stiffened against Ben's ministrations and pulled away, hissing in pain. It wasn't difficult to take the hint and he immediately withdrew his arm, allowing Kara to have some space. "I'm fine," she insisted, for Ben's eyes were rife with concern and his lips had formed a thin, firm line. "I promise, I'm okay. You just accidentally brushed up against my bandaged wound and it's still a bit sore. But trust me, I've had much worse." Something in Ben's eyes changed then, suddenly enough to make the transformation frightening. While Ben's eyes had once been concerned, now they began to darken and become sinister, until there was only anger left. "Worse?" Ben hissed, and he pulled Kara onto his lap, holding her tight. "You mean by Arlington's doing, don't you? I swear to god, when I get my hands on that abusive, twisted lunatic, I am going to break both of his legs! And then, when that's all done, I'm going to punch out all of his teeth!" "Now, hold on just a goddamned second," Querren laughed, ordering a round of beers for them as the bartender—a strapping lad in a white dress shirt and black vest—finally approached. The man's tone was jovial, but Kara knew that he was just as angry as Ben. She could see it in his deep brown eyes, dangerous and dark. It was a look Kara thought she had forgotten, but she recognized it now. "Family members get first dibs, Karrington. You ought to know better," Querren continued, stamping out his cigarette. There was so much violence in the gesture that it shook the entire floor, leaving nothing but a black stain on the hardwood. "You can have Arlington's legs if you want, but I get his teeth. Fingers and toes, too. You'd be surprised how much you can accomplish, using just a man's fingers and toes." With an affectionate smile, Querren winked playfully in Kara's direction and she smiled back, although the conversation was a littler more disconcerting than it was comforting. As much as she enjoyed fantasizing about torturing Arlington, Kara often wondered if she had the guts to go through with it herself. Uncle Florence, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Oddly enough, the man somehow manged to embody both danger and kindliness. The way his muscular form glowed in the light of the large tavern fire and its many chandeliers made him look a bit like a hyena, especially when his eyes were so dark. But when he smiled warmly—given his white beard and nearly bald head—he reminded Kara of Saint Nicholas, albeit one who blew things up 364 days out of the year, when he wasn't delivering parcels to good little boys and girls. "What the fuck is this shit?" Alyssa suddenly cried, and Kara very nearly jumped. Swinging around in her seat, she saw that somehow, both Alyssa and Greenwood had managed to sneak up on her and were hiding in the shadows behind their table. Alyssa was an especially frightening sight to behold, her eyes wild with mischief and a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. She had a bloody bandage wrapped around her left hand—from bracing herself against a nasty fall—and was still wearing the same blood stained tank top and pants from earlier, making her disheveled appearance even more disconcerting. "Y'all need to quit whining; we're in a bar, for fuck's sake!" "Alyssa!" Querren cried, a wicked grin disturbing his face. Pushing away from the table, he quickly stood to his feet and embraced the weapons specialist, finishing the gesture off with a firm handshake and a pat on the back. "Have a seat! Have a seat!" Querren insisted, gesturing at their table. "We'll get a game of cards going, just like old times, eh? I'll even buy you a beer. Whataya say?" "What's a night on the town without gambling?" Alyssa laughed, taking a seat beside Querren. Kara had never seen the weapons specialist so laid back before and all be damned if she didn't look happy for once. Cries of excitement radiated around the bar as Alyssa requisitioned players for the upcoming game, while Querren shuffled a deck of cards hidden in his own satchel. "We doing cash or a tourney?" Alyssa asked, scanning the table of faces and calling over a bartender to take the table's order. "Oh, and Greenwood? You owe me a fucking beer and a burger, remember?" "As you recall, I didn't exactly agree to that bet," Greenwood pointed out, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Unlike Alyssa, he didn't seem at all at ease amongst the noise, laughter, and dancing. Certainly, the fancy dinner parties and charity balls of Isleydor's upper class were nothing like this. Looking around as if bewildered, the double merely cradled his injured arm, now fitted with a healing enhancement cast, guaranteed to speed up the process of recuperation. It was a thick, metallic thing with glowing lights along the side and a progress read out, given to him when they'd visited the local hospital (i.e. the large, ex-boarding house where a few local physicians lived). It seemed as if Nardia had become more technologically advanced since Kara's last visit, but only when it came to absolute necessities, like medicine and agriculture. Go figure, no one in the village owned a car, but everyone and his mother seemed to have a tractor. "Anyway, I don't like putting a price on a man's life, least of all the cost of a beer and a burger," Greenwood continued, finally sitting down and resting his arm on the table. "But I'll buy you a little something as a sort of, I don't know, date?" Alyssa rolled her eyes, then winked meaningfully at Querren. "You know, this guy wasn't always so soft," Alyssa laughed, wrapping an arm around Greenwood's shoulders and pulling him in for a playful hug. "I think he's over compensating now, but trust me sweetheart, god doesn't give a fuck about some Bremmington pieces of shit." "Hey, Greenwood!" Querren barked, laying his coins out on the table and cutting the stack of cards in his hand. And as if he'd been bitten, Greenwood immediately whipped around toward the noise. "You want in on this game or not? You should have a small allowance from Tamius." "Oh, I don't know how to play," Greenwood replied, and though he tried to shrug nonchalantly, Kara could tell he was embarrassed to admit it. "After all, my job was to entertain and befriend Arlington, and the man rarely gambles. He far prefers games of skill to those reliant upon luck." "If you think poker is a game of luck, then you're doing it wrong," Querren grunted, dealing the cards before him in a clockwise fashion, until he finally reached Greenwood. "Are you in, or not?" "He's in!" Alyssa answered, nudging Greenwood playfully. His lips tight, the double glared down at his lover, but that only seemed to brighten Alyssa's spirits. "You'll like it," she laughed, gulping down her beer generously. "It's all psychological. You use your bets and mannerisms to trick your opponents into folding or raising, depending on your hand." Scanning over her own cards, Alyssa called the current bet and instructed Greenwood to do the same, allowing Querren to burn a card and turn over the flop. "Besides, I bet your poker face beats any of these bitches bluffs." "I raise," Querren grunted, and there was a loud groan as most of the players at the table folded, made melodramatic by the alcohol thrumming in their veins and the adrenaline rush of a good card game. "Twenty and five." "You know what, I am feeling rather good about this," Greenwood mused, looking over his own cards and then smiling at Alyssa. When it was his turn to act, he carefully pushed a hand full of coins into the pot and looked smugly over at Querren. "Yes, I think I'll...what do you say? Call?" "It's not a feeling you should be acting on, Greenwood," Querren laughed, turning over the next card on the board. Lighting up a second cigarette, he blew smoke into the already hazy air and grinned down on the pool of cash before him, as if it were already his. "I told you, this isn't a game of luck. It's a game of strategy. Still, I don't mind taking your money. I'll raise again, same amount." "And I'll call," Greenwood replied, without a moment's hesitation. "One of my cards match, so..." "Greenwood, shut up and hide your cards for fuck's sake," Alyssa groaned, resting her face in the palm of her hand and drowning her embarrassment in her beer. "And Querren, go easy on him for a few hands, alright?" "Alright, alright!" Querren laughed, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "I'll check the river." Then, with an excited flourish, he turned over the last card and displayed his own hand for the table to see. "I have a straight, which means I have five sequential numbers between by cards and those on the table. It's a pretty good hand," Querren smiled, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly. "What about you?" "I do believe you have me," Greenwood sighed, eyeing his hand and the board in a slightly distressed manner. With a irritated air, he quickly displayed his hand and shook his head. "I've only got a pair of tens." "Actually, he's got the flush," Alyssa grinned, pulling in the mass of coins toward Greenwood and patting him heartily on the back. Eyes wide, Querren bolted upright and looked carefully over Greenwood's cards, as if they were flickering in and out of focus. When the reality finally sank in, Querren cursed angrily, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "And no fair saying it's beginners luck, especially after that little spiel on poker strategy," Alyssa warned, her voice chiding. "It's beginners luck!" Querren screamed. "I say it's beginner's luck!" "Did I win?" Greenwood asked, his voice confused and child like. "I don't understand?" "Sweetheart, you have the flush," Alyssa explained, although she was rather engrossed in counting Greenwood's money and putting it in his purse, the grin on her face widening still further. "With the cards in your hand plus those three on the board, you have five hearts." "Wait, you can match shapes and numbers?!?" Greenwood cried, and Querren very nearly punched the wall. "Why didn't anyone explain that before we started. I would have...how do you say it? Raised him?" "Someone please shoot me!" Querren cursed, finally plopping back down in his seat as the next dealer began distributing cards. "He didn't even know he had the flush!" "Doesn't matter, since he showed," Alyssa replied evenly, looking over her own cards and snorting in disappointment before folding them both. "Greenwood, it's your turn." "How good is it if you get two of the little A's?" Greenwood asked, shouting over at Alyssa in order to be heard above the noise of the bar. "Is this something I should raise or just call?" With a loud groan, the rest of the players quickly tossed their cards into the center of the table, not even bothering to wait until Greenwood had made a decision. "Wait," Greenwood mused, quickly scanning the table and then his cards. "Am I the only one left? Did I win?" "Collect your blinds, Greenwood," Alyssa told him, watching in amusement as Querren's face turned red. "Everyone folded, so you get what's on the table." "I win again?!?" Greenwood cried, his face ecstatic as a young boy's. Eagerly, he raked in his winnings, not the least bit bothered that he'd thrown away an excellent hand after only a single round of betting. "I think I'm getting good at this game! "Keep lining his pockets, Querren," Alyssa teased, motioning for the bartender to bring her another drink. "He's gonna be buying me drinks with your money all night and I'm a pretty high maintenance bitch." "Rub it in my face, why don't you?" Querren spat, hesitantly looking over his next hand and then back at Greenwood, as if the man might suddenly jump up and bite him. "He isn't even playing right!" "I don't know, his stack says otherwise," Kara laughed, and Querren looked over at her in absolute shock, his jaw nearly touching the floor. "I mean, so far he's doing pretty good." "My own flesh and blood!" Querren cried, putting his hand to his chest in mock hurt. "After all I've done for you!" "Come on, let's leave these guys to their squabbles," Ben smiled, standing to his feet and holding out his hand in order to help Kara up. When she looked at him in confusion, he only laughed and took her hand in his own by force, pulling her to her feet. "Come on, let's go and dance," Ben insisted, the mischievous glow returning to his eyes. "You said you wanted to dance with strangers all night and just yesterday, you were telling me that I know nothing about you. Come, now," Ben chided, leaning into Kara's long hair and pressing his lips against her ear, in order to be heard above all the noise. "Let me be your stranger." Kara didn't have time to reply before she was being pulled through the crowded bar and onto the dance floor, situated in front of the band and completely cleared of tables. When Ben suddenly stopped, she stumbled into him and he took full advantage of that fact, taking her right hand in his left and easing his dominant arm around her waist to create a perfect closed position. And with that, they were off, soaring across the dance floor at a smooth, rapid pace. Kara hadn't expected a former general to be any good at dancing, but she supposed that part of being a military man entailed entertaining diplomats and ambassadors from foreign nations. Ben certainly seemed to know what he was doing and Kara could barely keep up with him as their feet flew across the wooden floor. Soon, Kara found herself being spun outward and then back into her partner's arms, then dipped toward the floor. As she lay in Ben's arms, mere inches from the ground, their eyes met and Kara couldn't help but grin. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 22 "You know, you're pretty good at this," Kara admitted, and Ben pulled her back onto her feet with a flourish, his eyes sparkling with the excitement of the dance. "Just make sure I can keep up with you," Kara laughed, and she was swept away again. It had been ages since Kara had danced, and she squealed a little in delight as Ben pulled her into him and leaned them to the side. Partner dances were a central feature of any festival or party back in Telma, so she was no stranger to the routine. But as was typical of most dances in Nardia, the music gradually slowed from an upbeat tune to a gentle beat, allowing the two partners to fall into a nice, easy rhythm. Kara wasn't as familiar with the slow dances as she was the faster ones—as a child, she'd thrown a fit when forced to dance with boys at an easier pace, under the pretense that they were "for lovely dovey people" and Kara hadn't had many romantic interests even after she'd grown older. But now, leaning her head on Ben's shoulder seemed to come naturally to her and she was able to relax into the soft music, hypnotic and sweet. "So, at this point, you've slept in my bed and now you're dancing with me," Ben whispered, leaning down toward Kara in order to be heard above all the noise. His breath felt hot against Kara's ear and his words even more so, making Kara flush and her eyes turn away in embarrassment. "You're too easily flustered," Ben chuckled, gently guiding Kara around the room. "But my point still stands. It would seem to me as if we're dating. Of course, if you're just leading me on, now would be a good time to say so." "No," Kara insisted quickly, allowing herself to be gently dipped toward the floor and then brought back up again. For a second, Ben's lips quirked and Kara scowled at him. "I'm not leading you on," Kara reiterated, her voice irritable. "I just wanted to make sure you had a sincere interest in me and I in you before jumping into anything." "And now you feel comfortable giving this a chance?" "I know it seems odd, but when you opened up to me, I felt a...." Kara began, but she couldn't quite find the words she was looking for and ended up staring into the street just beyond the bar, dark and foreboding. The pitter-patter of rain on the roof created an eerie, almost magical sound as lightening once more cut through a black sky. Kara found the sight scary, but oddly beautiful. "I felt some sort of connection," Kara finally mused, her footsteps slow, but sure. "You and I think alike. Maybe more importantly, we have a shared history and we're both prepared to fight for a better future. I suppose it's a bit presumptuous of me, but that almost makes us on the same team and maybe instead of fighting that pull, I should be embracing it." "Well, why stop with mere musing and maybe's?" Ben asked, with a playful wink. When Kara only glanced at him in confusion, he grinned wickedly and guided her back toward the center of the dance floor, for the beat of the music had quickened again, forcing the pair into a fast paced jaunt across the room. "What I mean is, you've created some kind of odd, imaginary gap between us," Ben explained, his words almost lost in the thrumming of guitars and pounding of drums. "I think we should work on closing that gap," Ben continued. "We've been through a lot. And you know what they say, 'A person only shows his true colors in times of peril.' Considering all we've endured, I'd say we've seen each others' colors, but that isn't enough, is it?" Carefully maneuvering Kara into a dark deserted corner, Ben finally managed to get the two of them relatively alone. There, they slowly paced and turned, as if caught in their own, personal whirlpool. "You want to get to know each other, then fine," Ben continued, his voice causal and cool. "We'll play twenty questions. And since I spilled my guts last night, it's only fair that I get to pick your brain first." "Alright," Kara shrugged, as if unconcerned, but secretly she was rather thrilled. Finally, she had a chance to know a man under normal circumstances, on a normal date. "You can go first," Kara continued, keeping up her careless facade effortlessly. "Go ahead, ask me anything." "Tell me about your childhood." Kara snorted and rolled her eyes playfully. "You get a chance to ask me anything, and you decide to waste that chance on my childhood?" she asked, feigning incredulity. But there was only silence and stepping back from Ben, Kara watched as the firelight caught in his gray eyes and set them ablaze, completely serious. "Alright, alright!" Kara laughed, pushing Ben's chest in a half-hearted tease. "But I warn you, my childhood was rather dull. I grew up in Telma, stealing apples from the local farmers' orchards in the summer and sledding through precarious pine forests in the winter." A slight, reminiscent smile spread across Kara's face at the thought. "My parents served as the physicians for five local villages, so I was exposed to medicine at an early age. Then, of course, Uncle Florence was always there to get me into even more trouble than usual, encouraging me to do all kinds of dangerous stuff, like blow up abandoned sheds and climb trees and beat on boys who were mean to me." "I like your uncle," Ben mused aloud, finally leading Kara away from the dance floor and plopping down at a recently vacated table. Motioning for her to sit beside him, Ben called over a waiter, then wrapped an arm around Kara as if it were the most natural gesture in the world. "Your uncle isn't afraid to speak his mind and he hates Arlington just as much as I do," Ben continued, glancing at the poker game taking place across the room. "Was it him who taught you how to build explosives?" "Hey, no fair!" Kara pouted, sticking out her lower lip and crossing her arms as if wronged in some way. "It's my turn to ask a question, and I want to know about your family." "There isn't much left to say," Ben said with a shrug, though there was an inkling of hurt in his tone. Just then, the waiter came by and dropped off a menu, but even as Kara poured over the pages, he continued onward, almost contemplatively. "I'm honestly not sure who's left alive, us being a military family and all," Ben admitted with a sigh, and Kara immediately shut her menu and gave him a sympathetic glance. "I had a rather large family to begin with, four brothers and three sisters. So, you can imagine what kind of childhood I had," Ben continued, and his voice suddenly turned from sorrowful to happy reminiscence. "It was a constant prank war between the eight of us and it drove my mother up the wall! I remember this one time when Matilda—that's my oldest sister—she spent a solid week....oh god...it must have taken her hours!" Ben suddenly doubled over in laughter, trying in vain to catch his breath and compose himself between bouts. It was a solid minute before he finally managed to calm down, his body still shaking and his eyes watering. "I'm sorry," Ben tried, still fighting off the occasional chuckle. "It's just that...well...One day, my brothers and I came home from school and I swear, our room was filled with what must have been a hundred frogs! Matilda had been collecting them from the river, keeping them in a large bin, and waiting until she had enough to make an impression. My mother was, of course, furious!" Ben's laughter was contagious and soon, Kara was laughing right along with him, until they were both gasping for air and wiping away tears from their faces, hardly able to keep a straight face. "Oh god," Kara groaned, her sides aching with effort. "Your childhood sounds much more exciting than mine does, I'll tell you that." Just then, the waiter stopped by and Kara ordered herself another beer and a basket of fried frogs' meat, which she'd been craving ever since being flown into Isleydor. She missed junk food and Lord Arlington had never had anything even remotely unhealthy on his plate. "Anyway, you didn't mention your father," Kara continued, watching expectantly as the waiter walked away. She wasn't sure how much longer she could wait, as her stomach was audibly grumbling. "What's he like?" "I thought it was mine turn to ask a question," Ben chided playfully, leaning Kara into him until she was snuggling up against him of her own will, safe and warm in his embrace. "How's it fair for you to take two turns in a row, especially to ask such a personal question?" Ben continued, chuckling as Kara's eyes lit up with worry. After all, she hadn't meant to venture into sensitive territory. "It's alright, I don't mind," Ben told her, waving his hand dismissively. "The simple fact is that he died in this past war and I miss him terribly. I feel a little guilty too, mostly because he died as a fighter under the White Horse and therefore, my command. But my father always taught me that, when a man goes to war, it's his own damn decision to risk his life and there's no sense in blaming yourself for his death. But anyway," Ben finished, with a heavy sigh and half-hearted smile. "The way I see it, now you owe me one personal question." "I suppose that's only fair," Kara agreed, though perhaps the alcohol had something to do with it. "Deal." ------ Bordered on either side by bodyguards, Arlington carefully made his way down Bremmington's Interrogation Block, the sound of his boots on concrete echoing ominously. Even on crutches, the man maintained an intimidating aura, his back straight and his footsteps precise. The trip from one end of the prison block to the other was slow going, but finally, Arlington reached his destination. Leaning against the wall beside Room 13C, he readjusted his crutches and peered carefully at his gold wristwatch. It was ten minutes past seven, still too early to go inside. Johnson usually needed a good fifteen minutes or so to rough up his victims and Arlington knew better than to interrupt. To pass the time, Arlington withdrew a tablet from his cloak and pulled up the briefing for today's interrogation, skimming carefully through the document for any details he may have missed the first time around. The captive's name was Avery Callinsky, an unslaver working for the notorious Albert Cross. Formerly, he had worked as a slave hunter for Martkorp, but had abruptly quit before entering into Isleydor's underworld. There were a number of reasons which could have motivated the sudden career change: a guilty conscience, better money, or perhaps a new thrill. But what most confused Lord Arlington was Albert Cross' involvement in his fugitives' escape. The man was a well known businessman in Isleydor's criminal underground, but he usually had enough sense to steer clear of high profile politicians and their slaves, fearing retribution. It surprised Arlington immensely that the man would risk crossing him, by freeing his former slave and the fugitives that had humiliated him on national television. There had to be a very good reason for Mr. Cross' sudden change in business practices and Arlington intended to find out the precise nature of that reason. Finally, there was a loud knock on the metal door beside Arlington and taking up his crutches, he eased himself across the threshold. It was dark inside the interrogation room and it took a few seconds for Arlington's eyes to adjust, finally narrowing in on the bare table before him and its two chairs, a single lamp dangling above the setup. On the far side of the table sat Avery Callinsky, doubled over in pain and panting heavily. The man's arms were tied behind him and his ankles were firmly secured to each of two chair legs, rendering him completely helpless. But as soon as he heard the door open, Avery's head shot up and he hopefully glanced at the dark silhouette before him, allowing Arlington to get a good look at his face. In the bright light from the overhead lamp, his lordship could see that the captive's face was bloodied and bruised, although nothing seemed to be broken. Most prominently, Avery's lip had been split open and a tiny trail of blood fell away and onto his chin, where it had started to dry. "Thank god," Avery gasped, desperately trying to straighten himself and wincing in pain from the effort. But finally, his eyes met Arlington's and there was a glimmer of hope contained within them, enough to make Arlington grin sadistically. "Finally, someone who isn't a complete lunatic," Avery continued, completely oblivious and his voice rife with anxiety. "My lord, your man has been pounding on me all morning, and I haven't even been given one of my three phone calls or been offered a lawyer! I'd like to press charges immediately, and get transferred somewhere else." "Now, that doesn't sound like the Johnson I know," Arlington drawled, turning toward the man and raising his eyebrows as if agitated. But Johnson—a tall, older man with thick eyebrows, pale lips, and a sour expression—only shrugged innocently. "Is it true that you've been pounding on this poor fellow all morning?" Arlington asked, and the two shared a meaningful glance. "My lord, he fell down the stairs," Johnson insisted, gesturing toward Avery with a horrible smile marring his features. "Tripped over himself on the way here and fell right on his face." "That sounds rather painful," Arlington mused, and he sat down across from Avery. It was an awkward process—given Arlington's cast—but he finally managed to get comfortable and sighed deeply, as if irritated. "It'll do no good to be so clumsy," Arlington chided, as if talking to a small child, and he shook his head in feigned exasperation. "You know, you really should be more careful where you step." "You can't be serious!" Avery screamed, and he glared vehemently at Johnson. If he had the means, the former escort would have certainly lunged straight at the man and punched him. As it was, Avery could only struggle in his bonds. "You can't possibly believe him! To cause damage like this, I'd have to have fallen at least fifty times!" "I apologize, my lord," Johnson sighed, fading into the darkness behind Avery and laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "This one is rather slow on the uptake." "I want my lawyer and I want him now!" Avery cried, twisting and turning where he sat as if mad. Although restrained, he did manage to shift the chair over a little, before running out of energy and resuming his rant. "I have rights and I demand my fucking phone calls!" "God, will somebody please shut him up?" Arlington sighed, leaning back in his chair as if annoyed. There was a horrible crunch and a cry of pain as one of the Arlington's bodyguards approached Avery and punched him in the gut. With his arms secured behind his chair, Avery had no means of blocking the blow and doubled over in pain, groaning miserably. "I want to try a little experiment now," Arlington drawled, once Avery's cries of pain had faded into quiet groans. "Let's test this whole, 'I have rights' proposition, shall we?" With a pronounced gesture, Arlington reached across the table, picked Avery's head up by the hair, and slammed his face against the metal table between them, so that the cartilage of his nose cracked and blood pooled underneath him. Avery screamed out in pain at the sudden assault, but Arlington merely sat back in his chair and motioned for a towelette, with which to clean his hands of the man's blood. "Now that's odd," Arlington mused, a cruel smile twisting his features. "I don't hear any sirens." Slowly, he turned toward his associate. "Johnson, do you hear any sirens?" "No, my lord. I don't believe I do." "The medics in the infirmary are going to report this," Avery hissed between clenched teeth, the fury in his eyes burning furiously. "These injuries are suspicious as fuck, and you'll both be charged with assault and police brutality." "Oh, come now," Arlington sneered, leaning across the table toward Avery and tapping the tabletop for emphasis. "Albert Cross doesn't hire fucking idiots. You helped a band of fugitives cross the border into Nardia, among them a double agent. You're guilty of treason." With that, Avery's face paled and his eyes grew wide with fear, the reality of the situation dawning on him for the first time. Arlington, of course, noticed. "Oh, good," his lordship grinned, leaning back in his seat once more. "You finally managed to connect the dots. I'm sure you realize that, as a traitor, you're no longer protected under common law and I don't have to play by the rules." "So," Avery gulped. "You intend to keep up this brutality until I talk?" "Oh, this?" Arlington snorted, waving a hand dismissively in Avery's direction. "This kind of thing is standard procedure. You'd be amazed what I can get away with, as long as I don't cross the more powerful aristocratic families and keep out of Constance's way." Pulling a small, silver case from his pocket, Arlington lit up a cigar and inhaled deeply, his eyes contemplative. "No, my dear man, if you don't co-operate, things will be getting much, much worse. Johnson can confirm that when it comes to torture, I don't like to color between the lines." Avery mulled over that for a moment, staring into the concrete floor beneath him as if his fate were written in the many cracks and blood stains marring its surface. When he finally looked back up, his eyes darted fearfully from one sinister face toward the next as if he might find some sympathy. And, when he didn't, Avery reverted to staring into the closed doorway, as if someone might burst through and save him at any moment. But eventually, his efforts exhausted, Avery made eye contact with Arlington. "Alright, but I want a deal!" Avery blurted, his face beet red. "I'll talk, but only under certain conditions!" "Do you believe this little shit?" Johnson hissed, squeezing Avery's shoulder sinisterly and glaring down at him with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "We're offering to let him leave, largely intact, and those reasons aren't good enough for the little fuck?" "We stole something from Mr. Cross, alright?" Avery cried, and Arlington could see the fear in his eyes, bold and dark. With what little energy he had left, the former escort wrenched his shoulder free of Johnson's grasp and returned burning eyes to Lord Arlington. "Albert Cross has connections throughout the central government and if you send me back to prison or even let me go inside the city limits, I won't make it to dinner," Avery insisted, his voice panicked. "In exchange for my intel, I want to get dropped off somewhere else, like Nardia or Scorce or Byziehale. Hell, it doesn't even matter! But I have to get out of Isleydor!" "Fair enough," Arlington agreed, and he allowed the ash gathered on the tip of his cigar to fall onto the floor, where it smoldered. There were several seconds of contemplative silence then, but after a few moments, Lord Arlington stood from his chair and began to pace the area behind Avery. He always thought better on his feet and the pacing had a frightening effect on his victims. "First and foremost, I want to know why Mr. Cross decided to fuck with me," Arlington demanded, his voice harsh and demanding. "He damn well knows that this won't go over well." "I don't know all the details," Avery quickly answered, listening to the sound of footsteps on concrete and the persistent thumping of Arlington's crutches lurking in the darkness behind him. He could feel a slight breeze whenever the Fourth Lord passed him, and it had a disconcerting effect on his confidence. "All I know is that Cross got some top secret military secrets out of one of your fugitives in exchange for protected passage through Isleydor to Nardia," Avery blurted, trying to look behind him and at Arlington. "Apparently, one of the blokes went through memory enhancement and the audio session was to be sold to intelligence in Nardia. There was going to be a huge payoff, over fifty times what Albert Cross normally gets for a high end job." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 22 "Odd," Arlington mused, and he stopped pacing the room in order to turn toward Johnson. "That doesn't make any sense. Greenwood doesn't know anything of significance. I've kept our meetings to declassified info ever since we suspected that a leak may be on the board." Contemplatively, Arlington leaned against the back wall and thought back on their past several meetings, trying to determine if he had let anything slip. But months ago, Lord Sillias and her own War Time Operations Board—set up to take care of Scorce and Terall—had been temporarily assigned to the Nardian takeover's more pressing complications, so that Arlington could focus his efforts on finding the leak. It was unlikely that Greenwood would have overheard anything valuable. "Maybe that old crone went sneaking around the Statehouse and managed to convince someone to let him into the Confidential Records Room," Arlington thought aloud, more curious than frustrated. "The old guy?" Avery asked, and the hitch in his voice instantly earned Arlington's attentions. Pushing up from the wall, Lord Arlington approached Avery until he was leaning against the table beside him, his fingers impatiently tapping the shimmering metal. "My lord, Greenwood didn't undergo the memory enhancement," Avery explained, swallowing loudly. "It was that girl of yours, with the dark brown hair and blue eyes." "Kara?" Arlington hissed, his head snapping forward and his eyes narrowing. "Are you sure?" It was bizarre enough that Greenwood would know something of significance, but Arlington would never have guessed that Kara had any sort of valuable information. Somehow, it seemed that he had missed something and the realization disturbed him. Although it was difficult, his lordship bent down until he was at eye level with Avery, grabbed a fist full of hair, and forced the younger man to look at him. "I said, 'Are you 100% positive that it was Kara who paid Mr. Cross?'" Arlington growled, his lips tight. "You can listen for yourself!" Avery cried, feeling Arlington tighten the grip on his hair. "I still have the audio file of the original session, my lord. My associate and I paid Mr. Cross' tech to sell it to us, and he turned over a dud to the boss. We were going to sell the intel to a private investor once we crossed the border." With that, Lord Arlington let go of Avery's hair and resumed his pacing, becoming more and more uncomfortable with the situation as time went on. "Our private contact was willing to pay more than the cut Albert Cross promised us, so we took the deal," Avery continued, the words spilling forward in a torrent. "I don't know the private contact; finding a buyer was Susan Timmons' job. And we ourselves never listened to the audio, in case something like this happened, but I can assure you—" "Where is this audio file?" Arlington demanded, growing ever more impatient. "We searched you, your vehicle, and the cargo you were carrying." Turning to face Avery with a dangerous expression, Arlington stamped the ground with one of his crutches, violently enough to make his captive wince. "If you're lying to me, Mr. Callinsky—" "It's in the van," Avery insisted earnestly, his voice tight. "In a lead lined compartment on the driver's side." Gesturing toward the doorway, the man nodded his head emphatically. "Go and see, my lord! Like I said, the compartment is lead lined, so an x-ray wouldn't have revealed anything. Go and see!" ------ Kara awoke with an irritable groan, only to find that the sunlight from an open window was shinning directly in her eyes. But even after pulling the covers over her head, Kara found it impossible to fall back asleep. Her head throbbed something awful and there was a thick, sour taste in her mouth which was making her nauseous. With a reluctant moan, Kara swung her legs over the side of the bed and rested her feet on the cold, wooden floor. There, she sat for several minutes, willing the pounding in her head to die down and leave her in peace. But in spite of the pain, Kara soon found that a smile was slowly spreading across her lips. "I have a hangover!" Kara mused aloud, and a happy chuckle rose in her throat. "I have a fucking hangover! Woo-hoo!" Standing to her feet, Kara headed toward the bathroom, doing a little dance on the way and singing all the while, "I have a hangover! I have a hangover!" Outside, she could hear the birds chirping merrily and the local farmers' tractors busy with the yearly fall harvest, the familiar sounds only brightening her mood. "I'm finally free to eat junk food, and get drunk, and dance until I puke!" Kara cried, turning on the shower and stepping into the luxurious steam. "And I get to take a shower without somebody chaperoning me! Woo-hoo!" The hot water did much to relieve Kara's headache, pouring down her body in softly scented waves and causing pleasurable goosebumps to rise along her skin. The soap and shampoo offered to her by the inn keeper smelt of lilies and Kara breathed in the peaceful scent, allowing the suds to soak into her skin and wash away all the dirt, grime, and darkness of her past. When she finally stepped out of the shower and slipped into some simple clothes, Kara felt like a new woman, with the rest of her life a glorious, open path paving its way into the oncoming light of a warm day. Stomping down the steps of "The Moldy Bucket: Inn and Tavern," Kara made her way from the motel rooms on the upper floor down to the bar and dinning hall below. The clock on the wall told her that it was already two in the afternoon, although Kara wasn't at all surprised, given that she hadn't gotten to bed until six in the morning. True to her word, she'd been drinking and dancing all night, even taking up a few poker games with Uncle Florence and the rest of the crew. When the sun had finally started to rise, she remembered barely being able to stand, let alone walk straight. In the end, Ben had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to a nearby hill to watch as the light dawned on her for the first time in several weeks. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea, although now Kara was embarrassed at the thought. Slung over a man's shoulder? In a skirt? It was a little humiliating, but Kara brushed the thought aside, distracted by a delicious scent wafting in from the tavern kitchen. Instantly, Kara recognized the smell of her uncle's buttery pancakes—a favorite among her immediate family and the local village children back in Telma—and moaned at the thought of a traditional, home cooked breakfast, even if it was a late one. Now that she thought about it, Kara was hungry and her stomach grumbled obnoxiously in agreement, egging her on at the prospect of food. Obediently, she made her way past the large, double doors separating the kitchen from the main dining hall and found Uncle Florence inside. The kitchen was huge, with a number of large stoves, stone counter tops, and an array of appliances Kara didn't recognize. And there, smack in the middle of her line of vision, stood Uncle Florence, hunched over the stove in a frilly red apron and humming a war tune idly. The sight was enough to set Kara off and she laughed loudly, unable to help herself. It wasn't everyday that you saw a grown demolitions expert wearing an apron and cooking. "Mock me all you want," Querren greeted, turning to Kara with a self-satisfied smile. "I cook amazing fucking pancakes and you know it." "Oh, don't mind me, uncle. Truth be told, I think the lace suits you," Kara grinned, sitting down on an empty stool and breathing in the warm, friendly scents of the late autumn air and good food. "I missed all of this," Kara sighed, leaning her elbows against the counter top in front of her. "I missed the food and the happy sounds and the late autumn breeze. But most of all, I missed the company." With a sad smile, Kara nodded in Uncle Florence's direction. "I missed you, uncle." "I missed you too, sweetheart," Querren smiled, turning back to the stove and stacking several golden brown pancakes onto a plate. With a bounce in his step, he set them on the counter top before Kara and headed to the massive restaurant fridge for some syrup. "I'm glad to know that you're okay," Querren continued, keeping his tone casual, although Kara could tell that he was putting a lot of effort into keeping the strain from his voice. "After that phone call...." "I'm really, really sorry about that," Kara quickly interjected, and her face reddened with shame. She could remember the conversation like it was yesterday, when she'd very nearly gotten Uncle Florence killed. God, Kara had been so stupid and with a low groan, she rested her head in her hands. "It was an accident," Kara pleaded, the guilt tumbling over her in waves. "I never meant to get you in trouble and I thought that—" "Shh, sweetheart," Querren insisted and although his tone was gentle, Kara could tell from the hardness in his eyes that he intended to finish their conversation right there and then, forever putting the uncomfortable topic behind them. "What's done is done and I know you didn't mean anything by it," Querren said simply and with that, Kara was forgiven. "And my parents, are they okay?" Kara asked, watching as Querren continued to stack more pancakes onto his own plate. As he sat beside her, bearing a glass of milk for each of them, Kara glanced out a nearby window and saw the stalks of corn in the fields beyond as they swayed idly in the breeze, tossing their delicious scent into the air. "And Maria Ling, what happened to her?" "Your mother and father are fine," Querren replied, taking in a mouthful of pancakes and washing it down with a generous helping of milk. Kara could see that he, too, was staring out the window and enjoying the peaceful sight. "Maria Ling took them somewhere safe," Querren continued, his eyes contemplative. "Although I don't know where and that's probably best. I am a wanted man and you are too, I suppose." "Well, speak of the devil, she's awake!" Ben cried, and Kara turned to see him bursting into the kitchen, his eyes alight with mischief and a very obvious bounce in his step. "I'm surprised you're up before evening, considering all the drinking and eating you did last night!" "Good afternoon, Karrington," Querren grinned, downing the rest of his milk with a rude gulp and heading back to the fridge for a refill. "Come to interrupt a perfectly good family reunion?" "Oh, stop," Ben laughed, eagerly stepping into the kitchen and helping himself to the pancakes still on Kara's plate. She glared at him, of course, but it was a playful gesture more than anything else. Besides, Ben did look hungry. "You'll be proud of me, I'm sure," Ben continued, reaching for the syrup and piling it on. "I have a surprise for your niece and I think she'll like it." "A surprise?" Kara asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "What is it?" "I'm going to teach you how to shoot today," Ben replied, patting Kara heartily on the back and setting a pistol down on the table in front of her. "I figure the best way to protect you from Arlington is to teach you how to defend yourself so if, god forbid, I'm not there, you have a fighting chance. Here," Ben began, and he eagerly began pointing out the components of the gun. "This is the safety. You'll want it on when you're not using the gun. And this, of course, is the barrel, you'll want to—" "Haha!" Querren grinned, leaning up against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and the muscles in his arms rippling handsomely. "By the time you're done with her, she'll be a regular old fighter, eh? And you know, baby girl, I'm very proud of you," Querren said kindly, winking lovingly in Kara's direction. "You really gave Arlington a run for his money. Before you, I'm the only person to have escaped one of Arlington's prison compounds without outside help. Like uncle, like niece! You're a true Querren, through and through." "We'll make a true warrior out of this medic, you have my word, sir," Ben promised, picking up Kara's plate of pancakes in one hand and pulling her to her feet with the other, suddenly enough to make her squeal. "Come on now, we have to go!" Ben insisted, pushing Kara toward the doorway, even as she half-heartedly tried to protest. "You can eat on the way, but we have to go!" "Just make sure you have her back in two hours!" Querren called loudly, wiping his messy hands on his apron and picking up the dirty dishes that had been left behind. "We have a meeting with Tamius, regarding the receipt of asylum in this country!" "And what's with all the rush?" Kara laughed, waving goodbye to her uncle and stepping out into the dining hall. "Why are we in such a hurry?" "Because I'm excited!" "You mean I have to rush through the rest of breakfast, just because you're excited about what's supposed to be my surprise?" "Mostly, yes," Ben laughed, holding the front door open for Kara. Immediately, afternoon light poured in from doorway like golden honey, illuminating the worn floors of the tavern and turning the dust specs floating about into tiny, earthbound stars. "I can't wait to see your face," Ben continued, stepping out onto the street with Kara on his arm. "Honestly, I'm not sure if you'll be mad at me or ecstatic, but either way, I think it's a good idea." With that, Ben led Kara down a long, gravel path, which seemed to run through the center of town and clearly served as the main road. Carriage tracks and hoof prints, half filled with stagnant water, revealed that it was an often used thorough-way. Wide eyed, Kara stared at the ancient, wooden buildings lining the street, entranced by their stained glass windows and intricately carved wooden doors. The only light inside came from candles and the massive fireplaces characteristic of most Nardian residencies, creating an eerie atmosphere that Kara rather liked. In addition, almost every home possessed a large herb and vegetable garden just beyond the front porch, to supply the corresponding family with traditional, medicinal remedies and plenty of fresh produce during the summer months. Winter provisions would be harvested from the large, open fields surrounding the village and even as Kara walked along, a horse drawn cart passed by, filled with wooden crates of ripened apples, ready for canning. But it was a small town and soon the two companions were just beyond its limits, passing by green fields which swayed like a single entity in the autumn breeze. Kara merely walked quietly behind Ben, unwilling to break the peaceful silence of the countryside she had missed so much, her eyes hungrily soaking in all the wonderful colors and painfully sentimental sights. Kara would have loved to continue strolling through the village and its many fields for a full hour, but ten minutes later, Ben was leading Kara off of the road and down a barely trodden path which ran through a corn field. Eventually, she found herself entering into a patch of forest, darkened by the thick canopy above and filled with noisy critters, singing to the sky and bickering with one another. When Ben finally came to a sudden stop, Kara realized that she was in a open clearing, but was distraught to find that the surrounding trees had all been decorated with pictures of Lord Arlington, looking smug and ruining the otherwise pleasant atmosphere. "Oh, god," Kara groaned, turning toward Ben with a sour expression. "You took me all this way, just to surround me with a dozen little Arlingtons?" "They're your targets!" Ben explained, walking along the tree line and gesturing at each poster, looking extremely pleased with himself. "I figure, might as well make your practice sessions as realistic as humanly possible. After all, what better way to do away with the old and bring in the new, than to blast Arlington in the face a few times?" "Where on god's green earth to you get all of these?" Kara sighed, turning in place and finding that a dozen sets of cold, blue eyes were staring directly at her. Everywhere she turned, there was a portrayal of Lord Arlington, as handsome and condescending as ever. Kara was sure she'd never seen someone so photogenic and the perfect likeness disturbed her. "Lord almighty, I can't even stand it when his pictures are looking at me," Kara groaned. "Did you get these specially printed?" "So, this morning, I went out to tour the town," Ben explained, withdrawing a pistol from the waistband of his pants and heading back toward Kara, a triumphant smile still on his face. "And anyway, I found this little news stand. Turns out that Lord Arlington is entering into negotiations with Nardia later this week, and his picture was on the front page of the National Informer," Ben continued, gripping Kara's shoulders and helping her to get into a proper shooting stance. "Naturally, I bought a dozen copies, grabbed some nails and a hammer, and the rest is history." "Those poor trees," Kara grinned, shaking her head in exasperation. "No one deserves that." For the next half hour, Ben showed Kara all the components of her pistol and the purpose of each one, making her take the safety on and off several times, until she could do so easily. He then made her practice reloading, before moving on to demonstrating proper shooting stances and the appropriate method for aiming at still and moving targets, even though she would only be practicing on stationary Arlingtons today. But Kara picked up relatively quickly and when Ben finally allowed her to shoot for the first time, she was revved up and ready to go. Taking up the stance taught to her and preparing herself for the ensuing kickback of her weapon, Kara turned to face the first target. Merciless, blue eyes stared back at her and with a surge of fury, Kara fired, but her bullet didn't even hit the tree, let alone Arlington's picture. With a growl of disgust, Kara aimed again, this time focusing on keeping her hands steady. "Don't worry about it," Ben chided, patting Kara comfortingly on the back. "We have plenty of time and no one does perfectly their first few tries." Nodding, Kara took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down, but her second shot hit the tree adjacent to the one she was actually aiming for and she cursed under her breath. The next time around, she did manage to hit her target, but her bullet lodged itself in the wood just below Arlington's picture, far from an encouraging result. Ben gave more careful direction after that and while Kara got better, not once did she deal a fatal blow to any of the targets arranged before her. It was a dejecting situation and Kara could feel herself slowly losing her focus, her mind becoming ever more consumed by panic. If she couldn't even hit a fucking tree, how the hell was she going to be able to hit Lord Arlington himself, when he was coming at her full speed and most likely armed? If she couldn't even hit his picture, how could Kara hit the real thing? Her confidence waning, Kara was soon shooting almost blindly, setting up shots without even bothering to take a proper stance. And all the while, Ben was telling her to stop before she hurt one of them. "That's enough for today," Ben told Kara, looking up into the darkening sky and then back down at his wristwatch. "We can keep at it tomorrow if you want and besides, we have to meet Tamius back at The Moldy Bucket." Stepping forward, Ben gently rested his hand on Kara's shoulder and she knew he could feel the tension in her body and the way her heart was beating, fear getting the better of her. "Hey, don't worry about it," Ben whispered softly, carefully try to ease the gun away from Kara. "No one does well their first time around and I know you'll get better with practice." "No," Kara cried, wrenching the gun away from Ben and stalking back toward the trees. Arlington's men were out there somewhere, prepared to hunt her down and drag her back into the dark hole from whence she had come. Like hell Kara was going to head back to the inn before she'd managed to get in a single, proper shot. "I'm not ready to leave," Kara continued, reloading her pistol and setting up for another shot. "Fuck this meeting, I'm going to hit him at least once." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 23 It was a good thing that Lord Arlington had a driver, because he was positively blind with fury. Hidden in the dark interior of his limousine, Arlington furiously clenched the leather armrests there, mumbling to himself the entire way and trying to subdue the adrenaline that was roaring through his veins. He thought himself an abnormally patient man, but he didn't take kindly to incompetence. Yet, Isleydor's men had failed him not once, but twice. Arlington could feel his mood darken at the thought and without intending to, he gripped the leather armrests of his chair so hard that some of the material tore away from the wood. Glaring out of the window, Arlington tried to distract himself by watching the street lights as they whizzed by in a continuous blur, the night life just beginning. Colorful neon signs advertised local clubs and laughter filled the air, all in stark contrast to his lordship's mood. But swept up in a haze of emotions, Arlington's mind began to wander and he found himself envisioning Kara, snuggled up against Karrington's chest half naked and looking rather comfortable. It was enough to send Arlington's fist into the limousine wall. "Insufferable morons!" Arlington cried, the urge to stand and pace nearly all consuming. Back at his manor, he had nearly worn the carpet away striding back and forth across it, pondering the situation fretfully. Sitting still like this made Arlington antsy and he returned to clenching and unclenching his armrests, simply for something to do. "Idiotic, incompetent fools!" Arlington continued, his voice raw from cursing. "What kind of bounty hunter can't even hang onto a medic!" Wallowing miserably in his own fury, Arlington almost failed to notice when his driver pulled up to the curb beside their destination, the East Side Convention Center. It was a massive stone structure which was held up by marble columns and at the culmination of a series of steps—broad and well worn—intricately carved double doors guarded the entryway. The stairway itself was bordered on either side by brightly colored fall blossoms and glowing lanterns, giving the entire building a festive look. Tonight, the venue was being used for a charity event, collecting funds for the men and women injured during Isleydor's war with Calihistra. Outside, Arlington could see a number of guests sipping campaign and laughing brightly, enjoying the light hearted atmosphere. For several minutes, Arlington merely remained where he sat, taking in deep, calming breathes and trying to retain his composure. It wouldn't do to appear out of sorts in public, especially at an exclusive event that a number of powerful politicians and ambitious reporters would be attending. It was difficult, but eventually Lord Arlington managed to feign some semblance of normalcy and ordered his driver to go around and open the door. Luckily, it was cool outside and the chilly air helped dim the furious blush in Arlington's cheeks, although it couldn't eradicate it completely. With a graceful stride—or, at least, as graceful as could be expected of a man on crutches—he began to ascend the stairway, being greeted with lowly bows and curt nods as he went. Trying to keep up appearances, Arlington graciously nodded and smiled in reply, but his heart beat abnormally fast and there was a stiffness to his form most uncharacteristic of the Fourth Lord. Arlington wasn't on the guest list, of course. Originally, he'd had other, more pressing meetings planned for the evening, all of which he'd had to cancel in order to deal with this new development. But after an awkward double take, the doorman stepped aside and directed Lord Arlington toward a large ball room. There, a number of game tables had been set up, including black jack, craps, poker, and roulette. Attendees who were not otherwise occupied at the bar or buffet were using clay chips to gamble for a number of generously donated prizes—everything from rare scotches to fancy cars—and jovial laughter filled the air. A number of guests invited Arlington to join their table, but he politely declined. His lordship was looking for someone in particular and he had no time for gambling and fine wine. Azalia Richards was easy enough to spot, in spite of all the noise and chaos. At almost seven feet tall, she towered above even Lord Arlington and stuck out rather conspicuously amongst the guests in attendance. Scanning the floor, Arlington eventually spotted her beside a craps table, leisurely sipping scotch and chatting with the other guests. The woman was a stunning creature—lean and fit—wearing a lengthy navy blue dress which shimmered underneath the chandeliers. A slit up the left side of her skirt exposed a smooth, muscular leg, reminding Arlington of just how dangerous the woman truly was. If she wanted to, Azalia could probably kill all seven people at her table in under two minutes and that was only because she was in a skirt and without her favorite weapon, a handsome scythe that had earned her the ominous title, "Lady Reaper." As Arlington approached, he saw that the dark, copper strands of her hair just barely managed to obscure the crimson dragon she bore, proudly framed by her backless evening gown. Azalia was just throwing the dice when Lord Arlington eased up beside her and leaned against the game table, allowing her to get a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. "My lord, what a pleasant surprise," Azalia greeted, her lips quirking ever so slightly at the sight of Arlington—normally so calm and collected—with an angry flush in his cheeks and a blatant rigidity to his posture, which he was managing to hide none too successfully. When the dealer handed Azalia her winnings, she took her chips off the table and causally turned to face her lord. "You seem tense," Azalia teased, her dark red lipstick making even her slight smile appear bold. "What was it that broke the camel's back?" "Unfortunately, I've manged to get myself into quite an awkward position," Lord Arlington replied coldly, his voice totally devoid of its usual cruel amusement and self confident wit. "I'm going to have to teach a stubborn young man who, exactly, he is dealing with and it isn't going to be pretty. If you have a moment, I'd like to discuss the matter." "But of course," Azalia grinned, sweeping the floor with a gracious bow. "I always have time for his lordship and besides that, I'm growing rather tired of the company here. Senators, district representatives, military personal... They're such inelegant, dense creatures, my lord. Really, I don't know how you can stand them." With a condescending sneer, she surveyed the room of guests, then led Arlington into a secluded corner of the room, cut off from the rest of the guests by a partition of fake plants and a darkened atmosphere. "It does astound me that you left the dragon's lair for this rabble, my lord, but I suppose it isn't my place to say so," Azalia continued, sitting down and gesturing for Arlington to do the same. "But that aside, how may I be of service?" Shifting about in an attempt to get comfortable, Lord Arlington finally sat down and leaned his crutches against the wall. Then, from an inside pocket of his cloak, he withdrew a tin of cigars and lit one up, contemplatively blowing smoke into the already hazy air. "As you recall, you owe me a sizable favor," Lord Arlington finally explained, turning toward Azalia with a deadly expression. This time, he didn't bother to keep the malice from his voice, which complimented the man's predatory features and made them all the more frightening. "I'd like to hire you to help me get my trophy slaves back, but Kara Chrystein in particular." Azalia snorted at that, a look of sheer disbelief coloring her painted face. "My lord, with all due respect, I'm not a dog," Azalia sneered, putting her hand to her chest as if insulted. "I have no interest in fetching wayward slaves and bringing them back to you with my tail between my legs. I'm a highly qualified assassin, my lord. I believe a bounty hunter would be better suited to your needs." "Normally, I would agree with you," Lord Arlington admitted, unfazed. But at that moment, they were interrupted by a service slave, wearing a silver collar engraved with his company's logo. He seemed about ready to offer the pair drinks, but as soon as Lord Arlington glared at him, the poor creature backed away and scurried off into the crowd. "As I was saying, normally I would agree with you," Lord Arlington continued, leaning back in his seat to enjoy another inhale. "But Charlotte's men are, apparently, out of their element here. Kara Chrystein is under the protection of a number of highly trained military personnel, including Alyssa Terrance and Ben Karrington. Getting to her might require a little...slice and dice." "Oooh, now you have my attention," Azalia squealed, clapping her hands together a little excitedly. The smile on her face was both gleeful and devilish, giving the woman a most disconcerting expression. "Perhaps we can work something out, if you give me the kill shot on Karrington," Azalia mused, leaning eagerly across the table. "We are talking about the Head of the White Horse, yes?" "Indeed, we are. Unfortunately, I'm going to need him alive. It appears as if my girl has become somewhat attached to him," Lord Arlington growled, and Azalia could see a flame rise up and then extinguish itself in his lordship's eyes. "If I kill him now, I turn him into a martyr and make it even more difficult to break past Kara's defenses. If I'm to sever whatever bond they seemed to have established, I'll have to get them to betray one another. And as you can imagine, I'll need the boy alive for that procedure." "My, the rumors are true. You've changed an awful lot, since you've been elected Fourth Lord," Azalia teased, waving toward the same waiter Arlington had scared off just moments before. "You used to be quite the little softie, back in the day. Too easy on your enemies, in my opinion, and a romantic to boot." Looking as if this particular order might be his last, the poor waiter carefully made his way back to the pair's table and took up his pad and pen expectantly. But Azalia was, thankfully, quick to order. Handing the waiter her glass, she held up two fingers, to indicate that he should bring back one for each of them and in another moment, the man was off. "All men make mistakes in their youth," Lord Arlington hissed, glaring at Azalia and keeping his voice low. "If you are referring to the incident with my former apprentice, I can assure you that my character has much improved since then, under the watchful eye of Walter Greyson." "Indeed," Azalia chuckled, as if oblivious to the fact that she'd hit a nerve. Although, of course, she wasn't. "You're quite the evil bastard now-a-days, aren't you?" "Keeping this country in line does require a certain flare," Arlington admitted, raising an eyebrow expectantly in Azalia's direction. "Now, do you intend to help me or not?" "My lord, I really don't think I can," Azalia sighed, watching their waiter dart back towards the bar fearfully, as if he might be shot in the back at any moment. A cruel smile graced her lips and she turned back to Lord Arlington with a meaningful expression, both amused and very slightly annoyed. "You say I owe you a favor, but that's not entirely accurate. I owe you a kill and I'm surprised that the distinction has been lost on you, my lord," Azalia drawled, crossing one gorgeous leg over the other and looking the very picture of feminine. "You see, I don't deal in warm bodies, Arlington. They're just so loud and wet and fucking whiny. I prefer them cold, quiet, serene, and perhaps a pleasing shade of blue. And if you can't help me pad my resume with someone of repute, I'm afraid I have no interest in chasing down this unruly slave of yours." But just as she was about to continue her little rant, an idea occurred to Azalia and she paused mid-thought, a horrible expression darkening her features. "This Chrystein Girl is related to the famous Florence Querren, isn't she?" Azalia asked, though she didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Give me Querren, Arlington, and I think I may be able to help you after all." Lord Arlington frowned at that, taken a little off guard. Truthfully, he had wanted to deal with Querren himself, but to have Azalia on his side was to have the support of her entire guild. There was no denying that the Crimson Dragons might come in handy, should negotiations with Nardia turn sour. Normally, assassins didn't work in large groups, but perhaps Lord Arlington could push for a few more favors later, if he pleased one of their more prestigious members now. "Very well," Arlington sighed, looking a little dejected, and suddenly Azalia's eyes were once more alight with a disturbing glee, reminiscent of a child in a candy store. "I'll give you the kill shot on Florence Querren. And, in addition to erasing your debt to me, I'll pay you handsomely for the favor. I'll give you the standard rate on all your captives and kills, plus a shipping and handling fee for anyone I want alive." "So, for Karrington, you'd give me the Class 'A' Rate, my lord?" "Karrington is not a Class 'A' Target; I'm a Class 'A' Target!" Lord Arlington hissed, turning piercing eyes toward Azalia, dark and foreboding. The injury in his voice was all too apparent, even when it was contorted by rage. "Karrington is nothing but an overgrown soldier, who doesn't understand where he stands in the food chain, least of all who he is fucking with!" With that, Lord Arlington slammed his fist into the table, just as the poor waiter from earlier appeared. The violence of the gesture was so sudden that it made the waiter jump and he dropped both their drinks upon the floor, sending glass everywhere. Trembling where he stood, the man could only stare in horror at the mess before him and then at the heated expression on Lord Arlington's face. "Out!" Arlington cried, standing to his feet and pointing forcefully back toward the main floor, but the waiter needed no prompting. "Get out!" "Awww, now that's not very nice," Azalia chided with feigned concern, although the amused expression on her face revealed that she was not the least bit fazed by Arlington's outburst. "Look at the poor lad run. I think he nearly shit himself." "I'm getting this bloody cast off tomorrow," Lord Arlington growled, sitting back down with an irritable sigh and gesturing toward his injured leg. "The doctor doesn't recommend it, but even if there's still a bit of healing to do, I should be able to walk and the pain will be minimal. But I can't keep sitting idly by while incompetence is allowed free reign in my absence. I know it's a cliche, but if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself." With that, Lord Arlington pulled a folder from beneath his cloak and handed a series of documents to Azalia, each depicting a different enemy fighter's picture and biography. Lazily, Azalia began to skim through them, then turned towards a series of stapled papers, which were labeled "Briefing." "The day after tomorrow, I have negotiations with Nardia and you're coming with me, on the pretext of being a bodyguard," Lord Arlington explained, watching Azalia carefully and trying to read her facial expressions. But, much to his relief, she now looked rather interested in his mission. "After negotiations are over, I'll send a body double across the border and into Isleydor, so that it appears as if I've left the country. But the two of us—along with a few other dragons under my hire—are going to secretly stay behind, track these fugitives down, and drag the live ones back, preferably kicking and screaming the entire way." "And as promised, you'll give me the kill shot on Querren?" Azalia asked, picking up the demolition expert's biography and looking over it eagerly. Carefully, she traced Querren's picture with a perfectly manicured, red painted nail and sighed as if staring into the eyes of a lover. "God, who wouldn't want to go after a man who likes to play with fire?" "Indeed," Lord Arlington mused, looking up into the ceiling. "I haven't been human hunting in years, but I expect it should be quite fun." ****** Kara glanced out the carriage window, quietly surveying their surroundings. They were following a more treacherous route now, which cut through the northern mountains and led down into a green valley, isolated on all sides from the rest of Nardia. Long ago, they'd ventured away from the flat farmland and fenced in livestock to the south and Kara could see the dark blue silhouettes of mountains on either side of her, their peaks bathed in the white shimmer of snow. Being unpaved, the trail they took was difficult to follow, requiring the carriage to navigate around large hunks of fallen rock and deep, stagnant puddles. Every so often, the carriage managed to get caught in a rut or hit upon a rock and would jolt precariously, throwing Kara from her seat. Except for the occasional whinnying of the horses and the persistent grinding of carriage wheels, it was completely silent. Greenwood had been staring out the window in a quiet reverie since they'd started their journey ten hours ago and he hadn't said a word since. No one dared interrupt whatever thoughts were swirling through his head, not even Alyssa, although she would sometimes look worriedly in his direction and move as if to touch his shoulder. But in the end, she always thought better of it and withdrew at the last second, returning once more to her own quiet reverie. For once, Kara actually felt sorry for her. Even if she didn't approve of their affair, Kara knew how close Alyssa and Greenwood had become. It must not be easy, quietly waiting for your lover to meet his wife, after years of absence. The result was a peculiar atmosphere. It wasn't exactly sorrowful, but there was a definite sanctity to the air that warned against any violation its mighty presence. Eventually, Kara was able to glance out the window and see that they were being taken through a dark, narrow canyon—cut into the rock by running water, very long ago—and suddenly, she was being bathed in the golden light of the sun. Their little carriage had turned onto a steep path, lined on either side by dark vegetation, which led down into Highland Valley. The sounds of falling rock and trickling water quickly gave way to the laughter of children, the barking of dogs, and the obnoxious clanking of tractors. Looking up, Kara could see that the sky was once more visible, clearer and brighter than any she had seen before. The great expanse was very nearly cloudless and a brilliant shade of blue, so crisp that it hurt a little to look at it. Then, in the valley below, Kara could see a tiny village, consisting of no more than twenty or so families, a single general store, a ramshackle tavern, and a few tiny farms. Indeed, if you wanted to hide your family away, this would be the place to send them. It was quite an isolated little place, bordered on all sides by the precarious Northern Mountains. "Could we stop for a few moments, do you think?" Greenwood asked and suddenly all eyes were upon him, looking concerned, as if he were a frightened rabbit and any sudden movement might startle him. "Come on, what's everyone looking so odd about? It's not like I'm dying or anything, for god's sake," Greenwood told them, narrowing his eyes and sounding quite irritable. "I'd just like to stop at the general store for a moment and pick up a few things. I'm already showing up uninvited, so I better come bearing gifts." "Sure, yeah, we can stop," Alyssa replied and Kara found the gentleness in her voice disconcerting for one normally so obnoxious and loud. "I'll stick my head out and let the driver know." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 23 Moments later, the carriage had come to a halt in front of the general store and Kara was able to step outside and stretch her legs. A disturbance in the bushes caught her attention and she turned, only to see roughly a dozen wild eyed children staring at her from behind the vegetation. As soon as she spotted them, they scattered in all directions, like a clustering of cockroaches. Hollering and tripping over themselves, they fled toward the main body of the village, no doubt to tell their parents that strangers were in town. Shrugging to herself, Kara turned back toward the general store, a weather worn little house with a wide roof and the words "Marty's Goods" written over the doorway in fading red paint. Given its quaint appearance, the store was surprisingly spacious. Anyone viewing it from the road would never suspect that it could hold so many goods, but the vaulted ceiling and the absence of interior walls did much to open it up. Hundreds of shelving units were arranged to form long aisles, filled with everything from dried goods to children's toys. Clearly, this was the only supply store in town and had to stock everything its inhabitants would need. There were baby clothes and old radios and hunting gear, but Kara's favorite aisle was lined with barrels of spices and herbs, which made the entire store smell warm and delicious. Then, the light coming in from the windows bathed everything in gold, cinching the homely atmosphere that she found so soothing. Kara was just wandering down the isles—caught up in all the peculiar sights and smells—when she bumped into Greenwood, standing alone in the toy isle and staring at a series of handmade dolls. "Ah, Kara!" Greenwood greeted, with a smile that was a slightly anxious. "You're just the person I wanted to see. I'd normally ask Alyssa, but you know her. She isn't your typical girl, if you know what I mean." Gesturing toward the isle of toys, Greenwood stepped back and eyed the selection contemplatively. "What, do you think, would be appropriate for a seven-year-old girl?" God, Kara's heart hurt just looking at Greenwood, with his eyes worried and his face concerned. Gently running her hand along a shelf of items, Kara paused every so often until she found something she, personally, would have loved as a child. It was a doll, but unlike the rest of the selection, it wasn't dressed as an infant. Instead, it was wrapped up in cloth leaves and twigs, with wings sticking out of its back and a wooden sword in its hand. Forest fairies were part of the local lore in most rural areas and they were usually depicted as strong, feisty creatures. Smiling to herself, Kara picked it up and presented it to Greenwood. "Isn't this one nice?" Kara asked, watching expectantly as Greenwood turned it about in his hands and examined the stitching, then started fiddling with its purple wings. "I think most seven-year-old girls are through with playing house. And really, what imaginative little girl doesn't want a fairy of her very own?" "Yes," Greenwood mused thoughtfully, a happy smile slowly spreading across his face and creating little dimples. "Yes, I do believe you're right. Thank you, Kara. I really do appreciate the input." And with a playful little wink, Greenwood headed off into another corner of the store. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" Ben's voice hollered from down the aisle and Kara spun around in place to see him heading expectantly toward her. "I mean this place is huge, isn't it?" "I expect it needs to be," Kara agreed, looking up into the massive ceiling and hearing her voice echo back. "It must only get stocked every month or so, at most." "Anyway, now that I've found you, I want to show you something," Ben insisted, taking Kara by the hand and leading her through long stretches of shelving, filled to capacity with dried beans and fruit preserves. But eventually, he stopped before a glass case at the store front and pointed out a hair clip which had caught his eye. "You're always wearing your hair up," Ben explained, motioning for the owner to come over and unlock the case. "And you're always using any old rubber band or piece of twine you can find, but you deserve something better." The store owner opened the glass case and handed the hair clip to Kara which, she had to admit, was positively beautiful. It consisted of a rounded, leather piece mounted on a wooden clip and the minor imperfections in its work indicated that it had been handcrafted. Depicted on the rounded leather piece was a decorative rose, with tiny vines leading away from either side of the blossom. The vines were covered in long, sharp looking thorns and the leather had been carefully painted to bring out the deep red of the rose and the black tips of each thorn. Finally, a thin strand of dark blue ribbon had been threaded around the outer edge of the leather plate, ending in a tiny bow on the clip's left most side. "I don't know, but a rose just seems to suit you. You're a pretty thing, but you're also a tad on the prickly side," Ben chuckled and Kara gave him a sideways smirk. Although, to be honest, Kara was rather proud of her 'prickly' side, even if it regularly got her into trouble. "It'll look great on you, I just know it." "You know, we should probably be saving what little money we have," Kara protested, even as Ben took out his purse and handed over the coins. "After all, we won't be in Nulme for a few hours yet and who knows when we might need a few extra coins to get by." But ignoring Kara completely, Ben walked around behind her and gently removed the piece of yarn she'd been using to tie her hair back, releasing the wavy, brown locks so that they cascaded down her neck and across her shoulders. Then, for a moment, he just stood there, running his fingers through her silky mane and appreciating the way each strand shimmered in the light of the gradually setting sun. The way he tugged playfully at her locks and traced the contours of her head, then her neck, made Kara shiver in delightful ways. "Nonsense," Ben whispered in Kara's ear, enjoying the little tremors he was now able to illicit, just by running his finger along her bare skin. "We may be fugitives on the run from Isleydor and the chess pieces in Nardia's latest scheme, but I think it's best if we can at least pretend to be semi-normal and normal people buy their girlfriends gifts." With that, Ben pulled back Kara's hair, gently arranging it into a lengthy pony tail before clipping it in place. "Perfect," Ben whispered, and he pressed his lips against Kara's cheek. Outside, Kara and Ben found Greenwood beside the carriage, picking daisies, wild roses, and azalias while Alyssa leaned against a nearby tree, mumbling something about the general store's lack of cigarettes and looking sadly into the only package she had left. But it didn't take long for Greenwood to finish his bouquet and soon, everyone was piling back into the carriage and heading down the road. The lush valley was a beautiful sight to behold and for a brief moment, the entire sky line expanded with golden light, just as the sun began to dip below the valley. Finally, they came to a halt and Kara peaked out past Greenwood at the tiny, one story home ahead. It was an adorable little cottage with chipping white paint and lush vines growing around the windowsills, like something out of a fairy tale. Clothes had been hung out to dry between two apple trees, including a small pink dress that clearly belonged to a child. To complete the look, flowers lined a walkway leading up to the front door, where a worn mat lay, stamped with the words "Welcome Friends." But following Greenwood's eyes, Kara saw that he was staring in through the windows, lit from behind by a roaring fire and several oil lamps. A dark silhouette passed by and Kara could hear Greenwood inhale sharply, as if he'd just seen a ghost. "I can do this," Greenwood whispered, clutching the door and shaking violently enough to make it rattle. "I can do this." Mustering up all his courage, Greenwood suddenly flung open the door and began striding toward the house, just as a wild blur shot across the walkway and forced him to stumble backward. At first, Kara thought it must be an animal, but the blur turned out to be a small girl with long, dark hair and equally dark eyes. Sunburned and dirty, she tore across the front yard, only to be chased by two smaller, twin boys with grass stains all over their knees and a frog being carefully carried between them. They were laughing hysterically as they went, their eyes alight with mischief and their grins toothy. "Get it away from me!" the girl cried, glancing back angrily at her pursuers and trying to sound as authoritative and forceful as a seven-year-old girl possibly could. "I'm going to tell mommy and then you'll both be sorry! It's got all kinds of germs! Get it away!" "Oh god," Greenwood whispered, his expression filled with so much repressed pain that Kara thought her own heart would break just by looking at him. "I knew about Elaine, but I didn't know Melissa had boys. They're twins, too. My god, I have grandsons..." His lips quivering, Greenwood turned toward Alyssa and tried his best to smile, to hold back the tears. "My god, Alyssa, I have grandsons!" The epiphany, shouted into the wind, seemed to catch the children's attention and they finally stopped bickering long enough to notice Greenwood. Almost immediately, the boys guiltily dropped the frog they'd been chasing their sister with and darted away, full well knowing that no adult would approve. Elaine, on the other hand, puffed up her chest, marched right up to Greenwood, and began looking him up and down. "I don't know you," Elaine declared in a half-curious, half-accusatory fashion. "Which means you're a stranger and I'm not supposed to talk to you." Then, filling her lungs to the brim, Elaine began to scream. "Stranger danger!" she cried, heading back toward the house as fast as her little legs would carry her. "Stranger danger!" Greenwood opened his mouth then as if to protest, but suddenly the front door to the cottage was opening and he looked about him as if searching for somewhere to hide. But there was nowhere to run and when a gentle face peeked out past the doorway—long black hair, a graceful neck, full lips, and deep black eyes—Greenwood found himself trapped where he stood, like a deer in the headlights. But the look on his own face was nothing compared to that of the woman in the doorway, who at first just looked confused, then utterly horrified. She had been stirring a pot of something sweet and dropped it upon the doorstep, so that it shattered and sent globs of chocolate paste in all directions. With her hand pressed to her mouth, the woman stumbled out onto the pathway as if clumsy with drink, grabbing onto the clothesline for support and looking like she might faint at any moment, although she refused to let her eyes leave Greenwood's. When she was almost halfway down the path, she suddenly broke out into a full-on run, barreling into Greenwood and almost knocking him over. Poor Greenwood found that he couldn't move and merely looked on as the woman began to viciously unbutton his shirt, her hands trembling. When her fingers finally found bare skin, she ripped aside the rest of the cloth and gently traced the heart-shaped birthmark he bore, as if caught up in some sort of nightmarish dream. Then her fingers were tracing his lips, caressing his cheeks, and combing through his fine gray hair. For several minutes, the woman simply touched and caressed Greenwood—tears of disbelief pooling in her eyes and spilling over—until with an anguished cry, she collapsed onto her knees and started screaming. Kara thought her blood curdling cries so intense, they could have ripped the earth in two, had it the soul to sympathize. At the very least, they got the attention of the woman's husband, who violently threw open the front door, a rifle tucked under his arm. Looking furious, he aimed straight at Greenwood, but then recognition lit up his features and he slowly lowered his gun. "Oh my god," the woman's husband whispered, squinting furiously past Greenwood, as if he might be a mirage. "Oh my god, George?!?" "I'm so sorry," Greenwood began, his voice hoarse, and although he tried to retain his calm, fresh tears were soon spilling over and onto his cheeks. "Melissa...Tom...I'm so sorry, I don't know how to—" "You're supposed to be dead!" Melissa screamed, beating the ground with her fists until they were raw. "You died five years ago!" Quickly, Tom ran up the pathway to help her up, attempting to embrace her and soothe her with his gentle rocking. But as soon as Melissa was back on her feet—albeit, unsteadily—she wrenched herself away from his grasp and stalked toward Greenwood. "A policeman came to our house and said there had been a car accident! A manufacturer's error caused the entire vehicle to go up in flame and you were incinerated!" "God, I am so sorry, Melissa. I swear, I didn't mean—" "There was nothing left, but ashes," Melissa whispered and a gut wrenching sob broke out into the early evening, mingling into a background of chirping crickets and croaking frogs. "We were told there was no body, so I buried your ashes." "Probably taken from the local animal shelter," Greenwood whispered and Melissa started pounding on his chest, deranged cries making her hoarse. "My god, I'm sorry—" "Why, dad?" Melissa choked, clutching Greenwood's face in her hands and staring straight into his eyes, even as he desperately tried to look away. "Why?" But Greenwood merely shook his head and Melissa's expression became deadly. "You think this is okay?" she hissed, her voice softer now, more accusatory. "You think you can abandon your daughter and grandchild, fake your death, then come waltzing back and not even give me a reason?" "It's very complicated," Greenwood began, trying to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. "Listen, I didn't mean to be gone so long, otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to leave in the first place, but they promised me it was only going to be five months at the most, not five years." "I don't care how long you thought you'd be gone. You missed the birth of my sons and I need to know the reason." "Okay," Greenwood finally agreed and he reached out in order to grasp Melissa's hands in his own. "You're right. You deserve an answer, but I can't give you all the details, at least not now. In short, I had to go away for a while, to work undercover for the military effort. It wasn't the best decision I ever made, but please believe me, sweetheart. I would never abandon you, never." Then, Greenwood was wrapping his arms around Melissa and pulling her in so tightly, Kara thought the woman might break in two. "Wait a minute," Melissa whispered, stiffening in Greenwood's arms and stepping away from him. Looking back at Tom, then at Greenwood, she allowed the dots in her mind to connect and her eyes turned sour. "Oh god, Tom's placement out here wasn't a coincidence was it?" Melissa asked, her voice catching just a bit. "The grant money he received to do botanical research had only a single requirement, and that was to stick to the vegetation in this precise area. Oh god, you did that on purpose, didn't you?" With a guilty expression, Greenwood merely nodded his head, fidgeting anxiously with the sleeve of his dress shirt so that he didn't have to look at the shock on his daughter's face. "You know me, Melissa. I'm an actor and that's what I was used for, to act the part of a powerful brute in Isleydor," Greenwood sighed, his voice a quiet tremor. "If my cover had been blown, you could have been used against me. We needed to keep you in a safe, isolated area. Why not out here in Nardia, contained within a village so remote that it has no television reception and only a single community phone?" "You stuck us out here, in the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere?" Melissa whispered, her heart so filled with hurt Kara could feel it permeating the air. "Dad, I gave up my dream job to come out here...my friends...our little house by the lake..." "I know and god, I am so sorry!" Greenwood choked, wringing his hands in front of him and starting to sob loudly. "I know I keep saying that and it'll never be enough, but—" "No," Melissa interrupted, wiping away her tears. Taking a deep breath, she smoothened her anguished features and turned a smiling face toward Greenwood, then gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, I forgive you." Greenwood gave her a startled expression at that, but she only smiled more widely at him, took his hand, and began leading him toward the house. "We've already lost the past five years; there's no sense in losing any more time. Let's have dinner together tonight. And don't worry, I'm a much better cook now than I was the last time you came over." "Melissa, wait," Greenwood insisted, digging his feet into the pavement and stopping before the door. This time, his voice was more serious than it was sorrowful, which seemed to worry Melissa. "Listen, sweetheart," Greenwood began, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Before you get too excited, I need you to know that this isn't over. Sooner or later, a certain someone is bound to learn of my identity and it isn't safe here anymore. We need to pack up and leave in a day or two, at most." "Honestly, dad," Melissa replied, unfazed and still smiling. "I figured as much." "And there's one more thing..." Greenwood persisted, looking down into the bouquet of flowers he was still holding, now crumpled from all their hugging. "Your mother..." "Out back, in the garden," Melissa replied, looking sympathetically past him and around the corner. "We'll be waiting for you inside when you're done." "You want company, old man? Or are you good?" Alyssa asked, carefully taking his hand in her own and squeezing reassuringly, but Greenwood only shook his head. "You sure?" "Yes, Alyssa, thank you," Greenwood told her, squeezing her hand right back. "But I need to do this on my own." With that, Greenwood made his way around the side of the house and in an instant, he was gone. Kara felt a little awkward—having just witnessed such a heart felt, traumatic family reunion—but Melissa seemed determined to create a light hearted atmosphere and eagerly waved everyone into her home, chit-chatting about a series of bizarre thunderstorms that had been plaguing the village as of late. Inside the cottage, it was a little cramped, but remarkably cozy. Just beyond the front door, Kara found herself in a living room with a worn little couch and several rickety wooden chairs, all arranged before one of the magnificent fireplaces characteristic of Nardia. It smelt strongly of chicken and freshly baked bread—the evening meal, Kara suspected—but there was a hint of homemade potpourri as well. Kara was most entranced by the dozens upon dozens of photographs lining the walls, seemingly in a haphazard fashion: Elaine riding a bike for the first time, Tom happily fishing along a large river, the twins swinging side-by-side and being pushed by their mother, who was wearing a yellow summer dress. Then, there was an entire wall devoted to Greenwood, more often than not dressed in some elaborate costume and wearing stage make-up. Kara saw him depicted as a pirate, a cow-boy, and even as a frightful magician. The largest picture of all was a framed portrait of Greenwood and a dark haired woman, mounted above the fireplace and surrounded on all sides by sticks of incense, usually lit on holidays as a way of inviting the dead back to celebrate with the family. "I'll be right back with drinks," Melissa assured everyone, gesturing around the room and insisting that they make themselves comfortable. Kara was still feeling out of place, but Alyssa immediately collapsed into a wooden chair before the fire and put her feet up, looking exhausted. With a shrug, Ben followed suite and soon Kara was sitting beside him. "Please, let me know if you need anything," Melissa smiled, fluffing the pillows on the couch a little before heading toward the kitchen. "I'll just be finishing up dinner, but holler if you feel so inclined." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 23 "Well, I suppose we'll be meeting up with Uncle Florence and Tamius later tonight, won't we?" Kara began, trying to lighten the mood with some conversation. "It'll be nice to see them and maybe have a quick look around Nulme, right?" But suddenly, Kara was interrupted by a loud crash, followed by some tense shouting and the slamming of cupboard doors. "If it's true and he did fake his death...if he dragged us out here into the middle of nowhere..." Tom's voice hissed from beyond the kitchen door, tense and furious. "Well then, I think I've had about enough of him..." "He's my father!" "He lied to us!" Tom's voice shouted and something glass shattered onto the kitchen floor, making an awful tinkling noise that echoed throughout the house. "And now, he thinks he can waltz back here and demand that we leave our new life behind? Wasn't leaving Calihistra bad enough? Then being stranded in this god forsaken, back-woods place, once we learned that Isleydor had taken over?" "He means to protect us!" "We aren't leaving!" Tom replied, stamping his feet forcefully on the ground and making the dishes in the kitchen cabinets quake. "And that's final!" "Motherfucker," Alyssa groaned and rolling her eyes, she stood up from the fireplace and headed for the kitchen door, just as Tom was stepping out of it. Grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt, Alyssa slammed him into the wall, forcefully enough to make him grunt. He tried to push her away, of course, but she pinned him in place, pressing him against worn wallpaper and poorly framed pictures. "Listen, ass-wipe, do you want to die?" Alyssa asked, more matter-of-fact than anything else. "Because if you stay here and the wrong people show up, that's exactly what'll happen." "Who are you people, even?" Tom demanded, glaring at everyone in turn and finally staring down Kara."You think you can just show up and change everything?" "I think I asked a pretty simple question, but maybe you're too dumb and deaf and to answer," Alyssa growled. Grabbing onto Tom once more, she shook him violently, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. "Do you want to die or not?" "I think you'd better go and get Greenwood...I mean, George," Ben whispered, nodding toward Alyssa and Tom, who were now throwing creative insults at each other. "This could get ugly, if we're not careful." Nodding in agreement, Kara leapt off the couch, out the front door, and into the purples and pinks of the steadily setting sun. A cool breeze was gently blowing about the rose bushes out front, which bowed and raised their colorful blossoms in a continuous dance. It was a beautiful, peaceful sight, but Kara didn't have time to dwell on it. Cautiously, she crept around the house, then paused right before the corner. Even if there was something of an emergency, it didn't seem right to barge in on Greenwood's reunion with his wife or the inevitable farewell he would need to bid Alyssa in the process. Kara couldn't fathom all the wonderful, terrible emotions Greenwood must be dealing with and she was loathe to disturb such a personal, private experience. In fact, Kara was just about to turn back and deal with the fight herself, when there was another loud crash and then more horrible shouting, all coming from beyond the kitchen window. As unfortunate as it was, Greenwood would have to attend to Alyssa and Tom, ready or not. With a defeated groan, Kara took a deep breath and slowly eased herself around the corner of the house, cursing Alyssa's sporadic, violent nature as she went. As Melissa had promised, there was a luscious garden out back. Rows upon rows of vegetables and herbs had been planted, bordered on either side by an array of fall blossoms, adding their pinks, yellows, and blues to the greenery. Then, a little beyond the garden, Kara could see a well trimmed yard with a little picnic table and chairs, all bathed in the warm glow of the steadily sinking sun. The mountains in the distance had become purple and white in the oncoming twilight and it took a moment for Kara to locate Greenwood, who was a mere silhouette against their magnificence. But there he was, sitting cross legged on the ground with his back toward the house and strangely enough, alone. Perplexed, Kara stepped forward and noticed that Greenwood was sitting beside two gravestones, with shiny granite surfaces which read "George Turner" and "Elizabeth Turner." Still, it wasn't until she saw the flowers resting on the latter's grave that it all made sense. Greenwood's wife, Kara realized, was dead. His daughter and her husband had buried his "ashes" beside her in the garden and then made a shrine to them above the fireplace. It was just too much and Kara could feel her heart shudder painfully. Forget the fight inside, Kara thought, there was no way in hell she could bear to disturb Greenwood at such an intimate moment. And so, trying to remain as quiet as possible, she slowly turned around and began to tip-toe toward the house. "Well, hello there," Greenwood greeted and Kara groaned, embarrassed to have been caught spying on him and then sneaking away, but there was nothing to do except face him. As soon as their eyes met, she winced guiltily, expecting some form of chastisement, but he merely smiled up at her, completely at ease. "Come and sit won't you?" Greenwood offered, patting the soft grass beside him. "Is there anything I can help you with?" "I am so sorry," Kara apologized, wringing her hands in front of her. "It's just that Alyssa and Tom are fighting and...but I can probably handle it myself and...well, it seemed...Anyway, I'm sorry." Quickly, Kara made for the house, this time not bothering to quiet her footsteps, but Greenwood's weary voice stopped her in her tracks. "We met in college," Greenwood began and Kara turned to see him with a reminiscent smile on his face, dimpling his cheeks and making him look younger than his years. "Elizabeth's father was one of those super controlling, career minded men," he explained, gesturing upward as if it were written in the clouds. "She spent her summers at science camp and her evenings playing the piano. When she finally moved on campus, the freedom was a little, shall we say, overwhelming?" And Greenwood chuckled in a meaningful way. "Late night partying, skinny dipping in the university pond, pranking the upperclassmen with the rest of her excitable crew...Elizabeth wanted to try out everything she'd missed during her high school years. She played on the Intramural Soccer Team, joined the Art Club, and eventually ended up trying out for the Drama Club's Annual Performance." "God, she was awful," Greenwood grinned, with a sort of half-groan/half-chuckle. "I mean, I couldn't act that badly if I tried. And we tried not to laugh at her. We really did. You don't want to discourage the freshmen from coming back and trying out again, but her face...oh, god...I can't even..." Kara could tell that Greenwood was trying really hard not to break out in uncontrollable laughter, but in the end, he couldn't help it and doubled over from the effort. "But the point is," Greenwood gasped, wiping tears from his face. "The point is that she laughed right along with us and I thought, 'A woman who can laugh at herself! I can't let this one get away!' So, I asked her out and it was the best damned decision I ever made. Elizabeth was such a silly, fun loving woman. If something went wrong—if the tires on the car blew out on the interstate or I dropped my wallet in the park—Elizabeth would insist that it wasn't a problem, but an adventure. Nothing could get the woman down, I swear to god." "I remember this one time, in particular," Greenwood mused, looking adoringly at his wife's grave and then shaking his head humorously. "This one time, we had reservations at a really fancy restaurant, to celebrate our anniversary. I had to get those reservations months in advance and when we finally arrived, they had no record of it. I was rather disappointed, but not Elizabeth. Oh, no! Nothing would get down my Elizabeth." Kara then noticed that there was a little box chained beside Elizabeth's grave and another beside Greenwood's. Intrigued, she watched as he unlocked his wife's wooden box and withdrew a photograph of a woman with impossibly dark hair and eyes, just like Melissa's and Elaine's. They were keepsake boxes, she realized. Kara had once heard about such traditions in Nardia, though they were rarely practiced now-a-days. "Beautiful, isn't she?" Greenwood asked and Kara nodded in agreement. With her serene, but contagious smile, Elizabeth was quite stunning. "I missed being able to just look at her like this. It's not like I could keep a picture with me, god forbid someone found it..." "But anyway," Greenwood continued, and a smile suddenly returned to his face. "Anyway, the next thing I know, the crazy woman has me driving to the nearest burger joint. We took a couple of meals home, but she wouldn't let me eat until she'd lit every candle in the house, then found some pink construction paper and decorated the table with little hearts. The food was cold by then, but I didn't mind. The way her eyes danced in the candlelight was absolutely entrancing. Years later, in Isleydor, that moment is what kept me going. I'm only human and eventually, her face began to fade from my memory. Just small details at first, but they added up and eventually, all I could see in my mind's eye was a flesh colored blur framed by the dark, black waves of her hair. It very nearly drove me mad. And yet, even when I'd forgotten everything else—the precise curve of her neck, the adorable dimples on her cheeks, the way her hair blew in the wind, just so—even then, I was able to remember the way her eyes looked that night and it helped me hang on just a little bit longer." "Greenwood," Kara began and when he looked over at her, she moved to sit down beside him. "What the hell happened?" "Now, don't go feeling sorry for me," Greenwood chided playfully, but hidden beneath his jovial tone, Kara could sense an odd heaviness that made her uneasy. "I had a great life. Most actors have to get some kind of day job. But Elizabeth supported our family as a Mechanical Engineer, just like her father. During the acting season, I did live theater and the rest of the year, I was a stay at home dad. I couldn't have been happier with the arrangement, even if Elizabeth did tease me sometimes. One year during the Winter Solstice, she bought me a frilly pink apron as a joke, but I digress..." Greenwood sighed irritably then and Kara noticed that his hands were shaking ever so slightly. "Anyway, at that time, Calihistra's Intelligence Bureau was looking for someone to worm their way onto Arlington's War Time Operations Board. The first five people or so they sent in were immediately weeded out and executed. You know Lord Arlington, Kara. He's a mind reader and he saw right through Calihistra's agents. No, they needed a professional actor—more specifically, a method actor like myself, who becomes the part rather than portrays it—to go in and play the part of the cruel, cunning interrogator. Arlington was drawing board members from all the different branches of military at that time and only had room left for intelligence. It was bad luck that the head of the project went to see one of my performances. I was playing a rather dastardly villain and he found my persona to be perfect for the part of Alan Greenwood." "What did you do?" Kara asked, incredulous. "What do you think I did?" Greenwood laughed and he patted Kara heartily on the back, as if they were both in on some kind of joke. "A man in his fifties with a dream job, a small grandchild, and no more mortgage to worry about? Why, I laughed in the man's face and when I learned that he was dead serious, I laughed at him some more. At first, I have to admit that I was rather flattered." Greenwood smiled then, putting his hand to his chest in mocking self-adoration and winking playfully at Kara. "I mean, who isn't thrilled to be so adamantly sought out? But when recruiters started showing up once or twice a week, it became a nuisance. They would corner me after a performance, call me during dinner, show up on my doorstep at all hours of the night. First, they tried being nice and offered me all sorts of wonderful perks and paychecks. Then, there were threats and I filed a restraining order which, by the way, was never written up. Finally, a couple months after it all started, Elizabeth was diagnosed with cancer." "The disease was in its later stages and we were told that nothing we could do would prolong her life," Greenwood sighed, but it was an accepting kind of sigh, belonging to a man who had finished crying all his tears and had reached some inner peace. "But Elizabeth wouldn't give up—the very concept seemed to elude her—and found out about some clinical trials for a miracle drug. We tried to get Elizabeth admitted to the study. After all, she lived a healthy lifestyle and had a strong, optimistic attitude to boot! But as it turned out, there was an unofficial entry fee. Most participants were admitted after donating expensive equipment to the responsible lab or large sums of money to their sponsors. There was too much bureaucracy and we didn't have the money to bribe our way past it all. And then, those manipulative, thieving rats showed up...and they...they promised to get my wife into the study if I finally agreed to working as a double. And, well, when your wife is in trouble like that, you don't weigh the pros and cons, trying to decide what's best for everyone," Greenwood told Kara, with a sad little smile. "You just do what you're told. But, in the end, Elizabeth still didn't make it and by then, it was too late. I'd already become Alan Greenwood or he'd become me. I never could figure that one out." "And you still stayed in Isleydor?" Kara hissed, disbelief and and anger slowly starting to consume her. "If what you say is true, Calihistra betrayed you and you owed them nothing! Why didn't you just leave, once your wife had passed?" "I didn't know that she had died," Greenwood said quietly and Kara turned slowly toward him, the miserable tone of his voice making her feel sick. "Well, alright, I suppose a part of me knew," he quickly corrected. "Once every two weeks, there was a lot of elaborate set-up and planning so that I could speak with Elizabeth for a half-hour. They'd faked my death at that point, so that my sudden disappearance from society wouldn't arouse suspicion, but on my insistence, promised me that they'd tell my wife the truth and keep us in contact. But when she died, they didn't tell me..." "They got hold of some old family videos, hired a voice actor to imitate her over the phone, and behaved as if she were still alive. I could tell, of course. I'm sure she sounded spot on to the average person, but when you've been married to a woman for—What was it? Thirty years?—you pick up on little nuisances in tone that other people can't hear. And then, there were all those inside jokes couples have that their voice actor didn't understand. But I didn't want to believe that Elizabeth was dead, so I let them fool me and gradually, I sort of got used to the idea. When they finally told me the truth, I was almost done mourning." "That's unforgivable!" Kara spat, turning toward Greenwood with a murderous expression on her face and malice in her eyes. "How could they do such a terrible thing, lying to you after all you'd sacrificed!" "Oh, I don't blame them," Greenwood mused, much to Kara's surprise, but when he noticed the shock on her face, he merely chuckled. "Now, don't get me wrong, putting me in that position in the first place was unforgivable. But once I was in Isleydor working undercover, lying to me was just the lesser of two evils. Imagine if they'd told me about Elizabeth's passing and I'd had a mental breakdown? It wasn't unlikely, given the stress of those first few months. Imagine how many people would have died had I'd slipped out of character and been found out?" "It's understandable, I suppose," Kara begrudging admitted, although the situation still irked her. "I'm not saying I like what they did, but I get it." "And besides, they told me the truth eventually," Greenwood continued, turning away from Kara and staring up into the mountains, which had darkened and deepened with the setting of the sun. "I'd been working undercover for three years at that point and when they finally broke the news, it wasn't all that bad. I had known it was coming and on some subconscious level, been preparing for it all along. I called in sick for a week, cried my eyes out, then came into work at Bremmington just like always. You know, come to think of it," Greenwood murmured, and he looked back toward the house contemplatively. "Yes, that was when I met Alyssa. The first week I came back into work, after I'd finally come to terms with Elizabeth's death." "You met at Bremmington?" Kara asked, thinking that Greenwood was just full of surprises. "And how did that go, exactly?" "Alyssa had been working on a Rescue Regiment, but then she went and broke protocol—surprise, surprise—and it cost her. Most of her men got away, but she ended up in a cell," Greenwood explained, and he shook his head slightly in exasperation. "I was assigned to be her interrogator, which is really just a fancy word for 'tormentor.' But like I said, the story isn't mine to tell," Greenwood chided, giving Kara an odd little smile. "You'll just have to use your imagination." "Oh, come on, it's me we're talking about," Alyssa laughed, emerging from around the house with a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth and a predatory grin on her face. "What the hell did you think happened?" "I'm not entirely sure I want to know," Kara admitted, looking up at the evil glint in Alyssa's eyes. "Fucking idiot didn't tie me tight enough," Alyssa laughed, surveying the mountains as if she owned the world. "I ended up holding him hostage in a janitor's closet for three days, keeping Arlington's cronies at bay with a .44 Magnum and a few gas canisters I stole off a guard." "Believe it or not, it's not as bad as it sounds," Greenwood laughed, playfully winking in Kara's direction. "Alyssa's bark is worse than her bite." "Oh, please," Alyssa sighed. "I had you crying like a baby." "Did not!" "Did too!" "I was very professional about the whole affair," Greenwood insisted, glaring a little at Alyssa, although he didn't seem to be taking their argument too seriously. "I most definitely kept it together, for the most part." "Ah ha!" Alyssa cried triumphantly and she pointed an accusatory finger at Greenwood. "And therein lies the truth! 'For the most part,' he says! I did so have you bawling!" Kara thought the two of them might go at it for an hour or so if they could, but not a moment later, Melissa was sticking her head out the back window and issuing a five minute warning for dinner. She didn't seem the least bit distressed, either. Whatever argument might had transpired, it appeared as if Alyssa had managed to resolve it herself, thank god, and with that, they all headed back inside. ****** It would be a lie to say that Alice wasn't nervous, although she tried not to let it show. The shiny tiled flooring, the white washed walls, and the sterile scent of the hospital all disturbed her. All during her childhood, Alice's mother had been quite sure that with her kind, compassionate nature, she'd one day become a medic, but poor Alice had never been able to shake her fear of these places. Beneath the biting, burning smell of bleach, she was sure she could detect the stench of infection and crinkled her nose, trying to resist the urge to hold her breath and make a run for the entryway. Luckily, the bouquet of flowers she held blocked out some of offensive odor and she clutched it to her chest, letting it's sweet aroma take her away, but it wasn't enough. Soon, she was fiddling with the ID tag around her neck, even if it was an embarrassingly bad habit. But it soothed her to remember that she belonged to someone. Not just to anyone either, but arguably the most powerful man in Isleydor. The tag made her feel close to him, even when she was far away. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 24 Author's Note: Good day, fabulous readers! Thanks so much for your patience over the past few months. I know there has been a great deal of demand for this particular chapter and I hope you enjoy it! As always, comments & ratings are SUPER appreciated so, if you have a minute or two to spare, let me know your thoughts. HisPet21 * Kara couldn't sleep. No matter what she tried—warm milk, soft music, a steaming bath—nothing seemed to work. Arlington's face kept swimming before her eyes, it's malevolent grin and sharp features haunting the darkness. With that face polluting her mind's eye, there was no way Kara could safely slip into unconsciousness. Nightmares were sure to follow or, even worse, another sex dream. If she woke up wet again and drenched in sweat, Kara wasn't sure she'd be able to face Lord Arlington the next day. He already evoked far too many emotions in her: fear, anger, lust, and oddly enough, pity. That last one was new—brought on by Greenwood's omission, no doubt—and it wasn't nearly as strong as the others, but it was still there. Surely, there was a reason Arlington had become such a monster? No, there isn't, Kara reprimanded herself, letting all the anger and terror of the past resurface. She allowed memories of the coffin to enter into her mind, and then of Arlington's whip. Those set her straight real quick. Evil's in Arlington's blood. Besides, even if he was like Greenwood—even if he did start out differently and then change—it's not your job to find out why. Your only job is to keep that lunatic occupied and put on a good show until negotiations are finally over. Much of the night went by like that, with Kara contemplating fretfully, so when sunlight finally began to peak through the curtains, she was relieved. Even if the new day meant an unpleasant reunion with Arlington, anything was better than the waiting and worrying. So, with a determined air, Kara stepped out of bed and threw open the windows. Far below her sat Nulme, Nardia's Capital City, still overcast in the morning fog. Even so, Main Street was already bustling with activity, cars mingling together with horse drawn carriages and oddly shaped bicycles. Here, the bucolic atmosphere of the nation melded together with the metropolitan aura of Nardia's largest city. Kara could see businessmen chatting away on cell phones while, just a few blocks away, a farmer from out of town was riding a tractor down the road and holding up traffic. Then, lining both sides of the street, shops were opening their doors, selling everything from country sweets to fancy clothes and from pure-bred horses to high-tech computers. Kara had never seen anything quite like it. But there was much to do before Lord Arlington's arrival and after a quick shower, Kara was hurrying to meet her companions for their morning security briefing. Beyond her bedroom door, there was a long, red carpeted hallway lined on either side by alternating wooden doors and windows, a style characteristic of most big city inns. Then Kara's watch alarm went off and grumbling to herself, she made a run for the elevator. Since she was housed on the twenty-fourth floor of the Companion Court Hotel—the headquarters for Nardia's upcoming negotiations—it would take some time to make it to the basement. Kara had learned the previous night that the elevator was being finicky. Repairmen had recently been hired to take care of the issue, but until then, service would be slow and tardiness inevitable. "Morning, sunshine!" Querren greeted, racing to embrace Kara as soon as the elevator doors had parted. "Nice to see you up and about!" "Querren, she's late," Alyssa groaned, although an endearing smirk managed to escape her lips. "You can hug and kiss and ogle each other later, but we have a tour to get started." "Alright," Querren sighed, winking affectionately at Kara and pushing her toward the rest of their tour group, which included Tamius and Ben, among others. "Let's get a move on, then." Leading the way, Querren and Alyssa took their group down a long, narrow hallway, gloomy and gray. It consisted of nothing but concrete flooring and wet walls, yet for such an unimportant looking place, it was remarkably well guarded. Intermittently, heavy steel doors blocked the group's path and at every corner, security personnel were poised with rifles. Kara was a little irked by the whole thing, but not Alyssa or Querren. Both were decked out in top-notch military gear, complete with padded body armor. They'd been up since three in the morning or so, preparing security for that evening's reception, and made their way through the maze of hallways as if they owned the place. "Sleep well?" Ben asked as they walked, grasping Kara gently around the waist. His touch was comforting and without meaning to, Kara found herself leaning into him. "Anymore nightmares?" "I didn't sleep," Kara admitted, cringing slightly at the mention of her 'nightmares.' "Not that it matters. I'm awake as I'll ever be, what with today's meeting and—" "Alrighty, folks, this is our stop," Alyssa called out, standing very seriously before a set of metallic doors, secured by a massive lock. "Many of you are going to be in close quarters with some very dangerous people tonight, so it's imperative that you understand the security system we're employing." With that, the doors swung open to reveal a large, circular room and Kara followed her tour guides inside, feeling more than a little awestruck. She'd expected Nulme to be more technologically savvy than the rest of Nardia, but the Bureaucratic Council had gone all out in preparation for toady. Lining the room from floor to ceiling were a number of screens, featuring live footage of the entire hotel. On the far wall, Kara even spotted the door to her room. Then, at the very center of the room, a massive control panel was being operated by three young techs, all of whom smiled and waved before returning to their work. "The entire hotel is essentially booby-trapped," Querren explained. "In preparation for these negotiations, Nardia's security personnel have put remote controlled locking mechanisms on all of the doors and windows. There are also gas canisters throughout the ventilation system, explosive and projectile units down certain hallways, and cameras along virtually every floor. All of which can, of course, be activated from this location." "Kind of like a fun house," Alyssa offered. "Except with deadly weaponry." "That sounds a little dangerous," Kara whispered to herself, but Alyssa heard anyway. "Obviously, but isn't that the point?" Alyssa chided, indicating the control panel and its massive collection of knobs and buttons. "Isn't it true that Arlington is a sore loser and shouldn't we anticipate some kind of retaliation should negotiations go sour?" "Yes, but—" "Nothing's automatic and nothing's motion sensored," Querren interrupted, and there was an obvious loss of tension from the room. Apparently, Kara had been saying what everyone else had been thinking. "Nothing goes off unless one of the techs has a visual and decides to manually set something off, so you'll all be completely safe. But this way, if we're attacked, we have a major home advantage. It'll be easier to protect our people and separate them from any intervening threats." "All of the earpieces we handed out earlier have a small button on the side, which you can use to contact me or, if I am unavailable, one of the techs," Alyssa announced, tapping her foot irritably and looking down at her watch. "Any questions? No? Good. Querren and I still have a lot of work to do. " Kara had hoped to have breakfast with Ben and Tamius following the security briefing, but the two were immediately whisked off to discuss the protocol for Nardia's negotiations. As a hostess, Kara wouldn't be attending those, only the social events associated with them. Still, she had much to prepare for. After a doughnut and some coffee, Kara was first given a crash course on the names, ranks, and nationalities of all the attendees, then rushed off for a medical inspection. She'd wanted to have her tracker removed, as well as the hormone release unit Martkorp had implanted as a means of birth control, but the medics on staff refused to engage in any kind of surgery immediately before the negotiations. Then there was a tour of the hotel, another crash course on the proper etiquette for a hostess, a hair appointment, a nail appointment, the works! It all happened so fast that Kara could hardly believe it when the clock struck six and it was time to head to the Honorary Reception being held for Isleydor's ambassadors. Standing nervously before the bathroom mirror, Kara glanced at herself and sighed. She didn't look like her usual self—having been made up with thick mascara and a deep red lip gloss—and yet, the scene was all too familiar. The designers hired to dress her had chosen a long, sparkling red gown to match, with a slit up one side and several golden teardrops. The color scheme was identical to that of newly captured slaves in Isleydor and Kara felt like she was back on the auction block, with the future frightfully uncertain. The only major difference was that, this time, Kara didn't wear her hair down. Instead, she wore it in a ponytail, using the clip Ben had given her and that she'd almost forgotten a second time back at Highland Valley. "Alright, remember, he doesn't own you," Kara told her reflection, looking into her own eyes and willing herself to be the determined, strong willed woman who'd escaped Arlington's dungeons and who'd out ran his cronies. "Whether or not he likes it, you're a free woman now! It's time to show this son-of-a-bitch that you cannot be controlled and will not be debased." With a deep breath, Kara stalked out of her room and headed toward the elevator, which opened up onto another long, red carpeted hallway. At its end, Kara could see the entryway to the hotel's ballroom, bordered on either side by greeters and guarded by a security booth. It was a long walk to the reception and the closer she got, the more queasy and nervous she became, a torrent of butterflies creeping up from her stomach and consuming her heart. But Kara angrily pushed the anxiety down. This was her one chance to prove to Arlington that she no longer feared him and that she was a force to be reckoned with. All be damned if she was going to let her nervousness show! Tonight, Kara would face her fears and she would triumph! Smoothening her features, she forced her feet to move with grace and certainty, then added a slight smile to the mix, both proud and self-confident. Before she knew it, Kara had made it through the metal detector and was standing alone in the ballroom. It was quite massive, with an open bar and a full buffet. Waiters were passing out horderves and wine on silver trays, while guests danced to elegant music being played by a live orchestra. That's when Kara heard it: the cool, collected voice of Lord Arlington. Even amidst all the music and laughter, it stood out proudly, making the hairs on the back of Kara's neck stand up. With it, there was an overwhelming urge to disappear into the crowd—to pass the voice off as a hallucination—but it persisted and if Arlington was here, then Kara had no choice but to greet him. Grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter, she downed the entire thing in a single gulp, turned toward the front of the room, and forced her feet to move. Don't look away, Kara told herself, hardening her heart in preparation for their reunion. It would be an understatement to say that the two had never gotten along and Kara didn't see why tonight should be any different. Just look straight ahead. Don't give him the satisfaction of breaking eye contact. Suddenly, there was a break in the crowd and not ten feet away, Kara could see Lord Arlington. He was dressed rather handsomely in a blue dress cloak and the same dark, leather boots he'd once rested upon Kara's back. It was by chance that he glanced in his hostess' direction, missing her at first and then doing a double take. The look on his face was one Kara only seen once before, right after freeing Tamius Sue: complete and utter shock. That gave her the extra boost she needed to widen her smile and pick up the pace. And yet, the glorious confusion on Arlington's face lasted only a moment. Soon enough, his surprised features receded to reveal the cruel, sinister smile Kara had become accustomed to and horrified, she realized that he was happy to see her. Remain calm, Kara told herself, refusing to slow her pace, even as Lord Arlington's eyes gleamed wickedly. With a curt nod, she watched as the man excused himself from the present company and moved to meet her half way. Don't break eye contact, Kara. Keep it together. "Well, well, well," Lord Arlington mused, stepping up to Kara and bowing his head curtly. Surrounded on all sides by reporters, he couldn't afford to be anything less than polite. But when Arlington took her hand in his own and bent down to kiss it, Kara was taken completely off guard. His lips were silky smooth and warm, bringing up memories of a different, more threatening kiss back at Bremmington. "What a marvelous surprise to see you here," Arlington greeted, straitening up, but refusing to let go of Kara's hand. "Pardon me if I look a bit flabbergasted...I didn't expect to find you like this, out in the open. How very daring of you. And I must say, you do look fabulous this evening. I'd be willing to wager that you belong in red and gold." Subtle as it was, the sinister nature of the compliment was not lost on Kara and her lips tightened. But all be damned if she was going to lose her cool over something so petty and allow Arlington to see any kind of weakness. If his lordship wanted to play mind games, then so be it. In the midst of a public event—surrounded by security personnel—the playing field was finally even and Kara was ready to take a stab at Arlington for a change. "Oh, I'd hardly consider dinner and a few drinks daring, but I'm flattered that you like the ensemble," Kara tried, refusing to let her sickeningly sweet smile droop. It took every fiber of her being to remain in character, but somehow, she fought the urge to wrench her hand free of Arlington's grasp and slap him across the face. "I'm rather fond of the hair clip, in particular. It was a gift from a very, very good friend." "I see," Lord Arlington hissed from between clenched teeth. "Exquisite." "Anyway, as much as I enjoy getting reacquainted, there's business to attend to," Kara resumed, as if she didn't notice the perverse darkening of her lord's eyes nor the slight flush in his cheeks. "I'll be your hostess during your time here, David. So, if you need anything, just let me know." "Excuse me?" Lord Arlington asked, a slight lift in his voice the only indication of a problem. "What did you just call me?" "Oh, David?" Kara replied, pleasantly surprised by this new form of ammunition. "It's customary for a hostess to get on a first name basis with her guest, isn't that so...David?" "You're really throwing caution to the wind this evening, aren't you, my dear?" Arlington warned, taking Kara by the arm and guiding her over to the bar. It was the busiest region of the ballroom and amid all the noise, there was no way his lordship's voice would carry. "You're not out of the woods yet and it would behoove you to watch what you say." "Are you still having those delusions of grandeur?" Kara retaliated, and she finally pulled free of Arlington's grasp. A waiter passed by then and she snatched another glass of wine from his tray. Kara had a feeling she'd be needing it. "You know, narcissism is a clinically recognized ailment. I could probably prescribe some anti-psychotics to help you with that problem." "Keep piling it on, pet. You're in enough trouble already." "It's you who should be careful," Kara insisted, turning toward Arlington with a firm, confident expression. She was surprised she had the gull to talk to her lord like that, but it gave her a warm glow, egging her on. "I've got men all over this place and if you even think of touching me, you'll be made to regret it." To prove her point, Kara nodded toward her uncle, who was working security in the back of the room. Lifting two fingers to his eyes, the man pointed first at himself, then Arlington, as if to say, I'm watching you. Alyssa wasn't far off either and when she spotted the pair, waved politely at Kara before flipping Arlington off. "The woman's not much for subtleties, is she?" Arlington mused, his eyebrows quirked playfully. "It's Alyssa," Kara shrugged and, after finishing her drink, she took Arlington once more by the arm. "But now that we understand each other, let's resume our evening, shall we? I'd like to introduce you to a few people." During her brief period of training, Kara had learned that it was the hostess' job to serve as the middleman between an incoming ambassador and Nardia's Bureaucratic Council. After welcoming Arlington, it was her duty to guide him around the room and help him mingle with the guests, reminding him that Nardia's citizens were people too, with a rich cultural heritage that he ought to respect during negotiations. Kara had just spotted Council Woman Silveine at a table beyond the buffet, when she nearly ran head first into a muscled woman in full, black body armor. Looking up, she suddenly recognized the woman and her jaw dropped. "General Myiat?" Kara asked, incredulous. "Ms. Chrystein," Myiat smiled back, her dark locks caressing a bold, but amiable face. With a curt nod, she acknowledged Kara, then bowed low before Arlington. "I see you're acting as a hostess this evening and I thank you for your service to his lordship. But if you have a moment, my Lord Sillias has been dying to meet you." From behind Myiat, Kara could see Lord Sillias, who stood out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the guests in attendance. She was wearing a purple suit with a yellow tie, which matched her brightly painted finger nails and gold jewelry. Black lipstick and dark eyeshadow completed the eccentric look, but that wasn't the worst of it. Perched on Lord Sillias' shoulder was an enormous lizard, about the size of a small house cat, which was bound by a silver chain wrapped around her lordship's wrist. As she walked up to the trio, Kara could see Sillias remove a dried cricket from her suit pocket and feed it to the creature. It was a little disgusting. "Ms. Chrystein, I presume," Lord Sillias greeted, with a sincere but slightly warped smile. "What a pleasure it is to meet you in person." Nodding curtly, Sillias gave Arlington a meaningful glance, then turned back to Kara with that same, odd smile. "This is Mr. Richardson," Sillias told her, indicating the lizard hissing atop her shoulders. "He acts frightfully mean, but he's just a big show-off. Any who, I've heard all about your daring escape into Nardia and I'd like to hear more about it." "With all due respect, my lord," Kara offered, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the conversation as it went. "We're here to celebrate our similarities, not dwell on past conflicts." "Oh, but of course," Sillias agreed, petting Mr. Richardson playfully and watching him relax in response. "How rude of me, my dear. I have no filter, you see. Still, perhaps we can meet on less formal terms someday. I'd love to hear all about it." Kara watched as Sillias then walked up to Arlington, taking him away momentarily and giving her some much needed respite. "How are you holding up?" Myiat asked, receding into a less formal stance and turning worried eyes toward Kara. "I am glad to see you under less horrendous circumstances, but still...Lord Arlington has been fervently plotting your return these last few days and from what I've heard, it's gotten ugly a few times." Nervously, Myiat glanced in Arlington's direction, but he was still otherwise occupied. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 24 "I'm holding up okay," Kara whispered. "But what about you?" "I've been demoted," Myiat replied bitterly, her eyes betraying the same pent up darkness Kara had seen many times before, whenever the woman had gotten into some heated argument with Lord Arlington. "The last straw seemed to be standing up for Alan, so now I've been moved from my position in the military to a mere body guard. But, at least, I'm with Lord Sillias full time now. I was starting to lose it, working for that sadistic, power hungry mongrel." "You don't seem too fond of Isleydor or its leaders," Kara prompted, remembering all the times Myiat had tried to defend her and then her companions. "We could probably use someone like you." "Isleydor may be infested with rats, but it's still my home," Myiat insisted, shaking her head earnestly and then glancing toward Sillias, making sure not to let her ward out of sight. "Better to try and clean the place out than flee, like a coward." "And how many of Isleydor's leaders have the same problems you do, with slavery and imperialism?" "My Lord Sillias has a much better vision of this country than does most of its leaders," Myiat replied, a lift of admiration in her voice. "She put me on Arlington's War Time Operations board precisely so that I could act as a sort of check or balance, but you saw how that went. We're both part of the abolitionist movement, too. Hence the raven tattoos upon our cheeks...Anyways, my lord is motioning for my return. Good luck, Ms. Chrystein." Then, with an odd glance, Myiat turned away. "You're going to need it." "Ah, Kara, I've been looking all over for you!" Ben's voice suddenly called out from behind her, sounding relieved. Turning around, Kara saw that he was dressed in a deep green military uniform, decorated with silver badges and a golden tassel. With the ensemble wrapped tightly against his broad shoulders and masculine body, Ben looked extremely handsome and Kara's eyes quirked sexily as they roamed over him. "I meant to see you briefly before the party started, but there's been so much to prepare and I got sidetracked—" "Ah, hem," Lord Arlington coughed, stepping up behind Kara and ever so carefully laying a hand on her shoulder. Kara could feel herself shudder at his touch, then even more so at the ferocious glare he was sharing with Ben. The two men locked eyes for what seemed like several minutes, neither one daring to back down. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your special friend?" Lord Arlington cooed, stepping around Kara and offering Ben his hand. "It's been such an awfully long time, hasn't it?" "Ah, yes," Kara quickly interjected, gesturing toward Ben. "This is General Ben Karrington, former head of the White Horse Rebel Alliance and current member of the Nardian Military." "The pleasure is all mine," Ben insisted, gripping Arlington's hand in his own and shaking slowly, deliberately. It must have been painful, for both men were squeezing so tightly that their knuckles had turned white. "I've been waiting to come face to face with...ah, what was it again?...true terror. And as you can see, I'm shaking in my boots." "All in good time, Karrington," Lord Arlington hissed, his voice hardly audible. "All in good time." "Alright gentlemen, break it up," Alyssa interrupted, slinking into the little circle the three of them had formed and looking very authoritative, especially with a rifle poised over her shoulder. Kara hadn't seen her coming, but was glad she'd arrived. A fist fight wouldn't have looked good in front of the press. "I'm glad you're enjoying this fucked up family reunion, but you can compare schlongs later," Alyssa continued, nodding off toward the bar. "Karrington, I'm afraid Council Man Tenders wants to see you briefly and introduce you to some diplomats from Scorce." "Such a shame," Lord Arlington sighed in mock exasperation, the curt smile on his face betraying his true feelings. "And just when we were beginning to bond, eh Karrington?" With a concerned expression, Ben looked warily over at Arlington, then at Kara. She smiled reassuringly at him, to let him know she'd be alright, but his lordship was quick to interject. "Oh, don't you worry about us," Arlington drawled. "I assure you, Kara is in capable hands." "I'll be fine, Ben. This sounds important." There was a slight, tension filled pause as Ben weighed his options, but finally he released Lord Arlington's hand. "Very well," Ben sighed, turning pointedly toward Alyssa. "Tell Mr. Tenders that I'll be there shorty." Then, he gently pulled Kara toward him and gave her a peck on the cheek. It was a little awkward—their being in public and all—but Kara was grateful for the kindness. "You're doing great," Ben whispered in her ear. "I'll be keeping an eye out, I promise. Querren's doing the same." "Well now, I suppose I'd better go and introduce you to the rest of the diplomats here," Kara told Lord Arlington, turning toward him just as Ben disappeared into the crowd. After their kiss, she'd expected his lordship to look dark and angry, but his eyes were glassed over and his expression unreadable. "I apologize for getting us side tracked, my lord...I mean, David...but if you'll follow me, please." "The night is still young, Kara," Lord Arlington replied and instead of following in his hostess' footsteps, the man remained standing and staring at the dance floor. "I've plenty of time to meet Nardia's officials later on. But right now, I'm in the mood for some dancing." Turning a sinister smirk toward Kara, Arlington held out his hand and gave a small bow. "I'm not much of a dancer," Kara lied, searching the crowd for an easy distraction, a familiar face, a waiter with a tray, anything to stall the inevitable. "But I'd be happy to wait on you once you've had your fill of merry-making." "Nonsense," Lord Arlington chuckled, stepping closer and closer to Kara until their were mere inches apart and she could feel the determination radiating off of him. Oh god, Kara was trapped and she knew it. A hostess couldn't deny her guest such a simple request and it was doubtful that his lordship would let up. "You're from Telma, are you not?" Arlington continued, confirming Kara's suspicions. "From what I've heard, dance is a very important aspect of life in the countryside." "Still, I'd rather not." "Yes, but I would, Kara," Arlington told her, and his voice suddenly took on a darker, less jovial tone. "You don't think I know what you are doing...putting on a brave face for the press, in some bizarre attempt to show up Isleydor?" Kara tried to smoothen her features and shook her head in feigned denial, but his lordship saw right through her, just as he always had. "Denying my request would look very, very bad for you. An official complaint and this entire charade will have been for nothing." Kara glowered furiously at Lord Arlington, but took his hand anyway and allowed herself to be guided toward the dance floor. They were just in time for the next song, with only a few seconds to spare before the orchestra started up again. Gently, Arlington grasped Kara's right hand in his left and allowed their fingers to intertwine, permanently trapping her beside him. Kara noted that the man's hands were abnormally soft for such a ruthless man, as smooth as a baby's even, and wondered why such a stupid detail mattered. "Now, put your free hand on my shoulder," Lord Arlington ordered, firmly wrapping his right arm about Kara's waist. God, the intimacy of his touch on the curve of her hips was almost too much to bear. Kara almost wrenched herself free and stalked off right then and there, but between Arlington's firm grip and the ever watchful press, found herself unable. "Wonderful form, pet." "Don't patronize me!" Kara hissed, being sure to keep her voice low and subdued, but just then, the music started up again and Kara was quickly swept away by Lord Arlington. It was an exciting song—joyful and upbeat—so that Kara had to move quickly to keep up with his lordship. But even then, the dance was awkward. Kara couldn't stand the thought of leaning into Arlington's grasp, but without a proper connection between the two, it was impossible to follow his lead. Several times, they headed off in different directions and once, Kara almost tripped and fell. But even if she risked embarrassing herself in front of everyone, it was better than getting yet closer to her former master. "I thought you said you had danced before," Lord Arlington chuckled, not the least indication that he was upset or angry. In fact, Kara thought he looked rather pleased with himself, probably because her nervousness hadn't been lost on him. "If only you'd relax a little, pet. Then, I could make you feel like you're flying." Suddenly, the tempo of the music changed, indicating a partner switch, and Kara was being swept away by another man. She hardly had time to process what was happening before she found herself in Ben's arms, his kind eyes replacing Arlington's cool ones. Together, they twirled off toward the outskirts of the dance floor, as far away from Arlington and his fuming figure as was possible. "I am so sorry," Ben tried, dipping Kara toward the floor with an apologetic expression on his face. For a few counts or so, they stayed like that, with Kara staring up into Ben's beautiful gray eyes. Then, carefully, the general lifted her to her feet. "I had no idea he'd be asking you to dance and those introductions took much longer than I thought...But regardless, I should have never let you out of my sight." Kara nodded. She had to admit that it was a relief to be away from Arlington for a while, even though she could still see him a few yards away, dancing with the poise and grace expected of a lord. The hostess was particularly drawn to his irritating degree of self-confidence and after a few moments of watching him, she felt her blood start to boil. Why didn't Arlington get nervous dancing with her? Hadn't she even made a small dent in his psyche, after ruining his reputation? Why didn't Arlington get butterflies in his stomach? It just wasn't fair and suddenly, Kara could hear his parting words coiling through her mind, taunting her. It was enough to set her teeth on edge. I thought you said you had danced before, Arlington's voice scolded. If only you'd relax... "Ben, you have to take me back." "I'm not sure I understand—" "I need you to take me back over to Arlington." "What?" Ben exclaimed, very nearly falling over his own feet. "Why?" "Because I can do better than this," Kara said aloud, more to herself than to Ben. "Because I owe it to myself to do better than this." "Are you sure, Kara? You really want me to pass you off to him during the next switch?" "Yes," Kara replied, narrowing in on her target, just a few yards away. Arlington hardly glanced in her direction, but she knew he was still thinking about her, plotting ways to regain his control. "Yes, I'm sure." "I don't like it, Kara." "I don't like it either, but I'm Lord Arlington's hostess and it's my job to put on a good show. If I must dance with the devil, then I intend to sweep him off his fucking feet." For a moment, Kara thought that Ben might argue with her again. He didn't seem pleased with the thought of giving her back to Arlington and then leaving the two of them alone, but the determination in her eyes seemed to set him straight. With a reluctant nod, he briskly led Kara back toward the center of the floor and Lord Arlington, twirling her gracefully as he went. "This is hard for me, Kara," Ben told her, allowing her to rest against his chest for a moment, so that their bodies were like a single reed, shuddering in the wind. "But I know you need to have the freedom to fight this battle on your own terms. Just remember, if you need me, I won't be far off." As if on cue, the tempo suddenly changed and after a quick kiss, Ben swung Kara out into open position, as close to Lord Arlington as he could manage. His lordship didn't see Kara at first—he was still in the process of releasing his last partner—but then her fingers brushed his shoulder and the man turned, looking pleasantly surprised by her return. There was no hesitation on Lord Arlington's part as he accepted her free hand, then placed his right hand on the small of her back. For a split second only, she found herself caught between Lord Arlington and Ben, her hands in each of theirs. She could feel the tension between them in that moment, their eyes trained maliciously on each other and their bodies tugging her in opposite directions. Then, Ben let go and Kara was alone with Lord Arlington. "I don't feel like I'm flying yet," Kara complained loudly, leaning back into Arlington's grasp and relishing the confusion in his eyes. "Impress me." But the smile that appeared on Lord Arlington's face was so broad and pleased that Kara immediately regretted being so blunt. His predatory eyes told her that he'd accepted her challenge, as did the change in his stance. Arlington stood a little taller now, his broad shoulders casting a dark shadow across Kara's form and his grip on her hand tightening, just enough to remind her that he was the lead. Then, without a word, he swept her across the dance floor at a rapid trot, dodging other couples as he went. "So much better," Lord Arlington praised, that devious smile never wavering, even for an instant. With a pronounced gesture, he swung Kara outward, then spun her back in, catching his hostess right before their bodies collided. The spinning made Kara dizzy and she didn't have time to process Arlington's next move until she was being dipped toward the ground. To her horror, it was an unusually deep dip and Kara lost her footing, quite literally falling backward into Arlington's arms. There she hovered, only a few feet from the ground, with no real leverage and completely at her lord's mercy. "You've got such a lovely flush in your cheeks, pet." "Pull me back up, right this instant!" "Oh, pet, can't you just enjoy the dance?" "Call me pet one more time, David, and just see what happens!" Kara warned, watching the other couples around them dance by, completely oblivious to her predicament. God, she needed to pull it together! It'd only been a few minutes and she was already losing. "Now, pull me back up!" "Oh, and that pouty expression of yours," Lord Arlington laughed, not the least bit fazed. "I missed that, too." It was unlucky for Kara that his lordship only needed one arm to hold her up and with the other, gently traced the contours of her feminine curves, all the way down from the pout in her cheeks to the slope of her hips, leaving eerie goose pimples in his wake. The caress was just innocent enough to go unnoticed, but Kara glared furiously at Arlington anyway, daring him to let his hands stray. "Such a sweet little thing you are, Kara," Lord Arlington cooed, his voice a soft whisper in her ear. "It'll be lovely to taste you again." "Oh, you men, always wanting what you can't have," Kara jeered and just as Arlington swung her out again, she let go of his hand. It wasn't uncommon—during a fast paced, improvisational dance—for a follow to briefly disconnect from her partner and show off some solo moves. The way Kara saw it, she could use sex as a weapon just as readily as Arlington could. "I'm out of your league, David," Kara hissed, and the teasing began. With a perverse grin to match her lord's, Kara began to pump her legs to the music, drawing a slender hand down the curve of her breasts and then her hips, determined to show off every morsel she'd never let him have. Then, when the music began to undulate, Kara turned in a tight circle, swiveling her hips in the process and showing off her pouty behind. It wasn't her style, but then again, Arlington had given her no choice. She had to play hardball and from the look on her lord's face—entranced and very slightly aroused—she could tell that it was having an affect. With a sexy wink, she sauntered back over to Arlington and offered him her hand. "I'd like to see you try and beat that," Kara dared, dipping backward into Arlington's arms once more. "Go on, try." "Impressive," Arlington admitted, with a slight smile. "Most impressive, but a true magician always saves his best tricks for last." The pace of the music was picking up now and with it, Lord Arlington. Pulling Kara in a little too close for comfort, he led her around the outskirts of the dance floor, occasionally gripping both her hands and forcing her into a more advanced move, like a cuddle wrap or a reverse spin. Kara couldn't be sure if it was intentional or accidental—which, she supposed, was the whole point—but it seemed that during every spin and twirl, Arlington's hands would gently brush up against the curve of her ass or the dip in flesh just below her breasts. It was getting annoying—especially since her body had begun to respond, shuddering pleasurably—but every time she tried to retaliate, Arlington would lead her into a new move. "You sure you can keep up, pet?" Arlington chuckled. "We could slow down, if you like?" "What did I say about patronizing me?" "Very well, then," Lord Arlington smirked, placing a hand on either side of Kara's waist and grasping firmly. "Are you familiar with aerials?" Oh, god. Kara hadn't been expecting that and she immediately grabbed Lord Arlington's wrists, trying with all her might to pry his hands away from her waist, but he had an eagle's grip and struggle as she might, Kara couldn't free herself. Oh, god....oh, god...not good... It was clear now that Kara couldn't rely on her strength to get free and if she made a scene, the press was sure to catch on. "If I insisted that you keep me on the ground, would that do me any good?" "Probably not." "My lord, if you let me go, I'll be sure to make it up to you." "Oh, so now you remember to address me properly," Lord Arlington grinned and from the look on his face, Kara could tell that he was rather enjoying her discomfort. "But it's a little late for apologies, pet." "My lord, I must insist that you put me down!" Kara pleaded, feeling the grip on her waist tighten and her feet leave the floor. It wasn't the aerials themselves that frightened her, but rather the amount of control and trust she'd have to place in Arlington once she was airborne. Kara was loathe to be made reliant upon her lord. "Put me down, please!" "But I thought you wanted to fly, pet?" Lord Arlington asked, his face the very picture of feigned innocence. "Trust me, you'll love it." "I very much doubt that, my lord." "Now, up we go...!" "My lord, please...put me down...put me down before I—" "...and around the world!" Kara squealed a little as she was lifted completely off the floor and found herself being cradled in Lord Arlington's arms, as if she were a child. For a moment, he kept one arm under her knees and the other wrapped around her upper back, but once the music picked up, dropped her knees altogether. The momentum caused Kara to swing downward, then behind Lord Arlington, with only the arm about her torso preventing her from falling. Then, at just the right moment, Arlington reached behind him and grabbed Kara about the knees, this time letting go of her torso. Kara was on the verge of screaming bloody murder as she swung upside down by her legs, circling Arlington's torso once more, but instead, started laughing. Maybe it was nervousness or maybe she was having fun, but suddenly peals of giddy laughter were wracking Kara's body, right before Arlington pulled her upright and finished the song with a dip. "Well?" Lord Arlington inquired, and he seemed genuinely interested in his hostess' response. "Did I impress you?" The Rebellious Slave Ch. 24 "Not bad," Kara admitted, trying to sound nonchalant, although it was one of the best dances she'd ever had. Minus all the psychological warfare, of course. "In fact, if you could just cut down on that torture fetish of yours, I'm certain the ladies would be all over you." Something odd crossed Arlington's features then, which made Kara extremely uncomfortable. Carefully, he leaned down toward her, then pushed her hair aside, exposing the naked flesh of her neck and ear. Oh god, she could feel his warm breath on her skin. "I thought you shared my torture fetish," Lord Arlington whispered and Kara immediately stiffened in his arms. He couldn't know. It was impossible. "And even if you didn't," he continued, his voice prickling with triumph. "Even then, I thought you wouldn't mind being locked up and petted all day, as long your owner gave you treats and dressed you up in pretty clothes." Kara could actually feel her heart stop. Arlington's words were too familiar for comfort. They were almost identical to those she'd recited in a memory from her childhood. Is it possible? Kara asked herself, willing herself to relax and start breathing again, although Arlington had surely picked up on her terror already. Did Arlington somehow manage to get hold of my...my memory retrieval? "Oh, and the question you're asking yourself right now?" Lord Arlington interrupted, the sound of his voice so cool and commanding. "The answer is 'yes.'" "I have to go," Kara blurted, wrenching herself upright and stalking off into the crowd, but Arlington was quick to catch her hand. "You aren't going anywhere, pet," Lord Arlington told Kara, pulling her into him and assuming a closed position. "You and I are going to have a nice, long chat together." A new song started up then and began warmly enough, but gradually began to descend into a slow dance. If Kara got caught with Arlington during a cool down, there'd be no way to walk away without arousing suspicion and she'd be trapped with her head on his shoulder for ten minutes or more. Slow dances in Nardia were notorious for being lengthy and Kara needed to get away from Arlington now, before she broke down in a full blown panic attack. "We'll start the interrogation with this question," Arlington resumed, leading Kara into a dark corner of the room, where it would be much harder to eavesdrop. "How many nights have you dreamed of my fucking your pretty little cunt senseless?" With a flourish, Lord Arlington spun Kara and that's when she saw it, her only way out. Halfway through the turn—when she was facing away from Lord Arlington—Kara spotted Ben in the crowd. Urgently, she mouthed the words 'help me' and thought she saw Ben nod, but was soon after face-to-face with her lord again. "Well?" Suddenly, Lord Arlington tripped over himself and for a split second only, relaxed his grip. Behind him, Kara could see Ben, who had intentionally stepped on his cloak. It was a small window of opportunity, but Ben took it and soon, Kara was being wrenched free of her lord's grasp. With bloody murder written on his features, Arlington could only watch as his prey was whisked off toward the center of the room. The only way to save face was to pick up with Ben's discarded partner, a young blonde in a lengthy, blue dress. "Are you alright?" "He knows." "Excuse me?" "He knows," Kara reiterated, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice and failing. For all her bravado and calm earlier in the evening, Kara now felt like a bug squashed against a windshield, utterly helpless and with nowhere to go. "Lord Arlington knows about my dreams." "What...?" Ben cried, and suddenly his features were rife with concern. "How?" "He must have gotten hold of my memory retrieval." "You're sure?" Ben asked, emphasizing the words in harsh tones. "You're absolutely positive?" "Yes, Ben, I'm sure," Kara groaned. "I wouldn't say something like that unless I was sure." "Then we need to go and find Alyssa, ASAP," Ben replied, earnestly grabbing Kara by the wrist and leading her to the outskirts of the ballroom. "If Arlington somehow got hold of your memory retrieval, then whatever Silveine has is a dud." For some reason, that hadn't occurred to Kara and she stopped suddenly, halting Ben in his tracks. "What does that mean, a dud?" Kara asked, her heart rate quickening. "You mean the council hasn't even listened to Cross' tape yet?" "This has all been very last minute," Ben explained. "I think Silveine just got the tape this morning and was going to share it with the rest of the negotiators after the party, but whatever she has, it's not the real thing." "So our advantage...knowledge of the Parallel Project...it's all gone?" "Yes, unless we can convince Greenwood to come in last minute and share what he remembers." "Ben," Kara whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse. "If we know that Greenwood is a loose end, then so does Arlington...we might be too late..." Ben only nodded solemnly, as if giving Kara's heart permission to sink even deeper into her chest, then contacted Alyssa using his ear piece. "Hello, Alyssa..." Ben began, glancing around him cautiously and ensuring that no one was within earshot. "Yes, we have a situation related to Lord Arlington and Kara's memory retrieval. He's got the original copy, somehow. Yes...I get that..." Ben was then interrupted by some heated cursing and a few other sentences Kara couldn't make out. Alyssa didn't sound too happy and looked even less so. Within seconds, Kara spotted her in the crowd, striding toward them with furious, darkened eyes. Her lips had formed a thin, firm line and her hands were clenched a little too tightly around her rifle. "You're sure about this?" Alyssa asked, all her usual humor gone. "Because the second I call this in—" "Yes, I'm sure," Kara insisted. "I was dancing with Arlington and he told me things he couldn't have known otherwise...used language straight from that memory enhancement..." Alyssa's nose scrunched up a little in disgust at the mention of 'Arlington' and 'dancing', but she made no comment. Turning on her heel, she merely motioned for her companions to follow and led them into a guarded storage unit, which lay just beyond the ballroom. Inside, the walls were lined with guns and there was so much ammo littering the floor that Kara had to sit down on an empty, wooden crate. "So, what do we know?" Alyssa asked solemnly. "Well obviously, if Arlington has that tape, he knows that Greenwood is a loose end," Ben began, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. "Of course, Nardia's 'Special Victims Program' will have made it difficult to track him down. Even so, best case scenario, it's only bought the old man some time." "I'll need to contact Silveine. Greenwood's long gone by now and not even I know where he's been sent, but the information he has is imperative to these negotiations," Alyssa sighed, and Kara noticed that her hands were shaking. The weapons specialist was usually so confident and in control, a genuine foul-mouthed sarcasm machine. Kara knew that if Alyssa was scared, then the situation must be dire. "If we're to succeed tomorrow, we need to get to Greenwood before Arlington does and since Mr. Cross' tape is a dud, all bets are off. Greenwood doesn't need to adhere to Cross' nondisclosure agreement." "But will he come?" Kara blurted, thinking back on the beauty of Highland Valley, when it had been bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Then, there was the look on Greenwood's face when he'd spotted his grandchildren, so happy and yet, so sad. "Greenwood's been reunited with his family now and it's too risky for him to come back again," Kara insisted, eyeing Ben and Alyssa warily. "We need to get him better protection, but we can't ask him to come back. The stakes are too high." "Kara," Ben replied, looking guilty but inflexible. "Greenwood's not the only person with a lot to lose." "I agree. I'm not happy about dragging the old man back, but once you get involved in this sort of war, there is no escaping off into the sunset." "I can't believe you!" Kara hissed, turning first toward Alyssa, then Ben. "I expect this kind of nonsense from Alyssa, but not from you!" "This isn't a gray area, Kara," Ben tried, sounding sympathetic. "If we can't negotiate properly with Isleydor, thousands of innocent people will suffer the consequences..." "...and if we do nothing, Greenwood is as good as dead," Alyssa interrupted, and Kara could almost see the change in her eyes as she regrouped. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to alert Silveine to the situation, so that she can arrange to have Greenwood brought to us. Meanwhile, we have to isolate Arlington somehow..." Alyssa glanced evilly in Kara's direction, which didn't make her feel any better about an already difficult situation. "Is there a reason you're looking at me like that?" Kara spat, unwilling to let go of the anger coiling inside of her, making her sick at the thought of poor Greenwood, being dragged unwillingly into this mess. "Do I have something on my face?" "For the love of god, Kara..." Alyssa sighed and, reluctantly, she sank to her knees, so that the two of them were at eye level. "We need to get to Greenwood..." "I know that... "...and what's more, we can't have Arlington figuring out what we're doing or else we give him a chance to thwart out efforts. Undoubtedly, Arlington's got an intelligence network established in Nardia, ready to report to him with the latest developments. We need to separate him from that network, while we handle the Greenwood situation." "You mean you didn't screen the staff!?!" Kara cried, incredulous. "Of course we screened the staff!" Alyssa growled. "But when you're dealing with a professional like Arlington, you always assume that your staff has been compromised. It doesn't have to be somebody important. All he needs is a few guys on the wait staff. A good third of the valets are probably undercover agents from Scorce or Isleydor, that's just how these things go." "Somehow, we need to get Arlington out of the ballroom, so that it'll be harder for him to access new intel as it comes in," Ben mused. "And I've already figured that out," Alyssa declared, removing a fold-out map from a nearby desk drawer and laying it out before the three of them. "It's not at all unusual for a visiting ambassador to get a tour of the city, specifically the Historical Gardens. All Kara has to do is ask tall, dark, and asshole on a little date." "That doesn't sound very safe," Ben hissed, trying to keep his voice calm, but the general hadn't been expecting that and his eyes instantly narrowed. "There must be another way." "Oh, so it's okay to put Greenwood in danger, but I'm a special exception?" Kara asked, feeling her anger finally boil over. "You think it's okay to coddle me like this, when lives are at stake?" "I think you owe me a little more credit than that," Ben growled. "I've been letting you handle Arlington on your own terms all evening. Forgive me if I don't want you alone with a rapist and war lord." "Calm down, Karrington. She won't be alone," Alyssa promised, but Ben didn't look convinced. "A hostess won't be allowed to leave the premises without a body guard and yours truly will be chaperoning." "I still think there's another way." "Kara is one of Arlington's only weaknesses," Alyssa insisted and Kara, who had never thought of herself as a weakness before, was suddenly interested. "Arlington's not going to leave his intelligence network without good reason, especially since he must already have an idea of what we're up to. But this war he's got going on with Kara is personal. He's already broken a lot of rules making her recapture such a high priority, considering it's war time and all. We should be capitalizing on that." Turning toward Kara, Alyssa gestured up and down her form. "What kinds of weapons do you have on you?" "Weapons?" Kara asked, sounding confused. "Only security personnel are allowed into the ballroom with weapons—" "Oh, my god, you're serious," Alyssa sighed, looking exasperated. "You don't think that Arlington hasn't got a gun or two shoved up where the sun don't shine? Jeez, Karrington, you really dropped the ball on this one. Your girlfriend is probably the only one in that room without a weapon stashed somewhere." Grumbling to herself, Alyssa pulled open a box and removed a thin, almost transparent band of wood with a sharpened end. "You wanna lift up your skirt, Kara." "What?" "Lift up your skirt, okay? It's a bamboo blade. We'll tape it to your inner thigh." "But if I get caught, won't it reflect poorly on Nardia's Bureaucratic Council?" "Please...just listen to me for once and break a few rules, if not for yourself, then for the rest of us," Alyssa sighed, strapping the small weapon to the inside of Kara's thigh, using a few rounds of masking tape. "Oh, and for future reference carry a gun on you when you're out in the halls. You won't be allowed to bring it into a meeting or any more receptions, but leave it with security when you go in and pick it back up when you come out, for god's sake." ****** It was a shame, having to end their dance on such an unpleasant note. For a few brief moments, Arlington had detected something other than hatred, fear, and rivalry in the way Kara had eyed him and in the way she'd held herself. Dressed all in red, she'd looked every bit as feisty and inflexible as she had the night he'd bought her. The girl's confidence was absolutely maddening, in more ways than one. Her stubbornness had proven to be quite a pain, yet that cocky grin of hers made Arlington want to grab her by the throat, pin her against the wall, and fuck her senseless. He had missed that defiance during Kara's final days in his care, more so than he'd realized. Undoubtedly, it would be tricky—gaining subservience, without destroying the fire Arlington so craved—but the challenge was invigorating in and of itself. He could still hear Kara's laughter, which had echoed across the ballroom as he'd spun her around. It was almost as if they had been having fun. Then, on top of all that, Arlington was constantly plagued by memories of Mr.Cross' tape. Unbidden, the sound of Kara's moans entered into his mind and then he could her voice, begging for permission to cum in his arms. At first, the recording had come as a bit of a shock, but now it made him hot and heady. More importantly, it proved that Kara was every bit as perverted as he was—a single dose of Anterline couldn't have that kind of an effect, not so quickly. Arlington couldn't wait to get finally Kara home, then torture her beautiful body and brilliant mind into lustful, passionate submission. He would get her to admit that she craved domination, even if it meant making her face her own delicious moans and lustful whimpers, projected over the speakers in her cell. But eventually, Arlington would get what he wanted. Unfortunately, in times of war, business had to come before pleasure. "With any luck, they'll send someone after Greenwood and lead us right to him," Arlington mused, though he made sure to keep his voice quiet and subdued. Azalia was sitting beside him, wearing a long green dress that went well with her red locks and murderous eyes. For the past several minutes, the assassin had been watching Florence Querren and Arlington could have sworn that he heard a lustful sigh. But no matter, let Azalia have her fun. "In all likelihood, they'll try and isolate me before they go about it. That means you'll need to stay behind and coordinate in my stead. I want my hacker in position by midnight, no exceptions. Who knows how long it'll take for her to—" "Here you are, my lord." Arlington paused and looked up, only to see Billings, dressed in the same black and silver uniform as the rest of the wait staff. Quickly, he handed Arlington a glass of champagne and as their hands brushed, slipped his lord a scrap of paper. According to the note, Nardia's Bureaucratic Council had just been informed of the "Greenwood Situation" and were working on how best to bring the double back, before negotiations the next morning. It spite of all the last minute changes, everything was going according to plan. "I'll be back to check on you in another half hour, my lord?" "No need," Arlington replied, shaking his head. "I'm most likely going to be gone for the next few hours, so Ms. Richards will be taking over for me." "How many of them do you have?" Azalia asked, watching with interest as Billings sauntered away. "I thought my sister guilds were the only ones concerned with infiltration?" "It's important to bring in men from a number of divisions. Even among the dragons, there are sellouts," Arlington replied coolly, crumpling up the note and releasing it into his champagne glass, where it instantly dissolved. "I've got a number of associates lying in wait. Half of the orchestra are mine. You'd be amazed what you can hide in cello." "Pardon my imprudence, my lord, but are sure you want to go through with all of this?" "I'm not saying it won't be risky," Arlington admitted, and he was reminded suddenly of the weakness in his still recovering knee. "But now that I know they're all gathered together in one place, it'd be stupid of me not to act. Taking down Nardia's defenses and handling Kara's crew at the same time? It'll be like killing two birds with one stone. Besides, Sillias seems to be on board." "Ah, David, there you are," Kara interrupted, and Arlington turned to see her emerging from the crowd, almost seamlessly. She had been flushed and anxious upon their parting, but Kara had regrouped by now and the cocky, self-confident expression that Arlington loved so much was back. His lordship couldn't help but return the gesture, revealing a suave smile of his own. "I apologize for leaving you unattended, but I had a few other matters to attend to." "Oh, I understand," Arlington promised, and he kissed Kara's hand once more. The girl's skin was warm to the touch, as soft and succulent as it ever had been, and the little shudders he elicited were almost too delicious to bear. But now was not the time to be merciful. "Scramble, scramble, scramble..." Lord Arlington chuckled. "The question is, do I already know where Greenwood is? Or is this just a ploy to get you to lead me to him?" Kara cringed at that and tried to wrench free of Arlington, but he wouldn't allow it. He needed her to stay put—needed to get a good look at her eyes, if only for a second. At first, they clouded over, but then an intense fury surfaced and with it, a hint of disgust. Kara had become attached to Greenwood too, it seemed. But more importantly, it was clear that Kara had gone from being a victim to being a protector. Arlington would be sure to use that to his advantage. "You wanna let go of the lady's hand for a fucking second," Alyssa growled, and Arlington turned to see her glaring at him. Preoccupied with Kara, he'd hardly noticed her, and given the woman's presence, that was saying something. "I said, do you wanna let the lady go?" For a second, Arlington considered ignoring her. Alyssa's frustration was a special kind of pleasure—years ago, the woman had tried to kill him—but he released Kara anyway. "That's better." "May I ask to what I owe the pleasure, Terrance?" Arlington sighed, nodding toward the black clothed personnel lining the room and hoping she might join them. "I thought you were handling security for the evening?" "I hate to pad your dangerously inflated ego even more, but you're the biggest threat here and I know enough to keep an eye on you," Alyssa retorted, turning her eyes toward Azalia and suspiciously scanning her up and down. "Plus, I don't like the look of this giant over here." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 24 "Richards," Azalia greeted, standing up to reveal all seven feet of her slender form, eerily complimented by sinisterly white teeth. "Lord Arlington's body guard." "Oh, dear god, really?" Alyssa sneered, glancing none too kindly at the woman's five inch heels. "Don't tell me you let your bodyguard wear a gown to a potential gun fight? That's just bad form, Arlington, even for you." "I assure you, I can kill just as efficiently in these," Azalia hissed, and the look she gave Alyssa was down right chilling, as if the weapons specialist were an annoying insect in desperate need of squashing. "Murder is an ancient, sacred ritual. It's an art form...an erotic dance...which requires a certain degree of radiance and color. I'm the last thing on this earth those who dare to cross me see, and I make sure I dress the part." "Charming, too," Alyssa laughed, not the least bit impressed. "I can see why you like her." "Alyssa, let's not bait them anymore than we have to," Kara warned and while Alyssa rolled her eyes, she also shut her mouth. "David, I was wondering if you might want to take an hour or so to tour the Historical Gardens. I'd love to give you some more insight into Nardia's cultural heritage." "You mean you'd like to isolate me from my intelligence network for the next few hours?" Arlington asked with a knowing wink, but Kara's face remained expressionless, giving away nothing. Every moment they were apart, her defenses got stronger and her spirit more intense. Perhaps an evening stroll would be good for the two of them. "Can you promise me that you're motives aren't sinister?" "That's an odd question, coming from you. Even the way you breathe is sinister." "Manners, pet." "Hey, easy on the threats," Alyssa warned, and she stepped between the two, looking the very picture of a protective mother bear. "Now, let's stop pussy-footing around. Are you going to take the bait or not?" "I'm a romantic at heart, ladies," Lord Arlington cooed, bringing his hand to his chest in feigned defeat, and Alyssa rolled her eyes again. "How could I say no to a moonlight stroll with such a pretty lady?" "Excellent," Kara replied, still refusing to show any real emotion. "I'll get a carriage ready." "And you'll be bringing a body guard with you, I presume?" Lord Arlington asked, but when Kara nodded toward Alyssa, he frowned. Of all the possible body guards she could have chosen, Alyssa would be the hardest to lose and Arlington was hoping to get some one-on-one time with his girl. "Couldn't you choose someone...I don't know...less abrasive?" "Oh, don't worry, we'll have a great time. Just make sure you follow the ground rules," Alyssa demanded, and she started to count them off on her fingers. "Let's see...no footsies, keep a solid six inches between you at all times, and we'll all get along just fine. Also, no karaoke." "Are you going to be like this all night?" "Yes, indeed, and after Kara gives you a tour of the Historical Gardens, perhaps I can give you a tour of the most isolated alley-ways in the city." "That sounds like a threat." "Only if you can't win, Arlington," Alyssa replied, grabbing a glass of scotch from a passing waiter and downing the entire thing in a single, satisfying gulp. "At the end of the day, it's only a threat if you feel threatened." "Fine, take Alyssa," Arlington groaned, for he had a headache already. "I'll be taking Myiat." They had to wait a for a few minutes, while Myiat arranged for a replacement to protect Lord Sillias, but eventually Arlington and Kara made their way toward the lobby of the hotel and out the front door. Beyond the stuffy, noisy atmosphere of the ballroom, the air was pleasantly cool. Even in Nulme—the Capital of Nardia—the light pollution was minimal and Arlington could see the stars, when his own breath wasn't obscuring the view. But the peace and quiet typical of the evening was disrupted by a hoard of protesters, straining against a velvet rope barricade. Arlington wasn't at all surprised—earlier that day, he'd had to get past the protesters in order to reach the reception—but Kara jumped the second they stepped outside, startled by all the screaming. Wide eyed, she turned from angry face to angry face, trying to decipher the signs that they were waving in front of her. At one point, a few college age kids tried to rush up on Kara, before a security guard pushed them back, and without meaning to, Arlington felt himself stiffen. "Relax," Alyssa sighed. "I've got her covered, Arlington." "Make sure that you do." "What is all this about?" Kara asked, talking to no one in particular and still cringing away from the surrounding chaos. Someone tried to grab at her sleeve, but Alyssa knocked the man's hand away, then jabbed her gun in another protester's direction. "Don't they know that we're...I mean, not Arlington...but the rest of us...we're just trying to help." Arlington snorted at that and Kara turned her murderous eyes toward him. "Do you have something to say to me, Arlington?" "Just because you roll with the so-called 'good guys' doesn't mean you have the public's support," Arlington explained, as sympathetically as he was able. In spite of all she'd been through, Kara was still such a naïve creature, far too optimistic for her own good. "These people don't want you or anyone else negotiating with Isleydor. They think you're selling out on Nardia and should be fighting us outright. They're wrong, of course. Nardia's military can't compare with Isleydor's, even when we're stretched between here and Calihistra. Still, you have to admire their tenacity." "Sluts!" cried one woman, bearing a sign that read, 'Never Give In.' "Sellouts!" "Why would you negotiate with a terrorist, you filthy whore!" "Succumb to a monster once!" another protester shouted, this time a mere teenager. "And you'll succumb to a monster again!" "Are they screaming about me?" Kara asked, aghast. "Are they referring to when we...when I was trapped, with you?" "It's lovely, isn't it?" Arlington sighed, drinking up all the noise as if he were at the orchestra. "Do all the right things and they'll still hate you. It's like angry, chaotic poetry, don't you think?" "But I'm not the one who did this to them! I'm not the one trying to take over their country!" "One of the perks of being the bad guy is that you always get what you deserve," Lord Arlington chuckled. "In the end, you always get what you deserve." Arlington didn't realize he'd said too much—spoken out of character, revealed an unfamiliar side of himself—until Kara looked at him oddly, then shook her head, as if trying to get rid of an irrational thought. He made a mental note then, to watch what he said for the rest of the night, but the occasional slip up couldn't be helped and he had no intention of dwelling on it. In fact, just then, their carriage arrived. To escape the protesters, Kara immediately rushed inside, followed closely by Alyssa. It was the opportunity Arlington had been waiting for and quickly, he pulled Myiat toward him. "I believe the driver is one of my men and before we reach the gardens, I want Alyssa out of the carriage," Arlington ordered. "I want to ride alone with Kara, at least for a half hour or so." "My lord, I am not at all comfortable with this," Myiat hissed, glancing anxiously in Kara's direction, then turning back toward Arlington. "You've had enough fun with that poor girl already." "Are we going to do this again?" Arlington threatened. "Are you going to make me demote you even further?" "My lord, my ethical code—" "Do as you're told or I am taking you off this mission. I don't know why Lord Sillias keeps you on her payroll, but I'm starting to wonder." Myiat paled then, but nodded and quickly followed Lord Arlington into the carriage. Oddly enough, it was silent as they traveled down the road, passing by dark store windows and the occasional neon sign. Kara, who was usually so lively, was the quietest of all and seemed particularly upset by all of the protesters' accusations. When Lord Arlington glanced in her direction, he could make out her reflection in the adjacent window and she looked genuinely distressed. What is she thinking? Arlington wondered. Does she suspect something? He would have liked to get an even better view of his girl, but Alyssa was sitting between them and every time he turned, their eyes met. The woman was absolutely insufferable. "Stop the carriage!" Myiat cried and as the vehicle came to a screeching halt, she glanced out the window nervously. God, for all her flaws, Sillias' woman was incredibly clever and a good actor to boot. Arlington was impressed. "There's someone out there and whoever he is, the man's armed!" "For god's sake," Alyssa groaned, and she readied her rifle. "Let's go." "No, I'll go check it out. You should stay behind with our charges." "Like hell I'm going to let you have all the fun!" For all his training, Lord Arlington almost ruined everything. He almost smirked, right in front of Alyssa, but somehow managed to wait until she'd followed after Myiat. Then, all bets were off and with a wicked grin, Arlington leaned forward toward the driver's seat. Poor Kara didn't realize what was happening until the locks on all the doors clicked shut in unison, but by then, it was too late. With a flick of the reigns, the driver spurred his horses into a gallop and they went speeding down the road. "What are you doing?!?" Kara cried, looking toward Arlington with terror in her eyes, just as the carriage beneath them began to move. Panicked, she tried wrenching the nearest door open, but to no avail. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!?" "I thought the two of us could have a nice, friendly chat, away from distractions," Arlington replied, crossing one leg casually over the other. "Karrington got in the way of our last conversation, regarding that wonderful, perverse mind of yours." But just then, a series of gunshots broke through the calm evening night and Arlington was forced to roll onto the floor. It was a lucky move, too. Seconds later, the window above him shattered and he could swear that he heard Alyssa, calling him a "mother fucker" and screaming "Karrington is going to kill me," right before her voice faded into the wind. When Arlington was able to look back at Kara, he saw that she had bashed in her own window and was starting to crawl out the opening, shards of broken glass digging into her skin. Cursing, Arlington reached out to grab her legs, but Kara made a jump for it, tucking her body in close and rolling out onto the street, all while the vehicle was still moving. "Stop the goddamn carriage!" Arlington screamed. "Stop it right now!" Even before the carriage had stopped, Arlington was jumping onto the street, wincing at the pain in his knee and looking in earnest for Kara. She was only a few yards away when he found her, covered in scrapes and cuts from her fall. The girl's dress was ripped in several places too, and her brown locks stuck out at all angles, giving her a haphazard appearance. Groaning, Arlington marched across the pavement toward his girl, determined to check on her wounds, then noticed that she was armed. Clenched in her bloody hands, Kara held a small, wooden dagger aloft and was sliding backwards frantically, as far away from Arlington as she could manage. "Get away from!" Kara screamed, very nearly in tears. "Stay back, Arlington!" "You want to tell me why you're carrying a weapon, Kara?" "Because I swore that I'd never let you touch me again!" "You're injured, Kara. Let me have a quick look." "One step closer and I swear to god, I'll kill you," Kara cried, the tears falling softly now, like those of a fallen angel. "I'm not scared of you, not anymore." "You look plenty frightened to me," Arlington chided, and he raised an eyebrow expectantly in Kara's direction. "You're waving a weapon in my general direction and crying." "So maybe I am afraid," Kara whispered, and suddenly her voice took on a much darker, sinister tone, which Arlington didn't quite recognize. The crying had stopped now and all that remained was a fierce, understanding gaze."I keep telling myself that I'm not afraid and yet, whenever I see you, I get chills. Maybe, no matter how hard I try, I'll never get over you. But you know what, Arlington? You're afraid, too." "Is that so?" Arlington hissed, and although he tried to keep his features smooth and serene, with Kara's piercing blue eyes burrowing straight through him, Arlington could feel his resolve crumble. "What, pray tell, am I afraid of?" "People like me," Kara whispered, still holding her weapon aloft. "People you can't control." "Your memory seems a bit spotty," Lord Arlington observed and with a sinister aura, he resumed his slow walk toward Kara, his footsteps echoing down the empty street. "It wasn't so long ago that you were begging me for mercy, right before I fucked your face and made you lick the cum from my fingers. Not long after that, you let me use you as a foot stool. Kara, my dear, I've always been able to control you." "Then how did we end up like this, Arlington? If you're power is so absolute, why aren't I begging for your forgiveness on my hands and knees?" Kara asked, though she'd paled a little at his words, her blue eyes glistening in the moonlight. "What you had wasn't control, it was intimidation, just a pale imitation of what you really want from me." "I'm an exceedingly patient man, Kara. I never said that this process would be easy and I've been happy with out progress so far. Now, put the knife down and let's get you to a hospital." "You know, Greenwood once told me that all your cruel smiles and sadistic laughter are just a facade, designed to get me to cave. He said there was another side to you and at first I didn't believe him, but now I'm not so sure. I don't think people are born good or evil. I think something happened to make you this way." "Alright, Dr. Chrystein, I'll play along," Arlington laughed. "Go ahead, psycho-analyze me." "It's not normal for a person to be so self-confident, so calm and collected, every hour of every day. You're hiding something and you're very good at it, but I won't rest until I know what it is." "I assure you, my past is rather dull." "No, I don't think so," Kara mused, and she gave Arlington an intensely curious look. "You're very protective of your environment. You have this unshakable need to control everyone and everything in your life and when you hit resistance, you go a little mad. It's almost as if you manipulate as a security measure, to protect yourself." It looked painful, but with a grunt of effort, Kara stood to her feet and this time, she stepped toward Arlington, blood dripping from her tangled locks. "I told myself, just this morning, that I wouldn't bother with your life story, but you've been dissecting me for too long—listening to my memories, torturing me until I talk—and I won't let you get away scott-free any longer." "Is this going somewhere, Kara?" "Yes, it is," Kara replied, and a soft smile spread across her lips. "I think you're more afraid of me than I am of you." "If I'm so terrified of you, then why would I bother to reclaim you?" "To prove to yourself that your control is absolute," Kara replied, still stepping ever closer to Arlington, the weapon in her hand trembling. "You need me, that's why you're so desperate to get a hold of me. I've made a crack in your glass castle—made a dent in the illusion that no one can interfere with your power—and until you've beaten me, that failure will haunt you." They were mere inches apart now and Lord Arlington found himself, to his horror, being hypnotized by Kara's words. "See, until I've bowed to you, you'll always be living in fear, wondering where else you went wrong and who else might be plotting against you, untouched by your manipulation. Until then, you'll always be waiting for your carefully crafted world fall to fall apart." "Cute," Lord Arlington sneered, but inside his heart was beating faster and faster, like a ferocious drum. Lunging for Kara, he tried to disarm her, but was distracted and missed. It wasn't until he felt warm liquid trickling down his arm that he realized that Kara had cut him. "You've got a good theory there, pet," Arlington cursed, biting against the pain and twisting the knife out of Kara's grasp. "I'll grant you that much, but in the end, there's no substance behind it." "Then, who was that woman in the burnt picture?" Kara asked and this time, Arlington's heart stopped outright. "The woman had a tattoo like yours, but it was unfinished. She had long, blonde hair too, didn't she?" "Why you sneaky, conniving little cunt," Lord Arlington growled, well aware that he was letting his anger show and not caring even a tiny, little bit. "You'll pay dearly for sticking your nose where it isn't welcome." "We're almost even, Arlington," Kara replied, still standing tall and refusing to break eye contact, even as Arlington's features twisted further. "You know now that, deep down, I'm a pervert. But I know that, deep down, you have a soft, vulnerable spot and when I find it, I'm going to exploit you every bit as much as you've exploited me." Arlington wasn't sure what had happened or how it had happened, but he knew that somehow, Kara had strengthened her resolve, way beyond what he'd anticipated. Her eyes were a furnace of fierce determination, coiling and churning in the dense, black water of her mighty spirit. Since Kara's initial escape, Arlington had dealt with many emotions: frustration, anger, and even disappointment. But it was only now that he felt helplessness, standing mere feet from his girl and unable to do anything about the way she was looking at him. Kara had spent far too much time away from him, Arlington realized, and he'd underestimated the damage. No longer did his slave view him as a force of nature, immovable and unrelenting in its cruelty. Now, his original training regiment would be useless and a new, more involved one would have to be planned. Clenching his fists by his side, Arlington stepped toward Kara and allowed his characteristic, cruel smile to emerge. "Such a shame," Lord Arlington mused and though Kara's expression never wavered, she wasn't standing as tall anymore, perhaps confused by the sudden change in her lord's mood. As he stepped ever closer, Arlington could see the conflict in her eyes, where the desire to cower fought with the the desire to stand tall. "You're such a lovely dancer," Arlington cooed, and he lifted Kara's chin with the tip of his finger. "Really, you are. I'd be a lie to say that I didn't enjoy our time together. You won't believe me, but I was hoping I could go easier on you, pet. You've been through such an awful lot, but now? It really amazes me, how you insist on doing this to yourself." "You'll never get your hands on me again," Kara whispered. "You won't." "Awww, pet," Arlington frowned. "You don't really believe that, do you?" Arlington wasn't sure which one of them heard the noise first, but out of the bushes there came a fierce rustling, and then there was a man emerging from the shadows. Clenched in his outstretched hands was a pistol, which shook violently in its owner's unsteady grasp. The man wasn't a professional, Arlington realized. Just some low-life from the streets, maybe intent on robbing them. Still, Arlington instinctively moved between the shooter and Kara. God, where the hell was Myiat when you needed her? With a lunge, Arlington somersaulted towards the attacker, more so to make it difficult to aim than anything else. The man fired once or twice, but missed, simply because he couldn't hold his weapon steady. Soon enough, Arlington was upon him, expertly disarming the shooter and then knocking him out with a single blow. But then, there was a loud crack and his lordship turned to see a second shooter, wearing a shirt with his name on it, wrapped in a red circle with a slash down the center. They were protesters, Arlington realized, who had somehow tracked the pair down. The second shooter was a lot more confident than the last one too, and she was aiming right at Kara. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 24 "Long live Nardia!" Instinctively, Arlington tackled Kara to the ground, covering her body with his own and shielding her from the attacker. Three gun shots rang out through the air and three bullets slammed into Arlington's frame, temporarily knocking the wind out of him. Time seemed to stand still then and by the time Arlington finally rolled onto his side, the shooter was gone. Kara, on the other hand, was frantically unbuttoning his cloak, trying to find the wounds and put pressure on them. She didn't notice that he was wearing a bullet proof vest until she'd nearly undressed him, but when she did, the realization paralyzed her. Straddling Arlington's waist, Kara didn't seem able to move and for several minutes, they just stared into each others' eyes. "I'm sorry," Kara finally whispered and she moved to get up, but Arlington grabbed her wrist. "It's just, I was—" "Why?" "It's just instinct," Kara tried desperately, refusing to look Arlington in the eye. "It just happened." "If I hadn't been wearing this...if I were in real trouble..." "I had a mentor, once," Kara explained, seeming to reconsider opening up, before finally giving in. "We worked as volunteers at a prison for a while. You can't get your medical license in Calihistra without a certain amount of pro-bono work." "Go on." "One day, they bring in this guy who's been stabbed, but only because he attacked another prisoner and all for a pack of cigarettes. I didn't want to help, but this mentor told me, 'It's not a medic's job to judge. We're in the business of giving people second chances, not in condemning them.' It stuck with me, that when you're in a position of authority, you should put integrity before your own happiness. That's why I secretly worked on Isleydor's soldiers, during the war. It's why I—" "What did you just say?" "That you shouldn't judge—" "No, I mean that last phrase," Arlington hissed, and he pulled Kara in closer, to make sure that he heard her right. It had been years since he'd heard those words uttered, but they still felt like a thousand knives, digging straight into the core of his soul. "The exact words, what were they?" "Integrity before happiness?" Arlington wanted to press further, but suddenly Alyssa was pulling Kara off of him and shoving the nozzle of a rifle into his face. "You fucking lunatic!" "Ah, Alyssa, what took you so long?" "Don't give me any of your bullshit, Arlington! Just get the fuck up before I shoot your brains out!" "Alyssa," Kara warned, her tone authoritative. "Don't." "Are you kidding me?!? After this lousy piece of—" "I said, don't," Kara reiterated, this time more severely. "Let's just go back and find me someone from your personnel's infirmary." "You aren't going to tell anyone about this?" Alyssa asked, her jaw nearly touching the ground. "Not even Karrington?" "Especially not Karrington. These negotiations are bigger than either of us and I don't want to risk complicating things," Kara sighed, and she glanced back at Arlington. "I'll see you in the morning, David." "Fine," Alyssa growled, before lowering her gun and following after Kara."But next time, Arlington, you won't be so lucky." "My lord!" Myiat suddenly cried, emerging from the shadows to reveal a number of bruises, probably due to a tussle with Alyssa. "My lord, what happened?" "Nothing," Arlington said, but more to himself than to Myiat. "This changes nothing." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 25 In the eerie silence of the early morning, Lord Arlington headed down Bremmington's Interrogation Block, each step bringing him closer to the point of no return. It seemed like ages had passed before he finally reached Room #17 and yet, he wasn't ready for the gruesome task before him. For a good minute or two, he paused, his hand hovering inches from the door knob. It wasn't too late to turn back. Even here, at the very end, Arlington could walk away. In his mind's eye, the young lord pictured himself heading back up the stairway, then disappearing into the bright yellow dawn, but the fantasy was in poor taste. Maybe Arlington could turn back, but he'd made up his mind ages ago and wasn't about to abandon all of his careful plans. With a deep breath, he rested his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and stepped inside the interrogation room. Marko was waiting for him, sitting before a small metal table with his hands cuffed in front of him and his head bowed dejectedly. His wavy, almond brown hair looked a little thin and his dark eyes looked a little darker, but it was the absence of his cocky smile that disturbed Arlington the most. Clearly, the past several weeks of captivity had taken their toll. From what Arlington had gathered, Marko had been in tip-top shape immediately prior to his arrest. After graduating from the Crimson Dragons, the young assassin had moved to the private sector, conducting surveillance for clients and sometimes completing contract kills for the government. Arlington, meanwhile, had swiftly risen to power and the two of them had eventually lost touch. It had been years since they'd occupied the same space, but the time they'd spent together had molded them in unshakeable ways and the minute he saw Arlington, Marko's features brightened. "Oh, thank god you are here!" Marko cried, standing to his feet with a sudden surge of hope and, just maybe, a little bit of desperation. "I'd hug you, brother, but you know...the cuffs." With an embarrassed smile, Marko held up his bound wrists, as if pleading for them to be removed. But Arlington said nothing and Marko frowned, confused. "The cuffs, David? Are these really necessary, considering—" "It's Lord Arlington now," Arlington whispered, his voice laced with just the tiniest hint of threat. But the words hit their mark and immediately, Marko's mood changed. Suspiciously, he glanced at Arlington, then at his entourage of guards, trying to figure out what was happening, but could only stand there stupidly. "You haven't forgotten, have you, brother?" "No, my lord, of course not," Marko insisted, his face dropping ever more precariously under Arlington's gaze. "I meant no disrespect...it's just that you and I have always been really close. You and I are brothers by trade and we've always looked out for each other, haven't we?" "Have we?" Arlington grinned and he sat down casually across from Marko. "Brother?" "I've been framed for treason, my lord, but I swear, it wasn't I who assassinated Senator Bix!" Marko cried, finally losing it and reaching across the table for the lapels of Arlington's shirt, but a body guard smacked his hands away. "Please, you have to believe me!" "I don't see why I should; the evidence against you is very convincing." "I know that, David!" Marko cried, standing to his feet and banging violently on the table. "I know that!" "Then why should I bother to save you?" "Because we're brothers!" Marko screamed, half mad with fear. "I'm about to be executed and you're just going to stand there, arguing titles, as if nothing's the matter!" Taking a few panicked, deep breaths Marko tried to calm down, but began pacing fretfully instead. "Whoever's done this must be a professional, my lord...another assassin, most likely. All the signs are there! Someone high up in the ranks, who has the access necessary to plant evidence and then—" Suddenly, Marko froze in place and Arlington watched as all the dots finally connected, creating a picture that nearly paralyzed Marko with horror. "David, did you...?" "Think very carefully before you finish that sentence," Arlington warned, lifting an eyebrow condescendingly. "I don't take false accusations lightly." "But...but why would you do this to me? What have I ever done to you?" "Nothing, brother, this isn't about us. It's about Senator Bix and you know it." "Oh my god," Marko gasped, the very last piece of the puzzle fitting snugly into place. "Is this...is this about that girl?" There was disbelief in his voice, but it was tinged with just enough certainty to make Arlington's guards and even the prison stenographer look questioningly toward him. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Lord Arlington grinned, but he made sure to do so just a little too widely and watched as Marko's eyes lit up, first in understanding, then fury. "You're babbling, but I suppose that's understandable, given the circumstances." "Get them out of here," Marko whispered darkly, nodding in turn to Arlington's bodyguards, the prison stenographer, and even his own lawyer. "Get them all out of here." Arlington hadn't been expecting that, but didn't see why he shouldn't oblige. The two of them had never openly talked about 'the incident.' For years, it had remained an invisible stain on their continued friendship, always present, but never acknowledged. Marko had probably kept quiet for Arlington's sake, so as not to impede his rise to power. Arlington had stayed silent as a sort of psychological safety mechanism, hoping to forget the past. But the memories didn't go away and soon, he was keeping silent simply to lure Marko into a false sense of security. Now, the gloves were off, the curtain had fallen, the trumpets had blared and with a curt nod, Arlington gestured for his personnel to leave the room. At first, they seemed reluctant to obey, but fled more earnestly when his lordship's expression soured and with an ominous bang, the door shut behind them. "Plead your case," Arlington said simply, leaning back in his chair. "Plead my case!" Marko cried, his eyes turning crimson with rage and his voice hoarse with something that resembled hurt, but was much darker. "If it weren't for me, you'd be nothing but a long forgotten traitor in an unmarked grave!" "Probably," Arlington admitted with a sympathetic shrug. "Most likely, yes." "What do you mean, most likely?!?" Marko screamed, but Arlington merely shrugged again and his silence only served to fuel Marko's rage. "Goddamn it, David, how are you not getting this? Yours would have been an ugly death. They would have made an example of you first. They would have made you beg for it, before they pulled the trigger." "If that's the best you can do, I can end this meeting now." "Everything I did, I did for you! Without me, there'd be no 'Lord Arlington.' You owe everything you have—your fancy title, your wealth, your power—to the sacrifices I made on your behalf!" "You're not telling me anything that I don't already know," Lord Arlington sighed and with a sad smile, he stood up and turned toward the door, intending to let the prison personnel back in. "After all this time, Marko, I really did think you'd have something more worthwhile to say." "Maybe I pulled the trigger," Marko admitted, his voice calm and controlled for the first time. "But you put the bullet in the chamber." Immediately, Arlington stiffened, his fingers just brushing the doorknob. The guilt didn't come in waves this time, as it often did, but it seeped in slowly, like a poison in his veins, gradually spreading throughout his being. Then the memories started to come back, in eerie clarity, forming a mismatched collage of images that made Arlington nauseous... There was Arilyn, in her favorite black tank top and shorts, waiting for him beside the river and lying on a checkered picnic blanket. She hadn't spotted him yet and for a few brief, but glorious moments, Arlington was able to stand on the bank, just watching her hair dance in the wind. Then there was blood against concrete...so much blood...seemingly everywhere. It was on Arlington's hands, then in his hair. He could literally taste it in the air. Redness gave way to a shimmering gold and suddenly, Arlington remembered the way Arilyn's hair had fallen across her shoulders, on the first night they'd made love. It had been arranged so perfectly, he would have sworn it was intentional. Then, there were torches lining the walls, making eerie shadows, and Arlington could feel the cool leather of a whip in his hand, which was still trembling. Arilyn, calling him a 'nerd' for having so many books in his dorm room. Screams, but he didn't really know if they were his or hers... "You know, you could have stopped everything, before it even began," Marko continued, returning Arlington back to the present, where the fluorescent lighting made everything gray and the drafty room made everything cold. "But you didn't." "Is there a point to this?" Arlington hissed, though he couldn't bear to turn around and face Marko's accusatory eyes. "Well?" "God, David, you so badly want to blame me for your girlfriend's untimely end, but you had every opportunity to save her and you didn't," Marko replied, this time sounding more sympathetic than he did angry. "Why didn't you report her to Remediation Services when she first started slipping?" Arlington didn't have a good answer to that question, though he'd asked it of himself thousands of times. Maybe if Arilyn's disloyalty had been more subtle, he could have feigned ignorance and been able to sleep a little better at night, but she hadn't had the capacity for subtlety. Arlington could still remember all the details of that night, when he'd first lost control of his apprentice. They'd moved into the same dorm months earlier and he'd returned home late one night, only to walk into the kitchen and see that the stove was on. All the cabinets had been emptied and there were knives laid out with utmost care upon the counter top. Then, he could smell it...the scent of burning human flesh. Arlington could remember racing through the tiny apartment, looking for Arilyn, and finding that the bathroom door had been locked from the inside and barricaded. It had taken him a full ten minutes to break his way in and when he'd found Arilyn, she'd been standing before the mirror, burning away the tattoo on her back with a red, hot blade... "Oh my god, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Arlington screamed, wrestling the knife away from Arilyn and dragging her out into the hallway. She struggled something awful, cursing and biting the entire time, but Arlington finally managed to pin her to the floor. "Arilyn, do you realize what you've done?" At first, Arilyn didn't say anything. When Arlington finally let her up, she just sat there in a trance, letting him gently examine her back. There were a number of ugly burns there, destroying the crimson dragon Arilyn was supposed to be wearing proudly. There would certainly be scarring and possibly an infection, but Arlington was most worried about the Crimson Dragons themselves. Defacing one's tattoo was a sign of disloyalty and a student assassin only got three strikes before being 'terminated.' There was no way to leave the guild alive after initiation week and this sort of behavior could get Arilyn killed. Arlington felt himself begin to panic and his mind started racing, as he desperately tried to figure out how he was going to explain this to his superiors. "God, David, you have to help me! I...I just can't do this!" Arilyn finally screamed and soon after, she was grabbing onto Arlington's cloak and looking up at him with her intense, green eyes. "It's not fair!" "What are you talking about, Arilyn? The hell is wrong with you?" "They recruit you when you're too young to know the difference between right and wrong and when you finally figure it out, they tell you you're in too deep to walk out!" Arilyn cried, shaking Arlington furiously and starting to sob. "It's not fair!" "Oh god," Arlington groaned, and he could feel his heart turn cold beneath his breast. Arilyn had been acting weird ever since their first mission, but he hadn't thought it would come to this. Trembling, he brought Arilyn close to him and started stroking her long, blonde hair, just as much to calm his own nerves as to calm hers. "Look, love, it's okay...." Arlington reasoned, seeing now that there was only one way to handle this. "It's not at all unusual for an apprentice to have second thoughts after their first mission. I'll just call up Remediation Services." "What?!?" Arilyn cried and she pushed Arlington away before he could stop her, making sure to get as much distance between them as was humanly possible. "You mean you intend to hand me over to their brainwashing specialists?" "Brainwashing is a strong word...I had to go through it after my first mission, on Master Greyson's recommendation." "So that's it then?" Arilyn sneered, crossing her arms over her chest and looking the very picture of defiance in all its beautiful, brilliant glory. "I'm just having a psychological breakdown and you're going to go 'fix' me?" "Clearly, you need some help, Arilyn." "I need help, David! You don't think that, maybe, I'm thinking rationally for the first time since I signed up with the dragons? One thought out of line and suddenly, I need help?" "Goddamn it, Arilyn!" Arlington growled, stepping briskly across the room and blocking Arilyn's path, even as she tried to move out of the way. "I'm trying to help you, before you do something stupid!" "I keep forgetting that you're one of them," Arilyn whispered, her voice dark for the first time ever, though not the last. "I keep forgetting that you're no different, not really." "That's not true." "Then prove it!" Arilyn declared, taking Arlington's hands in her own and looking at him with softness in her eyes. "Run away with me, David, and help me leave this godforsaken place!" "Are you mad?" Arlington hissed, thrusting Arilyn's hands away, as if her thoughts were contagious. "We wouldn't make it ten miles! Don't even think those sorts of things, let alone say them out loud!" Heading for the phone, Arlington started to dial, intent on contacting Remediation Services before things got too far out of hand, but Arilyn's soft, sultry voice stopped him in his tracks. "Please..." Arilyn pleaded and Arlington could feel a gentle tugging on his pants leg. When he looked down, he saw that Arilyn was on her knees, her hands clasped in her lap, begging him. "Please, sir...don't do this to me...I've heard what's it like..." "What else am I supposed to do, Arilyn?" "I'll complete remediation with you," Arilyn promised, her tear filled eyes so sincere and innocent. "I won't hold anything back, I swear..." What else could he have done? With Arilyn's pleading eyes looking up into his, how could he have said 'no'? Arilyn was right. Remediation was an extremely painful process, both psychologically and physically. He'd wanted to spare her...convinced himself that it was the 'right' thing to do, even if it wasn't the 'smart' thing to do. But Arilyn had lied to him. She'd played him like a harp and he'd fallen for it. Arlington knew that now and he should have known it then. "I thought I could handle her myself," Arlington told Marko, somewhat defensively, although he wasn't sure why he was bothering to explain himself. "I was young and foolish." "Young and foolish?" Marko snorted, rolling his eyes just in time for Arlington to turn around and catch him in the act. "That might be a legitimate excuse for your first failure, but Master Greyson gave you a second chance to reign her in and you didn't take advantage of that either." "Do you have any idea what that was like?" Arlington cried, running his hands through his hair in exasperation and pacing the floor before Marko. "I was having nightmares regularly, hearing her screaming in my dreams!" "No one said it was going to be easy, but if you'd really loved her, you would have manned up. Arilyn was your apprentice and it was your job to get her under control, whether you liked it or not." "And yet you felt compelled to interfere?" "What was I supposed to do, sit back and watch that little cunt ruin you? Let her drag you into the bowels of hell, all because she waited until sophomore year to grow a fucking conscience?" "I tried, alright? I poured my entire being into saving her from herself, but the way she looked at me...Marko, she started to hate me, I could see it in her eyes." "Boo-hoo, my lord, cry me a fucking river. Like it or not, sometimes we have to hurt the people we love," Marko sighed, sounding more than a little judgemental. "You don't think Master Leton broke my bones a few times on the mats? But I never forgot a mistake that landed me in the infirmary." "It's not the same thing." "Yes, it is," Marko insisted, his tone unwavering. "Those lessons saved my ass numerous times in the field. Sometimes, you have to hurt the people you love and sure, at the time, they'll hate you for it....but when they grow the fuck up, they'll understand what you did for them and they'll be grateful." "Maybe, if you had given me more time, I could have figured that out on my own." "Doubtful, with that devilish little succubus whispering in your ear, tempting you to throw everything away. Admit it, when I finally stepped in, you couldn't have walked away if your life had depended on it...and it had, David." "Enough!" Arlington screamed, turning with blood red eyes toward Marko, his heart pounding so loudly he could hardly hear his own voice. "Regardless of my faults, it's time you paid for your sins and trust me, you will. You'll pay dearly, brother!" "Fine," Marko spat and Arlington stiffened. He hadn't been expecting that reaction from Marko, who was usually such a fighter, never one to give up prematurely. "Go ahead and kill me, but you'll regret it. If you keep burning these bridges, you're going to wake up one day and you're going to be all alone." "I'm the Fourth Lord of Isleydor," Arlington laughed, though it was a dark, humorless laugh. "Then god help Isleydor," Marko replied coldly, his tone deathly serious. "You couldn't even control your own apprentice and now, you honestly think you can rule a nation? You're a coward and you'll always be a coward. A man like you doesn't have the ambition to accomplish anything great." "Is that so?" Arlington grinned, the pain in his chest like a dagger, twisting and turning in his gut. "I was actually thinking of expanding our borders someday, making a name for myself in the history books, but first things first..." Opening the cell door, Arlington motioned for the prison guards to enter, then stepped aside so as to let them in. "You're right about one thing, Marko. I was a coward. I let my feelings get in the way of my convictions, but I'm turning over a new leaf, starting with you." "David, I'm telling you, don't do this." "I'm sorry, but I've made up my mind, Marko," Arlington apologized, with a sympathetic frown. "I loved you like a brother, I really did, but I'm done letting my emotions rule me...retribution, on the other hand, that's a different story." With a nod toward the nearest guard, Arlington headed for the doorway, then turned back at the threshold. "Take the traitor out back and shoot him." "One day, you'll get what you deserve!" Marko screamed, his tortured voice piercing through Arlington's soul and making him sick to his stomach. "One day, Arlington, you'll meet your match and you'll pay for what you've done!" With a clang, the cell door slammed shut, locking Marko behind it and in the ensuing silence, Arlington was only able to stand trembling in the hallway. Images of himself and Marko flashed through his mind: long afternoons spent in the weight room, late nights picking up women at the bar, racing motorcycles through campus and then getting chastised for it. For a few brief seconds, Arlington seriously considered wrenching open the door and recanting his orders, but reminded himself to stay strong. At the objections of his guards, he took off down the hall instead, finally making it to the restroom and locking himself inside. He barely made it to the sink before vomiting into the basin, his forehead breaking out in a cold, nervous sweat. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 25 "Keep it together!" Arlington told himself firmly, gasping for air between bouts of retching. "For the love of god, keep it together!" Years ago, when Arlington had gone on his first mission with Master Greyson, he'd returned with second thoughts. The man he'd been assigned to murder was a retired, political columnist, who was being eliminated so as to set an example, more so than anything else. The target might have been ambitious and stupid, but certainly those weren't crimes worthy of assassination. Afterwards, Arlington had tried to make a break for a town just beyond campus, but had been caught in the act and dragged back to Walter Greyson. Overall, the man had been a lot more understanding than Arlington had anticipated. "It's natural to feel guilty, but it's irrational, too," Walter Greyson had told him, his eyes kind. "You need to train your body to reject irrational feelings...use your mind to make decisions, not your heart." Master Greyson had even sneered at the sentiment. Arlington knew that if he just stuck with Master Greyson's teachings, then eventually, he would be okay. If he made decisions from a purely logical standpoint and pushed away any irrational emotions afterwards, then eventually, the nausea would go away and the heartache, too. But first, Arlington had to commit to an unwavering, steadfast persona, one that didn't flinch in the face of violence. He was no longer David Arlington, a foolish, love-sick specimen. He was Lord Arlington now, one of the most powerful men in the world, and he could no longer allow his emotions to get in the way of his ambitions. If he did, he would be dead or else replaced within the month. Isleydor's leaders were a rough, merciless crowd and Arlington would need to become ruthless if he intended to make an impact. It was unfortunate, but killing Marko had been a necessary evil. Even if the man had been something of a brother and a true friend, he'd also over-stepped his bounds by involving himself in his and Arilyn's past. Arlington needed to get into the habit of sending messages to his enemies, now rather than later. More importantly, Arlington wanted some retribution for Arilyn, though he would never admit that out loud. Perhaps, now that Marko was gone, he could finally put the past behind him, where it belonged. Swallowing hard, Lord Arlington looked into the mirror and saw that his face was tear stained and his eyes were puffy. At first, his reflection made him feel surreal, but then it just made him angry. Growling, Arlington wiped his tears away, rinsed his mouth, and carefully smoothed down his hair. After a few more deep breaths, he practiced a charming smile in the mirror, then turned back toward the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. Outside, his men were waiting for him. "Are you alright, my lord?" a guard asked, looking concerned. "Excuse me?" "My lord, you don't seem quite well." "Is that so?" "I don't mean any disrespect, my lord, it's just...." "We're digging ourselves a nice deep hole today, aren't we, Smithers?" "No, sir," the guard quickly corrected, swallowing hard. "You seem fine." "That's what I thought." With that, Lord Arlington headed down the hallway, his footsteps mirrored by those of his guards, creating an eerie, rhythmic echo. Suddenly, in the distance, he thought he heard a series of gunshots, but stopped and shook his head. He was too deep within Bremmington to hear the firing squad and as soon as he realized this, the hallucination went away, leaving Arlington in peace. The world belonged to him now. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 26 Author's Note: Initially, I intended to make this segment part of a larger, more in-depth chapter, but in the interest of publishing something before Christmas, I've made it its own chapter. Don't worry, it didn't take me three months to write this. There's a lot more in the works, but I won't have it finished until a little after Christmas, probably the 27th. It's a lot longer and more exciting (although I find this segment pretty exciting, too), but this way, at least you get something. Enjoy and as always, ratings and comments are appreciated! HisPet21 * Kara was shaking so badly that she couldn't seem to work her hands. She dropped her access card several times before managing to swipe into her hotel room, but as soon as the lock clicked open, she rushed inside, slammed the door shut, and sunk to the floor. All she could hear was her shallow, heavy breathing and the soft crackling of the fireplace, already lit in anticipation of her return. They were gentle, soothing sounds and after a few minutes, Kara decided that she was ready to get back up again. First things first, she headed to the night stand beside her bed and opened the top drawer. Inside, she found the gun Ben had gifted her, a matching holster, and a few rounds of ammunition. I am so stupid! Kara chided herself, turning the gun over in her hands and feeling its sleek metal frame beneath her fingertips. Going into that reception unarmed, when I knew Arlington would try something! Taking a deep breath, Kara turned on her heel, carefully aimed for the portrait above her bed, and with the safety still engaged, pulled the trigger. Then, as if she were in the heat of battle, Kara turned again, aimed straight at the center of a hanging clock face, and pulled the trigger, this time making a little pow noise under her breath. Her third target was an old television set and as she aimed, Kara imagined that Arlington's face was reflected in the black screen. The next time Arlington tries one of his little stunts—and obviously, he will—I'll be better prepared, Kara promised herself, pulling the trigger and imaging that with it, the television had shattered into a thousand shards of dark glass. Next time, I'll be armed with more than just a wooden dagger and a few insights. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and startled, Kara jumped. Who would be bothering her at this hour? Hesitating for only a moment, Kara clutched her gun to her chest and crept carefully towards the peephole. If Arlington was on the other side, she intended to march him straight back to his room at gun point, if necessary. But it was only Ben looking up into the peephole, his gray eyes magnified by the tiny scope. Cursing, Kara raced back for the night stand and quickly stashed her gun away, then headed for the bathroom mirror. There were bruises all over her face, purpling the sides of her arms and legs. After all, you couldn't leap from a moving carriage and escape unscathed, could you? Then there were the stitches from a few particularly deep wounds, after she'd cut herself on broken glass. If Ben found out what had happened that evening, there was no telling what he'd do. Arlington was staying just a few floors below them and it would be so easy for Ben, in the heat of the moment, to march down there and start firing up the place, risking all of Nardia's careful negotiations. "Kara, are you alright in there?" Ben called, banging a little more insistently on the door. "Did something happen?" "I'm fine!" Kara called from the bathroom, rifling through the medicine cabinet in desperate search of a little cover-up. There were sample bottles of shampoo, lotion, mouthwash, even apricot scrub. There just had to be a little beige cover-up. "Just give me a minute, I'm changing out of this awful dress they put me in...shit, shit, shit, they've got everything else you might need, you'd think they'd have a little make-up!" It wasn't much, but Kara finally found a tiny bottle of the stuff and began to cover the bruises on her face, caking the stuff along her stitches, but there wasn't enough for her arms. "Long sleeves," Kara whispered under her breath. "I need long sleeves and some pants." "Kara, what's taking so long? Are you sure you're okay?" "I think I can change clothes all by myself, Karrington!" Kara hissed, rifling through the bedroom closet and, to her immense relief, stumbling upon a pair of jeans and couple of long-sleeved blouses. "I'm a big girl, you know!" "I know he did something, Kara," Ben shouted from the hallway. "He always does something." "Nothing happened, I promise," Kara lied, frantically reaching for the zipper on her dress and cursing every time she missed. "There was the occasional veiled threat, but that comes with the territory." "I'm telling you Kara, I so badly wanted to pound that obnoxious grin off his face!" "Join the club," Kara laughed, finally grabbing hold of the zipper and nearly tripping in her haste to remove the dress. "But you'll have to get in line behind the rest of us." Frantic, Kara slipped on her only pair of jeans, then picked out a blue, long-sleeved blouse with little white polka dots. Looking into the mirror, she smoothed down the wrinkles in her clothes, carefully patted down her hair, and took a deep breath. When she was finally able to force a smile, she headed back to the bedroom door and pulled it open, hoping she didn't look like the liar she was and feeling a little more than guilty about the whole thing, but it couldn't be helped. "Alright there, Mr. Impatience," Kara scolded, stepping aside and gesturing for Ben to enter. "Wanna tell me what the big emergency is?" "This," Ben whispered, gripping Kara around the waist and thrusting her against the wall. His lips met hers, soft and sensual at first, as if he were tasting her, but then they took on an animal ferocity all their own. Kara could hardly breath as Ben suddenly crushed his lips against hers, forcing them to part and their tongues to intertwine. Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her head to the side, exposing the gentle slope of her neck. "You have no idea what it's been like," Ben growled, biting her skin gently, just enough to make her mewl and whine in surprise. "Being paraded around all night, watching you and Arlington dance out of the corner of my eye, then having to see you leave with that lunatic." "You didn't miss much," Kara gasped as Ben bit into her shoulder, this time a little harder...a little less gently. Something about the sharpness of his teeth against her flesh, the ferocious way he was pressing her into the wall, the low growl of his voice...Kara couldn't help it, she was melting into him, her fingernails raking almost desperately down his back, only cloth separating his skin from hers. She clung to Ben as if she were about to sink into the wall and he was her only life line. "Oh god, it's been so long, Ben...please, just...I need this." "Did he touch you?" Ben hissed and Kara groaned as his teeth grazed her bottom lip, just the tiniest hint of threat behind his words. "Did he even try?" "We just went for a carriage ride, that's all—" Kara began, but then Ben kicked open her legs and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, pulling her in closer and breathing hot air into her ear. Suddenly, she lost the ability to speak and only a low, heady groan escaped her lips. "Ben, honestly, I swear—" Without warning, Ben lifted Kara by the waist and slung her over his shoulder, so that all that came out was a pitiful squeal, but Ben didn't heed it. There was something hungry and forceful in his eyes, much like the first night they'd fucked, and before she knew it, Kara was being thrown onto the bed. It took a minute or two to get her bearings, but when she looked up, Ben was looming over her in his brand new military uniform. The green cloth hugged his muscular form just a little too tightly, so that she could see the outline of his pecs and his massive shoulders. Staring up at him like that, Kara suddenly had the urge to run her fingers over every contoured detail, until she had them memorized. "You're mine," Ben growled and just those words gave Kara goosebumps. Slowly, deliberately, he began to undo his belt and her eyes followed his hands down to the bulge below, straining magnificently against its cloth prison. "You're Arlington's hostess, so he may get the pleasure of your company during these negotiations, but you'll spend the evening in my arms, getting pleasured in my bed." Kara held her breath as Ben rounded the bed and grabbed her arms, pulling her whole body up toward the headboard. As the leather of his belt enveloped her wrists, Kara could only lie there somewhat hypnotized, her heart pounding with anticipation and just the tiniest hint of fear, but she loved every second. When Ben was done, she was bound to the headboard and not going anywhere, at least not without her captor's say-so, and he didn't seem to keen on letting her go anytime soon. For several long moments he just stood there, surveying her body hungrily and allowing himself to become entranced by the rise and fall of her breasts. "Maybe we shouldn't," Kara whispered in a brief, unwelcome moment of clarity, although she didn't sound too convinced herself. "We have negotiations in the morning." "That's the whole point now, isn't it?" Ben grinned, slowly unbuttoning his uniform. He took his time too, being sure to reveal only a little at a time, watching as his prey's eyes lit up with a hunger all their own. First came the soft skin of his pecs, outlining sinewy muscle, then his hardening nipples and perfectly defined abs. When Ben finally let his shirt slip from his arms, Kara could only stare in awe at his lightly flexed biceps. "I'm going to fuck you senseless tonight, until you don't remember where you are of why you're there," Ben threatened, his voice frightening, but oddly comforting all at once. "I'm going to pound that beautiful pussy of yours over and over again, until you're screaming for mercy. When you walk into negotiations tomorrow, you'll do so with a limp and Arlington will remember that you don't belong to him anymore." Kara glanced down at Ben's trousers again and groaned, watching as the bulge there continued to strain and pulse, taunting her. She so badly wanted to reach out and touch it, to feel his cock growing in her hands, but with her wrists bound as they were, she could only writhe and whine. Grinning at her predicament, Ben reached for the holster about his waist and removed the dagger he kept with him, startling Kara. At first, she was confused, but as Ben walked slowly toward her, she realized what he intended to do. He was going to cut the clothes clean off of her, Kara realized, and moaned at the thought, but as Ben brought the knife against the flesh of her neck, froze. Oh, fuck, he's going to see the bruises! Kara cursed, suddenly feeling just a little bit more frantic, just a little bit more helpless. Fuck, fuck, fuck! "Wait, Ben, could you...turn out the lights?" "And why would that be necessary?" "For the thrill...Ben, please, just for a little while." Kara had expected the darkness to be anything but thrilling, yet when Ben reached over and turned out the lights, the entire atmosphere changed. The only light now came from the fireplace, dim and dying, so that Ben was a mere silhouette against the flame, his outline powerful and intimidating. Breathing hard, Kara watched as the blade in his hand came to rest just below her chin. Gently, he dragged the sharpened edge across her skin, until it reached the neck of her blouse. She could actually hear the sound of her clothes being torn away, while her exposed flesh turned cold and then warm in the firelight. "Please, please, please," Kara begged, rubbing her legs together in some attempt to gain relief, each cut making her cunt throb with desire and body arch with need. "Please, please, Ben. Oh god..." "If this gets too real, you're going to kick me," Ben ordered firmly, pulling off Kara's jeans and then slipping the blade under her panties, right above her throbbing cunt. "Otherwise, you're going to keep your legs still." "Ben, I don't—" "Understand?" "Yes, but I—" "Good," Ben growled, pressing his lips against Kara's and shutting her up with the force of his kiss, his tongue ruthlessly pressing into the dark cavern of her mouth. As he worked her mercilessly, eliciting groan after deep throated groan, he violently cut the panties from her body, until she could feel the heat of the fire on her sensitive lips. When Ben finally withdrew, Kara gasped into the darkness for air, only to have her shredded panties forced into her mouth, the smell overwhelming and yet, strangely erotic. "You're such a noisy little thing, aren't you?" Parting Kara's legs, Ben sucked the tiny nub of her sex into his mouth, without bothering to warm her up. The sudden onslaught of sensation was overwhelming and screaming into her gag, Kara arched her back, only to be pushed back into the bed by Ben's massive frame. It seemed she wasn't going anywhere and to be honest, Kara really really liked that. She liked the way Ben used one hand, pressed against her belly, to hold her in place, while the other forced her legs apart. Kara had no choice but to lie there as Ben's tongue lapped at her swollen sex, making her scream and groan into the gag. Within seconds she was so close...so close...but then, Ben stopped. Sobbing piteously into the gag, Kara tried to convey her frustration, but her lover patiently waited until she came down again, only to continue the torture, waiting until she was at the brink, tightening and tightening, before stopping altogether and blowing cold air onto her sex. "Trust me, this is just a frustrating for me as it is for you," Ben told her and when Kara called him a number of unseemly names from behind the gag, he laughed. "Okay, maybe it's not quite as frustrating." There was some shuffling and in another moment, Ben was crawling onto the bed, leaning over Kara with his hard, pulsating cock pressed against the entrance to her cunt. God, she needed this...she needed him. Kara needed, if only for a moment, for someone else to take the reigns so that she could just let go. Carefully, Ben placed a hand on either side of her shoulders and thrust into her, his length filling her up and making her whole. The intense pleasure caused her to scream and arch and plead, the steady rhythm of his cock against her g-spot getting her closer and closer and closer to that inevitable edge. She was sopping wet and his thrusts made little squelching sounds emerge from between her legs, the smell sweet and pungent all at once. Just the noise drove Kara wild, making everything they did seem perverted and beautiful all at once. When Ben bent down to take a nipple into his mouth and bit down, Kara's warm center exploded into white light and she screamed, wave after wave of pleasure assaulting her senses. "That's right," Ben growled, the sweat from his chest dripping seductively onto her breasts, making her feel exposed and dirty. "You come for me and only me, isn't that right, Kara?" Kara could only pant in the afterglow of her orgasm, then scream as Ben continued his assault, taking her to the heights of pleasure all over again. She could actually feel his cock grow inside of her and tremble, as the general began to approach his own climax. That alone made Kara grow even more wet with desire, so desperately did she want to feel him explode inside of her, until hot cum dripped from her abused cunt. She could hear his breathing grow heavier and his groans more needy and wrapped her legs around his waist, encouraging him to plow into her depths and find satisfaction. "You're mine!" Ben screamed, as he thrust one last time inside of Kara, his hot seed spilling into her depths so that she, too, crossed over and came with him, her own orgasm milking him for every last drop and her eyes shut tight against the onslaught of sensation. "You're mine and only mine!" When Kara finally came down from her ecstasy, she immediately knew that something was off. Ben was completely quite and she could sense an odd tension in him, angry and indignant. It wasn't until she opened her eyes that she knew why. While she had been enjoying the afterglow of her orgasm, Ben had turned on the lamp atop the nightstand and was now staring at her bare body, covered from head to toe with bruises and cuts. Oh, shit, Kara thought, spitting out the wad of cloth in her mouth. Oh, fuck. "Ben, it's not what it looks like!" Kara gasped, but Ben didn't reply. Without a word, he turned his back to her, stepped off the bed, and began to pull his pants back on. Then, Ben removed the pistol from the holster around his waist, disengaged the safety, and sheathed it. "Ben, don't do anything stupid!" "Which floor is he staying on, Kara?" "Arlington didn't do this to me!" Kara insisted, struggling in her bonds and trying desperately to get free. "I got the bruises from a fall!" "Did you also run into a door knob?" Ben sneered, looking more furious than Kara had ever seen him. "Did you fall down the stairs and hit your head?" "I jumped from a moving carriage!" Kara blurted, but when Ben's eyes widened in surprised and then narrowed, she immediately regretted it. "I....alright, so he tried to get me alone with him and maybe I had to jump from the carriage to get away, but you can't go after him now. We're in the middle of negotiations, for god's sake!" "Arlington did what? And what's worse, you didn't tell me? You lied to me, Kara?" "Lying is a strong word," Kara whispered, though she knew Ben was right. "It's just...I didn't want to complicate things, Ben. These negotiations are bigger than either of us." "Is that what you really think? That this war is more important than us?" "Please tell me that isn't a serious question." "You're right, of course," Ben sighed, turning away from Kara and staring into the fireplace. "I'm not being reasonable and sometimes, I let my emotions get in the way of my common sense." With an odd grin, Ben turned back toward Kara and winked. "But I did warn Arlington. You heard it yourself. I told him that if he hurt you, there'd be consequences. As a man of my word, I can't exactly let this slide." "Oh, yes you can!" Kara insisted, nodding her head profusely. "You can definitely let this slide!" "How would that reflect on my image as a man and as a leader?" "How would it reflect on your image as a negotiator and a gracious host?" "Technically, I'm not his host, Kara," Ben chuckled with a knowing smirk. "Last time I checked, that was your department." "Let's talk about this over a shower, shall we?" Kara tried, pressing her breasts between her bound arms, in some attempt to make them look just a little bigger. "Afterward, I'll give you a nice, relaxing massage?" "Are you bribing me?" "Is it working?" "Almost," Ben growled, stepping toward Kara with a determined air, then leaning down until his face hovered inches above hers. Slowly, then sensually, he kissed her, his fingers tangled in her hair, then withdrew with a frustrated sigh. "I'd love to stay, Kara. Really I would, but unfortunately, being a man of my word means that on occasion, I'm honor bound to do something stupid." "Boobs are so much better than honor," Kara teased, arching herself off the bed and trying to recapture Ben's lips, mere inches out of reach. "I'll make it worth your while." "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill him just yet," Ben promised and Kara's eyes flew open, his words making it all so real. "I'm just going to teach him some manners." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 26 "Ben," Kara cried, switching tactics and trying to sound as authoritative as possible. "Don't you dare leave me here like this!" But Ben wasn't listening. Without even bothering to put his shirt on, he headed out into the hallway, shut the door, and let it lock behind him, leaving Kara to scream her frustrations. "Ben, come back here! You can't do this to me again!" But no one returned and it was silent in the room, save for the crackling of the fireplace. Oh, fuck me, Kara thought, wriggling her way to the headboard and looking down stupidly at her bound wrists. All that fuss to put on some damn clothes and then the second he walks through the door, I let him take them off. Examining the belt about her wrists, Kara brought her mouth toward the leather and started to work away at the knot. It was a grueling process and with every second that ticked by, she could feel the panic rising in her chest, threatening to ruin her focus. But miraculously, after an awful lot of drooling and panting, the belt came loose and Kara leapt off the bed, searching the floor frantically for her clothes before remembering that they'd been ripped to shreds. But there, not a few feet away, was Ben's discarded shirt, just large enough to cover anything unseemly. Well, kind of. "This will not end well," Kara groaned, buttoning up the garment as quickly as possible, then back tracking to the nightstand to retrieve her holster and gun. She dared not look in the mirror, but the breeze upon her backside let her know that, at the very least, her butt was sticking out. "Silveine is going to love this," Kara continued, cautiously opening up the door and making sure that the coast was clear. "I can see the headlines now: Lord Arlington's hostess, caught running around the hotel, practically butt fucking naked." It was deathly quite out in the hallway, thank god. Kara suspected that most of Nardia's Diplomats had turned in for the evening or, alternatively, were nursing drinks downstairs at the hotel bar. Right now, she had a clear shot to the stairwell, but who knew how long that would last? With a deep breath, Kara gathered her courage, took one last look around, and made a run for it, her coattails flapping haphazardly in the wind. She was almost to the stairwell—she could see the red 'EXIT' sign above it, like a beacon on the horizon—when a maid suddenly stepped out from a supply closet and right into Kara's path. There was no time to stop, no time to turn. Wincing, Kara ran full force into the poor woman and ended up on the floor with her. Cleaning supplies and fresh linen flew into the air, only to come crashing down all around them, then the two women's eyes met. Kara must have been quite a sight, half nude and armed with a weapon. Instantly, the maid started screaming and Kara knew it was time to leave. With all the ruckus, it was only a matter of time before the guests of the twenty-fourth floor started to emerge from their rooms. "Sorry," Kara cried, scrambling to her feet and racing toward the stairwell once more. "No time to explain!" Bursting into the stairwell, Kara made for the banister. There was no time to be cautious. She literally leapt down the stairs, hitting each successive landing with a loud 'thud' before moving on. When she finally reached Arlington's floor, she was panting and very nearly out of breath. But even after all that work, Kara was too late. Stepping into the hallway of the twenty-first floor, she could see that Ben had beat her to Arlington and the two were already in the midst of a tense conversation. "It's not worth it, Ben!" Kara panted, doubled over and trying to catch her breath. "Council Woman Silveine is counting on us do these negotiations right!" "You know, that's what I've been trying to tell him," Lord Arlington drawled, tapping his fingers against the wooden paneling idly, while simultaneously reaching for the gun at his hip, a silent warning that he was ready to shoot, if necessary. "After all, Karrington, you have all the time in the world to go after me." "I thought I made it very clear that if you touched her...if you hurt one hair on her head...there would be consequences, negotiations or not," Ben replied, his voice sincere, but unwavering. "First things first, you're going to apologize to Kara and then you're going to apologize to me." "Is that so?" Arlington asked, barely managing to repress a condescending chuckle. "Whatever for?" "For interrupting a very, very pleasant evening with your inappropriate escapades, then making me walk all the way down here to deal with you." "And what if I don't apologize?" "Then I'll have to resort to violence, but let's be honest, I'd much prefer it that way." "Really, Karrington?" Arlington sighed, raising an eyebrow as if exasperated. "This is how you're going to do this?" "I'm a man of my word, Arlington. I'd be wise for you to remember that." "Karrington, we are literally surrounded by surveillance," Arlington groaned, nodding at the cameras all along the walls. "If you wanted to get in a punch or two, you chose the right place, but if you wanted real revenge, you'd have baited your hook and waited. I'll be honest, I'm a teensy bit disappointed by the anticlimactic nature of your approach." Ben didn't seem to have a response to that, but refused to back down, his gray eyes cold and his expression unwavering. "That's the problem with you, Karrington," Arlington continued, turning toward Kara with a perverse grin on his face. "You never think, you only ever feel." But Arlington's grin—so witty and self-confident—was short lived. Almost instantly, his smile wavered, then gradually transformed into a frown. Arlington wasn't looking at her, Kara realized. He was looking at her clothes. Slowly, his eyes traveled over her shirt, pausing for only a moment at the badges and golden tassel decorating it. Then his eyes finally made it down to her hands, which were clasped in front of her, and narrowed in on her wrists. Oh god, Kara thought, paling under Arlington's gaze. I still have red marks on my wrists. Quickly, Kara tried to hide her hands behind her back, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. For a split second only, her eyes met Arlington's and Kara knew she had made a huge mistake. "On second thought, it might be a good idea to clear the air a little," Arlington growled, his tone betraying just a hint of the anger Kara had seen behind his murderous eyes. "I give us, at most, three minutes before Querren or Alyssa sends someone to pull us off of each other." "No, no, no...absolutely not!" Kara hissed, stalking down the hallway toward the pair and feeling a familiar, perturbed anger rise up inside of her. "Don't you two even think about it!" "You know, she does have a point," Ben admitted, cracking his knuckles threateningly, then looking curiously up at the surveillance cameras lining the ceiling. In unison, they all suddenly turned toward the two men, proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that the security personnel were keeping a close eye on them. "Looks like the council wants us relatively intact," Ben mused, gesturing toward the cameras. "So what do you say? Fists only this time?" "I don't see why not," Arlington drawled, proceeding to remove his cloak and then the gold cuff links of his dress shirt. Kara watched as, ever so carefully, he began to roll up his sleeves, revealing lean, muscular arms and once more, panic began to take over. If Ben got hurt, Kara would never be able to forgive herself. "I hope you don't mind, Karrington, but I'm keeping my rings on. I'd love to see a bruise in the shape of my seal on your forehead." "Are either of you listening to me!" Kara cried, louder this time, her voice echoing off the walls of the hotel and giving it an eerie quality. "Put your clothes back on, Arlington! And Ben, you get over here right this instance, I need to talk to you!" "I'll only be a moment," Ben promised and with an odd grin, he turned to look Arlington in the eye. "Why don't you go and take that hot shower? I'll join you when I'm done here." With a ferocious snarl, Arlington swung at Ben and Kara was stunned that anyone was capable of moving that fast. He looked like a blur of color, blue and white and silver. Ben just barely managed to duck out of the way before Arlington's fist came into contact with the wall, leaving behind a sizable dent. Her heart beating madly, Kara made a run for the two combatants, watching as Ben took a swing at Arlington, who danced out of the way as if he could waltz across the air. There were blows being blocked and then countered as Kara approached, her breath coming in short, heavy gasps. She didn't think about what she was doing when she stepped in between the two men, but there didn't seem to be any other option at the time. Kara only knew that she couldn't bear to watch these two men fight over her in the middle of a hallway, while she sat back half naked, watching like some kind of spectator. She was tired of being treated like a cheerleader on the sidelines, when she should be in the center of the action. When common sense finally came to her, she noticed a flesh colored blur heading straight for her face and braced herself for impact, eyes shut tight. But as she stood there cowering, nothing happened. Slowly, Kara opened her eyes and could see Ben's fist just inches from her face, being held at bay by Lord Arlington. "Not exactly the smartest thing you've ever done, pet," Arlington chided, his eyes strangely sympathetic. Something in Kara snapped then, though she wasn't quite sure what it was until it was too late. Withdrawing her pistol from it's holster, she swung around and pressed the nozzle into Arlington's chest, just inches above his heart. As the seconds ticked by, Kara suddenly realized that she could actually feel Arlington's heartbeat reverberate through the firearm and froze, not sure what had come over her. When she finally dared to look up at Lord Arlington, she expected to see fear or even anger, but that wasn't what she got. Much to Kara's surprise, he was smiling. "Kara," Ben warned and this time, he sounded nervous. "Kara, I've got this..." "You are going to go back to your room," Kara told Arlington, ignoring Ben completely and jabbing the gun more forcefully into her lord's chest. "Then, you are going to take a shower, brush your teeth, and go to fucking bed." "You know, if you want to threaten someone properly, you should probably disengage the safety," Lord Arlington replied, leaning down so as to whisper into her ear. Then, to Kara's horror, he gently traced the contours of her hand, then unlocked the safety mechanism himself. The gentle click of the weapon as it was primed for shooting sent chills up her spine, but Kara stayed where she was, her eyes never leaving Lord Arlington's. "This is the best chance you'll ever have, Kara, but I'm sure you knew that." "I know how to operate a gun, Arlington," Kara hissed, because she had nothing else to say. "I don't need your help." "Going easy on me, then?" "Not at all, my lord. I'll do what I have to, but when the time is right." "Good...I should be disappointed if you didn't fight back properly. After all, the chase is half the fun." "Kara, put the gun down and go back to your room," Ben urged, looking nervously at the gun clenched in her hands, then back toward Arlington and his odd, strangely pleased grin. "I'll handle this." "No, you already had a chance to handle this responsibly and you didn't," Kara replied irritably, spinning around to face Ben, her face contorted with anger. "I had to run through the hotel practically naked to deal with you and I am not very happy about that." "Ooh, a lover's quarrel," Arlington drawled, his icy blue eyes burrowing into Ben's and his smirk steadily widening. "What did I just say, Arlington," Kara hissed, turning around to face him once more and finding herself more than a little agitated by the calm in his voice. "You don't get to be a part of this, so turn around, scooch on back to your room, and stay there, alright?" "As you wish, pet," Arlington agreed and with a polite bow, he kissed her hand, watching as Ben rippled like an angry cat. He was surprisingly compliant, Kara realized, and that made her uncomfortable. "By the way," Arlington drawled, pasuing before the doorway to his room, his hand on the knob. "My door is always open if you need a shoulder to cry on." Kara opened her mouth to say something witty and toxic, to let Arlington know that even if his was the only shoulder left to cry on, she wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. But before she got out a single syllable, Arlington had eased into his room and shut the door, leaving Kara alone with Ben and feeling a little empty. "You shouldn't have done that," Ben finally breathed, once Arlington had been out of sight for a few silent, agonizing moments. "I know you only meant to help, but you could have gotten hurt." "I'm already hurt," Kara snapped. "A few more bruises wouldn't have mattered." "Kara, what's wrong?" "What's wrong?" Kara asked, feeling her heart sink a little deeper into her chest, where it began to beat erratically, like a wounded little bird. "You know, Ben, there's a difference between protecting someone and babysitting them, but that distinction seems to be lost on you." It hurt a little to look at the perplexity in Ben's eyes, but Kara needed to see if anything she said sunk in, even a little. "I'm Lord Arlington's hostess by choice, alright? I chose to put myself in this compromising position on the off chance that I could make a difference. When you step in like this and try to take-over, you're robbing me of the chance to make something of this mess." "Kara, I—" "No, don't you dare interrupt me. You've been ignoring me all evening and I'm not going to just brush it off, okay?" Kara told him, her voice pained, but also strangely sympathetic. "Look, I understand that you want to be my protector...my knight in shinning armor...and I'm not necessarily opposed to that, but I am not some damsel in distress that you can leave locked upstairs, while you rush off into the sunset to fight my demons without me. If we're really partners, then we should be doing this together." Kara paused for a moment and watched Ben carefully, waiting for a reaction, but he seemed more shocked than anything else. "Don't you get it?" Kara tried, her voice trembling just a little bit. "I don't exactly feel like you respect me when you leave me tied upstairs, ignoring everything I say, as if I'm just some hysterical female with a traumatic past." "You just want me to let him get away with everything he's done to us?" Ben hissed, his eyes turning dark and his features twisting to reveal a dark, angry emotion Kara had never seen before. "You want me to let him abuse you, torment you, tease you—right in front of me, no less, as if to prove that I can't stand up to him—and just forget about the consequences?" "I didn't say that, Ben. But there's a time and a place for everything. Arlington will get what's coming to him sooner or later, but now is not the time." "You know, if I hadn't pushed you back at the Moldy Bucket, we'd never have made it this far as a couple and what's worse, you'd already be back in Arlington's dungeon by now." "That was different," Kara whispered, though she didn't sound convinced. "I admit it, I needed a little push to open up, but I'm not hiding from you anymore." Fidgeting nervously, Kara looked back toward Arlington's door, then at Ben. "That's not what happened this time." "You lied to me, Kara, and that's just as bad as hiding." "Alright, I can see that, but still, you're suffocating me." "I don't know what you want me to do," Ben sighed, running his fingers through his hair and leaning up against the far wall. "I let you go on that stupid date, because I thought you could handle yourself, but then you come back covered in bruises." "Ben, I—" "I try to give you some wiggle room," Ben continued, sounding a little more frustrated now, but not unkind. "I support your decision to host for Arlington, I leave the two of you alone for a dance and then a carriage ride. I don't think I've been at all unreasonable." "You're right," Kara told him after a long, awkward pause, feeling guilty for even bringing it up in the first place. "You're right, of course, I'm just having some trouble letting you step in and help me, I guess." Grumbling to herself, Kara headed back toward the stairwell, with Ben trotting behind her, his footsteps as sure and certain as ever. "I am so stupid," Kara moaned, pausing a few feet from the end of the hall. "God, what the hell is wrong with me?" "Hey, nothing is wrong with you," Ben insisted, gripping Kara by the shoulders and turning her to face him. His expression had softened quite a bit and where as, before, he had appeared quite frustrated, now he seemed concerned. "This wouldn't be easy for anyone...Look, tomorrow morning, we have our first negotiators meeting. I know you won't be able to attend until after the initial terms of peace have been drafted, but afterward, you'll be able to join us. Why don't we slip away for lunch, hmm?" Kara opened her mouth to argue, but Ben wouldn't have it, and pressed a finger to her lips. "Come on, Kara, I know you're supposed to attend lunch with Lord Arlington, but we need this." "Alright," Kara heard herself say and afterward, she felt a little better for it, but there was something still off between the two of them, something unsaid and uncomfortable. "Alright, we'll have lunch." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 27 Lord Arlington sat back in his chair with a pleasant sigh and allowed his eyes to survey the room. He did so with relaxed, though deliberate ease, not permitting himself to overlook a single detail. Past experience had taught him that even the most mundane elements could become lifesaving. After all, the key to winning a battle was to know your environment and if, by some misfortune, you had to fight in foreign territory, the only solution was to make it your own. Before him, Arlington took note of the long, wooden table of the Negotiation Hall, draped in purple cloth, the color of peace. Lining either side were Nardia's and Isleydor's negotiators, with Lord Sillias just five seats to his left, idly petting her enormous lizard, and Azalia Richards standing protectively behind him. No one but Nardia's own security personnel had been allowed to enter the hall with weapons, but Arlington was prepared to improvise. Several chandeliers dangled above the attendees from wire hooks, each one weighing at least a hundred pounds. Then, there were any number of knives laid out by the breakfast buffet, not particularly sharp, but suitable enough for a quick battle. The thirteen members of Nardia's Bureaucratic Council, along with Benjamin Karrington and Tamius Sue, were all sitting across from him, opposite the windows on the far wall. He didn't think it was a coincidence that they sat nearest the only exit nor that four valets stood at attention, ready to rouse the security personnel outside, should any danger arise. In the event of a scuffle, the only means of escape would be that very door. The windows would be of no help, since the Negotiation Hall was situated a solid ten stories above the ground. Caught up in the moment, Arlington felt like an art critic before a famous painting, taking utmost care to analyze every brush stroke, every splash of color, every textured streak until he could close his eyes and yet, still see everyone and everything around him. There was a strange, almost hypnotic peace that came with appraising your environment. Arlington quite enjoyed the calm before the storm, standing on the shore and watching the clouds come in, turning darker and darker as night fell. "My Lord Arlington....Lord Arlington, are you listening?" "Oh, pardon me," Lord Arlington coughed, caught in the middle of his contemplative revere. With an apologetic grin, he set down his cup of tea and offered Council Woman Silveine a gracious nod. "I'm still a little...uh, shall we say, under the weather from last night?" Not a word of it was true, of course. Arlington would never risk a hangover the morning of a mission, but the joke seemed to put the rest of Nardia's Bureaucratic Council at ease and they all chuckled in unison. "Now, what was it that you were saying, Council Woman?" "In the interest of time, why don't I be blunt?" "By all means, Council Woman. In fact, I'd rather we not beat around the bush." "As we all know, Isleydor has a much bigger military on reserve than does Nardia," Silveine told him, although she seemed reluctant to admit it. "Not only that, but your weapons technology is surpassed only by Scorce. No one here really believes that if we stood our ground, we would win." "Glad to hear we understand each other, Council Woman." "I'm not finished yet," Silveine interrupted, barely managing to contain the irritation that was slowly seeping into her demeanor, twisting her normally serene features. "Because we both know that even if we cannot protect ourselves against you, we can still cause enough damage to be an inconvenience." Pausing for effect, Silveine slid a sheet of facts and figures across the table to Lord Arlington, allowing him a moment to skim the document. "Given enough time, we could shrink your army by one-eighth and cost your taxpayers billions of dollars." "Would you really risk the lives of your people just to spite me?" Lord Arlington asked, eyebrows raised. "Since we're being blunt and all?" "No, I wouldn't," Silveine conceded, after a lengthy pause that seemed to suck the air right out of the room. "My only point is that we both have something to offer the other and hopefully, we can make this process manageable for everyone involved." "What do you propose?" "One sixteenth of our annual revenue, to be paid monthly," Silveine answered, her face turning red at the very thought of paying Isleydor any kind of tribute, but she swallowed her pride and carried on. "We'll also hold a portion of our army in reserve, to be donated to you in case of an attack." "That's it?" Lord Arlington chuckled and Silveine's face instantly dropped, the bewilderment in her eyes positively petrifying. "This is what you have to offer me?" "You want more, Lord Arlington?" "More isn't the right word," Arlington replied, his tone becoming suddenly serious. "I was hoping for something different." But though Lord Arlington paused, waiting, Silveine didn't make a sound. "With all due respect, Council Woman, do you think we'd bomb your most profitable regions if we were after your resources?" "If you don't want tribute, then what do you want?" Silveine hissed, her voice finally turning hoarse and her eyes absolutely livid. "What else do we have to offer you people?" "Territory," Arlington said simply, as if that were the most obvious answer in the world. "Territory?" "Isleydor wants to extend its borders and absorb Nardia, nothing more and certainly nothing less. I didn't come here to bully you into paying tribute, but to negotiate your surrender. As you say, there is no possible way for Nardia to win a war against Isleydor." "Absolutely not!" Silveine spat. "You can't possibly think we'll go down without a fight!" "Oh, I think that's exactly what you're going to do and with very good reason, I might add," Arlington told her and with a meaningful glance, he surveyed each member of the council in turn, watching each set of eyes carefully. "Surrender peacefully and your people can avoid a brutal war. More importantly, everyone on the council can get a promising position in the interim government rather than oh, I don't know, being executed or sold at a conquest auction?" The words had there intended effect and in a matter of seconds, the murmuring around the room had given way to a dark, oppressive silence. Not even the gentle inhaling and exhaling of the negotiators could be heard. If it weren't for their expressions—tense and nervous—one might have though they were sleeping. Desperately, Silveine turned in her seat, pleading with her eyes for someone to break through the hypnotic quiet, but no one spoke. Her frustration as she frantically turned from one council member to the other—each averting his/her eyes—was positively delicious and slowly, Arlington could feel a smile creep across his lips. All he had to do now was sit back and watch as the council's imagination ran wild, weighing the inevitability of defeat against the shame of surrender. A similar tactic had worked rather well in Callihistra, years ago. Nardia was a more prideful country, but also a lot weaker and a lot more keen on peace. As the clock upon the wall ticked away eerily—the only sound to be had in the entire hall—Arlington could see the resolve of the council crumble. I might be able to avoid a tussle after all, Arlington thought, quietly sizing up each council member in turn, none of whom dared to make eye contact. How convenient... "You know, it wasn't so bad," Karrington suddenly mused, destroying the eerie silence of the hall and startling several council members enough to make them jump. "The rooms were a little damp and the meat was a little dry, but all in all, Isleydor's prisons aren't so bad, isn't that so, Tamius?" It was said casually, conversationally even, but almost instantly, Arlington could feel the atmosphere lighten, ruining the oppressive aura he'd so painstakingly created. All around him, he could hear the negotiators emerging from their hypnotic terror, as if Karrington's little commentary had given them permission to breath again. Then a relieved sigh escaped someone's lips, followed by a nervous little chuckled. Turning furiously toward Karrington, Arlington could feel his lips tighten and his eyes narrow. The comment seemed innocuous enough, yet beneath Karrington's pleasant demeanor, Arlington could detect a vengeful little smirk. "You know, Karrington, I would have to disagree with you. Those prisons were terrible," Tamius continued, glancing idly toward Isleydor's side of the table and starring down each diplomat in turn—Lord Sillias, Azalia, Senator Remis, and others—until she finally made eye contact with Lord Arlington, a thin smile on her lips. "The locks on their cages weren't at all satisfactory." This time, a small chuckle emerged from the attendees, followed by a second, and then a third. Soon, there was out right laughter echoing throughout the hall, destroying—once and for all—the influence Arlington had once garnered over the council. And, all the while, Karrington was smirking at him, flaunting his victory. But Lord Arlington had a back up plan. He always had a back up plan and, in the end, it would be Karrington who would suffer the consequences of his subversion. With a sigh, Lord Arlington relaxed back into his chair, prepared to wait as patiently as ever until the laughter died down and only a low murmur remained. "Well?" Silveine finally asked, a victorious chuckle still on he lips. "Seeing as how my people aren't exactly lining up to surrender, any other considerations you want to discuss?" "Not really," Arlington replied and when Silveine sunk back into her chair, dumbfounded, he rose from his seat, looking a little irritated, but largely unfazed. "If you aren't willing to surrender, then my only option is war. So, if you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave." "Just like that?" "Just like that, Council Woman." "I wouldn't do that if I were you." "And why is that?" Looking very solemn, Silveine nodded toward the valets by the entryway and in unison, they opened the double, wooden doors behind them. On cue, eight armed guards entered into the room, arranging themselves in a semi-circle around Lord Arlington, their guns poised threateningly in his direction and their eyes hidden by dark visors. Complacently, Arlington raised his hands in the air, but refused to show any more emotion, for fear of giving his men away. "It's not Nardia's policy to take hostages," Silveine explained, confidently rising from her seat and marching toward Lord Arlington. "But I can't let you leave here if you plan on initiating war." And Arlington couldn't help himself. Against his better judgment, he smiled. "You know, I was hoping you'd say that," Arlington chuckled and in that moment, he thought he saw just a flicker of fear cross Silveine's features. "Now, I get to paint this as self defense." With his hands still raised above his head, Arlington snapped his fingers and in unison, four of the eight armed guards turned their weapons upon their partners and fired. Blood exploded into the air and splattered the ceiling, looking fabulously artistic against the sky blue wall paper. Then came the screaming of the council members as they dived under the discussion table, pulling chairs toward themselves for protection and calling out for backup. But Arlington knew that the initial wave of surprise and terror would soon end. Out of the panic, the more able of those present would emerge, armed and ready to confront him. Already, he could see Tamius out of the corner of his eye, leaping over the table toward him. It all happened as if slow motion, the chaos resembling white noise. All around him, fights were breaking out between opposing sides—his undercover agents firing out into the hallway, to prevent another rush of security personnel, and then Azalia in her red sequin dress and devilishly high heels, dancing into the fray, armed only with a butter knife. But being used to the roar of battle, Arlington was able to block out everything except for Tamius and the pen she clutched in her hand. "Not a bad choice of weapon," Arlington grinned, just as Tamius lunged toward him. With amazing speed and precision, she swung her pen through the air, carefully aiming for his jugular with each step. It was unfortunate that while Tamius was fast, Lord Arlington was faster. "Come on, Tamius, we've fought before and I know you can do better than this." Ignoring him, Tamius dropped to the ground and attempted to kick Arlington's feet out from under him, but he merely stepped to the side, dancing just out of reach. He would have easily been able to kick her while she was down, too, but Tamius rolled out of reach, flipped back onto her feet, and charged him, aiming blow after blow at his face. Arlington was able to block the punches, but she was incredibly quick. He expected as much from a woman who'd been raised in a circus by a family of acrobats, before joining Callihistra's military. But caught up in the heat of battle, Arlington momentarily tripped over the carpet and could suddenly feel Tamius fist make contact with his jaw, sending pain ricocheting through his skull. Stunned, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and saw blood there, bright red and still warm. "Much, much better," Lord Arlington praised and with a well aimed kick, he knocked Tamius onto the floor. She tried to scramble to her feet, but before she could escape, he picked her up by the hair and slammed her chest into the long, wooden table of the Negotiation Hall. Tamius gasped for air, the wind knocked clean out of her, and tried to struggle, but was too disoriented to fight back. Pressing his knee into the small of her back, Arlington used the opportunity to bind her wrists. "Yes, you've improved quite a bit, but not enough, sweetheart." Just then, the hall door burst open and a dozen more guards entered the room, pushing past his four moles, but Arlington had expected as much. With a curt nod, he turned toward Lord Sillias, who was still seated and idly petting her lizard, as if there weren't gunfire and fist fights breaking out all around them. But at Lord Arlington's command, she picked up the poor creature, slammed it onto the table, and broke its neck. Using a piece of cutlery from her breakfast, she carefully cut it open and inside, found what she was looking for...a gas canister, primed and ready to go. Without the least show of emotion, she stood to her feet and threw it into the open doorway, where it released a steady stream of white mist, causing most of the guards to collapse onto each other. The few that remained could be taken care of by Azalia. Already drenched in blood, her copper locks flying wildly, she danced into the mass of armed men, ripping a knife from the first man's holster and sinking it into his partner's chest, before forcing a third into a choke hold and breaking his neck. Then, Arlington spotted his own men clamoring in through the open door...the orchestra, all carrying their instrument cases and looking rather pleased, if not a little bloody. They'd probably run into trouble on their way to the Negotiation Hall. "No one is to leave this room," Arlington ordered, striding toward the conductor of his little orchestra, a young, fit man with beady black eyes and a bruised lip. "I want a man at the door at all times, no exceptions." "Corpses or captives, my lord?" "I want everyone here drugged, bound, and ready for transport in twenty minutes, with the exception of a few council members. Leave a few of them behind, but make sure we get Silveine." "Anything else, my lord?" It was by luck that Arlington looked up and right at that moment, happened to catch a glimpse of Karrington, reflected in a silver milk pitcher. The general was holding a wooden chair above his head, prepared to bring it down on his enemy's skull and knock him out, if not kill him. Luckily, Arlington remembered that just a little to the left stood a floor lamp—one of the benefits of appraising your environment. He grabbed onto it and blocked Karrington's attack, mere seconds before it was too late. "You know, I was wondering when you were going to make a move," Lord Arlington snarled, struggling to dislodge the chair from Karrington's grasp. "Tamius could have used your help a few minutes a go." "You pretentious, loathsome coward!" Karrington screamed, his eyes livid and his face beet red with rage. "You evil, sadistic bastard!" Quickly, Karrington jumped to one side, but Arlington wasn't wasting any time. With deathly precision, he lifted the lamp post into the air and aimed blow after blow at Karrington's head, but the general blocked each successive attack, using the chair in his hands as a shield. "Only a coward turns a peace negotiation into a bloodbath!" "If you remember correctly, I was trying to leave when your people attempted to take me and my men hostage." "Oh, come off it, Arlington. You planned this all along," Karrington panted, finally managing to dance out of reach and circling Arlington carefully, waiting for an opening. "I knew it...for all your diplomatic charms, I knew you would try something." "And yet, you're so poorly prepared," Arlington smirked, rushing toward the general and bringing the lamp post down, only for Karrington to move at the last second and leave the weapon lodged in drywall. "Unlike you, Lord Arlington, I have enough respect for these diplomatic negotiations to play by the rules. Unlike you, I have a sense of decency." "Oh, now you've hurt my feelings," Arlington grinned, bringing his hand to his chest in feigned pain. "Here's an idea...why don't you stop with the verbal abuse and actually hit me, for god's sake?" With that, Arlington lunged for the general, bringing the lamp post down all around him. Karrington wasn't the quickest of the two, but somehow he managed to dodge each blow, leaving a path of destruction in his wake. The lamp post dented walls and shattered windows until, with one final swing, Arlington was finally able to dislodge the chair from Karrington's grasp, leaving him naked and defenseless. "Well, that was embarrassingly easy," Arlington chuckled, twirling the lamp post like a baton, the triumph in his eyes all too apparent. "Such a shame that Kara isn't here to save you this time." Karrington didn't have a response to that. Frantically, he surveyed the room, looking for another make-shift weapon, but couldn't find one. In a last ditch effort, he snatched a paperweight from the discussion table and raised it above his head like a rock, getting ready to strike. "Oh, now that's just pathetic," Arlington commented, a slight smile creeping into his lips. "Adorable, even. I love it." Without warning, Karrington hurled the paper weight at Arlington's head. His lordship blocked it easily with the floor lamp still clutched in his hands, but Karrington hadn't been aiming to kill, he'd been aiming to distract. Lunging for Arlington, Karrington tackled him to the ground, straddled his waist, and grabbed the floor lamp between them. With fury in his eyes, he situated the long, pole-like segment against Lord Arlington's throat and pushed down, trying to choke him. "I'm not much for sadism," Karrington hissed, grunting with effort as he tried to press the lamp into Arlington's throat. "But I think I might like watching your face turn purple and the life leave your eyes." Cursing, Arlington tried to pry the weapon away from his throat, hissing furiously as it pressed into his windpipe and air began to leave his lungs. With a grunt of effort, he tried to roll onto his side and escape the hold, but Karrington was determined to keep him still, using the weight of his body to press the lamp post ever further into Arlington's flesh. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 27 "What's the matter, my lord?" Karrington panted, still pressing downward with all his might, mustering as much strength as he was able. "Where's that cocky, self-confident attitude now? Don't you have anything sarcastic and witty to say to me before you die?" Struggling still, Arlington only managed an evil look and a grunt of effort, which seemed to strengthen Karrington's resolve. He could feel agonizing pain shoot through him, then panic, as inch by inch, the pole pressed still farther into his neck. It was then that he spotted Azalia approaching and offered Karrington a triumphant little smile. The general only had time to look up questioningly before Azalia had pulled him off of Arlington and slammed him into the wall, knocking the wind clean out of him. Dazed and nauseous, he collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard and clutching his aching chest. "You sure I can't kill him?" Azalia pouted, kicking Karrington with the steel toe of her high heeled shoe and watching him hiss in pain, still curled up into a protective ball. "He's wriggling everywhere, like an annoying little worm. Please, my lord...I'll make it hurt, I promise." "Absolutely not," Arlington gasped, rising from the floor and clutching his sore throat, which had chaffed a little under Karrington's ministrations. "The boy is mine. Just bind him and—" "You won't get away with this!" Tamius cried from across the room, where she and the other captives had been gathered, bound at the wrists and ankles. Most of them looked positively terrified, but Tamius glared up at her captives from behind gorgeous, long blond hair, sheer murder in her eyes. "The entire hotel is booby trapped...we have a tech guided security system, everything from sleeping gas in the ventilation system to automatic locks." "Do tell?" "The entire place is under camera surveillance, so your movements will be tracked constantly and even if you did manage to make it to the lobby alive, the Nardian military will be outside waiting for you!" "Oh, well, I hadn't thought of that," Lord Arlington mused, his voice thick with sarcasm and his eyes gleaming. "It probably would have been better to come here with a plan, wouldn't it?" Tamius didn't say a word, but gradually, her eyes softened and her sneer turned into a concerned frown. "I've hired a hacker to hijack the security system," Arlington explained and at those words, he could see the panic in Tamius' eyes. "Those gas canisters, those automatic locks, those surveillance cameras...they're all mine now and anyone who enters this hotel—I don't care if it's the entire Nardian military—is at my mercy." "You're...you're lying...we took all necessary precautions..." "Don't feel bad sweetheart, you tried your best and that's all that matters," Arlington teased and with a flourish, he turned on his heel and waved toward one of the security cameras. "Yoo-hoo, could I have your attention?" The horror in Tamius' eye only intensified as every camera in the room turned toward Arlington, their lens focusing in on his face. "Do me a favor and have all the windows on this floor locked—undoubtedly, there'll be snipers setting up on the adjacent buildings and I don't want anyone to have a clear shot. Then release the gas on the ninth, eleventh, and thirteenth floors." "Fuck you!" Tamius screamed as the steel shutters on the windows suddenly slammed shut in unison, a foreboding click locking them all in place. "Fuck you!" "Now, now...there's no need to get riled up, sweetheart," Arlington cooed and he knelt beside Tamius so that they were eye level, then gripped her hair in his hand so that she was forced to look up at him. "The rooms will be a little damp and the meat a little dry, but overall, Isleydor's prisons aren't so bad." "Leave her alone, Arlington," Karrington hissed from across the room, still wincing from the pain in his side, but determined never-the-less. "There's no reason to tease her." Ever so slowly, Arlington turned toward Karrington, an angry glint in his eye and an eerie frown on his face. Releasing Tamius, he stood to his feet and stepped casually toward the general, his footsteps silent against the carpeted hall. When he finally reached Karrington—bound and lying at his feet—Lord Arlington raised an eyebrow questioningly. "What is it with you and this hero complex, hmm?" Arlington asked, his voice solemn and mocking all at once. "This strange addiction to damsel's in distress?" "You don't have to do this," Karrington replied, his voice low and oddly enough, far more concerned than angry. "Kara has done nothing to deserve this relentless obsession of yours...if you have any heart at all, you'll let her go." "Is that your idea of begging, because if so, you aren't doing a very good job." "I understand you have to take us prisoner. I won't try and convince you to let me or Tamius go. But Kara's a mere medic, caught up in this mess purely by accident. You might be cruel, but you're certainly not stupid. You know this isn't fair." "You think that's going to break me?" Arlington asked, partially amused and partially shocked. "Your appeal to fairness? Karrington, there is no such thing as fair. I thought you knew that. Appealing to fairness for salvation is like appealing to leprechauns or unicorns." Turning toward his men with a twisted smile, Arlington gestured across the room. "Do you see any unicorns in here?" There was an uproar as Arlington's men laughed in unison and Karrington frowned. "That's what I thought." "Arlington, don't play games with me. I know you get a kick out of playing the psychopath, but you know exactly what I'm talking about." "You know, just last night, I couldn't get my mind off of you," Arlington sighed, shaking his head in a humorous, but exasperated way. "I had so many sick, twisted ideas for when I finally got my hands on you and now that I have you, I'm already bored." Finally turning away from Karrington, Lord Arlington headed back toward the discussion table, now cracked in several places and lightly splattered with blood. Atop it's shiny, varnished surface were a series of instrument cases, no longer filled with trumpets, violins, and clarinets, but with weapons. Opening up a massive cello case, Arlington carefully removed a long, silver scythe with two evenly spaced hand grips and tossed it to Azalia. She caught it mid-air and twirled it, testing the weight, making a sound so quiet and yet, so sinister. Then, he removed a bullet proof shirt, still thick, but far less cumbersome than a vest, which would fit tightly enough to allow for maneuverability. Carefully, he began to remove his cloak and unbutton his dress shirt. "You're not enough for Kara," Karrington suddenly growled and that made Arlington pause. Slowly, he turned back toward the general, allowing the dress shirt to fall from his shoulders and reveal the smooth, lean muscle underneath. "You might be intelligent and strong and wealthy, but you're still only half a man." "Is that so?" "I didn't have to tell Kara to scream my name." Arlington was stunned. He hadn't expected the general to be so bold and to his great surprise, the words stung, ensnaring his heart like tendrils of ice, paralyzing his chest and making him feel an intense, disturbing pain. It was a sensation he had only felt once before, when he'd begged Arilyn to save him, and she'd replied, "I can't." But the unpleasantness soon passed and then came the anger, an emotion Arlington was much more familiar with, an emotion he was able to understand. Here was Karrington, the man who had stolen away his girl and now, even bound and captive, dared to speak out of turn. It was time the general learned that there were consequences to taunting the most powerful man in Isleydor and looking up at the clock on the wall, Arlington realized that he had the time to provide such a lesson. "Hold him," Lord Arlington snarled, his eyes darker now, no longer calm and collected. "Suddenly, I have the urge to play with my new toy and since we're running ahead of schedule..." Picking Karrington up by his massive arms, two men lifted him off the ground and held him steady while Arlington approached, a twisted expression on his face. Grabbing the general by the hair, Arlington forced him to look up, his icy blue eyes as sinister as ever. Then, drawing back his fist, Arlington punched him hard, just below the rib cage, watching as the general cursed in pain. Before he even had his breath back, Arlington was landing another blow, and then another, until Karrington was coughing up blood, but his eyes never left Lord Arlington's, which were filled with a perverse sort of satisfaction. "You know, this isn't going to be easy for you," Karrington growled, blood dripping down his chin and his eyes furious. "I don't know what you're plotting, but one thing is certain, you haven't won yet." "You see, that's the problem with playing the white knight," Lord Arlington told him, before releasing his hair and turning back toward the table. In the process, he exposed his back to Karrington, revealing the fire breathing lizard tattooed there, smoking and snarling in all its glory. "If you keep on chasing damels in distress, sooner or later, you're going to have to face the dragon." ****** As the alarm clock rang obnoxiously in her ears, Kara groaned and hit the snooze button, allowing herself a few minutes to adjust to the light seeping in through the curtains. The space beside her was empty and cold, a sore reminder of last night, which had started off so promising and yet, ended so horribly. It wasn't that Ben hadn't tried to court his way into her sheets, but Kara had been in a foul mood. A small part of her—okay, maybe a really big part of her—had hoped that, eventually, Ben would stop trying to just be her protector and would opt to be her partner instead. But in spite of her objections, he'd left her tied up and helpless again, ignoring her input, as if she were some kind of indignant child. It had taken a while to sink in after the adrenaline of the night's events, but soon the hurt had become overwhelming, leaving her cold. It was a good thing that Ben had invited her to lunch. The two of them had a lot to talk about and the more she dwelt on the issue, the more certain Kara became that it couldn't wait. "Morning, Alyssa," Kara yawned, grabbing the earpiece beside her bed and calling in to the weapons specialist. It wasn't the most comfortable device in the world, Kara thought, but at least it fit snugly. "Any word on Greenwood?" "No word yet, I'm afraid," Alyssa's voice answered back, a little less agitated than usual, but straight to the point, as always. "We sent a crew out to fetch him, but haven't heard anything since." "You know, if we really need that information, then I could do another—" "No can do," Alyssa interrupted and Kara sighed irritably, but the weapons specialist ignored her. "We've gone through this before, Kara. Undergoing memory enhancement is a lot like getting an x-ray. It's a harmless procedure if done infrequently, but toxic in large doses. It's not safe to put you through another one of those so soon." "But, Alyssa—" "Not my call," Alyssa growled in reply and then, in the background, Kara could here her shouting angrily at one of her subordinates. "Look, I have to go, but seriously, let it go." Mumbling to herself, Kara emerged from her bed and tiptoed to the bathroom for a warm shower. Afterward, she found a new dress—this one blue, like a deep river, and decorated with tiny yellow stars—hanging on the doorknob. It fit just perfectly and after a quick application of make-up, Kara was ready to meet up with Ben. The first round of negotiations would be finished by now and after a quick lunch, they would be joining the council, in order to finalize the Terms of Peace. Kara headed for the door, but this time, she wouldn't be leaving without a weapon. Alyssa was right. She needed to prepare herself for the worst. Carefully, Kara hid her pistol in its holster and situated it under her dress. It looked a little conspicuous and the security personnel wouldn't let her anywhere near the Negotiation Hall before handing it over, but it was better than nothing. Stepping out into the hall, Kara started humming a little tune, then saw something move out of the corner of her eye and jumped. Two well armed men were standing right outside her door, but she relaxed as soon as she recognized Nardia's symbol—the hawk—upon their sleeves. "Here to escort me, gentlemen?" Kara asked, although she was pretty she knew the answer. "Might I ask who requested an entourage of guards on my behalf?" "General Benjamin Karrington." "Of course," Kara sighed, rolling her eyes and then locking the door behind her. "And I suppose I don't have the authority to dismiss my babysitters?" "No, ma'am, I'm afraid not." "Well then, we better get a move on," Kara told them and turning on her heel, she motioned for the men to follow her. There was no point in arguing with them, but she'd be sure to bring it up with Ben that very afternoon. In fact, Kara thought, first things first, we're going to set boundaries on these weird, oppressive safety measures. Trudging down the long, carpeted hallway of the twenty-fourth floor, Kara carefully turned the corner, more determined than ever to reach Ben, only to find her way blocked. Before her were two maintenance men in gray uniforms, working earnestly on the elevators, which had been marked off with yellow tape. "What's this?" Kara groaned, gesturing irritably at the elevators. "Why are they taped up?" "Elevator's broken, ma'am." "Are there any other elevators on this level?" "No, ma'am, this here's the only set." "But we're on the twenty-fourth floor, how am I supposed to get downstairs in the next hour?" Kara looked expectantly at the maintenance men, but they only looked stupidly back at her, like two deer trapped in the headlights. A part of her did feel guilty for snapping at them, when neither one was responsible for her foul mood, but Kara couldn't seem to shake the frustration clouding her mind. When she got no answer from them, it became clear that the only option was to take the stairs down, all fourteen flights, until she finally reached the Negotiation Hall. "Fine, I'll take the stairs," Kara sighed, taking off her heels and lifting her skirt, so as to make the journey easier. "I suppose a little exercise never hurt anyone." "Stairs are broken, too." "Excuse me?" Kara asked, turning with a perplexed expression toward the most talkative of the two, who had situated himself firmly between Kara and the stairwell. Suddenly, he looked a little too muscular for a simple maintenance man and Kara took a step back, sensing that something was off. "Is...is that supposed to be funny or something?" "Not at all, ma'am." Without any preamble, the maintenance man before her removed a pistol from the waistband of his pants and fired a series of gunshots in her direction. Reacting instinctively, Kara dropped onto the floor and out of the line of fire, searching her body for entry wounds, but it was her guards who had been targeted. The one to her left managed to fire a few shots before being hit in the chest and collapsing onto the ground, but the second guard was hit instantly and fell to the floor, seizures wracking his body until he finally died and lay still. Frantic, Kara pressed herself up against the far wall and drew her pistol, the only sound her own heart beat. For several seconds she could only sit there, breathing heavily, her eyes never leaving the maintenance man before her and the gun clenched in his hands. Painted onto it was a beautiful, ebony dragon, its scales glistening and its eyes dark. "Sorry for the inconvenience ma'am. Guess we'll just have to sit here and wait for the manager." "The manager?" Kara whispered, confused, but then her eyes narrowed and she could feel her chest seize up in full blown anger. "Ah yes, the manager..." "Put the gun down, ma'am, nice and easy now or there'll be trouble and I don't think you want that." Kara considered her captor for a moment, but there was no way in hell she was handing over her only weapon, just so she could just sit there and wait for Lord Arlington to come get her. If one of his men wanted to disarm her, he'd have to pry the weapon from her cold, dead fingers. That gave her an idea, although a risky one. It was a long shot, but maybe—just maybe—she could use Arlington's obsession to her advantage. Carefully, she turned toward the second maintenance man—the less talkative of the two—and took aim, right before the intercom came on and interrupted her. All units on the ninth, eleventh, and twelfth floors, apply your gas masks now! Alyssa cried, her voice sounding far more bold and dangerous when it was being projected over the loudspeakers and echoing through the hall. I repeat, all units on the ninth, eleventh, and twelfth floors, apply your gas masks! The security system has been compromised...immediately locate the nearest blind spot and await further instructions. The noise was so loud and abrupt that for a brief moment, both maintenance men looked up in confusion, giving Kara the only chance she had. Aiming for her original target, she pulled the trigger and fired, shooting him straight through the chest. Afterward, she quickly turned and aimed for his partner, prepared to do away with them both, but by now, he had regrouped, his own weapon aimed squarely between her eyes and his lips tight. "Now, dearie, come on...lower the weapon." "What the fucking hell is going on? What's Lord Arlington planning to do?" "I said, lower your weapon, sweetheart." "No, I don't think I will," Kara grinned and the man's face skewed, confused. That made Kara all the more bold and to the surprise of them both, she took a step forward. "In fact, I think it's you who should probably drop your weapon. I think you're bluffing. I don't think there's anyway in hell you'd risk shooting me." "And why not?" "The manager wouldn't approve, would he?" Kara smirked, raising her gun a little higher up, so as to take better aim. If the maintenance man was really prepared to shoot her, he'd have done so right then and there, but he didn't. Kara was able to take perfect aim right at his chest and still, he only stared, his face twisted in agitation. "That's what I thought...see, I'm guessing you're far more afraid of the manager than you are of me and we both know what happens if he finds me with so much as a bruise." The man didn't seem at all pleased with Kara's observations, but he didn't argue with them either. Slowly, he looked about him, as if searching for some way out, then reluctantly lowered is own weapon to the ground. "Good, now hands behind your back, where I can see them." But Kara didn't intend on binding him—she had nothing to use, anyway—and merely knocked him out with her pistol. It was only then, in relative safety, that the adrenaline in Kara's veins was able to die down and the exact nature of her situation became clear. Lord Arlington, always one step ahead, had somehow managed to compromise the security system which meant that downstairs, in the Negotiation Hall, a blood bath must be brewing. There was a very good chance that Ben was no longer alive. Kara could feel her heart sink at the very thought. What about Uncle Florence? she wondered, becoming nauseous. What about Tamius? Then there was the inevitable realization that, very soon, Lord Arlington would be on his way up to claim her, but she couldn't let that happen. Kara had come too far just to be dragged back to the dungeon, to be molded in his lordship's perfect little sex pet. She could feel panic return at the very thought, images of whips and chains swimming through her mind, making her chest grow tight. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 27 I have to get off of this floor, Kara thought, forcing herself to remain calm and turning back toward the stairwell. I have to get out of here before Arlington and his men show up. Standing to her feet, Kara holstered her gun and raced for the stairwell, leaving her heels behind. The door to the stairwell was slightly ajar, but just as she reached for it, it slammed shut and she could here an ominous 'click' as it locked itself. Furiously, Kara tugged on the doorknob, but it was tightly secured and impossible to open. It was then that she could hear an odd little swiveling noise, soft at first, then louder, like a swarm of insects. Looking hesitantly upward, Kara swallowed hard as she watched each and every security camera in the hall turn ominously toward her, their lenses narrowing in on her face. "It can't be..." Kara breathed, unable to fathom, until now, just what Alyssa had meant when she'd said the security system had been 'compromised.' "Oh, god..." Kara could hear it now, her uncle's voice, when she'd first been introduced to the security system. The entire hotel is essentially booby-trapped, Florence had told her. In preparation for these negotiations, Nardia's security personnel have put remote controlled locking mechanisms on all of the doors and windows. There are also gas canisters throughout the ventilation system, explosive and projectile units down certain hallways, and cameras... Then there was Alyssa, clarifying, saying, kind of like a fun house, except with deadly weaponry. But if so, then this was Lord Arlington's fun house now. Suddenly, there was a loud bang and Kara turned worriedly toward the noise. In turn, the steel shutters on each of windows lining the hall were slamming shut and being locked into place. It took Kara a moment to realize what was happening, but when she did, the terror she felt could only be matched by her time in the coffin. Slowly, like a wave, the windows were being blocked off, sealing her inside, making the twenty-fourth floor a prison where she'd be forced to await the return of Lord Arlington. "They're trying to trap me in," Kara whispered, paralyzed momentarily by the horror of it all. "Oh god, they're trying to trap me in..." Kara wasn't sure what snapped her out of it, but suddenly she was searching the hall for a bust, a floor lamp, a decorative plant, anything. With only seconds to spare, she found a steel toolbox left by one of the maintenance men and turned toward the windows, only to find that a mere four remained open. Breathing heavily, Kara raced for the windows and shoved the tool box into an open one, just as the last set of shutters were slamming closed. But with the tool box in the way, they couldn't come together and Kara stood firm, holding the toolbox steadily in place as the shutters desperately tried to close. They dented the toolbox in several places, until it looked like it'd been chewed by a rabid dog, but eventually, the shutters stilled and all was dark, save for the light coming in through the only open window, Kara's only hope...her only way out. Suddenly, Kara could hear that annoying little swiveling again and looking up, saw the security cameras redirect themselves toward her. For a few moments, she just stood there, angrily staring them down, before deciding she'd had enough. Determined, Kara matched up to the nearest one, flipped it off, and gave it her most condescending smile. "Is that the best you can do?" Kara asked it. "Because I'm not even getting started." ****** Alyssa pressed herself into a corner, cursing furiously under her breath, a rifle poised under her arm. Breathing heavily, she allowed her heart to slow and then her muscles to relax, until calm returned. Carefully—trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible—Alyssa peeked out beyond her isolated corner, only to see that the cameras were still there, all angled in her direction. As soon as they spotted her, a panel in one of the walls opened up and an automated machine gun emerged, aiming with deadly precision. "Fuck!" Alyssa hissed, ducking quickly back into her corner as bullets embedded themselves in the wall shielding her, shaking the entire floor and filling the air with smoke. "God fucking dammit!" Alyssa had already lost five of her men to those god forsaken traps. If that wasn't enough, dozens more casualties had been reported back to her from other units throughout the hotel. But most frustrating of all was the helplessness Alyssa felt, forcefully backed into a corner, like a mouse in a maze. It'd been a pain in the ass to reach this particular blind spot—clear of any cameras or remote controlled weaponry—but now that she'd reached it, Alyssa felt suffocated. To move beyond the blind spot was certain death, but sitting still wasn't an option either. Sooner or later, Arlington's men would make it up to the thirteenth floor and pick them all off, one by one, as they sat cowering here with nowhere to go. Like hell I'm going to wait her to be slaughtered, Alyssa thought, glaring furiously around the corner, once the gunfire had ceased. Like hell I'm going to let my men die for nothing. "Unit Fourteen, come in," Alyssa called, clicking her earpiece on and praying that someone, anyone at all, answered through the static. "Unit Fourteen, report your status, over." "Unit Fourteen, here. Reporting two deaths and three casualties, over." "Fuck!" Alyssa cursed, punching the wall in front of her with enough force to leave a dent. Not a single one of her men dared say a word, but stood there in silence, waiting for further orders. "Mother fucking son of a—" Sighing, Alyssa turned toward her second in command, a muscular man with dark eyes and boyish brown hair, who sat hunched over on the floor. "Eugene, how many deaths total?" "We're at twelve deaths and twenty-six casualties, Commander," Eugene swallowed and Alyssa winced. She was still getting used to the whole 'commander' thing, a title she'd tried to ditch years ago. Luckily, Eugene didn't notice, but consulted his tablet once more before turning back toward Alyssa, looking worried. "And we still haven't gotten a response from roughly four of our Security Units." "Which ones?" "Units Eleven, Five, Three, and Fifteen." "Calling Units Eleven, Five, Three, and Fifteen. Please respond," Alyssa tried, clicking her earpiece on and attempting to sound brave. "Units Eleven, Five, Three, and Fifteen, please call in." For a solid three minutes, Alyssa stayed on the line, listening intently to the static and waiting. Her men all leaned toward her, their own ears poised earnestly in her direction, hoping to pick up on the tiniest sliver of sound. But after the long, agonizing silence, Alyssa had no choice but to assume the worst and clicked off the earpiece, her heart finally sinking down into her chest and a miserable groan escaping her lips. "Bump the death toll to fifty-two," Alyssa ordered, trying to sound firm, even as Eugene stared at her in disbelief. "As far as we're concerned, those four units have been wiped out." "But, Commander," Eugene whispered, his voice barely audible. "They might not all be dead." "We can't coordinate an offense with a non-responsive unit," Alyssa replied, speaking a little louder this time, a little more confident, determined to provide her men with an unwavering, grounded leader. "As far as we're concerned, Eugene, they're dead." "But—" "Am I clear?" Alyssa shouted. "Tell me, Eugene, are you fucking deaf?" "No, Commander, of course not," Eugene swallowed. "It's just that—" Just then, Alyssa could hear a sudden surge of static in her ear and a voice, panicked and filled with pain. Holding her finger up for silence, she turned the volume on her earpiece up as loud as it would go, the white noise screeching in her ears. At first, she couldn't make out any coherent sounds, just blubbering, gunfire, and then an explosion. But finally, out from it all, came the voice again, almost pleading to be heard. "Unit Five here, we've been ambushed at a blind spot...I don't know how many are left....I don't...." Alyssa winced as another explosion erupted in the background and her informant cursed, screaming at something or someone in the background, his voice terrified. "Oh god, Commander, there are dragons...dragons everywhere..." Abruptly, the voice was cut off, but Alyssa didn't dare hang up, even when everything became quiet and only the heavy breathing of her men remained. "What's going on?" "Quiet, Eugene, for fuck's sake, shut up." "Four down." Alyssa started as her earpiece came back to life, but this time, it wasn't one of her own men who spoke. This voice—calm, sinister, methodical—was different. Alyssa could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as it continued, whispering threateningly in her ear. "Just eleven to go, Commander." "Shit," Alyssa cursed, ripping the earpiece out, desperate to distance herself from the loathsome, cruel voice crawling through her mind. She had been worried from the start—since she'd first heard word of the scuffle in the Negotiation Hall—that Arlington might try and rally his old buddies from Isleydor's assassination guilds, but hadn't thought it likely. Now, Alyssa held no doubts. "It looks like we're dealing with professionals, ladies and gentlemen." "Professionals?" "Dragons." "Impossible," Eugene whispered, as if the mere mention of them would summon them in swarms. "Dragons don't operate in groups, Commander. They're loners, preferring to kill one-on-one." "Well, it looks like Lord Fuckface was able to pull in a few favors," Alyssa said simply, staring up at the ceiling, as if the answer to her predicament might be written there. But like it or not, there was only one real option for her and her men, though it would undoubtedly get them all killed. "These aren't ordinary soldiers," Alyssa told them, her voice solemn. "Dragons are trained to study their targets before making a move, to pinpoint weaknesses before going in for the kill. To these people, murder is like a fine art and you're the canvas." "We need to stick together, no exceptions," Eugene interrupted, scrolling earnestly through his tablet, his hands shaking. "The whole point of hijacking the security system was to force us into these blind spots, where we'd be easy to separate and pick off one-by-one, all at our enemy's leisure." "We're fucked," Alyssa continued, her eyes giving way to the fierce, uncompromising brutality beneath. "If anyone had plans to go back home, or take a nice vacation with the kids this summer, or go back to school, scratch them." "Alyssa, don't say such things, we're—" "We're fucked," Alyssa interrupted, glaring angrily at Eugene, putting him in his place with the mere force of her boldness. "I need you all to understand that, so that you don't second guess yourselves when I send you into battle, wondering if perhaps there's another way, because there isn't." Pausing for effect, Alyssa stared down each of her men in turn, waiting for them to avert their eyes, but no one dared. "We'll either die sitting here, waiting to be massacred, or we can die trying to make something of this mess. I'm not interested in dying lying down. Anyone else?" But there was only silence, not a single one of Alyssa's men wavering from their posts. "Good, because if we have any hope of stopping Lord Dipshit and getting Council Woman Silveine back, we're going to need to find his hacker and reclaim our security system." "How?" "I'm getting to that, but first we—" Just then, Alyssa's earpiece switched back on, but this time, it was Kara who had contacted her, sounding positively furious. Alyssa had hoped that she was still okay, but the prospects hadn't been good. "Good to hear you're alive, medic, I—" "Alyssa, I need your help...I've been trapped on the twenty-fourth floor and I don't know what to do. All the doors—literally all of them—have been locked and most of the windows, too. Lord Arlington...he just doesn't quit...Alyssa, we have to get out of this hotel, it's a death trap." "Tell me about it," Alyssa chuckled, her tone dark. "I'm cowering behind a wall, with a remote-controlled machine gun not three feet away, prepared to gun me down if I leave the only blind spot on this floor." "Oh, god....oh, fuck." "Oh, fuck, indeed." "Alyssa, do you have any ideas on how I might get off this floor?" Kara asked and the worry in her voice elicited a pang of shame, for what Alyssa was about to do...no, for what she had to do. "I tried getting into the ventilation system, but I don't fit." "Look, kid, there's nothing I can do for you," Alyssa sighed and on the other line, Kara held her breath, too shocked to speak. It was then that Alyssa could feel a familiar guilt enveloping her, like an old, annoying friend, reminding her of mistakes past. It was awkward enough being referred to as a 'commander,' when she'd spent the last several years trying to distance herself from any kind of leadership. Now, she was having to tell her men, again, that they were most likely going to die and abandoning, once again, a friend for the greater good. The memories tasted bitter, but Alyssa had become skilled in the fine art of apathy and pushed the guilt down. "I'm sorry, Kara," Alyssa told her, kind, but unapologetic. "We don't have much time left and if we hope to win back some of our people, we need to devote that time to tracing Arlington's hacker. You're not my top priority, now. That's just where we stand." "I...I understand." "Good luck...and kid?" "Yeah?" "Make him work for it." ****** Ben marched alongside Tamius, his hands tied in front of him and his body still aching. Behind them were two dragons—Finneas and May—who had been charged with escorting Lord Arlington's prisoners to the roof. There, a helicopter would be awaiting them, prepared to transport the pair to Bremmington. But Ben wasn't planning on making it that far, not without a fight. Once they were in Isleydor's air space, there would be no hope of escape. It was now or never, Ben realized, and he glanced carefully around him, looking for an opportunity to make a move. "Keep going," Finneas growled, pressing the nozzle of his gun into Ben's back. "We have an appointment to keep, Karrington." Ben groaned irritably under his breath, but took Tamius' lead and said nothing. They'd learned early on that Finneas and May weren't as keen on clever banter as was their lord and any noise was rewarded with a beating. Ben wasn't one to be bullied into submission, but if he hoped to escape his captors, it'd be easier to do so without a broken rib or a dislocated shoulder. Looking toward Tamius, he could see the sympathy in her eyes, then noticed that she, too, was scanning their environment for a way out. They didn't have much time left. Already, they had reached the elevator, which dinged open merrily, oblivious to their plight. Suddenly, there was a gun shot, followed by another, and then another. Ben instinctively turned around, but Finneas pushed him to the ground, where he lay beside Tamius, both of them confused. Quickly, the two dragons pulled their guns, ready to defend themselves and their captives, but no one emerged into the hallway and for several seconds, there was nothing but silence. There were definitely a series of gunshots, Ben thought, straining to hear anything above the quiet. But no one's been directly attacked...what's the intent? Looking frantically about, Ben finally noticed that all the cameras in the hall had been taken out, their lenses cracked and smoking. Both dragons, also noticing the lack of ample security, took a step back, blocking off their captives from any potential saviors, when a series of lights suddenly flickered and then turned off. "What the fuck was that?" Finneas hissed, placing one foot on Ben's back, a good way to ensure that his captive stayed put, even while he directed his attention elsewhere. "There's no good reason to waste bullets on the cameras or turn down the lights, unless we're dealing with a mole." "Could be one of the Security Units, trying to create an artificial blind spot," May whispered, glancing carefully around them, her gun poised toward the darkness of the hall. "But all units have been accounted for. If anyone was moving our way, we would have been alerted." Without warning, two black clad figures burst out through the darkness, armed with glistening short swords and dancing across the carpet like acrobats. May rushed the first such enemy, but a throwing knife was withdrawn from his belt and launched straight into her heart. Finneas fared much better, dodging attacks and gliding over the ground. With one sophisticated move, he cut through one of his enemy's masks, revealing a single green eye and a raven tattoo. But in the end, he was out numbered and was soon subdued and shot. Ben and Tamius could only watch with a combination of fascination and abject horror as the two figures approached, dripping blood and sweat. "Thank...thank you," Tamius finally whispered, trying to stand to her feet, but one of the black clad figures pushed her down. "Please," Tamius begged, confused and trying to sound nonthreatening. "Please, cut us loose, we have friends in trouble." The black clad figures didn't speak, but one of them dropped a dagger at Tamius' feet, before turning around and returning to the darkness, his partner in tow. "Please, who are you!?!" Tamius screamed into the darkness. "Who are you two!?!" But no one answered. "What was that?" Ben gasped, watching as Tamius wriggled her way toward the dagger and clutched it as best she could. It was slow going at first, but eventually, she was able to cut herself free and began the process of cutting her partner loose. "They saved us, so they must be on our side, but then why didn't they want us to see their faces?" "Hold still," Tamius told him, slipping the blade between his bound hands and sawing away. "Did you see the tattoo on the one guy's face?" "The raven?" "It's the symbol of the abolitionist movement in Isleydor," Tamius explained, finally pulling the rope away from Ben's wrists and allowing him to stand to his feet, though it was still a painful procedure. "In other words, our saviors are from Isleydor." "What?" Ben asked, flabbergasted. "Isleydor is dealing with an insurgency?" "Maybe, but we can't be sure," Tamius shrugged, stepping toward one of the downed dragons and rifling through her clothing for weapons. "We need to get a move on, though. It won't be long before someone realizes we're roaming free." Tamius was right. Cursing the pain in his side, Ben knelt beside Finneas and looted his dead body for weaponry, finding two pistols and several rounds of ammo, but not much else. He himself had been stripped of his earpiece and any items deemed 'dangerous' immediately after being captured. It was a relief to have firepower once again, to hold cold metal in his hands and no longer feel helpless. When he heard footsteps in the darkness, Ben was more than ready to shoot something, but this time, he recognized the figure. "Querren!" Ben cried, lowering his weapon and racing toward the man so as to embrace him. "Oh, thank god, we were worried about you!" "Same here, Karrington," Querren smiled, embracing Ben before turning toward Tamius and nodding. "You two seem safe now, at least." "Why are you alone?" Tamius asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "What happened to your unit?" "My unit's been obliterated," Querren sighed, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "The dragons have been making their way up to the roof, picking off our Security Units as they go. With Arlington in control of the security system, virtually everyone's been cornered into a blind spot, making it easy to pick us off and almost impossible to coordinate an offensive." Glancing down at Finneas and May, Querren raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Can I have a gun? I've been stripped of everything, including my earpiece." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 27 "Yeah, of course, some of these guys are even carrying explosives," Ben replied, tossing Querren a pistol, a short dagger, and a few rounds of ammo. Then, he noticed something shiny dangling from Finneas' belt, a black leather pouch. Untangling the pouch from his captor, Ben opened it up and inside, found what looked like a bunch of throwing stars, each with a tiny glass ruby at its center. "Querren, do you know what these are?" "Ah, auto-timers," Querren grinned, kneeling beside Ben and greedily dumping out the contents. "Little throwing stars, each one embedded with an explosive, a favorite among the crimson dragons. Now these I can work with. They look innocent enough, but they pack quite a punch. Throw one, get it embedded in a wall, and on contact, it'll count down from ten before letting 'er rip. Mind if I...?" "Oh, no, Querren, help yourself," Ben chuckled, seeing the fire lust in the man's eyes. "I wouldn't know what to do with them anyway." "Come on, guys, we have to keep moving," Tamius hissed, suddenly a lot more tense, her pistol poised threateningly into the darkness. "I...I think something might be watching us..." "That was probably me...since I lost my unit, I've been tailing you guys, looking for a chance to attack, but I guess someone else came to your rescue first..." "No, it's something else, I can sense it," Tamius whispered, stepping down the hallway, her footsteps soft against the carpet. "I thought I heard something, a gentle click, like...like high heels, or something..." "Just a minute, Tamius, I think I found something," Ben insisted, reaching into Finneas' pocket and removing a single worn piece of paper, which had been folded several times over. Flattening it on the ground, he saw a list of names situated into two columns, one marked "Dead Men" and the other marked "Live Men." It didn't take long for Ben to figure out what he'd stolen. "It's the dragons' hit list," Ben breathed, hardly able to believe his luck. "We're all here...Arlington wants myself, Tamius, and Kara alive, of course. Shit, Alyssa's on the death list. Without Greenwood, I suppose she's useless to him. And Querren..." Confused, Ben narrowed in on the man's name, which had the word 'reserved' next to it. "I'm not really sure what's up with Querren." "What do you mean, you aren't sure?" Querren asked, suddenly sounding very worried. "Under which column am I listed?" "Well, your name is on the death list, but there's an annotation." "Annotation?" "Yes, a little star and then the word 'reserved' written next to it in red ink." "Let me see that," Querren snapped, wrenching the paper out of Ben's hands and turning it toward the light. He, too, looked a little perplexed at first, but then Querren's face twisted into something ghastly and he paled. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." "Querren, you're scaring me," Ben told him, his voice wary. "And considering the circumstances, that's saying a lot." "Arlington has sold me to Azalia Richards," Querren whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm on the death list alright, but technically, only Azalia is allowed to touch me." "I don't understand." "The dragons work on a ranking system, where each target is classified according to his overall importance and the dangers involved in killing him," Querren explained, sighing miserably into the dank air. "The most notable dragons have a lengthy resume of Class 'A' targets to their name, usually quite famous and often times major figures in recent or ongoing wars. If I had to guess, I'd say that I'm Azalia's price for her cooperation and the cooperation of her guild. It explains an awful lot." Looking up into the ceiling, Querren slowly connected the dots, his lips going tight. "I could have been killed along with my unit and even if I did get away on my own merit, it's been far too easy to traverse the hotel for my liking, considering the hijacked security system. But that all makes sense now. They've been saving me for her." "Well, then it's a good thing you found us," Ben grinned, standing to his feet and offering Querren a reassuring hand. "She's outnumbered now, three to one." "Don't underestimate this woman," Querren snapped and Ben jumped back, startled. He'd never seen the demolitions expert so nervous before. Usually, he was full of cheer, even in the most dire of circumstances. "Azalia's the most senior of the crimson dragons," Querren continued, standing to his feet and peering into the darkness, with Tamius still pointing her gun into its depths. "The woman has killed at least five hundred people or so, most of them high profile. To top it all off, she's certifiably insane. Tamius is right, we have to keep moving. We're being hunted, Karrington." There was a noise in the dark, a gentle swishing sound reminiscent of a windmill, and all three companions froze, their ears straining to hear something beyond the ensuing silence. Then there was a gentle tap, tap, tap, like heels on a wood floor. In unison, Ben and Querren drew their pistols and aiming into the darkness, began to back away, slowly at first, then more earnestly. "Let's go..." Querren whispered, nodding toward the left, where the hall split into a fork. "Take to the right and keep going." Querren didn't wait for a response, but turned and bolted down the hallway, with Ben and Tamius close behind. Each took turns looking back and ensuring that the coast was clear, but the general didn't see anyone following them. Yet, that didn't prevent him from stopping and aiming at every little thing that seemed out of place, toward every noise—real or imagined—that whispered softly in his ears. When Querren finally stopped, they were in a dance hall, smaller than that used for the previous day's reception, but still fairly large. "Barricade the doors!" Querren ordered and hurriedly, Ben made for one of the tables on the outskirts of the dance floor, heavy enough to block the entryways. But just as Ben was about to drag it across the room, a gentle swiveling assaulted his ears and looking up, the general saw roughly a dozen cameras narrow in on his face. Then a door slammed shut, followed by another, and then another, until all three of them were trapped inside the dance hall. "Back to back!" Querren screamed, pulling an auto-timer from his pocket and scanning the room. "Don't let your guard down, even for a second!" Ben felt himself shudder as the lights dimmed, then out from the darkness he could hear a soft humming, which made his skin crawl. Slowly, it morphed into a song and with his back pressed against Tamius', Ben could feel her heart beating. Three blind mice. Three blind mice. See how they run. See how they run. They all ran after the farmer's wife, Who cut off their tails with a carving knife, Did you ever see such a sight in your life, As three blind mice? Stepping into the light, Ben finally saw her, the giant who'd been passing herself off as Lord Arlington's body guard. Azalia Richards was still wearing her red sequin dress and her inappropriately high heels, making her a whopping eight feet tall. The woman looked like a devil, her copper locks tangled and spotted with blood, crimson splashes decorating her arms and legs. Then, clenched in Azalia's hands was a monstrous scythe, glistening in what little light still remained. With a devilish grin, she twirled it like a baton over her head and around her torso, then held it behind her back, looking the very picture of madness. "Awww, I was hoping we'd have some time together, just the two of us," Azalia pouted, her wicked smile momentarily transforming into a mocking frown. "I prefer to form a personal, intimate relationship with my victims before I kill them, but you've gone ahead and brought chaperones. Don't worry though, " Azalia whispered, her voice a low thrum. "I'll take care of it." Raising the scythe over her head, Azalia charged the three companions, flying across the floor like a demon out of hell, laughing hysterically the entire way, Ahahahahaha! Cursing, Querren threw two of his auto-timers in her direction, where they embedded themselves in the tables situated between the woman and her victims. But Azalia was quick, taking refuge behind various chairs and other paraphernalia moments before the explosives went off, filling the entire room with smoke. When the woman emerged from the flame, her copper locks flying, Ben knew that he'd entered hell. With Azalia heading straight for him, he fired several shots in her direction, but she managed to block all of them, sending sparks flying from her scythe. Ben hadn't even known that was possible. "Move!" Querren screamed, pushing Ben out of the way, knowing full well who Azalia really wanted to dance with. Querren dodged several swings of her scythe, so aerodynamic that it hardly made a breeze, but she had better stamina and eventually, he was forced to withdraw a dagger from his belt and start blocking the blows. Sparks flew each time Querren's dagger met Azalia's scythe and all the while, he was desperately trying to break away and get a breather. It was while he dared reached for his gun that Azalia finally got him, slicing into his arm once and then cutting him across the face. When she had finished, Azalia flipped backwards and away from him, a smile on her lips. "You know, in ancient times, they used to execute criminals by slicing them, just shallow cuts though, so that you bled out slowly," Azalia told Querren, who stood panting in a corner, trying to plan his next move. "They called it The Death of a Thousand Knives." "And your point?" "Two down," Azalia laughed, turning the scythe in her hands over and over, letting the sound ripple through the air like a swarm of locusts. "Nine-hundred and ninety-eight to go." Azalia rushed toward Querren and Ben prepared to step in, but Tamius beat him to it. Using her own acrobatic skills, she slid in between the two combatants, her gun raised in the air and ready to shoot, but Azalia knocked the weapon out of her hand and began swinging her blade ferociously. Tamius was a sight to behold, flipping over backwards and somersaulting over tables, but when she tripped on a misplaced chair and hit the ground, there was nowhere to go. Tamius could only lie there, grimacing, as Azalia pressed the blade of her scythe into her neck. "You can't kill me," Tamius panted, hardly able to breath for all their fighting. "Arlington wants me alive." But to everyone's shock, including Tamius', Azalia only scoffed. "This may be news to you, but I only heed Lord Arlington's orders when they suit me," Azalia told her, a musical quality to her voice and a greedy, almost hungry look in her blood thirsty eyes. "I'm not just a Crimson Dragon, I am the Crimson Dragon. I am death incarnate, the goddess of destruction, the lady reaper, the queen of the damned." Horrified, Ben and Querren glanced at each, then raced toward the two women, but they didn't make it in time. With one last twirl of her scythe, Azalia brought her blade down across Tamius' throat and blood splattered in all directions, pooling underneath her. "Goodbye, you poor creature." "Nooooo!" Querren screamed, more monster than man, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent nearly a dozen auto-timers in Azalia's direction. The she-devil managed to dance her way out of the blaze, but her dress caught fire in the process, leaving a nasty third degree burn on her right leg. With murder in her eyes, she glanced at Querren, then picked up her scythe. "Karrington, get out of here!" "Absolutely not, we're in this together!" Ben screamed, hardly able to believe what had just happened, feeling so sick he thought he might vomit, but he needed to press on, he needed to keep going. "Querren, if I left you behind, I'd never forgive myself!" "And if you don't bring my niece back safely, I'll never forgive you." "Querren, that's not fair and you know it!" "None of this is fair, Karrington. We must do what we must." Ben hesitated, but with a dangerous look from Querren, he consented. The old man was right and he knew it. They each had a different part to play in this battle and his job was to bring Kara back, to protect her, as he'd promised. Who knew, by then, Kara might have already been captured by Lord Arlington. The very thought made Ben's emotions erupt with righteous fury and turning around, he saw that one of the exits had been blown to bits by Querren. Quickly, he made his way for the door, trying to ignore Azalia's cackling and Querren's explosions as he raced onward and out into another hallway. It was by luck that he stumbled upon one of Nardia's own security personnel and there, clenched in the corpse's hand, found an earpiece. "Thank god," Ben breathed, picking it up and praying that Kara would hear him, that she was still safe somehow, that his body guards had been able to protect her. "Come in, Kara," Ben called, switching the earpiece on, his heart beating madly. "For god's sake, answer me, please...please, be okay." ****** Kara stood there in the middle of the hallway, not quite sure what to do. She couldn't feel anything—not anger, not sadness, not fear. Kara felt completely numb, as if she'd been frozen in time, a mere artifact standing still. Already she'd tried to open every door on the floor, even her own bedroom door, but none of them would budge and her access card no longer worked. She had come to the conclusion long ago that there was nothing left to do, except sit and wait for Lord Arlington to come and claim her. It was the swiveling of the cameras that snapped Kara out of it. Ever since she'd escaped the maintenance men, they'd been following her and it was starting to get on her nerves. Every time she stepped forward—every time she even changed position—she could hear them swiveling on their mounts, the sound mirroring her footsteps. No matter where she went, Kara could always feel their presence at her back. Still in a trance, she headed down the hall—probably for the tenth time—and could suddenly hear them above her, still tracking her movements. Clenching her fists angrily by her sides, Kara looked up and found herself once again surrounded, but for the first time yet, she noticed her reflection in their dark lenses. Turning in place, she could see them—a dozen tiny Kara's—staring back at her, their eyes cold and empty. When did I lose it? Kara wondered, looking up into her own reflection and shuddering. When did I lose the fire that made me who I am...the fire that first prompted me to stand up to Arlington, to free his most prized slave, to break out of Bremmington? "What's happened to me?" Kara asked aloud and as if curious, the cameras leaned in closer. "Where have I gone?" Kara felt helpless and she didn't like it. She didn't want to feel trapped up here, with nothing to do except sit and wait to be kidnapped. Kara hadn't always felt this way. There was a time when she'd sworn to defeat Lord Arlington, whispering under her breath, "game on." Just last night, she'd felt powerful for the first time in a long time, telling Arlington off for his psychotic ways, pealing back the mask he'd so carefully crafted. Kara wanted that back, she wanted to own her emotions again. But it was hard to take the offensive when you'd been running for so long. Oh my god, Kara thought, the realization finally hitting her. I've done nothing but run from Lord Arlington since I escaped Bremmington. Instead of facing my fears and defeating them, I've been trying to hold them at bay. But not anymore. Narrowing her eyes angrily at the cameras surrounding her, Kara felt her resolve strengthen and her numbness melt away to reveal a mixture of determination and righteous anger. If there was ever a time to confront Lord Arlington, it was now, in the midst of battle, when she could actually make a difference. Kara had a plan, too, and it was a damn good one. It's time to stop running, Kara told herself. It's time to take the offensive. As Kara turned back toward the elevators, she could here those stupid fucking cameras following her and that was the last straw. Growling furiously, Kara aimed at the nearest one and fired, sending glass everywhere and leaving a satisfying ringing in her ears. It felt good to shoot something, to feel cold metal in her hands and smell gunpowder in the air. "You're going to regret messing with me," Kara told the cameras, feeling less and less helpless, feeling whole again. "I'm going to make you regret this, all of it." Rushing toward the downed maintenance men, Kara rifled through their clothes for weapons. They had been well armed, but she already had a pistol and decided to stock up on ammo, gathering it into a leather bag. For good measure, she stole a gas mask, then grabbed one of the men's daggers. Kara wouldn't be able to get far in an ankle length dress and carefully cut the cloth away, until the skirt came only to her thighs. Now, it was time to find away out. She had wasted far too much time already, trying the same doors over and over again. Arlington would arrive soon and Kara intended to be gone when he did. She needed to get downstairs somehow and join up with Alyssa, before it was too late. Kara didn't want to admit it, but there was only one exit, the window she'd managed to force open. Grimacing, she stuck her head outside and looked down, the very sight making her dizzy. Twenty-four stories up, the fog obscured much of the ground below, but Kara could make out the occasional carriage and a few police cars, which looked like tiny beetles in a toy city. She was just about to duck back inside when a gust of wind pushed her, forcing her back into the hallway anyway. At this altitude, wind speeds were insanely high. On her way down, Kara was going to have to try and hug the building as best she could or risk been thrown to her death. "How the fuck am I going to make it down?" Kara groaned, taking note of the curtains above each window and cursing her new found determination. "Looks like I'm going to have to climb down..." Gathering together as many curtains as she could find, Kara clicked her earpiece back on and radioed down to Alyssa, knowing full well that the weapons specialist wouldn't be pleased, but she'd just have to suck it up. "Hello, Alyssa? I need to know what floor you're on." "Kara...? I thought I told you that I don't have time for this." "Just shut up and listen," Kara hissed, now cutting the curtains into long strips of cloth and tying them together, end by end. With any luck, she'd be able to form a rope long enough to reach one of the floors below. "You need to find this hacker, right?" "Yeah, but—" "And you're having trouble navigating through the hotel without being attacked by your own security system?" "Yes..?" "What if you had a human shield to escort you, someone whom Arlington wants alive at all costs?" It didn't take long for the weapons specialist to catch on. Kara could almost hear the dots connecting in her mind, then the little light bulb above her head click on. "I'm on the thirteenth floor," Alyssa finally breathed, no longer any objections in her tone, no longer irritated. "How are you going to get down here?" "I'll have to climb down," Kara sighed, leaning once more out the window and feeling the wind blow back her hair, cold enough top numb her cheeks. "It'll be several stories, I'm sure. You're on the..?" "Thirteenth floor." "Great," Kara grimaced, now finished and devising a makeshift harness, which she then stepped into, one leg at a time. "Looks like I only have to make it down, what, eleven stories without falling tragically to my death?" "You don't have to do this, Kara." "Yes, I do." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 27 "No, you don't." "If you can find this hacker, you can win back the security system and maybe get some of our people back, correct?" "There's no need to sacrifice yourself for Nardia, Kara. You don't owe them anything." "This isn't for them," Kara whispered and as soon as she uttered the words, she knew it was true. "This is for me, because I don't want to keep running anymore." Grabbing a hammer and some nails from her captors' tool box, Kara carefully secured her make-shift rope to the wall and eased herself out onto the windowsill, where the wind whistled loudly in her ears, making her skin grow cold and then numb. Almost immediately, it caught her dress and tried to push her over the edge, but at the last second, Kara managed to grab hold of the wall. The ground looked a lot farther down now and she swallowed hard, trying not to imagine what she'd look like as a splatter on the sidewalk. "Here goes nothing," Kara told herself, easing out onto the ledge. "Nowhere to go but down." And with that, Kara closed her eyes and jumped. Kara could feel her stomach fly up into her chest as she fell, tumbling into the sky, the only sound the wind in her ears. Then, just as Kara was wondering if she'd secured the rope well enough, it went taught. She bounced a few times mid-air, as if on a bungee cord, before being slammed into the brick of the building. The force of impact knocked the wind clean out of Kara and she gasped desperately for air, clutching the pain in her side. "Oh, fuck," Kara moaned, unable to see anything but thick, white mist below her. "I don't even know how far down I've gone." But Kara didn't have very long to wonder at the possibilities. The curtains she'd used as a rope weren't designed to handle her weight and looking up, Kara could see that it'd started to rip. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Kara cursed, furiously looking about her for a way out. The nearest window ledge was a good five feet to her left, way out of her reach, but it was Kara's only hope. Pushing off the building with all her might, Kara swung her body towards the window ledge, falling just a few feet short, but each time she pushed off the building, she got a little closer. Then she heard it, a gentle ripping noise. The tear in her little bungee cord was getting bigger and bigger and now only a few threads remained. As her lifeline snapped in two, Kara could feel her heart sink into her chest and in a last ditch effort, reached for the ledge. She was sure she was going to die—there was no way she'd survive this—but then her hand came into contact with something solid and she clung to it for dear life. When Kara opened her eyes, she was dangling in mid-air and every few seconds or so, the wind was trying to dislodge her from safety. That's when she heard a new sound, the sound of helicopters approaching. Cursing, Kara pushed herself up and over the ledge, using her pistol to break through the window and finally tumbling inside the hotel. "I'm in," Kara gasped, switching on her earpiece and allowing herself to collapse onto solid ground. It was a relief to feel the carpet underneath her, to hear the wind outside. As it was, Kara's heart was just about ready to explode out of her chest. "Alyssa, I'm in, for the love of god, pick up." "Alyssa here, which floor are you on?" "How the hell am I supposed to know that?" "Any portraits hanging nearby?" "What?" "Each floor is dedicated to a different council member, so if there's a portrait hanging nearby, I can tell you which floor you're on." "Okay," Kara replied, looking up and finding one such portrait not a few feet away. Carefully, she stood to her feet, clutching the wall for support. Kara's legs were still a bit shaky, but she managed to make her way to the portrait, depicting a rather fat man in elegant, green robes. "Okay, it looks like I've got a Council Man Tellius," Kara told Alyssa, squinting at the plaque beneath his image. "So..?" "By a lucky coincidence, kid, you're on the thirteenth floor. We're in a blind spot straight down the hallway and around the corner. You can't miss us." Kara could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the swiveling returned, the cameras in the hall all narrowing in on her, but then came an unfamiliar sound. Turning toward Alyssa's blind spot, Kara watched as a panel opened up in one of the walls and a massive, automated gun peeked out, aiming carefully at her. Slowly, she stepped backwards, but she had a feeling that wouldn't help. "Alyssa," Kara whispered, not sure whether it was in her best interest to stay perfectly still or make a run for it. "Alyssa, I've never seen a weapon this big before." "It's a bluff," Alyssa hissed into Kara's ear, sounding earnest. "Whoever is behind all these cameras is just trying to scare you into staying put." "I'm not so sure about that," Kara swallowed, listening as the massive gun loaded itself, its tiny scope locked onto her. "Alyssa, what do I do?" "Kara, you're sure Arlington still wants you alive, right?" Kara paused, a sliver of doubt passing through her mind, before she remembered her last exchange with Lord Arlington. You'll never get your hands on me again, Kara had told him and in reply he'd whispered, Awww, pet, you don't really believe that, do you? Kara knew in her heart that, no matter the cost, Arlington would never let her go, which gave her an unfair advantage in this little game of cat and mouse, one she intended to utilize. "Yes," Kara breathed. "I'm sure." Staring the weapon down, Kara took a step forward and then another, striding down the hall with new found confidence, when the weapon fired. Kara couldn't believe it. She was too shocked to even cower on the floor. Bullets rained down all around her, filling the air with smoke, and Kara could only stand there, waiting to be hit and killed. Then came silence and Alyssa was screaming in her ear. "Kara?!? Kara?!? Are you alright?" "I don't know," Kara breathed, patting herself down and to her amazement, finding nothing. "I...I'm not hit." "See what I mean?" Alyssa laughed, after a prolonged silence, and Kara could hear the smile in her voice. "It's a fucking bluff." Catching her breath, Kara eventually found her self sighing with relief, then laughing out loud. With a skip in her step, she walked the rest of the way to Alyssa's blind spot, flipping off the cameras following her as she went. When she finally turned the corner, Kara saw roughly five black clad security personnel, who all whistled and clapped with glee, and Alyssa, as unfriendly as ever. Before Alyssa could speak, she rushed to embrace the woman, heart beating madly. The weapons specialist was too shocked to hug back, but Kara was lovey-dovey enough for the both of them, squeezing Alyssa so tightly she couldn't breath. "I was so worried about you guys," Kara whispered into her shoulder, trying to hold back tears. "I still don't know what's happened to everyone else. You're my only lifeline, Alyssa." "Yeah, yeah, kid, good to see you," Alyssa coughed, patting Kara awkwardly on the back. "I was worried about you, too." "Commander, we need to get a move on," Eugene suddenly blurted, interrupting their reunion and giving Alyssa the excuse she needed to disengage herself from Kara. "The dragons are on the move and we're their next stop." "Dragons?" Kara asked, confused. "I thought we were dealing with Arlington's people?" "Oh, shit, you don't know, do you?" "Don't know what?" "That tattoo on Arlington's back," Alyssa replied, her voice sympathetic. "Come on, I know you've seen him naked." "I thought...I thought it was decorative." "Decorative?" Alyssa snorted, before catching herself and sharing a pained glance with Eugene. "Kara, it's the symbol of Isleydor's most ambitious assassins guild, the Crimson Dragons." At first, Kara couldn't believe her ears. It was absurd that on top of everything else—his role in the war against Callihistra, his involvement in the slave trade, his powerful reign—Arlington was also an assassin. Somehow, that didn't seem fair and it made the man far, far more intimidating. "How do you think Arlington rose to power?" Alyssa asked, determined to fill the awkward silence. "Isleydor's a militant nation and you can't get a position in government without some history of violence." "It doesn't matter," Kara replied, shaking herself and refusing to let her resolve crumble. Assassin or not, Arlington was about to learn a valuable lesson in respect. "We have to keep moving and find that hacker, before they finds us. Load me up with explosives, it's kind of my forte." "You're sure about this, Kara?" "Oh, I'm sure about this," Kara grinned, staring back into the hallway. "After all, don't dragons like fire?" ****** "My lord, we have a problem." Lord Arlington turned around and narrowed his eyes in on Tyrion, one of the senior members of the Emerald Dragons. The man was impossibly strong, even if he didn't look it, wrapped tightly in a bullet proof body suit and equipped with roughly a dozen hidden weapons. Standing at attention, Tryion handed Lord Arlington his tablet, which depicted some of the security footage from that afternoon. Slowly, Arlington flipped through the stills, confused. "Do you want to tell me what I'm seeing, Tyrion?" Lord Arlington asked, glancing at one particularly obscure photo, but upon closer inspection, he could make out a few indistinct figures. "The lights are turned out, so it looks as if we've lost control of this particular hall." "Indeed," Tyrion replied, his voice tight. By the way he was fidgeting, Lord Arlington could tell that he wasn't going to like the man's news. "Two of our friends from the Midnight Guild—Finneas and May, a couple of sophomores—were ambushed a half hour ago. And, well, we've lost Karrington and Tamius." "You left my prized trophies with a couple of sophomores," Lord Arlington growled, all humor lost from his demeanor. "With sophomores of the Midnight Guild, no less?" "It was just a simple transport job, my lord." "Apparently not or they'd have made it to the roof by now." Tyrion fell silent at that, looking up into his lord's eyes and hoping that his anger would subside. Arlington knew full well the effect he had on his men. He was, after all, a legend among the dragons. Following a brief absence for remediation, he'd returned more cunning and deadly than ever before, a full fledged assassin whose victims didn't even know they were being targeted until it was too late. As a mere emerald, Tyrion was subject to the will of any crimson superior in rank, including Lord Arlington. The man could do whatever he pleased with Tyrion, as long as he paid the dragons later for the damage. "No matter," Arlington finally hissed and Tyrion sunk back into the wall, relieved. "We're already running a little behind schedule. Besides, once we pick up Kara, I'll have all the bait I need to get Karrington back." "Ah, yes, about that, my lord..." "Don't tell me you have even more disappointing news?" "Kara Chrystein was just reported, uh, jumping... from the twenty-fourth floor." "She what?" Arlington cursed, rounding on his man like a demon out of hell. Tyrion could only step back, terrified, as his lord stepped ever closer, until he'd been pinned against the wall. "You'd better make me happy, Tyrion, and quickly." "The girl's alive, my lord!" Tyrion blurted, trying his best not to look too pathetic in front of his fellow guild members. "Last we heard, Ms. Chrystein climbed down to the thirteenth floor!" "I gave very specific orders to lock down the twenty-fourth floor," Lord Arlington cursed, laying a hand on Tyrion's throat and refusing to let him go, even as he whined in pain. "If Kara gets caught in the crossfire, I will have you demoted, Tyrion." With that, Arlington released his captive, where he huddled on the ground, clutching his throat. "Any injuries to report?" "No, my lord, but that's the thing," Tyrion replied, standing to his feet and picking his tablet back up from the floor. "Your orders to leave her alone...well, they just aren't feasible, my lord." "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" Arlington whispered, his voice layered with threat. "Because if so, you'll want to think twice before you speak." "We wouldn't have to kill her," Tyrion pointed out, pulling up another image on his tablet and gesturing toward it. "But it looks like she intends to act as a human shield, freeing Unit Seven from their blind spot." Cursing, Lord Arlington snatched the tablet from Tyrion again and began to search through the images, first of Kara flipping him off, then stepping up onto a windowsill. Wincing, Arlington bemoaned his stupidity. He should have known better than to try and trap Kara on the twenty-fourth floor. His pet was far too clever for that kind of trickery and a small grin wormed its way onto his face. "My lord," Tyrion continued. "If we could only incapacitate her—blow out a knee cap or something—it would make this mission a whole lot easier." "Absolutely not," Lord Arlington growled, the mere thought of Kara, lying in pain on the ground, enough to set his teeth on edge. "If anyone dares to lay a finger on my girl, the consequences will be severe." "But, my lord, you don't want to appear weak—" "I'll take care of it," Arlington whispered and Tyrion fell silent, full well knowing that to argue at this point would be in vain. "We still have one more stop on our trip, Tyrion. Alyssa's not an easy woman to deal with, but remember, it's not just about winning." With that, Arlington turned toward his recruits, coordinated and sleek, their bodies standing at attention, some of them decorated in a wide array of tattoos. "It's also about having fun." Snapping his fingers, Lord Arlington motioned for his men to follow him and proceeded toward the elevator, his excitement getting the better of him. It had been torture to watch Kara from afar, knowing that at the end of the night, she'd be falling asleep in Ben Karrington's arms. He wanted to feel her soft body pressed against his once more, to smell the autumn wind in her hair, to sink his nails into her flesh and listen to her scream in delicious, lustful agony, as she had in her dreams. Seeing her free had changed his perspective on the situation, making him want Kara all the more. Her feistyness during their last meeting and her fierce determination at the dance had all confirmed in his mind that he needed her, needed that fire in his life and in his bed. It was only a matter of time now, Arlington mused, listening as his men marched behind him. "I'm coming for you, pet," Arlington whispered under his breath. "And this time, there will be nowhere to run." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 28 Kara strode swiftly down the hall, Alyssa and her men trailing close behind. It was oddly empowering, serving as a veritable human shield, but nerve wracking as well. Every time a panel opened up in the wall and revealed another trap, Kara could feel blood pounding in her ears. She wasn't an idiot. Kara knew that her survival depended on Arlington and his tolerance for her defiance. There was always that chance—no matter how small—that his policy had changed since the last loaded hall. If he wanted to slow Alyssa down, he wouldn't need to kill Kara. He'd only have to hurt her. Very, very badly perhaps, but she'd still be alive. It was oddly quiet as they made their way through the carpeted hotel and abandoned rooms of the thirteenth floor. The only sound came from the swiveling of the cameras above them. The noise set Kara's teeth on edge and at every step, an overwhelming urge to shoot the damn things consumed her. But with their ammo so low, Alyssa had forbidden it. Kara had to make due with her murderous fantasies, letting her fingers trace the contours of her pistol. The cold, hard metal helped her feel safe. This time, it felt as if her fate was in her own hands. "Oh, fuck..." Alyssa cursed and Kara started as a mechanical clicking echoed down the hallway, soft at first, then louder. "Oh, fucking fuck fuck...get back! I said get back!" A panel opened up in the hall ahead of them, then another one and finally, a third. Kara could feel herself tense as a dozen or so darts shot out from inside their dark interiors, cutting through the air with immense speed. Panicked, Kara ducked behind the nearest partition and cowered as the darts embedded themselves just beyond her hiding spot. Turning, she saw that Alyssa and her unit had also been forced to retreat into the safety of a blind spot, guns raised and gas masks foggy. Kara was the only one of them who wasn't armed to the teeth and wearing protective gear. With her torn afternoon gown and pitiful little ten shot, she felt almost naked, like she'd been caught wearing jeans and a T-shirt to a fancy ball. "Looks like we've got another loaded hall," Eugene whispered, carefully peeking out past a corner. "Maybe two...no, three automated traps." "No shit, detective insight...Kara, you ready to disarm?" Kara could feel herself shaking, but nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'm ready." "May the gods favor you, Oh Chosen One," Eugene quipped, bowing low and gesturing toward the hall beyond. "Your power shall never be doubted." There was a coy little smile on his lips. "Where do you get these guys?" Kara snapped, glaring over at Alyssa, but the weapons specialist only smirked. "Do you naturally attract overly dramatic men to you? Or do you just enjoy having another smart-ass around to keep you company?" Kara knew she was being unfair—Eugene was just trying to make her feel better, inserting a little humor into their dire situation—but it still made her mad for some reason. "Come on, Chosen One, we don't have all day," Alyssa laughed, but her tone wasn't devoid of sympathy and she patted Kara's back reassuringly. "We await your holy miracles with baited breath." "Yeah, good luck, Chosen One!" "Do you think I could get a vial of tears or something after this is all done?" "Don't ask the Chosen One for miracles; it's very disrespectful!" Kara grumbled under her breath as the Security Unit erupted into laughter, but a secret little smile caught hold of her anyway. Trying her best to hide it, she snatched up her tool box and walked back into the hall. It was best not to think about what could happen. Better to just blaze the trail ahead and deal with whatever did happen. Alyssa had shown her several halls back how to disarm these sorts of traps and she quickly headed towards the nearest one, trying not to wonder if Arlington still thought her "indispensable." As usual, the cameras followed her every move. The closer she got, the more interested they became, narrowing in on her like a swarm of sentient crows, their dark lenses resembling beady black eyes. Kara was only three feet away from the first trap when suddenly, there was a frightening clicking sound, then a loud swoosh as a series of darts left their canisters. Kara could only stand there and wait—the blood rushing in her ears—as they flew toward her, finally embedding themselves in the wall behind her. Her heart was threatening to burst from her chest when it was over. Frantically, Kara patted herself down and when she found herself unharmed, slowly glanced over her shoulder. The darts had formed an outline of her body—like a chalk outline—which Kara found a little more than disconcerting. "Kara! Kara! Are you, okay?" Alyssa shouted over the earpiece. "Answer me, medic, are you okay?" "I'm fine...I'm fine," Kara breathed, grabbing her tool box and standing to her feet. "Just a bluff, like always. I—" It was weird...but suddenly, she could hear just the tiniest, softest sound, not unlike an oncoming tidal wave. No, like dozens of feet upon carpet, soft and yet, powerful. But by the time Kara realized what was really happening, it was too late. "No...Alyssa that wasn't a bluff! It was a distraction! We need to—" There was no time to finish her sentence. Alyssa had been expecting the dragons to show up eventually; Kara was actually surprised it had taken them so long. Before she had time to fully process what was going on, the first wave of assassins turned the corner up ahead, all dressed in sleek cloaks and heavy boots. Cursing, Kara unsheathed the pistol by her side, but by then they were already upon her. She winced, waiting for impact, but to her surprise, they bypassed her completely. Kara could actually feel a light breeze on her cheeks as they raced by, weapons drawn, barreling into Alyssa's men just as they rounded the bend. Kara gripped her pistol and turned to join them, but then she could see Lord Arlington enter into view. For a brief moment, she felt physically paralyzed. He was as serene and handsome as always, wearing a bullet proof body vest which accentuated his figure rather nicely, outlining his abs and powerfully built biceps. Oddly enough, he didn't even glance in her direction, but Kara soon knew why. Her lord was currently occupied with Alyssa's men, three of whom had abandoned the battle behind her in order to take on the head dragon himself. A small sliver of hope rose up in her chest as Arlington found himself surrounded, but as soon as she saw that slight smile on his face, Kara knew that it was all over. Aiming carefully, Arlington shot and killed his first opponent, then grabbed him as he fell in order to use the corpse as a shield. With inhuman speed, he then rushed upon the other two, breaking one's neck before pinning the other against the wall and bashing his skull in with the butt of his pistol. Kara could only stand there and let sheer terror envelope her. She didn't know why. Kara knew Lord Arlington. She knew he was one of the Four Lords, a war mastermind, and an assassin with the Crimson Dragons. Still, seeing him like this changed everything. In that moment, Kara became acutely aware of her mortality. It occurred to her for the first time—really, truly occurred to her—that the only reason she still breathed was because Arlington wished it. "Kara, what are you doing?" Alyssa screamed, but she sounded very far away, as if she were under water. "Kara, we have to go and regroup somewhere else, alright?" "He just killed three people," Kara breathed, as if in a trance. "In less than a minute, he killed three people." "Kara, if we don't get out of here now, we never will!" Alyssa tried, grabbing onto Kara's arm and suddenly, the trance lifted. Everything was loud again and Alyssa was screaming in her ear. "Come on, before we all end up as a blood spatter on the wall!" Alyssa was right, Kara realized, and clutching her gun, she spun back around. But there was something in her way, something massive and dark. No, not something, Kara realized. Someone. Swallowing hard, Kara looked up, only to see Lord Arlington grinning down on her, more intimidating than she'd ever seen him. "Going somewhere, pet?" "Leave her alone, Arlington," Alyssa growled, withdrawing a dagger from its sheath and stepping between the two of them. "You can deal with her later, after you're done with me." "Oh, don't worry, Terrance. I haven't forgotten you," Arlington hissed and his eyes became unusually dark. "If not for you, I might not even be in this mess to begin with." Turning toward one of his men—bruised and bloodied—Lord Arlington grabbed Kara by the shoulder and pushed her forward. "Tyrion, get her out of here before she does something else stupid and gets herself killed." "No," Kara whispered, her voice wavering at first, but it became more strained as she felt Tyrion's hands on her, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. "No, no...no!" Struggling ferociously, Kara desperately tried to claw her way back toward her teammates, cursing and scratching the entire way, but her captor didn't so much as flinch. "Arlington, don't!" Kara screamed, pleading with her eyes. "I'll do whatever you want—I'll be whatever you want—just please, don't hurt her!" As Tryion carried her away, Kara could feel an inhuman strength rise within her, cold and merciless. With a grunt of effort, she rammed her elbow into Tyrion's jaw and heard a disturbing crunch. His gripped wavered for only a moment, but that was all Kara needed to wrench free of his grasp and get to her gun. Instinct took over and without even meaning to, she'd shot him in the shoulder, so that he finally lost his grip and fell to his knees. Then, the nozzle of her pistol was between his eyes and there was a spatter of blood and time seemed to stand still. All around Kara there was carnage, dark blood upon the walls, bullets bursting in air, smoke circling the ceiling above. It smelt of iron and gunpowder and blood. It reminded Kara of Gardok. She felt just as helpless now as she had back then...utterly useless. Arlington and Alyssa were sparring, sparks flying between his sword and her dagger, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. Kara could feel the reality of the situation digging into her, twisting her gut like a rusty knife. She was only ever good for picking up the pieces after a fight, for sewing up the wounds, for bandaging the burns, but to actually prevent the damage? Looking down at Tyrion's corpse, Kara noticed a small pouch tied around his waist and spilling out of it, a dozen or so throwing stars. Immediately she recognized them, those little auto-timers her uncle had introduced her to years ago. Then, an idea occurred to her. It was a stupid idea, Kara knew that. She also knew that if she went through with it, Kara would most likely be going home with Arlington. But Alyssa was fairly certain their hacker was near the Negotiation Hall, where Arlington's best men would have been able to keep on eye on her during the peace settlement. If Kara could get Arlington away from her unit, Alyssa might still have a chance to take back the hotel and save some of the council. Scooping up the pouch, Kara grabbed an auto-timer and narrowed in on Lord Arlington, but then a rush of static exploded in her ears. "Come in, Kara. For god's sake, answer me, please...please, be okay." "Oh, god, Ben?" Kara replied, clutching her earpiece desperately, as if it might up and fly away if she didn't. "Ben, is it you?" "Kara, tell me where you are. I'm coming to get you." Ducking into an adjacent hall, Kara clutched her pistol to her chest and waited. Amid all the chaos, she should have been able to safely slip away, but you never knew. "I'm on the thirteenth floor," Kara whispered, glancing over her shoulder and breathing hard. "Arlington's men have completely surrounded us." Just then, there was a series of gunshots and then some desperate shouting, probably a last ditch effort by Alyssa's unit to regroup. "Where are you?" Kara asked, sounding panicked. "What happened down there?" "Arlington snuck a few moles onto Council Woman Silveine's personal security unit. When things went sour, he had the upper hand. Arlington's already got most of the council in his custody." "Shit, we were too careless! We should have—" This time, it was an explosion that interrupted Kara, rocking the whole floor and sending her flying into the ground. When she finally scrambled to her feet, the gunfire had noticeably intensified and Kara could feel herself shaking. "Ben, we're getting slaughtered up here!" "Can you slip away, until I make it up there?" "W...what?" "Can you slip away from the fight, until I can come and get you?" For some reason, Ben's offer didn't fill Kara with hope. Instead, it almost made her sad. "Ben, I...I'm really, really sorry...," Kara started, uncomfortable. "But I can't go with you." The words came out as if of their own volition, but as soon as Kara had spoken them, she knew they were true. "What do you mean, you can't come with me?" The silence on Ben's end must have lasted a few seconds at most, but they felt like an eternity. "Kara, can you slip away or not?" "I could...but Ben, I'm not going to." "Kara, now's not the time," Ben hissed, though he sounded more concerned than angry. "Whatever you're planning, whatever you're thinking..." "I'm thinking...maybe it's time I stop...stop cowering in the safety of your shadow while everyone else is risking their lives for the greater good," Kara blurted, not really sure where that had come from, but unable to stop. "Maybe I'm tired of running from Lord Arlington...looking over my shoulder every few feet...waiting for him to sneak up on me..." "Kara, listen to yourself...you're not thinking straight..." "Maybe I'd rather face my fears head on, so that when he finally does catch me, it's on my terms. Maybe his obsession with me isn't a curse; maybe it's a weapon. If I have the power to stop this...or even just slow it all down...and don't, what kind of person does that make me?" "This isn't a discussion anymore; You're staying put and waiting for me!" Ben screamed and Kara started. Ben had never once raised his voice to her like that, but then again, what had she expected? "Kara, you can't just decide to put yourself in danger like this," Ben continued, angry and hurt. "Not when Querren and I need you!" "This isn't working out for me, Ben." "What...I don't..." "Us, Ben. We're not working out." Kara trembled as she spoke and felt tears starting to form on her cheeks, but she knew in her heart this was the only way. If Arlington caught her—which he most likely would—she couldn't allow Ben to risk his own life running after her, not again. Kara couldn't take it anymore—all the people who'd died at her expense. If she were going to face Lord Arlington, it would have to be alone. "Maybe in a few years, when this is all over, we'll meet again," Kara told him, trying to sound hopeful. "Then, maybe we'll start over. Maybe you can ask me out and we'll slowly fall in love. But not like this, Ben. Not like this. You and me...it's over. You need to let me go." "You don't mean that..." Ben was whispering and though he tried to hide it, Kara thought she caught a sniffle, too. "Kara, please, don't do this..." "You see, that's the problem with us," Kara sighed, a sad smile on her lips. "I know you mean well, but you've always had me on a leash. Only when it's convenient do you give me the freedom to fight my own battles, but when the circumstances are more dire, you're ready and waiting to tug me back. You're trying to save me, but you're suffocating me." Taking out the earpiece, Kara stood to her feet and tried to ignore the horrible, sinking feeling in her chest, to no avail. "I need to do this and if I'm still on your leash, I can't." "Kara, we can talk about this!" Ben cried, loud enough that she could hear him, even with her earpiece clutched in the palm of her hand. "Kara, don't hang up on me!" "Goodbye, Ben," Kara whispered and when her earpiece had fallen to the ground, she stomped it out. "Goodbye." *** "No, the big one is mine," Alyssa hissed, waving away a gaggle of men that had come to her aid, though her deadly gaze was more than sufficient. "You'd make a fabulous rug, you know," she added, turning back toward Arlington. "If I could only find a worthy taxidermist." "Don't count your chickens before they've hatched," Arlington retorted, reaching behind him and withdrawing a long sword from it's sheath. Alyssa noticed that while he focused primarily on her, he'd occasionally look around the room, on the off chance someone planned to intervene. That'd be as good a time as any to make a move. "Now, you're sure you want to do this with a butter knife?" Arlington inquired, nodding toward Alyssa's dagger. "I wouldn't be opposed to a gun fight." "Pfft...if I'm going to kill you, it'll be with my own two hands." "Suit yourself." Alyssa waited until his eyes flickered away, then lunged with a ferocious scream. Arlington was quick on the draw though and managed to parry her attack, sending sparks into the air, like an array of golden fireworks. Cursing, Alyssa dodged his counter, using her small size to whip behind him and slip out of his line of view. "You're done, this time!" Alyssa cried, charging Arlington once more and grunting with effort as their blades met, the sound of metal on metal ringing in her ears. "Finished!" Arlington ignored her, effortlessly blocking her own attacks before swinging his weapon back around and aiming with unnerving precision. The next time their blades met, Alyssa's dagger was flung from her hand and she was forced to retreat backwards, frantically searching the ground for an abandoned weapon. It hurt her pride to do so, but she had no choice but to go for her pistol. Sneering, Arlington sheathed his sword and reached for his own gun. But then, Alyssa say Kara coming up behind him and time seemed to stand still. Alyssa's first reaction was to groan inwardly, silently cursing Kara for recklessly charging into battle, where she'd inevitably be a handicap. But then Alyssa noticed something peculiar in her eyes, something off. Kara was charging full force toward them, her expression unusually dark and her hair a tangled mess. It was hard not to become entranced by that fierce look, but in her hands the medic was clutching a crimson gem and once she'd figured out what it was, Alyssa's frustration became concern. The hell is she doing with an auto-timer? Alyssa wondered, getting nervous now, but still watching Arlington from the corner of her eye. Goddamn it, Kara, what are you thinking? A lot of possibilities crossed Alyssa's mind, but she didn't expect Kara to stop ten feet away from them, give Alyssa a sad smile, then toss the auto-timer straight up into the air, where it lodged itself into the ceiling...immediately above her. "Oh, fuck, Kara!" Alyssa screamed and immediately, Arlington spun around, his face etched with concern. "Kara, are you fucking insane, move!" "I've reset it for thirty seconds," Kara told her, but she was staring at Arlington as she spoke, her eyes unblinking. "I haven't got much to offer you, Alyssa, but please, don't waste this." Immediately, Arlington cursed under his breath and sheathing his sword, charged full force toward Kara. Alyssa saw him make contact—watched as his arms enveloped her and he brought her to the floor, rolling a short distance away and shielding her with his body—or at least that's what Alyssa thought she saw. The image was dissolved in an instant as the auto-timer went off and erupted into smoke and flame. It went off with a tremendous bang, deceptively loud for such a small explosive, flinging Alyssa through the air. She hit the ground hard and felt pain in her right arm, but forced herself to her feet and toward the smoldering pile of rubble up ahead. There was no sound save for the ringing in her ears and the entire ground seemed to be tilting under her, but Alyssa made it. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 28 "Kara! Karaaaaaaa!" Alyssa screamed, digging desperately through the debris. "Kara, are you alive?!? Karaaaa! Fucking hell, are you alive?!?" "Commander we have to go!" Eugene panted, grabbing Alyssa by the shoulders and shaking her furiously. "Commander, she gave us a chance and we can't waste it!" Alyssa hesitated, but only for a moment. "Thanks, Eugene," Alyssa replied, turning toward him with a peculiar expression on her face. She wasn't usually prone to those kinds of hysterics and the slip-up frightened her, but Alyssa forced herself to put on a sarcastic smile anyway, as if nothing had happened. "Always the voice of reason. You're right, though. We've got no time for romantics. We'll finish up here, then proceed as planned." "Is that an order, Commander?" "Damn straight it is!" "I much prefer it when you're bossy, Commander." With a sympathetic smile, Eugene drew his weapon and together with Alyssa, they barreled back into battle, where the few remaining dragons were still wreaking havoc. With a blood curdling scream, Alyssa shot down the first two opponents to approach her, then barreled into a third. She looked unusually young for a dragon—maybe eighteen and certainly no older than twenty-two—with fabulous red hair and a smirk to match that of Arlington's. They danced for a few seconds, knives drawn and clashing, but then someone whistled sharply over the din and the girl flipped backward and out of reach, redirecting her attention to a much older gentleman, temporarily disengaged from the battle. "What are you doing, Eliza?!?" he shouted over the gunfire and it suddenly occurred to Alyssa that she was dealing with a mere apprentice. "If you remember the briefing, Terrance has a sloppy fighting style, use that to your advantage; don't give her the benefit of attacking head on!" The red head nodded, sheathing her dagger and drawing a pistol in the process. "See if you can't take advantage of her short temper, too!" "I do not have a short temper!" Alyssa snarled, offended. She raised her own weapon, but just then, there was a horrible screeching sound, so high pitched it shattered the decorative mirrors along the walls, sending glass everywhere. A sharp pain erupted in Alyssa's ears and she almost lost her footing, but she sure as hell wasn't going to make herself easy prey for any dragon, apprentice or otherwise. When the lights flickered and then shut off completely, she charged onward into the darkness anyway, even as a series of rapid fire gunshots filled the air. But when the lights turned back on, Alyssa was—for the first time that day—at a complete loss at what to do. "Commander," Eugene breathed, his voice trembling. "What...what is this?" The red head who, a moment before, had been charging straight toward her was now on the floor, bleeding from a gaping wound in her head. In fact, Alyssa realized as she turned about, every dragon was lying in a pool of blood on the floor, dead. The cameras had been destroyed, too. Every last one, leaving Alyssa and her men standing in the center of a massacre. Cursing, Alyssa motioned for her men to gather in, back to back, where it'd be easier to mount a defense. Closing in on them from all sides were a brand of enemies Alyssa did not immediately recognize, all dressed in black, like the infamous tribe of ninja who roamed the Open Desert. Then, emerging from the darkness stepped a figure Alyssa did recognize—tall and regal and all in purple. "Lord Sillias?" Eugene gasped and Alyssa raised her hand for silence, shutting him up instantly. "Don't drop your guard. Dragon slayers or not, they're still Isleydorian," Alyssa hissed, eyeing the hall warily and watching with growing concern as the dark clad figures began to step in closer, arranging themselves in a circle and surrounding them completely. "Gentlemen, keep your guns at the ready." "I've always admired that about you," Lord Sillias began, stepping toward her with slow, deliberate steps. "You always expect the worst from people. It can't be easy: the sheer weight of pessimism...I know the feeling, truly I do. You and I are alike in that respect." "I wasn't aware that you knew of me," Alyssa replied, her voice clipped. The causality with which Sillias spoke concerned her, but she couldn't let it show. "Then again, I suppose being one of Arlington's enemies is its own claim to fame." "Oh, I know a lot about you. Much, much more than you'd like me to," Lord Sillias grinned, in her awkward, lopsided way. It was eerie even, but as long as she was talking, Alyssa had time to assess the situation, to figure something out. "I've been drawn to you for a while now, ever since your first splash at Bremmington. I've been watching you carefully; drawn into your world. Like I said, you and I are alike." "How so?" Alyssa inquired, trying to keep her talking. "We make the difficult decisions that men with a conscience can't bear to make," Lord Sillias replied, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, our friends call us callous. Cold, even. But they've got as all wrong. Sure, we may not follow in the footsteps of saints." Lord Sillias shrugged and shared a meaningful glance with Alyssa, pausing at the blood stains on her shirt. "But it is not because we despise purity. On the contrary, we discard our moral code so as to even the playing field and give goodness a fighting chance. We sin, so that others can remain sinless." "I've never been much for riddles," Alyssa told her. "I don't see how I could be more straightforward," Lord Sillias answered and for a moment, she seemed genuinely confused. "To accomplish great good, we must also commit great evil. You know this; I know this. But perhaps a demonstration is in order." Alyssa had been so lost in thought—trying to reconcile Lord Sillias' allegiance to Arlington with this new development—that she didn't notice just how close her men were until there was a bag over her head. Struggling against her assailant, she could only hear silence and then five clean, clear gun shots, just enough to finish off the rest of her men. She screeched bloody murder and could feel in her heart a great, heavy pang as Eugene's body hit the floor beside her with a soft thud. But it was no use. Alyssa could smell chloroform soaking in through the cloth and her clawing became more frantic, but even she knew the struggle was only for show. "I hope this doesn't ruin our partnership." Alyssa could still hear Sillias through the cloth, but she sounded out of focus and drawn out, as if speaking from under water. "But like I said, you—you of all people—should understand." *** Kara braced herself as Arlington barreled into her, bringing them both tumbling to the ground. His enormous body enveloped hers and within the darkness of his embrace she could smell his expensive cologne, mingled with the sweat of battle and the smoke in the air. For a moment, she could almost believe she were back in the ballroom, dancing beside him, when an explosion shook the hall. Arlington tried to roll out of the way, but the sheer force of it threw them both across the hall, where they hit the ground hard. Kara could feel the air being knocked out of her lungs and gasped piteously for breath, but Arlington was back on his feet in an instant and lifting her over his shoulder. Debris rained down all around them, but Arlington expertly navigated the dangers. It made Kara furious. How dare he protect me, Kara thought with a snarl. After all he's done. It wasn't fair; he shouldn't get to play the hero and villain all at once, but he was. Perhaps her plan wouldn't have worked otherwise, but that didn't make Arlington's behavior any more justifiable. With a growl, Kara wrenched herself free of Arlington's grasp and tumbled to the floor, well aware that he'd be after her in a moment's notice. Quickly, she stepped out of his reach, gun drawn and freshly loaded, face set, ready for the final battle. "It's just you and me now," Kara told him, the words coming of their own volition. "No one to come to my rescue; no one to get in my way." "Beg." "Excuse me?" Kara chuckled, an unconcealed smirk on her face. The little laugh surprised both of them, but Kara decided to go with it. Anything that threw Arlington off was a positive. "You heard me, pet. Get on your knees, crawl over to me, and beg." "I've got a gun on you," Kara hissed, though his confidence was as nerve wracking as ever. "I have no intention of begging your forgiveness. Not now. Not ever again." "Last chance, pet. After this, I'm not going to be accepting apologies." "You know what?" Kara began, a little more casually than the situation warranted. "You've got a lot of personality flaws: you're obnoxious, self-centered, narcissistic, and spend way too much money on your clothes. But really, the worst of it all is that you're extremely annoying." That made Arlington smirk and Kara didn't miss it, either. "See?" Kara groaned, gesturing toward him. "Even you know how insufferable you are." "That's not a very convincing apology." "Don't be dense. It doesn't suit you," Kara replied, taking aim. "I don't plan on apologizing." "You're seriously going to try and kill me?" Kara decided to let her gun do the talking for her. Keeping in mind proper form and all the other little tricks Ben had taught her, Kara raised her weapon, put her finger against the trigger, and pulled. It was a good thing she'd just seen Arlington murder three men. Watched him attack Alyssa. Because otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to go through with it and she knew it. But Kara was angry—she could feel rage boiling her blood, souring her usually kind disposition—and she had every intention of using that rage. Then Arlington carefully stepped to the left, effectively dodging the bullet, and a whole new kind of emotion consumed her. "You can dodge bullets." It wasn't a question, more a statement of fact. "You're a beginner," Arlington told her, almost patronizingly, but with a peculiar gentleness, as if he didn't want to damage her ego. "Your posture, your intense focus, your careful aim all give you away. Unless you decide to use rapid fire, you're going to miss. I know exactly where your shot will end up, before you even fire." "Oh, you know me, Arlington. Probably even better than I know myself," Kara replied, glancing at the hole in the wall behind his head. "I'm an unabashed optimist, but I should have known it wouldn't be that easy." With a sudden twirl of her heel, Kara leapt toward Arlington and fired three shots in rapid succession, trying to create a broad spray of deadly metal. Arlington quickly somersaulted onto the ground, letting the bullets fly over him and bury themselves in plaster. But this time, he didn't pause. With his characteristic smirk, he got back to his feet and charged. Whatever calm Kara had been holding onto, it started to waver at the sight of Arlington coming at her full force. Cursing, she shot in his general direction, watching with rising panic as he somehow managed to evade the spray. He was almost upon her when Kara raised her weapon one last time, pressing it against Arlington's temple as he barreled into her, wrapping his arms around her. I've got to do this, Kara thought, her finger pressing against the trigger. I don't have a choice. Wincing, Kara pulled the trigger and felt a jolt run through her arm. She expected to feel warm blood on her face then. The smell of gun power. A low sigh. But with her eyes tight shut, Kara suddenly felt warm lips against her ear, turned up in a short of triumphant grin. "That's only got ten shots," Arlington whispered. "I...I swear, I was counting," Kara began, flustered, but it was lie; she'd been far too panicked to bother. "I...I...I know that I had one left..." "Don't beat yourself up about it," Arlington grinned and he gripped both her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her and trapping her against the wall. "You and I have always known how this story ends, with you curled up at my feet before the fireplace." "No, I—" "Sure, there were frustrating moments of doubt, when I was so close I could almost taste you and you could feel my presence at you back," Arlington continued, irritably nonchalant about the whole thing, and he began to stroke Kara's cheek, so gently it made her shiver. "But in the back of our minds, we always knew that your luck would run out eventually and this little game of cat and mouse would have to come to an end." "Is that so?" Kara choked, feeling herself temporarily waver under his penetrating gaze. But the longer she stared into his deep, blue eyes, the more comfortable she became with that look and the more confident she grew. "Because I don't think this story will end with me curled up by your feet. I think this story ends with you wrapped around my little finger." "Oh, haven't you noticed? You already have me wrapped around your little finger," Arlington smiled and when Kara looked up at him, bewildered, he laughed. "What, this isn't how you imagined it?" "Don't underestimate me, Arlington," Kara growled, angry at herself for being caught off guard. "You know better than that." "Oh, indeed, I do," Lord Arlington replied darkly. Quickly, Kara tried to bolt away from him, but he was too strong and her position was too compromising. Standing on tiptoe, unable to move, she had no choice but to face him. "You've surprised me in more ways than I could have ever anticipated," Arlington whispered and to her surprise, he seemed pleased. "I've been publicly humiliated by you, forced to chase you around the continent, teased and tormented by you at a distance. At one time, yes, I did underestimate you. But now? Well, you've lost the privilege of being underestimated." "Is that supposed to scare me?" Kara hissed, though she could feel her heart beat racing in her chest and from the knowing look on Arlington's face, she suspected that he could feel it, too. "Alright, even if you do frighten me, do you really expect me to beg your forgiveness?" "You already had that chance and you decided not to take it," Arlington cooed and he released Kara's wrists, only to grab her by the throat and pin her more forcefully against the wall. His grip wasn't strong enough to choke her—it even had a gentleness about it, as if Arlington were holding a small bird—but Kara panicked anyway and grabbed his arms, trying to pull him off. "I'm going to make you scream in agony and desire," Lord Arlington whispered, brushing his lips against her ear and kissing her cheek softly. "I will make you crave that which only I can give. I will plunge your entire being—mind, body, and soul—into the darkness, only to save you at the last second and cradle your exhausted body in my arms. And at the end of it all, you won't have any idea where the pain ends and the pleasure begins." "Do you worst!" Kara screamed and she spat in his face, watching with immense satisfaction as he wiped the drool away, a little surprised maybe, but no worse for wear. "Go ahead, I can take it!" "My worst?" Arlington asked, tsking as if she were a belligerent child. "Pet, I always aim to do my best." Looking up at Lord Arlington, Kara knew that he meant every word. There was no mercy in his eyes, no pity, and no remorse. Kara knew that today, she'd be leaving with Lord Arlington and once he had her alone, the games would begin. The mere thought made her nauseous, but there was also a strange sense of relief. She felt as if there had been an elusive monster hiding under her bed for weeks, never quite able to catch her, and now that it had, the awful anticipation was finally at an end. The monster had surfaced and as long as she could look it in the face, it no longer had the terrifying, mysterious unknown to work with. "Bring it on. I'm ready this time," Kara whispered, giving Arlington her most defiant smirk. "Are you?" "Almost." In one swift move, Arlington released Kara, but only so that he could throw her to the ground. There wasn't time to react before Kara felt his knee pressing into the small of her back, holding her steady and immobile. When she heard the gentle swish of a dagger being unsheathed, she panicked, but Arlington stroked her shoulder comfortingly. "Shh, pet, I'm not going to hurt you," Arlington told Kara and she could feel his fingers in her hair, bushing out the tangles and making little goosebumps erupt along her scalp. "I'm just going to take care of a little business, man-to-man." Kara wasn't sure what he meant until he had grasped her hair clip and began to drag it down toward the end of her pony tail. Screaming bloody murder, she struggled in his grasp, but Arlington adjusted himself so that he was straddling her, then grasped her flailing arms by the wrist. This still left one hand free and though she cried out in protest, Kara could feel an ominous tension and then release as the hair clip, along with a few brown locks, was cut away. "Arlington, please, don't do this," Kara hissed, trying to sound as insistent as possible, so that, just maybe, Arlington would see reason. "You don't even need to do this. I already told you, it's just you and me now. Ben is out of the picture." "Oh, and I'm sure he sees it that way, too?" Lord Arlington teased, but Kara knew he was right. Ben had no intention of letting her go, at least not without a fight. "And how did your knight in shinning armor take to being let go?" "That's no business of yours!" "No business of mine?" Arlington snapped and Kara knew she'd hit a nerve. "Is it not my business when one of my girls runs off with another man?" "I've had many men before you, my lord. And when this is all over, I'll have many more." "Do you remember that evening—it seems so long ago—when you called for your little friend out in the countryside?" Lord Arlington asked, his voice calmer now, more methodical. "Do you remember what I told you that night?" Kara did, of course. The words had haunted her dreams, slipped into her thoughts when she'd least expected it. You are mine, Arlington had told her. All those you contact will be drawn toward me just as readily as they are drawn toward you. We are inseparable entities, you and I. "This...this is different," Kara tried, though she didn't really believe it herself. "It's just you and me now, Arlington." "I wish it were, pet," Arlington told her and for once, he sounded sympathetic. "But you've pulled the general into this mess and now, like it or not, I'm going to have to deal with him." With that, Lord Arlington stood to his feet and pulled Kara up with him. Trying to hold back the tears, she watched as he tossed her hair clip down the hall, signaling the end to her meager taste of freedom. But when Arlington turned back toward her, a pair of cuffs dangling from his fingers, she put on her bravest face. "Hands behind your back, pet," Lord Arlington ordered. "I don't think you'd like being forced into them." "Those won't be necessary," Kara replied, being sure to keep her voice even. "I'm not going to fight you." "Really?" "Yes, really," Kara breathed, clenching her fists defiantly by her sides. "Because I'm not a prisoner this time." That seemed to catch Lord Arlington off guard and for a moment, he looked intrigued. "This time, I'm choosing to go with you, so that I can make a difference. I'm not going to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into a crate, like I did back at the auction hall. I'm going to go with dignity. I'm going because I know that I'm your only weakness and if anyone can stop you, it's me." "Ah, I see, you mean to dissect me...like one of your patients, I suppose," Lord Arlington mused and an unfamiliar expression suddenly flickered across his features. At first, Kara couldn't quite place it, but after staring at him long enough, she realized what had changed. Normally so cold, Arlington's eyes had melted and underneath, she could see a glimpse of something human. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, pet," Lord Arlington told her and miraculously, there was sincerity in his tone. "But you can't save me." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 28 "That sounds like a challenge," Kara blurted, before she could stop herself, but now that she'd said that much, there was no reason to hold back. "Even demons can be redeemed." "You haven't met many demons, I take it." "Trust me, my lord, one is plenty." There was a long, awkward pause as Arlington looked Kara over, a peculiar expression on his face. She was dying to know what he was thinking—what sorts of considerations were running through his head—but soon the mask returned and as usual, he became unreadable, like a book written in some foreign tongue, both dark and mysterious. A slow smile gradually returned to his face and Kara realized that whatever the revelation, it pleased her lord immensely. "I wasn't kidding, the night of the reception," Kara continued, just to make her point one hundred percent clear. "I'm going to find that soft vulnerable spot. One of us will be broken at the end of all this, but I can guarantee it won't be me." "Well then, after you," Lord Arlington told her and he bowed low, gesturing for Kara to go ahead of him. "Your chariot awaits, Oh Chosen One." Kara ignored the obnoxious smirk on his face and stepped carefully down the hall, glancing for a moment in a passing mirror. There, she saw a new woman staring back at her—dress torn and dirty, skin scraped and bloody, eyes dark and unwavering. It was exactly the kind of woman she wanted to be and suddenly, Arlington's footsteps—which had been mirroring her own—didn't seem so terrifying. Once they reached the elevator, Arlington merely nodded toward one of the cameras and the doors parted. After the elevator ascended and finally opened up, Kara found herself on the roof. The wind was so powerful, it threatened to knock her down onto the concrete, but she braced herself against the onslaught and stepped gracefully forward. Sure enough, there was a helicopter waiting for them, with Isleydor's symbol—a blue and green star—emblazoned on the side. It's blades spun in the air, hovering just inches above the roof, preparing to take off. It all seemed so dream like. For a brief second, Kara stopped, just to breath in the fresh air one last time, and felt Arlington's hand on the nape of her neck, pushing her forward. Stepping into the dark interior of the helicopter, Kara sat down on the leather seat and slid over as far as she was able, refusing to look at Lord Arlington as he came in after her. Outside the window, she could see a few dozen planes, some of them from Isleydor and others from Nardia. They wove in between one another, firing shots and filling the air with fire. The sight was, unfortunately, familiar to Kara, from the early days of the war in Callihistra. "Are we going to get a move on already?" Kara asked the pilot, almost casually, and when he looked back at her, confused, she lifted an eyebrow condescendingly. "Before we get shot out of the sky?" "You heard the lady," Arlington ordered, when the pilot looked toward him. "Let's go." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 29 Alyssa awoke feeling groggy and confused. Something was off, but she couldn't quite place it. Something had happened, but she couldn't remember what, only that there was reason to panic. Sitting up in bed, she tried to make out the details of the room, but there was nothing to see but dark shapes with blurry edges. A sharp, stabbing pain suddenly assaulted her right temple and cursing, Alyssa laid back on the bed, clutching her skull. It was hard to think. To reason. But out of the murk, Alyssa was able to grasp onto a single thought: she'd been drugged. Very few things could unnerve her, but this sort of haze was one of them. Even without restraints on her limbs, Alyssa knew she was too incapacitated to try anything. It took hours of staring up at the ceiling and feeling helpless before her senses began to return to her. Then the medley of shapes gave way to a locked wooden door beyond the foot of her bed, some kind of medical equipment table, a picture of a raven on the wall, and an IV pole. As soon as she could make out the tubing, Alyssa pulled the IV from her arm and pushed herself from the bed, determined to make it out into the hall—wherever that might lead—even if she had to crawl there. Details didn't matter right now; she could try and remember them later. But if someone wanted her to stay put, then Alyssa knew it was best to get out. "Good morning, sunshine." Startled, Alyssa turned on her heel, only to find Azalia Richards beside the bed. Has she been here the whole time? Alyssa thought, bristling like a cat. Watching me? Cursing, she quickly scanned the room, looking for a weapon or better yet, a way out. Alyssa was in no position to fight and she knew it. But Azalia stayed put, seemingly uninterested and modeling her usual gaudy attire: a knee length, silk green dress with a lily blossoming across her chest and jade heels to match. In her hands, she clutched the scythe that had made her famous, tapping it sinisterly against the ceiling: tap...tap...tap... "You know, I met up with Querren while you were busy upstairs, playing with Arlington's pet," Azalia began and when Alyssa's face twisted with rage, she smiled all the more sweetly, fully intending to rile her up. But somehow, knowing this didn't make Alyssa anymore sensible. "His reputation is no accident; he's got fire in his blood." "What did you do?" Alyssa hissed. The dire nature of her circumstances had suddenly become unimportant. All that mattered was the smirk on Azalia's face. "What happened to Querren?" "I sliced him to ribbons," Azalia laughed and with a ferocious scream, Alyssa charged, only to be swatted to the ground like an annoying insect. "Oh, and I loved it. The smell of blood in the air, the winches of pain that eventually gave way to screams, the fire and brimstone and smoke!" Struggling to her feet with another cry of fury, Alyssa flung herself at Azalia, but the assassin merely stepped out of the way, bringing her scythe down in the process so that Alyssa tripped over it and fell to the floor once more. "It was glorious; red everywhere." "Did you kill him?" Alyssa snarled, struggling to get up and glaring vehemently over her shoulder. "Did you kill him?" For just a moment, Azalia's eyes flickered away, as if she were embarrassed. It was only for a moment, but Alyssa caught it and it gave her hope. "I could have," Azalia spat defensively, staring down at Alyssa as if daring her to question the facts. "Don't doubt for a second that I couldn't have finished him off." Alyssa opened her mouth to prod further, but suddenly there was a heavy metal clicking sound and the door ahead swung open. In the doorway was a black clad woman with a raven tattooed on her cheek. That's all it took for Alyssa's memories to return, foggy at first, then crystal clear and emotionally charged. She could see the lights flickering, the army of ninja, her men falling to the ground, the smell of chloroform, then a lopsided grin... "Sillias!" Alyssa screamed, to no one in particular. "Sillias!" "It's all coming back to her now," Azalia shrugged, turning toward the woman in the doorway. "Bring her here!" Alyssa demanded, clawing her way to her feet. "I need to speak to that bitch!" "Language, Terrance," Azalia chastised, but then she turned back to the doorway. "Better do as she says. Terrence is known for her short temper." "Fuck all of you!" But beneath her caustic exterior, Alyssa was terrified. This is bad, she thought, grabbing onto the side of the bed and slowly lowering herself into a sitting position. Dragons, ravens, drugs...and I can barely walk, let alone fight my way out. But when another woman—this one in green scrubs—stepped into the room pushing a wheelchair, Alyssa refused. She wasn't too keen on advertising her weaknesses anymore than necessary "I'll walk," Alyssa sneered and wincing, she stood back to her feet and hobbled toward the doorway. Not exactly the best way to make an entrance, but it would have to do. "Lead the way." Azalia made some obscene comment about looking like a wounded bird, but Alyssa ignored her and pressing into the wall, forced her feet to keep moving. It didn't hurt to walk, but it was awkward. Her legs didn't quite feel like her own. There was a slight, barely discernible delay between when she commanded her feet to move and when they actually did, but it was definitely there. It couldn't be a side effect of the chloroform and whatever injuries Alyssa had, they didn't warrant this strength of pain killer. Whatever they'd pumped into her, it was supposed to incapacitate her. That was useful information. While Azalia kept blabbering on about blood and shoes, Alyssa searched about for even more useful information. First off, no windows. Which meant they were most likely underground. Second off, maze-like hallways with white painted walls and no distinct landmarks, meant to confuse. Alyssa may not have woken up in a prison cell, but there was no doubt about it: this was a prison. And when an unmarked door was opened up and she stepped inside, Alyssa knew she was stepping into the warden's office: a large oak desk, paintings upon the walls, bookshelves decorated with leather volumes, and straight ahead, Lord Sillias in her purple suit and yellow tie. "Don't you own any other outfits?" Alyssa sneered, hoping to direct attention away from her own hobbling form. Plopping into an upholstered chair, she rested her hands in her lap and out of view, then began to wiggle her fingers. Practicing. Hoping that eventually, the gap between her thoughts and actions might disappear. "Oh, no, no, no...I like this color best," Lord Sillias replied, oblivious. "Would you like a cup of tea?" "Why is there a dragon here?" Alyssa pressed, watching with renewed intensity as Lord Sillias sat down on the corner of her desk, a porcelain cup in her hands and another enormous lizard purring on her shoulder. "Particularly this one?" "Common enemies make common friends." "I told you, I have very little patience for riddles," Alyssa hissed, clenching the cloth of her baggy, hospital gown—how had she just noticed that?—and feeling more helpless than ever. "You said you wanted a...partnership? Well, I don't agree to contracts that aren't spelled out in plain terms." "You're right, of course," Sillias began and suddenly her tone was very serious. It was so uncharacteristic of her lordship that Alyssa briefly looked around the room, in case someone else was hiding in the shadows. The eerie, dream-like demeanor Sillias normally employed was gone. "Do you know how I came to power, Terrance?" "A fluke," Alyssa nearly whispered, still a little shocked. "That's right. A fluke," Lord Sillias chuckled, sipping her tea daintily and stepping toward a painting on the far wall: a brilliant raven atop a fountain, its feathers purpling in the moonlight and its eyes a sickly yellow color. "There were three of us on the ballot the year I got elected. The country was almost perfectly split between my two opponents and because of that, I somehow ended up with the majority vote. An accident. A tragedy. A joke. A miracle...everyone has an opinion of what I am, but no one really thinks I belong in the Statehouse. They're most certainly right; I don't." "The abolitionist movement isn't too popular in Isleydor," Alyssa agreed. "No, it isn't," Sillias sighed and then her face turned red, angry, and blotched. She was clutching the porcelain cup so tightly in her hands, Alyssa was afraid it would break and draw blood. "The problem with a democracy is that it's only as good as its people. I never had a chance. Oh, yes. I tried to do things the right way, the noble way." Sillias laughed. "I played by their rules, testified in their hearings, relied on their votes. I drafted bills, and went to rallies, and all that other political nonsense, trying to make some headway for the abolitionist movement, trying to free a people from its corrupt foothold. But like I said, a democracy is only as good as its people and the people of Isleydor...inhuman scum," Lord Sillias spat, finally shattering the cup in her hands and turning back toward Alyssa. "But I'm no longer proud; if I must sink to their level, then so be it." "So, what do you propose?" Alyssa asked, growing tense. Rambling was never a good sign in an enemy. Alyssa much preferred rational villains with more predictable trajectories. "To change Isleydor?" "Oh, there's nothing left to salvage in Isleydor," Lord Sillias shrugged, accepting a fresh cup of tea from one of her attendants and blowing on it gently, letting her cuts bleed freely onto the sparkling, white surface. "You can't save a people so thoroughly set in their violent ways." "And so I ask, again, what do you propose?" "Burn it," Sillias whispered and there was something disturbing in her eyes. "Burn it to the ground and then, let something new...something pure...rise from the ashes." Alyssa was growing impatient. "I'm sure you can light a match without me. What was the point..." Of Killing my men? Alyssa thought, feeling a pang of guilt. Of shooting Eugene? But she had enough tact not to say it. "...of bringing me here," Alyssa finished lamely, her tapping more insistent. "You're familiar with the parallel project?" That gave Alyssa pause and cautiously she replied, "I am." "You know, then, that Greenwood is the only one out there with intel on it?" "That's why you want me." Alyssa didn't need to ask, the answer was written all over Lord Sillias' face. "You have Greenwood." "Well, not yet," Sillias admitted. "But we will." "You're not the only one after Greenwood, you know," Alyssa whispered. Trying to sound neutral. Trying not to break whatever imaginary bond Lord Sillias shared with her. "Isleydor wants to tie up a loose end and Nardia's hungry for the same information you want." Then Alyssa paused, genuinely confused. "Wait, you're one of the Four Lords of Isleydor...how do you not know of the project?" "Not all lords are made equal," Lord Sillias told her plainly. "I'm am abolitionist. Did you really think the other three lords—Arlington, Algeris, Denton—would let me into their club?" Alyssa frowned and it occurred to her for the first time that if the senior lords didn't want to include Sillias in Isleydor's politics, they would have found away to avoid it. "It took me over a decade of giving up and following their lead to even get so much as my own War Time Operations Board, but information on the parallel project is still out of my reach. All but the basics, anyway. And what I really need is the means to access it." "The parallel project...it's a weapon," Alyssa breathed, finally making sense of it all. "You're going to bomb your own country." "I didn't say it was a bomb," Sillias snapped, defensive. "I still want the infrastructure of Isleydor intact at the end of all this. But it is a weapon, the likes of which you've never seen." An eerie, brilliant glow took over Lord Sillias features and for a moment, Alyssa became enraptured by her gaze. "There will be nothing left of the violent race of this country when I am finished with it. They will sing about them in songs. Whisper in children's ears that if they don't behave, men from the lost city of Isleydor will get them." She doesn't mean to destroy Isleydor, Alyssa realized, awe-struck. She means to obliterate it. "Join me?" Sillias asked and snapping out of it, Alyssa decided to play along. "Yes, but..." "But?" "How do I know I can trust you?" Sillias looked back around at Alyssa, surprised, but pleasantly so, glad to be taken seriously. To be questioned, poked, prodded. Lord Sillias couldn't be used to this kind of power, the kind that makes someone worthy of suspicion. "You were given your own War Time Operations Board," Alyssa explained and by the smile spreading across Lord Sillias' lips, she could tell the woman was excited by this first observation and very much wanting to answer. "You were charged with taking over Scorce and Terall, while Arlington was given Callihistra and Nardia. Explain that?" "Unfortunate, really," Sillias replied, a little giddy. "It's true; I planned the take-over of both and we've even begun to invade Terall. But only to spread Isleydor's armies thin. With the occupation of Callihistra, the war Nardia is about to declare on Isleydor, and Terall's take-over, there won't be enough forces to handle the hell I am about to unleash. Not in time to prevent it or even pick up the pieces." "Is that why you participated in Arlington's blood bath during negotiations? To help start a war between Isleydor and Nardia?" "In part," Lord Sillias nodded, eager to brag. "But also to make some allies." "Like me and...her..." Alyssa sneered, not quite tactiful enough to hide the fury in her eyes as she glanced toward Azalia. "Oh...oh!" Sillias laughed, stepping over to Alyssa and poking her right on the nose, which she really didn't like. "Don't worry, Querren is fine. Okay, maybe not fine. But alive. I needed to make sure he got left behind and Karrington, too. My men made sure to rescue them both. No worries." "You think they'll ally with you?" "Not at first, oh no!" Lord Sillias laughed, as if Alyssa were being ridiculous on purpose, though she didn't really see what was so funny. "Of course they wouldn't!" But when Alyssa didn't start laughing, too—not even a chuckle—Lord Sillias realized she needed to explain. "Lord Arlington has most of the council in custody now, which will leave the military in charge, of which Karrington is a member and Querren, a trusted adviser. I don't even have to ask them to start a war with Isleydor for me, they'll do it anyway, once they've realized the Chrystein girl is back in Arlington's clutches. Then, they'll be all too happy to let me help." "What!?!" "Brilliant, isn't it?" Lord Sillias laughed again, seemingly unable to stop. "I was nervous for a moment that the Chrystein girl might get away—that I'd have to intervene, lure her to Arlington somehow—but it's almost as if she can read my mind!" Alyssa stiffened, uncomfortable. Lord Sillias was not a stable woman. But she did have a point and more importantly, a plan. If Alyssa wanted to be rational, she'd have to admit that Isleydor was getting far too strong for its own good and needed to be stopped. Even if Sillias' methods were unusual—callous and cold, as she'd said so herself—they were working. She had effectively spread Isleydor's armies thin and once she had access to the parallel project, a means of bringing down the most violent nation in the hemisphere. Perhaps a partnership wouldn't be such a bad idea. "That's all well and good, but how will you rise to power after the attack?" Alyssa asked, sounding a bit more hopeful now, though something was still itching at the back of her brain. "Won't Arlington and the others just bring their armies back in and resume their rule?" "Oh, they'll all be dead in a week. Two weeks, at most," Sillias said, waving the question away as if it were inconsequential, but Alyssa could feel her jaw drop. "Algeris and Denton are old, they'll die of natural causes, of course." Although the sly wink from Sillias made Alyssa think otherwise. "As for Lord Arlington, he's got plenty of enemies now—three nations, all after his head. It'll be easy to explain his death away as an assassination." "It won't be easy to kill Arlington," Alyssa warned. "You'll not be the first to try." "Maybe not, but at the moment, he's very much distracted," Sillias grinned. "Who thought Lord Arlington's downfall would be a woman? It's such cliché, I'm almost disappointed." Thumbing through a little clipboard of papers, Sillias put on a pair of glasses and squinted at the print. "I've got it all on a schedule and once Arlington's gone, we can even bring Kara in on this plan...use her symbolic presence to fuel a take-over." And that was it, the thing itching at the back of Alyssa's brain. "She'll never agree," Alyssa blurted. "Kara, I mean...you're proposing an attack on civilians. The medic won't go for it." "These civilians aren't innocent," Lord Sillias snarled, slamming her clipboard back down and stepping toward Alyssa dangerously. "The civilians are the problem." Alyssa remembered saying something similar to Kara once, when they'd broken out of Bremmington. It's either us or them! Alyssa had screamed, when Kara tried to forcibly take the wheel, all because she was weaving in and out of traffic, using civilian vehicles as obstacles for their enemies. They aren't innocent anyway...They're citizens of Isleydor and therefore, taxpayers. Every cuff you've ever worn, every whip you've been beaten with, every bullet fired in your direction has been paid for by these guys. They aren't innocent. They're enablers. Besides, you do know that Lord Arlington was democratically elected, don't you? "Doesn't matter," Alyssa replied, shaking her head. "Kara doesn't take sides." "Oh well," Lord Sillias shrugged, the anger gone just as soon as it had come. "She'll be almost as good dead as alive anyway; a martyr makes for good propaganda." "No, wait..." That didn't sit well with Alyssa. "I can make sure she doesn't get in the way..." And what, help Lord Sillias burn a nation? Alyssa wondered, suddenly feeling sick. Is this who I am now...willing to do anything, if it means destroying the enemy? "Awww, Terrance, have you gone soft?" Azalia asked in a mocking, sing-songy way. Leaning against the back of Alyssa's chair, she draped the blade of her scythe over Alyssa's neck, so that she had to lean back to avoid being cut. "Don't tell me the medic's gotten to you?" But maybe Kara had, with all that stupid talk about being noble, and doing the right thing, and remaining loyal to your conscience, even if it ended up being all for nothing and everyone died and the whole world was ruined. Stupid fucking medic, Alyssa growled internally. God fucking dammit. "Are you going to cry?" Azalia teased and Alyssa grit her teeth, furious that she didn't have the strength to get up and throw a punch. "Is your heart hurting?" "I have not gone soft!" Alyssa screamed. "And all be dammed if I'm going to let you kill innocent people!" "I'm disappointed," Lord Sillias frowned and she seemed genuinely upset, but not as upset as Alyssa who in that moment, realized she'd made a grave mistake. "But I can use you against Greenwood, whether or not you cooperate. If it worked for Arlington, it'll work for me." Then nodding toward Azalia, Lord Sillias took a seat at her desk and continued flipping through her clipboard, as if no one else were there. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 29 "You...you cunt!" Alyssa screamed and with a wicked laugh, Azalia tossed her over her shoulder, then into the wheelchair. "You fucking cunt!" "Original, Terrance. Very original." "What are you getting out of this?" Alyssa snarled as Azalia wheeled her out of the room and back down the hallway, a maze of doorways and steps and railings on either side. Whatever Sillias had to offer, it had to be worth more than Querren. "What's she giving you?" "I get to hunt the king of beasts!" Azalia laughed darkly and her voice echoed on and on through the halls, more a prophecy than a promise. ****** Kara woke up under soft, voluptuous covers. They felt cool against her skin and she yawned, stretching her legs beneath the blankets and extending out through her toes. It was nice up until she remember that this wasn't the hotel. Then her eyes shot open and Kara tumbled out of bed, tangled in a mess of bed sheets. Scrambling to her feet, she glanced around the room in a panic, prepared for the worst. Kara wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it wasn't this. She was, for all intents and purposes, inside a perfectly ordinary room. There was even a window beside her bed draped in blue curtains and outside, Kara could see the sun setting in the distance, turning the world a warm orange-pink. The bookshelves were filled, the bed was nicely made (at least, before she'd ruined it), and there were even a couple of chairs around a little dining table. Kara ignored the food laid out on it and immediately headed toward the nearest door. Now was not the time to get comfortable. There were two doors in total. One of the two was locked tight, but the other opened up onto a half bath with a toilet and sink. The cabinets were all but empty, minus a few basic hygiene products, like deodorant and toothpaste. No razors though, which was a good move on Arlington's part. There was also a floor to ceiling mirror, which Kara went to immediately. She found herself dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, rather than the usual "this-is-totally-just-lingerie" clothing she'd been accustomed to on her last visit to Arlington's manor. But it had been too optimistic to expect that everything would turn out so well. Her hair was a little shorter than it had been; she had almost forgotten about that. Then there was a collar wrapped around Kara's neck, made of a cool, metallic black substance that held onto her neck like a vice. It didn't matter that she knew it wouldn't come off; she had to try anyway, but as expected, the thing wouldn't budge. After examining it more closely, she wasn't even able to find the lock holding it in place. It had no seams, no clasps, no ties...almost as if she'd been born with the damn thing on or it'd been melted onto her skin. Other than that, it was pretty unremarkable, except for a blinking red light. Kara stepped back out into the main room and eyed the four walls warily. It was one thing—in the heat of the moment, with adrenaline rushing through her veins—to declare war on Lord Arlington, but another thing entirely to find herself in his manor. Dark thoughts started to creep back into her head and Kara knew that if she didn't keep herself busy, it'd be impossible to hold them at bay. She couldn't afford to fall into despair. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the food left out for her and sneered. It was hard not to fall back into her usual stubborn ways and refuse to touch anything his lordship offered. But it wouldn't do her any good to starve and what's more, eating would keep her occupied. Grumbling, Kara sat down and began to eat. Even cold, the food was amazing, which seemed to make her even more bitter for some reason. As she ate, Kara decided to formulate a plan of attack. Whatever direction she chose, it had to be a novel one. Kara knew from experience that she couldn't feign submission; Arlington had seen right through her when she'd tried. Resisting him at every turn wouldn't do much for her either; Arlington was insufferably patient and the last time she'd tried a full on assault at his ego, she'd ended up curled up by his feet. No, Kara needed a way to draw the soft spot out, a way to make Arlington drop his guard and reveal his vulnerable underbelly. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd accomplish that, but at he very least, she needed to remain cool, calm, and collected. The bedroom door creaked open and Kara flung herself from her chair, clutching a plastic butter knife in her hand and raising it above her head. So much for cool, calm, and collected, she thought, but the person stepping into the room wasn't Lord Arlington. Wait, I've...I've seen that girl before. The woman was small and unassuming with beautiful pale skin and dark, black hair. Her name was on the tip of Kara's tongue, but she couldn't quite place it. "Anna?" Kara asked, between clenched teeth. She could at least place the girl's face now; this was the same woman who had assaulted her once before, on Lord Arlington's orders. "Annabelle? Amy? Allie...?" "Alice," the pale girl replied, shutting the door behind her and looking a little terrified. "I'm Alice." There was a long, lengthy pause while Kara waited for more—surely, Alice was here on some kind of mind fuck mission—but nothing was forth coming. "Can I help you?" Kara finally snarled, as more and more unpleasant memories of Alice surfaced. "You're here on Lord Arlington's orders, I take it?" But Alice shook her head, almost vehemently. "No, I'm just here because I want to be," Alice almost whispered, eyeing one of the chairs at the dinning table. "Can I...sit down?" Kara thought about it and nodded, but Alice didn't budge. "You won't hit me, will you?" "As long as you don't try to sexually assault me," Kara sighed, rolling her eyes. "Then sure, I promise not to hit you." Kara sat back down and dived into her mashed potatoes, watching from the corner of her eye as Alice skirted the walls of the room, finally sitting down at the table and in the chair farthest from Kara. Again, there was silence, but she didn't really feel like saying anything else and didn't really know what else to say, anyway. They stared at each other for several minutes without speaking. All anyone could hear was the sound of Kara chewing and it was making her self-conscious. "You should give him a chance!" Alice suddenly blurted and Kara almost spit out her food. "My lord's not so bad once you get to know him!" "You give the new restaurant in town a chance," Kara replied mockingly; she had no patience for Alice's dotting brand of Stockholm Syndrome. "You give the escargot a chance. Is that why you came in here? To convince me to spread my legs for Lord Arlington?" Alice didn't seem to like her phrasing. "Oh, you're just a big bully!" Alice told her, angrily. "If you stopped fighting him—just for a little while—you'd be able to see what kind of a man he really is!" "I'm the bully!" Kara cried, standing to her feet and pointing angrily at the collar around her neck. "I'm the bully?!?" "If you stopped blowing things up, maybe you wouldn't have to wear one," Alice replied and it was the first time Kara heard smugness in her voice; it was almost condescending. "Maybe you should stop punching people." That was the final straw for Kara. It was hard enough dealing with Lord Arlington's massive ego, let alone handling his brainwashed fan club. Maybe it wasn't Alice's fault that she was so blindly loyal. If Kara were kept here for years on end, maybe she'd be the same way. But Alice's attitude still rubbed her the wrong way. "Have you ever wondered why you aren't enough?" Kara spat, but when Alice's face fell, she knew she'd crossed some kind of line. Immediately, Kara tried to backpedal. Maybe it was possible to turn her obvious insult into some kind of anti-brainwashing therapy. "I mean, if he loves you so much, why does he need so many other girls?" she finished lamely. But it didn't work. Alice was already halfway to the door, pulling what appeared to be a card key from her dress pocket. "Wait! I'm...I'm sorry..." It wasn't a lie. Kara was sorry. Alice was obviously a victim in this scenario and attacking her delicate psyche hadn't been fair. But Kara couldn't keep her eyes off the card key, either. If apologizing would keep it within reach, then she would apologize until her lungs stopped working and she collapsed onto the ground, unconscious. "Please, don't go, okay? Look, I'm sorry. I just..." Kara paused, looking for the right words. "I don't want to be alone right now, okay?" She was surprised to realize that wasn't a lie, either. "It's not his fault, you know," Alice insisted, turning back around with a frown. "It's expected that all high-end politicians own their own harem. It would look bad if he didn't have...other girls." Alice paused, thinking hard. "You're right, though; it does bother me. I'm...jealous. I don't usually play well with the other girls; they don't like me very much." "Well, you don't need to worry about me," Kara told her, scuttling up onto the bed, a scowl on her face. "As far as I'm concerned, you can have Arlington all to yourself." Alice frowned at first, but it didn't last. She snorted, which made Kara laugh, which infected Alice, until they were both rolling around half-laughing, half-gasping for breath and wondering if they might die like this. Finally, Alice caught hold of herself and made it onto the bed next to Kara, where she collapsed into the sheets, still hiccuping between smiles. "Do you like cats?" Alice asked and Kara nodded, realizing she'd forgotten about Arlington's weird cat obsession until that moment. "One of ours just had kittens, want to see?" "Sure, I'd like that." "But if I slip out the door, you have to promise not to try and follow me," Alice frowned, when she caught Kara glancing longingly at her card key. "You're not allowed outside of your room yet." Kara considered launching herself at Alice and taking the card key by force, but what would that accomplish? She wouldn't make it more than a few steps before Arlington figured it out and came after her. There was bound to be surveillance throughout the mansion, her Martkorp tracking device had no doubt been re-activated, and she still didn't know what the collar around her neck did. No, Kara had just made a friend—one who had the freedom to roam the manor, no less—and she wasn't going to lose her over a botched escape attempt. "I promise," Kara said and Alice, still frowning, stuck out her pinky finger. "Pinky swear?" "Are you kids still doing that these days?" "Pinky swear!" "Okay, okay..." Kara sighed, wrapping her own pinky around Alice's. "I swear." "I'll be right back, then," Alice promised, opening up the door. Kara died a little inside when she glanced out into the hallway, knowing she couldn't go for it, but that was the price of making a friend. "Oh, and don't tell my lord I was here. I...I'm not really supposed to be." A brainwashed, child-like, overly sensitive friend, Kara thought. But also one that doesn't mind disobeying Arlington on occasion? It seemed as good a trade-off as any and right now, Kara couldn't afford to be picky. "We're going to be the best sisters ever!" Alice grinned and with that, she was gone, not even giving Kara the chance to object. While Kara waited, she stared up into the ceiling, watching as shadows shifted across its surface. It was oddly peaceful and also slightly terrifying...the darkness, slowly overcoming the light. At least she had something to look forward to—to keep her busy and sane—but Alice was taking quite a while and that made Kara nervous. Finally, the door creaked open, but it wasn't her sister slave standing in the doorway. "Good evening, pet," Lord Arlington greeted and though she tried to hide it, Kara could feel herself swallow hard. "Welcome home." ****** Querren wasn't doing well. Ben had been expecting worse, but it was still difficult to look at him, wrapped head to toe in bandages. Frankly, Querren was lucky to be alive. He'd lost a lot of blood and as the doctors kept telling him over and over again, he needed his rest. But even so, Querren refused any sort of sleep aid, opting for the minimum dosage of morphine needed to keep the pain at bay. He wanted in on Nardia's counter-attack, even if that meant staying up for the next 48 hours while they formulated a plan. "How are you holding up?" Ben asked, stepping into Querren's hospital room. In reality, it was just a single bed in a hallway filled with many more, separated from the others by thin, white curtains. Ben could hear the woman one bed over moaning in pain, but Querren didn't seem to mind. "You look...less pale, at least." "She didn't make it, did she?" "No," Ben frowned, clutching the hair clip in his pocket tightly. "No, she...she didn't." Ben was trying to keep it together, but the wounds were still fresh. He felt...abandoned, if that made any sense. He could still hear Kara's voice over his earpiece, sad and soft and sincere, but the gentle words, so well intentioned, buried themselves like knives beneath his skin. We're not working, Kara had told him. Maybe in a few years, when this is all over, we'll meet again. Then, maybe we'll start over. Maybe you can ask me out and we'll slowly fall in love. But not like this, Ben. Not like this. You and me...it's over. Ben hadn't heeded her words, not for a second. They both knew she was only tossing him aside out of some self-sacrificial instinct, to protect him from Lord Arlington. He remembered desperately trying to reach the thirteenth floor and at every turn, being confronted by weapons embedded in his own security system. And when he'd finally reached his destination, he'd been too late. Ben remember with growing fury her hair clip, abandoned on the blood-stained carpet. At first, he thought Kara had lost it in the heat of battle, but when Ben had picked it up, there'd been a wisp of hair still held taught by the clasp. The ends were clean cut. The clip had been cut out of her hair, most likely to send a message, which Ben had heard load and clear. Kara is mine, Lord Arlington was telling him. Come and get her, if you dare. Ben could feel himself trembling with rage and stroked the long, brown locks in his pocket. "And Terrance?" Querren interrupted, snapping Ben out of his dark reverie. "Is Terrance...?" "No one knows," Ben sighed, letting his head hang. "We can't locate her." "What are you going to do?" Querren pried, sitting up on his elbows and wincing, but though he tried to hide the pain, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead and the illusion was shattered. "How much power has the council given you?" "A lot," Ben replied, thinking back. A few of the security units had managed to rescue some of the council, including Silveine. They'd had a meeting just a few hours ago in her hospital room. Most of the council was too shaken to be of much use and while Silveine seemed as fiesty as ever, her advisors had her under lock and key. That left the military in charge and since the great General Benjamin Karrington was the only one among them with experience fighting Isleydor's armies, everyone was looking to him for advice. In essence, Ben now owned the Nardian military. "We're going to war of course," Ben snarled, gripping the hair clip in his pocket even tighter, until his knuckles turned white. "We're putting together the air force and then we'll fight our way into Capitol City." There was a knock on the wall and turning toward the curtain, Ben watched as his personal assistant—a much younger man, recently assigned to him—stepped cautiously into the room. "Yes, Rogues, what is it?" "I...I'm not really sure," Rogues whispered, shiftily looking around the cramped space. "But I'd advise you that we not discuss it here." Ben was about to duck out, but Querren's eyes were screaming. Losing Tamius on his watch had been bad; losing Kara and then Terrance had made it worse. Ben knew how badly Querren needed to be included—distracted, given some kind of opportunity to fight back—and decided against leaving him behind. "It's a busy space. Lots of noise," Ben shrugged, though he could tell Rogues was not happy. "Besides, I'll want Querren's input." Rogues glared at him for a few minutes more, hoping the general would change his mind, but eventually approached the bedside and huddled up between Ben and Querren. "It's Lord Sillias," Rogues whispered and Ben tensed, waiting for the worst. "She's contacted us through one of her personnel and wants to know if you...need anything. Intelligence or even a small supply of artillery vehicles since our own supplies are quite limited." "What?" Querren snarled. "Lord Sillias wants to—" "I heard you, boy," Querren snapped. "I'm not asking you to repeat yourself." "Is it possible?" Ben whispered, turning back to Querren with an odd panicked feeling in his chest. "Lord Sillias has never been a favorite in Isleydor, maybe now that she knows we're going to war, she wants to help?" He could see Querren thinking hard, mulling it over and over again, the cold sweat returning to his brow. "It's possible..." Querren finally answered, cautiously. "But she did help Arlington ambush the council. It's also possible that this is all a ploy by Arlington to get back into our ranks." Ben nodded, this was true. "After all, if he wanted to send someone in to steal intel from us, who would he chose? A nobody we'd have no reason to trust? Someone with a nasty reputation? Or the only powerful leader in Isleydor with a grudge?" "Set up a meeting," Ben ordered and with a curt nod, Rogues left the room. "Let's hope Miss Sillias is as sincere as she sounds." ****** Welcome home. It was meant as an attack, but knowing that didn't help. Kara could still feel all her old instincts resurfacing—the urge to run, cower, beg, or at the very least, look away—but she forced the emotions down into the pit of her gut and scowled. Cool, calm, and collected. That was Kara's modus operandi now. It was imperative that she take control of the situation before Arlington did. First things first, she wanted to know why she hadn't woken up in a snake filled pit. "I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed," Kara told him, looking around at the eerily comfortable room. "What happened to 'a deep, dark pit' and 'you'll never see the sun again' and 'you're going to regret everything you've done'? Don't tell me that now, of all times—when I've finally mustered up the courage to confront you—that you've finally gone soft?" "Straight to the point, I see," Arlington commented. "It's not going to the same as last time, is it?" "No," Kara told him, her tone suspicious. "It isn't." "I thought not," Arlington sighed, but it was an exaggerated, obviously mocking kind of sigh and with a dark glint in his eye, he stepped slowly toward Kara. "You know, I don't think I've ever gone through so much trouble to get my hands on one measly, rebellious little slave. Since the day I saw you at auction—dressed in red and gold, just waiting to be conquered—you've been nothing but a thorn in my side. Releasing my primary trophy slave into the streets of Capital City. Escaping Bremmington. Taking those other three with you. Blowing up a bridge on national television. Defying me at negotiations, in front of the entire nation of Nardia." They were only a few feet apart now and Kara could feel her heart beating more loudly beneath her breast, her entire body screaming at her to run, but she wouldn't listen...she couldn't listen. "I haven't gone soft, pet," Arlington whispered, his face just inches from hers. "You'll get everything that's coming to you. But clearly, my earlier methods were insufficient to train you and I've decided to...revise my strategy." The Rebellious Slave Ch. 29 Kara narrowed her eyes, but didn't say anything. She was afraid of what might come out if she did. But her mind was racing with possibilities anyway, in defiance of her cool, collected persona. It hadn't really occurred to her that Arlington might be changing his strategy—planning something unfamiliar for her, something she wasn't prepared to take on—which put her at a distinct disadvantage. Internally, Kara chastised herself for not figuring this out sooner. Obviously, if he'd decided not to immediately throw her back into the coffin, it wasn't out of the goodness of his heart. Kara hadn't figured it out yet, but these supposed shows of kindness were meant to break her somehow. "And my clothes?" Kara asked, willing her voice to remain steady. Maybe if she prodded a bit more, Kara could get some insight into this new 'strategy.' "A little modest for your tastes?" "You'll be taking them off in a moment, anyway," Arlington replied coldly and his lips formed a very serious frown. "I trust you're smart enough to know that obedience is in your best interest." It was the complete and utter assurance with which he spoke that transformed Kara's terror—just barely being held in check—to fury. "Oh, is that how you think this is going to go?" Kara spat, her eyes seething. "You think you can just barge in here, spout off one of your scary little monologues, and I'll fall to my knees to please you? I'm afraid—my lord—that you have dangerously over-estimated yourself." "Is that so, pet?" Arlington asked, and though little chills ran through Kara's body, she refused to wipe the angry smirk off her face. "You're getting awfully worked up over a bath, don't you think?" It took a minute for the words to register. "A...a bath?" "Yes, a bath, pet," Arlington sighed and he rolled his eyes for good measure. "You haven't bathed since the hotel. I thought you'd do a better job of picking your battles." "You're serious?" Kara asked, feeling a little embarrassed, although how was she supposed to know that her crazy, war-lord captor was just trying to get her into the tub? "You mean you came all this way...threatened me...a bath? Really?" "You have a problem with that, pet?" "You're being obtuse on purpose," Kara hissed from between clenched teeth, angry at him for working her up, all without good reason...which was obviously his intention, to confuse her. Then another thought occurred to Kara. "Wait, I though that was your handler's...what's-his-face's...job?" "Mr. Karp?" Lord Arlington asked, trying to hide a chuckle. "The man you knocked unconscious with a tazer, bound, gagged, and then left lying on the floor of my dungeon?" Honestly, Kara had forgotten about that. "Do you know what he said when I brought you back? He told me all the riches in the world wouldn't motivate him to touch you with a ten foot pole." That made Kara's heart glow warm, up until Arlington turned back to her and said, "So guess who's in charge of your daily routine now?" "What if I apologized and really, really meant it?" Kara pleaded, trying to sound as pitiful and genuine as possible. "What if I promised not to...do all those things again...like taze him...and tie him up...and threaten to kill him...?" "Oh, we both know you have—literally—no regrets," Arlington scoffed, but the smile on his face told Kara that he was just loving this. "It'd be useless to pretend." "You're right; I don't have any regrets," Kara replied, realizing with some degree of surprise that she didn't, because while the thought of being near Arlington 24/7 made her nauseous, she most definitely wasn't sorry. "I don't regret releasing Tamius, or blowing up your stupid bridge, or helping during Nardia's negotiations, or anything else...maybe you'd do well to remember that." "You just about finished, pet?" Arlington sighed—opening the bedroom door and gesturing out into the hallway—and Kara could feel herself scowling...how come he didn't pay any heed to her scary monologues? "Because if you're through, I'd like to get going." "For now, anyways," Kara replied and reluctantly, she slid off the bed and headed toward the door, trying to look every bit as defiant and powerful as she had back at the hotel. "Let's just get this over with...even you couldn't ruin a nice, relaxing soak." That last bit was a lie. If Kara had learned anything, it was that Arlington presented a near constant threat, even in the most mundane, supposedly safe situations...like in the middle of a ballroom reception, surrounded on all sides by security personnel, in a hotel protected by one of the world's most advanced security systems. Arlington could definitely ruin a bath. But unfortunately, he also did have a point. If Kara fought him over every single annoying detail, they'd never make any progress. If she really wanted him to open up to her—even by accident—she'd have to occasionally play by his rules. Easier said than done, but she had to try. It was time to start cracking away at Arlington, before he started to crack away at her. Kara stepped out into the hall, only to find that she didn't recognize this region of the manor. There was a red carpeted hall with a railing on the far end and looking down, she could see past several floors and into the vestibule below. Then, there were a number of wooden double doors with paintings interspersed between them and the occasional houseplant. It was nothing like the isolated apartment from before, containing the living space, dungeon, cell, and window-less bedroom she'd once occupied. "The slaves' quarters," Lord Arlington explained, one step ahead of Kara as they traveled down the hall. "I'm in the west wing, on the other side." The slaves' quarters? Kara mused and then she remembered. Alice! "Something wrong, pet?" Arlington asked, for Kara had paused to look back toward her room, hoping beyond hope that Alice wouldn't stop by while she was gone. "Did you forget something?" "No," Kara replied, shaking her head vehemently and turning back around. "No, nothing's wrong." "If you were waiting for Alice, she'll stop by again when it suits her and the coast is clear." "You knew!" Kara cried, looking at him in an accusatory fashion, but he just shrugged. "Of course, I knew. This is my household." "And you just let her wander around?" "It's always nice to have someone looking after you, just because it suits them." So, Alice was just trying to get me to spread my legs, Kara thought, annoyed, but only a little, because what else had she really expected? So much for finding a friend. They walked the rest of the way in silence, then entered through a much larger set of metal doors and into a room Kara did recognize: the bath house. A pool of steaming water was already bubbling in a tub that could easily fit ten people and even several feet away, Kara could smell the lightly scented water, like newly blooming lilies on a freshwater lake. It was certainly tempting, to briefly forget where she was and with whom, only to dissolve into the water's warm embrace. "Aren't you going to get in, pet?" Arlington asked, although it was clearly an order. "Or are you going to be difficult again?" "With you watching me?" Kara countered, but then she realized who she was talking to. "Of course, with you watching me." It would be a waste of energy to fight, but Kara didn't have to make this easy for Arlington. She undressed as quickly as possible, covering herself up as best she could—one arm wrapped around her chest, to shield her nipples, and her other hand cupped between her legs—before waddling into the tub. To ensure the water didn't get too dirty, a grate at the bottom of the pool sucked up old water, while several fountains along the side spewed fresh water back in. There was also basket of oils, lotions, and soaps beside the ledge and thinking herself clever, Kara selected some bubble bath and fed it into a stream of water. Soon, the entire surface was covered in sweet smelling bubbles. As long as Kara kept her shoulders submerged, Arlington could gawk all he wanted; he wouldn't be able to see past the bubbles, into the water, and ogle her lady parts. Kara turned toward Arlington to gloat, but saw that he was also naked—at least from the waist up—and taking off his shoes. Panic set in. "What are you doing?!?" "Now, that's a silly question, pet. What does it look like I'm doing?" Kara watched icily as Lord Arlington folded his dress shirt and cloak, before carefully sliding them into one of the metal clothes racks against the wall. She'd forgotten just how powerfully built he was, the skin stretched tight over massive arms and well-defined chest muscles. His sculpted abs shone with sweat in the humid air, but his eyes were still his most handsome feature. Kara didn't think she'd ever be able to find that exact shade of blue—so deep, mysterious, cool—anywhere else in nature. With a devilish glint in those eyes, Arlington carefully undid his belt buckle and in an act of rebellion, Kara looked away. It was only when she could hear him sloshing into the water that she looked back around. It was time to set some boundaries. "Okay," Kara hissed from between clenched teeth, trying to at least sound calm. "You're naked in the bathtub with me. Fine. I can live with that. But this is my side and that's your side." Scowling, she drew an imaginary line down the center of the bath and gestured toward it wildly. "Okay?" But Arlington didn't answer. With a smirk, he submerged himself until only his eyes were above the water and swam towards her, looking very much like an alligator. "No, no, this is my side!" Kara spat, backing away and splashing him furiously. "Arlington, this tub is big enough for a dozen people!" But it wasn't working. In a monumental burst of effort, Kara fled to the ledge along the tub and scrambled up onto the tile. She was halfway out when Arlington grabbed her legs and pulled her back into him. "No, no, no!" Kara cursed, clawing desperately at the slippery wet tile of the bathhouse floor. "Arlington, let me go this instant!" But soon, she was wrapped in Arlington's arms, her own two limbs pinned to her sides by his embrace. "Nice try, pet," Arlington grinned and in response, Kara glared viciously ahead of her and wondered if she could reach his balls with her foot. "Now, don't pout. Nobody likes a sore loser." "Let me go...now." "A little cocky for a slave, don't you think?" "I'm serious, Arlington; let me go." "If I let you go, do you promise to behave?" Arlington asked, probably just to humiliate her, because when she begrudgingly replied yes, they both knew it was a lie. Gently, he sat Kara down on a little bench below water level, then came back with a loofah in one hand and a bottle of lavender soap in the other. "Give me your arm," Lord Arlington ordered and Kara frowned. "You're going to wash me?" "Yes, and then you'll return the favor," Arlington told her, not the least hint of humor in his tone. "Or you can bite and kick and claw away, and then I'll have to string you from the ceiling, hose you down, and you'll just end up getting washed by me anyway." "I thought you were done with the humiliating pain torture stuff?" Kara asked. "What happened to, 'I'm revising my strategy,' hmm?" "I said I would be revising my strategy, not throwing it away." "You're a despicable human being." "Perhaps." Reluctantly, Kara considered Arlington for a moment. She knew he meant every word and truthfully, she didn't very much like the idea of being strung up and hosed down on her first day back. There was a very real possibility the experience may unhinge her and she couldn't afford to fall into despair now. Even if she didn't like it, resistance wasn't in her best interest now. Sacrifices would have to be made and this was probably just the first of many more and a pretty small sacrifice at that. Kara extended her arm and felt his hand grasp her wrist, then the soft texture of the loofah running up and down its length. She shuddered at his touch—knowing full well he'd enjoy it—and looked away in shame. Except for the bubbling of the water, it was completely silent and she could feel Arlington's hands as they gently traced the contours of her arm, then carefully scrubbed down every finger. Under any other circumstances, it would have been soothing, but this was Lord Arlington. The intimacy of his touch—the way he lingered on each curve before moving to the other arm—felt violating, somehow. Before she knew it, Arlington was sitting next to her on the bench and pulling her into his lap. Kara tried to scramble away again, but his grip was as tight as a hawk's and she felt very much like a mouse, helplessly trapped and just waiting to be devoured. His magnificent manhood—semi-hard and soft as velvet—pressing into her backside made the fear worse, but Arlington was patient and waited until she'd stilled to continue. "Open your legs," Lord Arlington ordered and Kara realized that she was pressing them tightly together. "Relax, pet, I'm just going to wash you." "Arlington, please...I've only just gotten back..." "I'm not going to ask again, pet," Arlington retorted, his tone not unkind. "Open your legs." It's just a quick scrub, how bad can it be? Kara thought, though her heart was racing. Yet, she had to fight instinct if she were ever to get through this. Kara couldn't afford to fight him at every step if she wanted to dig into his psyche and besides, it would be better to save her energy for whatever he had planned later. I can do this...I can definitely do this. Kara took a deep breath and opened her legs. The warm water rushed in, pleasant and soothing, then she could feel Arlington's hands on her thighs. Instinctively, she grabbed his wrists, pretty sure her nails were digging in hard enough to break skin, but Arlington didn't object. As long as she was just hanging on—as long as she didn't try to pull him away—he seemed willing to tolerate it. His hands stayed there for a few minutes, while Kara gradually calmed down, and then he began to run the loofah up and down the inside of her legs, getting closer and closer to her pink sex. Finally, he pressed it against her mound and she nearly jumped, but Arlington held her down. "You doing okay, pet?" Lord Arlington asked, stroking her gently and watching as she shuddered uncomfortably in his grasp, his fingers probing into the soft folds of her flesh. "This isn't so bad, is it?" "Please...just get it over with...please..." "You're far too nervous, pet," Arlington whispered in her ear and his hands maneuvered further down—to the little nub between her legs—and she gasped. "You think you're clean enough, pet?" "Yes, yes...Arlington, please..." Miraculously, he let her go. Kara hadn't been expecting that, but knowing Arlington, he probably realized he had reached her limits and didn't wish to surpass them. At least not yet. He moved up to her stomach and stayed there for a while, playing along her skin in gentle circular motions, before making it up to her chest. She grabbed his wrists again, prepared for another round of tortured teasing, but then he paused and began tracing something on her left shoulder...a scar. "Where did you get this?" Lord Arlington asked, a hint of anger in his voice and at first, Kara wasn't sure what he was talking about. Then, it hit her. "I...I did it," Kara told him, worried he might be angry with her. "I didn't like feeling like...an object, so I cut up the registration number. I thought it'd scar over and interrupt the tattoo." Arlington didn't say anything about that, but Kara could still sense his anger. Thankfully, instead of lingering on her breasts, he spent only a few agonizing seconds on them, then moved on to her back, paying special attention to the scar, almost lovingly running his fingers across it. Afterward, he traveled down her spine—eliciting little shivers and gasps—before finishing with her lower back, coming to rest with his hands on her waist. "Your turn pet," Lord Arlington ordered, nodding toward the basket of soaps beside the pool. "I've had a long day." Silently, Kara wandered over to the soaps. When she turned around, Arlington had moved to the center of the pool, his firm body sleek and dripping and dark locks obscuring his eyes. There were bruises and cuts, too—from his most recent battle in the capital city of Nulme—accentuating his dark form with bright yellow, and purple, and green spots of color, which seemed to make him more beautiful, somehow. But his most striking feature was the crimson dragon tattooed onto his back. Kara had never seen it up close before and she found the detail astonishing. She wanted—no needed—to touch him. Cautiously, she approached, resting her hands on his naked back, feeling the powerful muscle beneath them. This was the symbol of his mighty power—proof that he had the means and the will to kill—and the evidence the people of Isleydor had needed to elect him as one of their lords. Kara was slightly awe struck. Gently, she traced the scales of the beast and its ugly, yellow eyes, noting the fine texture and vivid colors. "Is there a scale for each one...you killed?" Kara asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes." "And how...how many are there?" Kara pressed, though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted the answer. In the shadow of a single, soaking lock of hair, Kara could already count ten scales...ten people, contained within that dark, thin strip of skin. "There are hundreds here..." "Three hundred and fifty, to be exact." Kara had no response to that, except to stand there quietly and endure the wave of disgust and fury that had suddenly engulfed her. In the haze of hatred that followed, it was difficult to breath—let alone think rationally—and all Kara wanted to do was destroy the man in front of her. All of those people—hundreds of them, some probably innocent—dead, because of him. I was wrong, Kara thought. There isn't a redeeming bone in this man's body. But what she actually said was quite different. "How did you manage it?" Kara whispered, incredulous. "How did you stand it?" That's when Kara felt it beneath her fingertips, a just barely noticeable tension that hadn't been there before. A ripple in the normally cool, collected atmosphere that Arlington projected. It lasted only a second or so, but it had definitely happened. It radiated guilt and anger and fear...the soft spot. Kara had only caught a glimpse of it, but there it had been, plain as day...that soft, vulnerable spot Arlington always worked so hard to hide. Kara hadn't thought herself capable of pitying Lord Arlington, but now she wondered what it must be like to have a graveyard tattooed onto your back. To have to look into the mirror everyday and see red splashed across the asphalt, hear gunfire overhead, smell fear in the air...what must that be like? Then to live in a country where this sort of thing wasn't just acceptable, but required to get ahead, to prove yourself to the world and the people in it. What had Arlington's first kill been like? Had he relished it from the beginning? Or had he resisted? And what kind of punishment was in store for those who disobeyed? Gently, Kara began to stroke the fiery tattoo with the loofah, watching as it disappeared behind soft, pink suds. "Was it hard..." Kara began, swallowing hard, but she was genuinely curious. "...the first time you killed someone?" "You're done with my back," Arlington ordered, his voice cold and clipped. "I think my front needs some attention now." Arlington could sense it—her disgust, fury, then growing curiosity—and he didn't like it. That alone was reason enough for Kara to keep prodding, but she didn't dare look at his face as she stood before him, instead focusing her attention on the rhythmic movement of his chest, rising and falling as he breathed. It soothed her to be able to focus so intently on this one thing, to run her hands over the tight, sinewy muscle and then work away with the loofah. It gave her time to re-group. To work out some sort of plan. Then Arlington gripped her chin and tilted her face up toward his. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 29 "Look at me, pet," Arlington ordered smoothly and Kara obeyed, because she was ready now...ready to look into those cold, blue eyes and find his weakness. "You're awfully quiet all of the sudden, after being so inquisitive. Tell me, what is that clever little mind of yours up to?" "You know exactly what I'm doing," Kara told him, growing bold. "Why even bother to ask?" "I see," Lord Arlington whispered and his eyes narrowed. "Observant little slut, aren't you?" Kara thought back on her first days with Arlington, back when he was always saying 'eyes up here, slave' and 'look at me.' She remembered feeling like an insect on a slide as he analyzed each and every facial expression, trying to pin down her specific strengths and weaknesses. Now—with his eyes burrowing into hers—was the best time to probe for his weaknesses; she wasn't going to get a better view. "You're not as good at hiding as you once were," Kara said, knowing that there was no way she could keep going and remain unscathed, but not caring either because for once, she felt like she was on the winning side. "You feel guilty about something...maybe all the people you've killed, or the wars you've waged, or the person you've had to become to do all those things. I don't know." But as she stared into Lord Arlington's eyes, Kara saw nothing, not even a hint of the vulnerability she'd tasted just minutes before. "Maybe you betrayed someone." Kara felt his grip tighten and his eyes narrow and she could see it again reflected in his pupils—the soft spot—glimmering for only a moment before disappearing into the darkness, hidden by an angry glare. But it had been there! She had seen it! The pieces were coming together now...not enough to create a full picture, but an outline, perhaps. A guilty conscience...a betrayal...a beautiful girl with an unfinished tattoo. Kara wracked her brains as Arlington grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the side of the pool, trying to figure out where she'd seen the soft spot before: at the reception, after the carriage ride, moments before she'd been recaptured...all times when they'd been on equal footing and at each other's throats. "Oh my god," Kara gasped, all the fear suddenly dissipating. "Oh my god, you conniving, conceited liar!" Even Arlington looked surprised by her outburst. "You like snarky girls, don't you? Don't you?," Kara shouted and first shock, then a heated blush washed across Arlington's features, confirming everything. "You want a girl curled up at your feet? A foot stool? A door mat? Bullshit. You want a girl like her...no, a girl like me...a girl who fights back." "That...is...enough," Lord Arlington hissed and then the rage vanished as quickly as it had come. Kara could see it in his eyes—the transformation was almost instantaneous—and he was back to his old self almost instantly, the same cold, cruel man who had thrown her into the coffin, unreadable and totally in control. "You want to play rough, pet?" Arlington whispered. "Very well, I already know all about your soft spots, don't I?" Something snapped inside of Kara then. Whatever miracle of self control had been keeping her calm and collected suddenly vanished and only raw, virile instinct remained. Her heart beat faster, her breathing picked up, and then all she could see were whips, and chains, and then the suffocating darkness of the coffin. It wasn't fair. Amid all the chaos inside her mind, only one coherent thought emerged, and it was this: that after fleeing across the nation, escaping into Nardia, and facing down an army of assassins, she'd somehow ended up back here, at the very beginning. It wasn't fair. Only...was it really? Hadn't she practically volunteered to go back with Arlington? And what would be the point of that sacrifice if she lost now, in the first round? I'm not done with him yet! Kara thought, bringing herself back from the brink. Not when I've got him by the balls! "Why else would you have bothered to buy a loud, indignant nobody back at auction? Why else would you have given me so much to time to recover after your sick little sessions, when you could have easily crushed me?" Kara pressed, then a thought occurred to her and though she knew she would regret it, she also knew that this was one of the few weapons of psychological warfare she had at her disposal. "Why else would you have let me live, after all the embarrassment I've caused you? Giving me for the slaughter would have been easier, wouldn't it, David?" "I said, that's enough!" Arlington hissed and without another word, he slung Kara over his shoulders and carried her out of the bath house. Kara could feel her heart begin to race as he carried her out into the hall, across the manor, and into the west wing. She saw them pass by doors, and darkened hallways, elaborate paintings, and other things, and knew that she had crossed a line. Then Kara thought she recognized something—a particular set of doors from her dark past—and her heart began to race faster, catapulting her into panic. When Arlington dropped Kara on the ground—none too gently—she was on a tiled floor, in a dark room, with only a pair of chains dangling from the ceiling. Then the door closed ominously behind them and she heard her lord lock it. "Arlington!" Kara cried. "Don't do this...please! You don't have to do this!" Lord Arlington ignored her pleas, picked her off the ground by her hair, and gripped both her wrists. With precision and speed, he cuffed them to the chains, then walked back into the darkness where she couldn't see him. She heard a noise like a crank, then her feet were being lifted off the floor until she was on tip-toe. If she lost her balance for just a second, all her weight was suddenly shifted onto her wrists and she could feel cold metal digging into her flesh, painful and crude. When Arlington came back into view, there was a towel wrapped around his waist and a whip curled in his hand. "Arlington..." Kara tried again, feeling that familiar helplessness return. "Arlington, please, I—" In one deft movement, Lord Arlington was upon her, one hand gripping her chin and raising her eyes to meet his. "So, you want to wage war with me?" Arlington whispered and Kara whimpered as his nails dug into her skin. "Very well, Kara, I'm game." Arlington's fingers loosened their grip and trailed down her neck, finally resting against her collar. Kara couldn't see what he did, but a second later, she could hear the device clicking loudly, and then the skin beneath her collar erupted with sharp pain. It felt like a thousand tiny needles pricking her skin and Kara screamed, though more from fear than anything else. Then it hit her—hard—an intense burst of adrenaline that exploded in her veins, very nearly knocking her unconscious. When it was over, it was as if the pain in her wrists had been muted; even the prickling in her neck was nearly gone. It all felt too familiar...anterline. "No," Kara cried, feeling her heart sink and her voice tremble, tears almost pooling to the surface. "No, don't, Arlington...please..." "You know about my soft vulnerable spot," Arlington cooed in that cruel, sing song voice of his. "But I know that like me, you have a perverted side to you...a side that craves pain just as much as it craves pleasure...ready to take that perverse mind of yours for a spin?" "What else does this monstrous thing around my neck do?!?" "Oh, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, pet," Arlington chided. "But for now, suffice it to say that I can have your body ready and waiting with a snap of my fingers." Slowly, Arlington circled her, until he was behind her and out of view. "Don't worry, it's a diluted solution—just enough to loosen up your cunt without totally sacrificing your capacity to feel pain—and we won't have to worry about developing a dependency. But for now, it'll help you enjoy what I have to offer, whether you want to or not." The first crack of the whip startled Kara enough to make her jump and she struggled to stay on tip-toe, feeling the metal cuffs digging into her wrists. The pain of the cuffs was minimal, but the pain of the whip was not. The second crack was followed by an intense, burning pain cutting along her back and Kara cried out, the chains above her clinking loudly as her body was thrust forward. This time, she couldn't stay upright and was caught at an angle with the floor. Arlington landed another three blows across her ass—snap, snap, snap!—before he came to her aid. "Stand up straight, Kara," Arlington hissed, grabbing her from behind by the hair until she was back on her feet. "You're going to take every last one standing tall, until all you're good for is lying on your back." "Fuck you, my lord!" Kara spat, furious. "Do you still see any softness?" Arlington asked, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him yet again, but Kara refused to open her mouth and give him the satisfaction of a response. "Come on, Kara, what happened to all those clever observations of yours?" "Just do whatever you have to do," Kara finally sighed, because they were at an impasse and there was nothing else to say. "Don't gloat, just do it." "You're not having fun," Arlington frowned and to her immense horror, he pressed his lips against her cheek. "I think it's time we fixed that, don't you?" When he let go, Arlington lowered the chains so that Kara could stand easily again—thank god—but then her ankles were chained to a spreader and she could feel him easing something between her legs. The intrusion made her shudder, but Arlington whispered soothing things in her ear and she could feel a softness pressing against the sensitive flesh of her pussy. Looking down, she could see a massager on the end of a long pole. When Arlington turned it on, tiny but powerful vibrations worked their way up her clit and she could immediately feel a tiny knot start to coil in her stomach, making her tremble all over, but this time in an aching, perverse ecstasy. "No...Arlington, please, turn it off," Kara begged, because even the pain of his whip was nothing compared to the humiliation of the orgasm she knew would start building inside of her. "Please, don't make me cum...don't make me do this..." Arlington turned up the device and Kara cried out, this time in an odd sort of half anguish/half euphoric bliss. She could still feel the vibrations coursing through her overly sensitive sex—making her thighs tremble—when she heard the whip crack and her lord landed another blow across her ass. But this time, she didn't feel pain. No, that was a lie. There was still pain, but it was an achy, insistent sort of pain that mingled with the pleasure in her belly and she felt her breath hitch. Then there was a second blow and a third. The world disappeared and Kara could only hear the crack of her lord's whip—a monotonous, never-ending drone—as it landed blows again and again and again, until every inch of skin from her shoulders to her upper thighs was on fire. But the fire only seemed to make her sex throb harder and harder, each lash pushing her closer and closer toward her own orgasm. Kara was shocked by just how much the pain electrified everything. It seemed to amplify the pleasure and vice versa—each sensation working off of the other—creating what could only be described as exquisite torture, a phrase she never thought she'd use. The vibrations between her legs and the burning of her skin, building and building into a crescendo. Kara gasped for air as the next lash cut across her lower back and realized she was dripping sweat, on tip-toe, arching toward the sky with her pussy on fire and soaking wet. The knot in her belly tightened and suddenly, the world narrowed down to just that single pinprick of insistence between her legs. With the next crack of the whip, Kara's world erupted into white light and she arched back onto her heels, screaming. When she opened her eyes—panting desperately for air—Arlington was behind her, grabbing her ass with on hand and nibbling on her ear lobe. "Enjoying yourself yet, pet?" "Go to hell...go to hell!" Kara choked, very near tears, hating how easily he'd exposed her and used her. "Go to hell, my lord!" "I asked you a question, pet. Are you enjoying yourself?" Arlington reached between the folds of her flesh, grasped her swollen clit between her fingers, and pinched, softly at first, bringing intense pleasure against her will, and then pain. "As you recall from your last bout of captivity, I don't ask rhetorical questions, do I?" "It doesn't mean anything..." Kara winced, arching back onto her heels in a lame attempt to escape the pain, but he pinched harder and she gasped. "If you can't get me off without drugs, then it doesn't mean anything..." "Just training wheels, you understand," Lord Arlington growled and he released her wrists, so that Kara fell to her knees on the floor. "You'll be melting into the palm of my hand soon enough." He released her ankles, then dragged her back out into the hallway by her hair. She kept collapsing and having to be picked up again, but Arlington didn't seem to mind throwing her forward every five feet or so, until they reached his bedroom. "Get up, pet," Arlington hissed, nodding toward his bed, and Kara knew by the dark, predatory glint in his eyes that he was hungry for her. "It's my turn, now." Kara knew what he meant and that while she was ready for many things, this was not one of them. Whimpering piteously and wracking her brains for a way out, she tried crawling away, but Arlington picked her up easily—like a rag doll—and tossed her onto the bed. It was soft—bouncing lightly under her—and for a split second, she wished she could simply melt into its warm embrace. Then Arlington was upon her and she was clawing at the sheets, the headboard, the curtains...trying everything in her power to get away. But she was weak—completely and utterly exhausted—and it was easy to tie Kara down to the bed, spread out across the four corners like a star. Panicked, Kara checked the strength of the restraints, only to discover that escape would be impossible. "Shh, pet, I'm not going to hurt you," Arlington whispered and he leaned down, gently kissing her on the forehead. "Try to relax for me and this will be a lot easier." "Arlington, please...please, don't...I..." "Quiet, pet," Arlington ordered his tone firm, but gentler this time. "Don't make me fetch a gag." Kara shivered as he grasped her hair and pulled her head to the side, allowing him to leave a trail of kisses from the base of her ear all the way down to her collarbone. Goosebumps raised all along her skin and she could feel it start again, that aching, itching insistence between her legs. He grabbed one of her breasts and rolled the nipple between his fingers, until it became erect in the warm room, then went to work on the other. It felt exquisite and yet Kara couldn't bear to watch, to let him see the lusty flush in her cheeks. But when she felt a sharp pain in her right nipple, she broke form and saw that Arlington had something in his hands: a thin, silver chain shaped like the letter "Y," with clamps at each end. The second clamp was applied to her left nipple and she inhaled sharply, then began to struggle as her lord's hands traced the contours of her breasts, her belly, her hips, and then finally came to rest between her legs. A sharp pain shot through her as he tightened the clamp on her clit, so that she cursed and arched her back to get away. "Easy there, pet," Arlington whispered, greed and lust in his eyes. "That's it for now...all you have to do is lie back, relax, and feel." He eased his head between her legs and began to lap at her swollen, abused clit, making her whine and moan. With each little movement of his tongue, terrible pain shot through the clamped organ, but also terrible pleasure, mingling together until all that remained was an intense longing. Pushing back the luscious lips of her cunt, Arlington plunged his tongue into her aching pussy and this time, she actually did cry out, with abandon and ecstasy...because with her wrists and ankles bound, all she could do was take it. Then he gripped the chain connecting her nipples with her clit and pulled, so suddenly and harshly that she screamed again, but when he mercifully let go, each organ was tingling and alert, ready to be teased and tormented. When he came up, Arlington immediately crawled back on top of her and resting his hand behind her head, raised her lips toward his. "Open," Arlington ordered and Kara shook her head, feeling his warm, massive cock pressing into the flesh of her thigh, just outside the entrance to her most intimate parts. "Pet..." Arlington warned. "Open up for me." He pressed his organ against her sex and in her panic, she parted her lips. It was the first time Arlington had kissed her like this—upon the lips—and he moaned into her mouth, plunging his tongue inside and forcing his essence upon her. Then in one deft movement, he thrust his cock inside of her and Kara was crying out into his mouth, grasping the sheets on either side of her in desperation. His cock was long, but thick too, filling her up completely and of its own will, her cunt clenched down on his organ. Arlington released her lips then and with his hands in hers, began to thrust, each movement sending his cock right up against her g-spot and simultaneously, jostling the clamp on her red, aching clit. Kara tried to stay quiet—she didn't want to egg him on or for him to gain any satisfaction from her predicament—but it was building again, that knot in her stomach, and soon she was arching off the bed, groaning and sobbing as her body seemed to erupt with a million sensations, of pain and pleasure and tingling and sharpness and sweat and heart beats. "There's a good girl," Arlington praised, but Kara was so lost in the myriad of conflicting, complimentary sensations that she couldn't find the will to speak. "Cum for me, Kara." "I won't," Kara manged in a wrangled cry, but they both knew it was a lie. Her orgasm was building more steadily now, until all Kara could feel was the tightening in her belly and the rhythmic movement of Arlington above her, grunting ferociously as he plowed into her. "I won't...I won't...I—" Kara's entire body convulsed as she came in his arms, the entire world undulating with pleasure. The site of her naked body, contorted with passion, seemed to be the final straw for Arlington and he bit her shoulder—hard—groaning as his cock swelled and trembled inside of her. Kara could feel his finger nails dig into her flesh as he came, his hot seed filling her up as he cried out in deep, lustful tones. Kara didn't struggle as she came down from...from what? Ecstasy? Panic? She wasn't sure what, but her head space was foggy, the world felt faraway, and oddly enough, she felt peaceful with Arlington collapsed on top of her, his breathing gradually slowing and his heartbeat vibrating through her chest. When she looked at him, he sat up, tilted her chin up, and kissed her on the lips. "Next time you think of probing into my psyche..." Arlington began, but then he paused, unsure of himself. "What?" "Never mind," Arlington quickly corrected, a soft smile on his lips. "Let's get you cleaned up." Kara lay still as Arlington began to unbind her wrists, when the entire room suddenly shuddered. At first, Kara thought she might be hallucinating, but them it happened again, making all the furniture in Arlington's room vibrate ever so slightly. A few books fell off the shelves, then some china from his private dinning table. It felt like...an earthquake? Then she heard it, in the distance, like lightening or maybe fireworks. The Rebellious Slave Ch. 29 "Already?" Arlington hissed, suddenly concerned, and he raced for the window, picking up his phone as he went, for it had started ringing almost instantaneously. "Explain?" Arlington ordered into the phone and whoever he was talking to took a long time doing so, but when the conversation seemed to be over, he looked back toward Kara. She saw it again then, that soft spot glimmering in his eyes, almost guilty. But they became cold again as soon as he spoke. "On second thought, you won't be getting cleaned up. It seems General Benjamin Karrington has launched an air assault on Capital City and we have a conference call at the Statehouse in a half hour." As the words registered, Kara felt the fog lifting, leaving her just as cold as Arlington looked. "I'm sure he'd love to see you again."