Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

Rhapsody swallowed, wishing she had thought of a different plan. “I am sent from Treilus,” she said, hoping her use of the language was right. “He directs me to massage your back, if you wish.”

“Come in,” he answered tersely. Rhapsody came inside the room. She could feel his eyes wander over her and even from the doorway she could sense arousal. She glanced about the room, looking for a window or another exit, but saw none. “Close the door.” She obeyed, leaving it unlatched by a hairsbreadth.

“Come here.”

Rhapsody took a deep breath and crossed the room, stopping a few feet from the bed. Sickening memories were beginning to churn inside her, but she pushed them down and tried to stay calm.

“Sit here,” Constantin directed, indicating the bed beside him. The depth of his voice and the keenness of his gaze was having a commanding effect on her. Rhapsody came closer, opening the small sack she had brought with her.

“I have emollients to soothe your muscles,” she said, hoping to remind him of the task she had supposedly been sent for.

“You may begin with this one,” he said, and threw back the blankets. He was naked, and fully erect; the size was proportional to the rest of him.

Rhapsody felt calm settle over her as it did whenever she became aware of imminent danger. It was now obvious that Llauron had misled her; she was willing to believe it was unintentional, but it didn’t matter. She cursed herself for being so stupid as to believe that she would be safe attired as she was. She shook her head, adopting a look of confusion.

“No, your back. I am to massage your back,” she said. “You did fight today, yes?”

“Yes,” said Constantin, his tone deepening. “Sit down.” She moved closer, unwilling to anger him. “Did you win?” He looked at her with disdain. “Of course.”

She nodded, coming to a stop a few feet from the bed. “Was a Towrik decided?” she asked nervously.

—

-

Constantin smiled coldly. “I never leave an opponent uncompromised,” he said. Then, with speed that rivaled that of Achmed’s, his hands shot out and seized her, dragging her onto the bed next to him. He tore off the twisted scarf that covered her breasts and stared at her, his glare relaxing into something more frightening.

“Tomorrow you will tell Treilus that he has chosen well,” he said with a note of admiration in his thunderous voice. “Your breasts are like the rest of your body; on the small side, but perfect and desirable. You will do.” And then he pulled her roughly into a deep kiss, one arm surrounding her shoulders while with his other hand he began to coarsely fondle her breasts. She could feel the arousal she had seen becoming even more intense.

Rhapsody began to calculate as his hands moved to her abdomen. She could kill him if worse came to worst, but she was not sure if she could escape his grasp while he lived. His hands were large enough to span her waist, as he was doing now; the tips of his fingers touched behind her back, the thumbs in front of her sternum. She was aware that he could conceivably crush her rib cage if she made him angry. Detachment was setting in; she tuned out what was happening to her in order to better concentrate. Singing was not an option, at least for the moment, because his tongue was forcefully probing her mouth and stealing her breath.

His grip relaxed a little as his hands moved up her torso, cupping both breasts and caressing them brutally with callused palms and fingertips, obviously the results of many years of training and use of the weapons of his trade. She was weaponless, and it was clear to her that he would be immune to any pain that she might ordinarily be able to inflict through an attack; to do anything of the like would be foolhardy. She could unleash her fire lore against him, but it would likely kill him, and her purpose here was to save, not destroy him. Her calculations were pointing to a conclusion that she was dreading; it was possible that she would be unable to avoid being violated unless she was willing to kill him—or perhaps die in the attempt. And she had brought it on herself.

One of his hands crept into the waistband of her skirt and forced its way between her legs. At his touch she felt a strange sensation, which, much to her horror, caused her to tremble inside where his fingers came to rest.

She felt him smile as he continued to force kisses on her; he was aware of the false physical reaction he had brought in her and was pleased by it. She was familiar enough now with elemental power to recognize it, but she was not acquainted with what he was wielding against her. It seemed to be able to summon a reaction from her very blood, and as the thought occurred to her she realized it must be right. His success as a gladiator could be explained easily if he was tied to blood, as Achmed had been. Perhaps he had the ability to let, and control, it at will.

Rhapsody gasped as his fingers probed more deeply, stroking her until they located the unnatural moisture brought about by his initial touch. He caressed her there, seeking to force her excitement as his own grew, and he shifted his weight in the bed, preparing to move her into a more accessible position. She knew that if this happened her chance to escape would be lost, so with all her might she jerked away and threw herself blindly off the bed and onto the floor, rolling to a stand before he could grab her.

She stood looking at him wildly, naked from the waist up, her hair coming down. She thought about pulling her hair around to cover her breasts but rejected the idea immediately; it might excite him even more. His face contained a look of shock that was metamorphosing into rage.

“Please,” she said, doing her best to look frightened, and not having to work too hard at it. “This is not what Treilus sent me for. I am here to massage the muscles of your back. If you are not returned to fighting condition tonight, he says I will be beaten. Please, let me do what I was sent here to do.” Her eyes glistened beneath strands of shining hair, and with all her skill she made her voice as appealing as she could.

The gladiator stared at her, his rage disappearing and leaving his face blank. He looked her up and down, and then slowly a more pleasant expression took up residence on his face. “Very well,” he said, rolling to one side. “Get on with it.”

Rhapsody sighed with relief and picked up the bag again. She pulled out the bottle with the liquid that would make him unconscious and came over to the side of the bed again. “If you will turn onto your stomach I can sit on your back as I rub your muscles,” she said, shielding her breasts with her arm.

“That would be difficult; there’s a major obstacle in the way,” he said, but he still managed to comply. He seemed far less frightening on his stomach. Rhapsody climbed onto his back, preparing to uncork the bottle.

Like lightning he rolled onto his back again, grabbing her around the middle and pulling her so she was straddling him, her knees astride his waist. Rhapsody was now without purchase, one hand holding the bottle, and she was helpless as he ripped off the rest of her costume and pushed her down along his abdomen until she came in contact with ominous throbbing heat.

One of his arms wrapped around her waist in a stranglehold; she was small enough that it was sufficient to completely surround her, pinning her to his chest. His other hand returned to its exploration between her legs, pulsing insistently. His mouth sought her neck and she felt his tongue circle slowly up her throat, coming to a stop as it began delving feverishly into her ear. Then he spoke.

“Listen to me,” Constantin said harshly, his voice deep with power and arousal. “You will massage me now, though I have already returned to fighting condition.”