No Man Means Evil but the Devil

Althea felt something cold and wet being pressed to her forehead; she could only assume it was a damp cloth. She tried to open her eyes, but they were too heavy and she felt too weak. She felt unable to even move her head or give any sign that she was awake. Every single muscle and drop of her blood seemed to ache with heaviness and pain.

Wait?

Was all that came before a dream?

The wet cloth on her forehead was taken away and refreshed. She started to regain some sensations and was starting to get a feel for what was around her. Though reaching out in this moment was such a struggle, she sensed all she could in her limited, weakened way.

She could feel softness all around her. She couldn't detect a single hard corner, hard surface, or rough sensation. All around her was cushion, satin, and silk. She felt warmth from a fire. It was not so intense and close as a campfire, but softly distributed in an even blanket of gentle comfort from something like a fireplace. She could smell any number of exotic flowers. Not the kind that found and endured the harshness of the sun, wind, and rain of the unsheltered wild. The floral smells that danced in her nose were delicate, fragile, and carefully tended rarities.

Though she couldn't be certain exactly where she was, she had a pretty good idea. And the prospect seemed more than she could endure. Not now, not after all she had done, not after how much she had fought.

Her insides felt dense and heavy; she felt she could barely move her chest to breathe! The more feeling she regained, the more misery she felt herself in. She tried to open her eyes, move her limbs, or shake it off in any way. How could her heart continue to beat against the strain, and how could blood that felt thick and slow be keeping her alive? She had known sickness before, but this was nothing like what she had battled before except maybe the effects of the Mist. But even with the Mist, once she was able to move slightly, her strength and spirit regained rather quickly. But with this, she felt like she had been killed and somehow had been asked to keep breathing. She moaned against the torture she felt coming from her body.

"Shhhhh, shhhhh, you're safe now. I've got you now."

The melodic voice seized her breath, and she felt the terror of the harsh certainty and the sharp, inescapable fact of who she lay helpless to. Where she knew she was now felt more real than her illusions, his voice was clearer than through the veil of his dream spells, and the truth of her being held defenseless here with the monster of her nightmares was an absolute certainty. The adrenaline from her fear shot electric energy through her veins and gave her the strength to push through her distorted mind and open her eyes wide with fear.

She saw his green eyes looking at her longingly and with immense satisfaction. His prize was returned, and he was pleased. Very pleased.

She tried to swing her legs off of the bed to run, fight, get away from him, anything! But she couldn't move them. She tried to move her arms to push him away, but she had the same struggle. She wiggled and fought, but she soon realized that her arms and legs were bound together. She was powerless and completely at his mercy. His mercy.

Durai laid his hands against her restraints at her wrists and gently subdued her thrashing with the weight of his body. "Please don't strain yourself," he gently said to her. Something about his tone came from long ago. If she were the woman she was even two years ago, she would be melting and swooning over the melody from his voice. In the glow of the fire before them against the darkness of the night, he even seemed angelic with his fair hair glowing almost like a halo. She saw the man she had fallen in love with, the man that had stolen and held her heart and swept her off of her feet, and she saw how easily she had been fooled long ago. With this beauty hiding the beast within, it seemed like such a piteous waste.

As he released his pressure on her, she felt his arms slide along her back and gentle, carefully lift her up to a reclined sitting position on the bed he had put her in. She was terrified to look down to find herself out of her clothes and to see what she had been put in. The thought of him changing her clothes made her feel ill. To her surprise, however, she was still in her same garments from her time in the wilds. It seemed so far she had not been touched outside of binding her in these satin ropes.

She looked up at him confused at this. He had turned his back away from her and was pouring cold water into a crystal glass. He turned back once it was filled to offer it to her. She simply looked from the tempting glass to his eyes with disgust and distrust.

He placed the glass in one hand and stroked her cheek warmly with the other. "This is just water; I promise. No tricks, no drugs." He paused to see if she softened at this, but her continued distrust was abundantly clear. "I'm sorry I had to do that to you. Even if this particular drug was simple and sweet to the taste, it does indeed take a while to shake. I hated that it came to that, but you are a handful when you put your mind to it. And I wouldn't be able to live with my men if you hurt myself fighting them."

The subtle threat implied in his words were not lost on her.

He pressed the glass against her lips very gently, and she held fast against it despite how desperately thirsty she was. "Don't be stubborn, Dove. This will help clear the drugs out of your body faster. Do be a good girl."

In no way on this earth did she want to be his "good girl," but she knew that he spoke the truth about flushing the toxins out, and she conceded to drink the water. The sensation of the cool water on her cracked lips and down her dry throat was pure ecstasy. She tried not to let him see just how much she enjoyed it or how grateful she was for it, but she drank the whole glass in a single go. Durai smiled in delight at her obedience and filled the glass again which she finished just as fast.

"Very good," he whispered to her as he put down the glass. He then took a moment to look at her up and down slowly. "I held you so fast in my dreams since you left. Every night I thought of you; every day I mourned you. And I see now my memories paled greatly and didn't do you justice." Althea listened intently at the hypnotic lilt of his voice, saw how easily she had been put under its spell before, and tried desperately to fend against it.

But in her memory of how that same voice sounded not so long ago, she began to have a burning lamentation in her heart for the love that had wasted and died when she gave it to him. As much as she had tried to deny it before, there would always be a piece of her that would be lost because she had given it to him. She would never be able to give the gift of her first kiss, her first passionate night, and her first dreams and fantasies of forever to any other man, for she had irrevocably given it to him. What was worse, she had all of that lost to herself as well. She had given so much of herself to this man she had been certain was forever, and now there was less to walk away into her future with. If she had one.

"What will you do with me?" Althea asked knowing whatever answer he put into words were going to pierce like swords. Nothing shy of letting her go was going to mean any good for her. And there was no chance of him saying that.

Durai wrapped his arms around her then and held her small frame against his broad chest. His hands spread wide against her back and grasped fists-full of cloth and soft, thick hair in his fists. He remembering every passionate embrace before this one and was caught up in every feeling of fulfillment they had given him. "What will I do with you? Well, I'm going to keep you, make you happy. It will be better this time."

She could feel her heart bleeding. God, how she wanted those words to be true in a way. There was a huge part of her that remembered how she held him in love and in respect. Surely the time had not been so long ago, and surely this love that she saw now, in this moment, in his eyes couldn't be false and couldn't be evil. Perhaps he did mean it. He had gone through such great lengths to find her, bring her safely to the defense of the palace, and now he behaved the angelic gentleman. She had not been violated, she remained clothed and tended to, he had not taken advantage of her while she was drugged….

Then she closed her eyes hard at the ridiculous thoughts that she was having. How twisted did she become, how foolishly susceptible had he made her to believe that for even a fleeting second that she would hold any of his actions in gratitude? She had not been found and saved. She had been hunted down, drugged, and kidnapped against her will.

This was not love; this was control.

Carrying her through danger, pain, and injury, that was love. Seeing her through her moments of weakness with as much admiration as moments of strength and courage, that was love. Listening to her pain and offering to share the burden of its emotions even if they were painful, that was love. Nursing her back to health, that was love. Holding her in the grip of the hellish nightmares that haunted her and stole her away from serenity, that was love.

Oh, Galen…

She looked up at her adversary then and knew that she could not fully despair. Through whatever deed the devil may do, she was gifted a glimmer of hope to give her strength to endure. She had a future explode and burst forward in her heart with brilliantly illuminating possibilities, and they paved the way in faith before her, and she would fight to reach that end with all she had.