Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 "Love & Hate" by Absinthe (soloset@yahoo.com)

   [ Now this is an interesting story.  It features Dav, Ryele, and Mina,
but at a much later date than "Served Cold".  Contains cruelty, f/f,
vampirism, um, let's see, reluctant sex, and, oh, yeah, mind control.  I
think that's it.  ^_^ ]

   Davarian Saronas was a very happy man.  Not very many things made him
happy, but women, wine, and gambling inspired a pretty fair imitation of
the state.  Tall, good-looking in a rugged, wild way, he'd once caused a
minstrel to remark that he had the face of a fallen angel and the soul of
an unreformed, unrepentant rakehell.  Glancing up from his hand, he caught
a glimpse of the aforementioned minstrel walking towards him with a very
predatory gleam in her eye.  This, coupled with the not-too-cheap red wine
he'd been drinking and the very successful night of cards, had him about as
close to happy as he could ever remember finding himself.  Something about
the glimpse bothered him, and he looked again.

   The minstrel Rye Deft was slender, and curvy, and wearing something he'd
never seen her in before- a dress.  Thinking about it a moment, he couldn't
recall ever seeing her in anything not very similar to her usual hunting
gear of loose dark blue trousers, full-sleeved white shirt, and dark
crimson bodice, knife sheaths at wrist, thigh, and ankle and a heavy silver
scabbard over one shoulder, a crooked, welcoming grin on her lips.  This
evening she was wearing a clinging silvery nothing of a dress, so light and
gauzy that it was obvious to him- and every other guy in this bar, he
thought with a twinge of something akin to jealously that he instantly
dismissed from his mind- that she wasn't wearing a stitch under it, even as
the shifting fabric prevented a clearer idea of what lay underneath.  He
found himself wondering exactly how she would look without that gown on,
and shook himself irritably- he already knew.  The dress was perfectly
complimented by the two items of jewelry she wore- a delicate silver
bracelet on her left wrist and a wide silver ribbon choker with a black
rose cameo around her neck that emphasized the slender lines of her throat.
He fixed his gaze firmly on his cards- he was one card short of a straight
dragon flush, a worthless hand without the dragon ace- but found his eyes
being drawn back to her lazy stalking across the room with the irresistable
force of a magnet drawing iron.  Her walk was a far cry from her normal
confident stride as well- a sultry, hip-swaying glide that made him grit
his teeth and drag his eyes away again.

   His eyes settled on her heart-shaped face, elegantly framed by loose
tendrils of creamy white hair caught at the nape of her neck with a lush
silver bow and cascading down her bare back like a smooth snowy waterfall.
Her slow, curvy smile and wide, knowing eyes made him flush- and then frown
with puzzlement.  He knew he'd seen that seductive expression before, but
he couldn't place it- and when his eyes met hers, he knew that she knew
that he had to exert every ounce of self-control to avoid staring at her
like a drowning man stares at the shore.  That wasn't like her, he knew-
she was more the type to laugh at such games than play them.

   The low hum of the other patrons in Talmud's had ceased when she walked
in, and now it grew again to a muted roar.  Rye stopped at his shoulder,
sliding one slender fingered hand along the back of his chair and brushing
delicately past the tiny hairs on the back of his neck as she flicked an
imaginary speck of lint off of one broad, red-covered shoulder.  He
shivered involuntarily, and, suddenly feeling reckless, pushed all of his
coins into the center of the table.  The dealer passed him his final card,
and he let it lie on the table face down where it'd come to rest, not even
bothering to look at it or glance back down at his cards before he nodded
slightly, indicating his turn was over.  The bar grew quiet again,
watchful, as all eyes turned to the suddenly interesting game of dragon
poker.

   The faint smile that touched the corners of Dav' mouth caused the
dissipated Elf on his right to fold with a disgusted snort, and his level,
icy blue stare gave nothing away as the heavily muscled and tattooed bald
man across from him sized him up.  To his right, the overweight, balding
dwarf shifted nervously in his seat, but Dav didn't so much as glance at
him as he waited for the only one at the table who was even remotely a
challenge to make his move.  After a long, seemingly endless pause, the
dark haired man pushed his smaller pile of coins into the pot, shaking his
head.  "You've been lucky all night, stranger- your luck has to have run
out."

   The dwarf on his right followed the bald man's lead, and, never dropping
his eyes from his true opponent, Dav spread out his cards on the table,
flipping over the last card to reveal the dragon ace.  The bar was silent,
stunned, for a long moment, and then everything happened at once.  Rye's
delicate, throaty laughter echoed over the amazed babble as the bald man
across the table from him leapt to his feet, kicking over his chair as he
stood, his hand going to the hilt of the sword sheathed at his belt. 
"That's impossible- no one is that lucky!" the bald man snarled, drawing
his greatsword, a wicked forty-eight inches of tempered steel with an
overly decorated two-handed bone hilt, and swinging the tip around across
the table to point at Dav's chest as easily as another man might wave a
dagger.

   Calmly, Dav leaned back in his chair, pushing the wide brim of his red
hat back from his eyes with his right hand.  He could feel Rye's slender
fingers tighten on his shoulder as she tensed, one firm, curvy hip and
thigh pressed hotly against his side, the distraction somehow sharpening
his senses instead of distracting them.  "You don't really want to do that,
my friend," he said peacefully, making a small gesture with his right hand.

   The bald man laughed, a coarse, ugly sound.  "Or what, the little mage
will throw a spell at me?" He snickered, turning his forearm to reveal a
large, poorly drawn tattoo of the Fighter's Guild.  Dav simply shook his
head, and the lack of fear on his face made the big man's sneer fade.

   "No...  it would be simpler to just shoot you with a crossbow bolt from
the crossbow I have pointed at you under the table." He tilted his head
slightly, indicating his left hand, still hidden under the table.  His
sudden infuriating grin made his face even more heartbreakingly handsome.
"Although, if you think you can dodge a bolt at three paces, feel free to
continue." He appeared to be considering something, then sighed as if about
to offer a concession he'd prefer not to.  "Or I suppose you could sheath
your sword, turn around, and walk out of here, and nobody has to see the
medics about a hole in his chest today." He shrugged as if he'd enjoy
seeing this little drama play out either way.

   The big man stared at him for a long, endless moment, a moment in which
Dav became suddenly aware of the heavy, musky spice of Rye's perfume.  He
stared back, eyes as cold as ice chips, a serene, almost bored expression
on his face.  At last, the man grunted contemptuously, sheathing his sword
and stomping out without a backward glance.  Dav could feel Rye's sudden
exhale of breath as she relaxed limply against his side, a feeling he
enjoyed immensely though he kept his appreciation from showing on his face.
"That was a marvellous gambit, my darling," she breathed huskily in his
ear. "However did you know to have the crossbow ready?"

   He lifted his left hand from below the table, shaking his wrist slightly
so that the sleek, immaculate cuff of his black silk shirt would fall
evenly against the sleeve of his red coat, and placed it on the table,
sliding to his feet with a lithe motion.  Her delighted laugh when she
realized his bluff was almost better than the pile of coins he pulled in
from the pot.  Even better that that was her whispered invitation to follow
her and the view of her exquisitely shaped backside as she stalked
lusciously towards the stairs.  He watched for a long, appreciative moment,
his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat, then shoved the coins he'd won
into a pouch at his belt and strode after her.

   He had to increase his pace to catch up with her as she disappeared
inside the dark room just past the head of the stairs.  Ducking slightly,
he stepped into the darkened room, cocking his head warily although he
expected no attack, not here.  He knew without a doubt that she was his, at
least in this respect, and that, while she was a lot of things, Ryele Deft
was neither a coward nor a murderer.  If she were annoyed with him, she'd
challenge him in the center of town at high noon...  And quite likely force
me to call down a lightning bolt before she removed my head with that
bloody great bastard sword of hers, he thought with a sudden lopsided grin.
The grin faded as he realized he couldn't locate her in the dark room, and
something tugged at his attention, something he couldn't quite put his
finger on.  There was a light chanting playing at the edge of his hearing,
a faint lilting song that he was sure he should be able to place...

   He blinked, suddenly aware that he'd been about to doze off.  He shifted
slightly, and found that his hands were held immobile above his head by
soft bonds.  It was still very dark, and he was still standing, but now his
feet were bare against the cool floor.  Alarmed, but not overly so, Dav
methodically tried to move a step away from whatever he was bound to, but
found his feet tethered with the same material that tied his hands.  A
delicate breeze laced with spice and orchids tickled his nose and the bare
skin of his stomach and chest, and he realized he'd been stripped while he
was unconscious.  Shaking his head, he realized that he was blindfolded
with more of the velvety material.  Hmmm, he thought a bit wryly, naked,
tied hand and foot, and blindfolded.  This will either be very interesting
or very painful.

   "Rye, untie me, and I'll reward you for enchanting me," he threatened
good-naturedly, twisting his wrists against the velvety bonds, searching
for a hint of give.  It was hopeless- the material was soft but unyielding,
stronger than any mundane fabric but as pliable as the most expensive silk.
In answer to his words, he heard a faint giggle, as light and silvery as a
moonbeam sliding over a sleeping lover.  He felt himself grin in response,
certain he was about to be released so that the true fun could begin. 
Nothing happened for a long while, and he strained against the blackness,
suddenly a bit alarmed.

   Without warning, a delicately light touch traced a searing trail of
pleasure along his jaw, a teasing, darting pinpoint of sensation in the
darkness that held him.  He was intensely aware of that single touch, far
more aware than he would have been had his eyes been uncovered.  When the
touch vanished, he found himself held coiled, tensely awaiting its return
with breath held.  Mentally berating himself, he relaxed, forcing himself
to hang limply in the bonds, revealing no trace of his growing desire. 
Still, he couldn't help but shiver slightly as the strong, slender hands
returned to draw fanciful shapes over his naked chest, brushing the narrow
trail of dark hair the wrong way in a frustratingly possessive way that
aroused him greatly.

   "Untie me, Rye, I promise you'll enjoy it...," he coaxed, certain that
she wouldn't be able to keep this game up for long.  Again, there was no
response, this time for such a long time that he half-feared she'd left him
here in a fit of pique to hang until the notoriously lazy staff of Talmud's
arrived in the morning to clean out the rooms.  Just when he was about to
start calling for help, he felt a brush of air against the sides of his
face as the blindfold was slipped from his eyes with a wave of
spice-scented air.  He found himself looking deep into her mismatched blue
and brown eyes, huge and dark at this distance, bottomless pools that for
one instant threatened to swallow him up despite his anger.  Then she
stepped back, and he realized that she was still dressed in that clingy
silver gown, the shimmering material catching the faint moonlight from the
window and the oddly cool light from a single candle on a table near the
back of the room.  The light seemed to seek them out, highlighting curves
and shadowing valleys, making her eyes look like dark shadows in her face.
This disturbed him for a moment; half nervously he glanced away, and his
gaze fell on the inviting looking bed behind her, made up with
smooth-looking black silk.  His nervousness fled, replaced by another
sudden grin as his surety that this was only foreplay returned.

   His certainty faded somewhat under her continued cool stare.  Her face
was blank, empty of emotion- he might as well not have been in the room for
all the response he elicited from her.  Slowly, carelessly, she slid her
hands down, along her sides, the soft skin of her palms brushing over the
silky material with a light hiss and accentuating the firm curves of her
dancer's body.  Almost without meaning to, his eyes followed her hands
down, to her slim waist, then back up as they slid tantalizingly along the
gown, dragging the fabric up as she brought her hands forward to slide over
her breasts.  For an instant a hint of the shadow between her legs was
visible, and then the clingy material obscured it as she let her hands fall
to her sides.

   After a deliciously long pause, still expressionless, she slowly slipped
first the left strap of the gown, then the right off over her shoulders,
exposing delicately pale, flawless skin to his gaze.  He felt his unease
shift into growing desire as she raised her arms above her head, stretching
luxuriously as the gown whispered over her curves, falling into a silvery
pool around her feet and baring her perfectly formed body.  Gracefully, she
stepped from the material, a flash of hidden inner thigh tantalizing him as
she moved, her body naked except for the slender moon-colored high heels
and the silver bracelet on her left wrist.  Treacherously, his body
hardened for her, a sudden tightening that was almost painful.

   Turning her back to him, she paused, then bent one long leg slightly,
bending over at the waist and running her fingers over the strap of each
shoe before unfastening them.  He bit back a groan at the sudden view, the
sudden desire to bury himself inside her almost overwhelming his intention
to deny her the satisfaction of knowing he was more than just physically
aroused.  She glanced over her shoulder, the curly white hair framing her
wide-set, shadowy eyes, and then, slowly, she straightened, turning to face
him again, and stepped out of the high heels.

   Slowly, teasingly, she drew one finger along the bottom edge of the
velvet ribbon around her throat, sliding her finger down between her small,
firm breasts and across her flat stomach.  At the narrow triangle between
her legs her hand paused, tentatively, as if she were debating whether or
not to proceed, and he had to strangle a groan of encouragement.  She
continued on as if she hadn't heard him, indeed, as if she were alone in
the room- her other hand raised to curl around her left breast, thumb
stroking the hard nipple, her breathing faster than before.  She was still
utterly silent; the only sounds in the room were her light, quick gasps for
air and his harsher, deeper breathing.

   Her hand darted forward, sliding between her legs, the bracelet clinking
faintly as her other hand continued stroking her breast.  He could see that
her nipples were hard, tiny centers erect in the pale rosy circles that
crested her breasts, and it drove him wild to imagine his tongue flicking
against those centers, making her cry out in pleasure.  Her right hand slid
deeper, eliciting a startled gasp from between her dewy, slightly parted
lips, and he shuddered, almost feeling his body sliding into her, his
earlier annoyance all but forgotten.  He was so hard it was painful- only
his stubborn pride kept him from breaking the silence, pride, and a deeper
sense of unease that he couldn't seem to shake.

   Something caught the corner of his eye, wrenching his gaze away from the
incredibly desirable woman before him.  Just behind her, behind her right
shoulder, something was swirling in the shadows, a dark purple mist that
tugged tantalizingly at his memory with a hint of orchids and sumptuous
decay even as it faded into the dark, lithe shape of...

   "Mina," he breathed, sudden rage flashing across his face for an instant
before he could hide it and effectively killing his desire.  She smiled
lazily at him over the slender bardess' shoulder, like a great hunting cat,
her lovely elven features even colder and more alien than he remembered. 
His eyes caught the flash of silver moonlight off of a slender dagger, and
he flinched in sudden horror as he realized Rye was still deep in her own
pleasure, oblivious to her surroundings and danger.  He lunged forward,
fighting the heavy air of silence in the room, fighting his own horror as
much as the bonds restraining him.

   Mina lifted the dagger slowly, and his horror released him enough to
gasp out, "Rye!  No, Mina, don't-" as she brought the dagger down in a
swift, sharp motion.  He lunged forward again, wanted to close his eyes,
but the horror that gripped him refused to allow him the luxury of
cowardice as the woman he loved- he could admit it to himself now, in the
instant he lost her- faced death alone.  He staggered as Mina pulled the
blade slightly, ending its vicious stroke early, a hairsbreadth from the
delicate nape of her neck, washed with snowy curls.  Relief washed over
him, burying the knowledge of a moment before, relief that was swiftly
replaced by that deep and growing unease as Rye didn't react, her eyes
closed and her head tilted back with pleasure, her fingers still sliding
deep inside, her other hand still lightly stroking over her nipple, as the
dagger came to rest against her skin.

   With a contemptous sneer, Mina tossed the dagger aside.  "Fool." She
spat out, anger flickering redly in her dark eyes, the emotion only
heightening her cold beauty.  Casually, she stepped around the engrossed
bardess, circling around to one side, ensuring his view would be
unimpaired. She was wearing a brief black skirt that revealed her long,
slender legs to the tops of her thighs, and a light black halter top that
was more straps than fabric, baring her pale midriff and alabaster skin to
his gaze and the moonlight.  She laughed, a sound like priceless crystal
shattering, when she noticed his eyes upon her.

   As if on cue, Rye opened her eyes, lashes fluttering darkly against her
pale skin, her wide eyes expressionless and empty of thought.  Her left
hand dropped to her side, the other sliding from between her legs, fingers
glistening with wetness.  Slowly, she raised her fingers to her mouth,
delicately licking the fragrant juices from her long, slender fingers.  He
shivered, rage warring with desire for an instant before winning out again.
Dav tightened his hands into fists, grating out through gritted teeth,
"What have you done to her?" as his icy blue eyes glared daggers into the
lithe Elf.  She didn't deign to respond, simply reached up and slid a
graceful hand under the curve of Rye's firm right breast, flicking a sharp
nail over the nipple in a way he knew had to cause the bardess pain- yet
her only response was a slight shiver, as if of pleasure.

   He snarled, a dark sound of rage and impotent frustration, and lunged
forward again, heedless of the bindings cutting into his wrists and ankles.
"Let her go, demon!" he railed, twisting against his bonds.  Mina glanced
up at him, her eyes suddenly huge.

   "If you wear yourself out now, you won't have any stamina left for
later," she said coolly.  "Stop." He sagged, suddenly, to his own horror,
lacking the will to continue struggling.  He fought with himself, demanding
control, but found himself powerless to resist her command, indeed, far
more insidiously, powerless to want to resist her command.  Added to the
rage now was a deep sense of violation, of humiliation, for he held one
thing dearer to his heart than all others- that he belonged to no one but
himself, and that the integrity of his person could never be compromised.
Oddly, this sense of violation seemed to fan a tiny coal of resistance
inside him.  He was careful to keep this spark of resistance hidden behind
an unchanged expression of resignation mixed with rage, and she laughed
again, mocking his surrender.

   Limply, he hung in the bonds, more wearied by the mental struggle than
the physical one.  It was strange, he thought, his mind racing even as his
body was held helpless- the two women before him were so similar, and yet
so different.  Although Rye was the taller by a few inches, and curvier by
the taint of her half-human heritage, they shared an odd, ethereal grace
that revealed fae ancestry and the lithe, unnatural agility of the Sidhe.
Together, they were a study in contrasts.  Mina was dark, sultry, as icy as
a glacier, crimson hair stark as blood against pale skin, while Rye was
light, smooth creamy curls as innocent as new-fallen snow, lovely
heart-shaped face marked with an innate forthrightness that never failed to
amaze him.  It was little wonder that they'd both captured his desire, and
that the darkness of one tempted him as surely as the redemption the other
offered tugged at his heart.

   With a slight gesture, Mina bade Rye kneel.  Slowly, her movements
unfiltered by her conscious mind and betraying the inhuman grace that he'd
never before seen save in combat, she obeyed, kneeling before the
crimson-haired sorceress.  As if scripted, her hands, warmer even when
gilded by moonlight than the icy pale skin of the dark-eyed elven beauty,
slid slowly up the outside of the sorceress' thighs, pushing the brief
skirt up to reveal bare skin.  As Dav watched in horror, horror that he
couldn't deny, even to himself, was tinged with fascination, Rye lowered
her head, pressing her mouth against the shadowy flesh, her creamy white
hair curling around her face to almost hide her blissful expression.

   He couldn't help but remember what Mina tasted like, the spicy wetness
of her, and his body betrayed his thoughts.  Her head tilted back, the
crimson waves of her hair cascading over her almost bare moon-silvered
shoulders, and her lips parted, her sharp-nailed fingers sliding obscenely
through the silky white curls of the woman kneeling before her.  He fought
to keep in mind the horror of the scene, the vileness of it, and despised
himself for responding.  Something inside him yearned to be part of this?
he thought incredulously, crushing the thought even as it came to him,
denying that he could hold so much darkness.

   After a seeming eternity, Mina relaxed, sliding her hands down to Rye's
shoulders and pushing her away.  Dav tensed, ignoring Mina's mocking glance
as she ever so gently tugged Rye to her feet, leading her by one hand to
the bed.  Like some sort of water nymph, painted silver by moonlight, Rye
languidly stretched out on the bed, her arms loosely at her sides and her
legs spread.  She was turned slightly away from him, her body open to his
gaze, and the sight added to his growing hunger.

   Mina knelt, a cold, distant expression on her face as she slid two
fingers inside the deep, dark junction of Rye's legs.  Rye shuddered
slightly, moaning, her hands clenched in the silk sheets, her hips arching
to deepen the connection.  A faint groan escaped his lips, and he took a
step forward, brought up short by the bonds at his wrists.  Mina glanced at
him, a sardonic smile touching the corners of her lips, and he shuddered as
he recognized his own smile.  She slipped her fingers out, glistening
wetly, and gently pushed Rye's legs wider before lowering her head to to
lap her roughly with her wet, pink tongue.  A sudden jolt of pleasure so
keen it was like pain lanced through him as he remembered the taste of Rye,
the way she would become wetter if he used longer strokes, and he could
almost taste her sweet juices on his tongue.

   Mina's head was moving faster now, her tongue lashing wetly, her fingers
thrusting in time to the frenzied arches of Rye's hips and her frantic
gasps.  He knew she was approaching her peak, knew that now was when he
would usually slide into her, to feel her body coiling and uncoiling around
him with strong, hard spasms as he sank deeply into her and his own climax.
Mina's head shifted slightly, to Rye's inner thigh, and Rye cried out, a
sound to his ears of pain as much as pleasure.  Instantly, she climaxed,
her hips arched upwards, her head thrown back and a look of unbearable
pleasure on her face as she cried out again and again.  The sound and sight
of her almost sent him over the edge, his hips arching in response, but he
fought with himself, refusing to allow that surrender.

   After an endless time, Rye collapsed limply, her eyes closed, and Mina
lifted her head, licking a single crimson drop from her lower lip.  Dav
found himself leaning forward, straining against the bonds, and forced
himself to relax.  As he did so, he realized that the bonds around his left
wrist had loosened, perhaps enough for the small gesture that summoned fire
to his fingers.  He tensed the first two fingers on his left hand, ready to
make the gesture- and hesitated.  Mina climbed lithely to her feet, and
stalked across the room to stand in front of him, her eyes the darkest
purple, glowing with an unholy crimson light.  She smiled, slowly, a smile
that chilled his soul but fired his blood, as her gaze raked up and down
his body.  At last, she spoke.  "And so... you see." She reached out,
tracing the narrow line of dark hair along his chest with two fingers, the
same fingers that had been inside Rye.  "In her mind, she was fucking you,
mage," she said carelessly.

   He tensed, about to gesture, and hesitated again.  Her touch was like
fire, drawing pleasure and agony from his soul, leaving him burned out,
desperate for more, even as her words twisted something inside him that
he'd long ago thought he'd lost.  The coiled darkness in his soul shifted,
seeking an escape, even as his body desired release above all other things,
and he wrestled with his desires for a long moment.  It would be so easy to
give in to her, he knew- and it would feel far better than anything he'd
ever known.

   Weighed against the pleasure of her touch, his pride and self-respect
seemed like such small prices to pay- he snarled, suddenly, denying that
line of thought.  Mina laughed, that sharp-edged crystal sound that he had
long ago learned to hate, at his sudden anger.  "Go ahead," she mocked,
sultry eyes glancing at his left hand and then back to his eyes.  "Cast
your spell, free yourself." A flicker of something crossed his face,
something she noted and took pleasure in.  "Oh, yes... even your thoughts
are not yours alone." Her hand slid along his chest, down to his stomach,
and finally curled around his hard cock, thumb absently stroking over the
sensitive head.  He arched, gritting his teeth against the pleasure,
refusing to accept it.  "You can force me to climax, Mina, but it'll never
be more than a cheap thrill," he grated out, through playing her game any
longer.

   She frowned, displeased, her hand tightening around him in a way that
made him want to cry out with pleasure even as he winced with pain. 
Abruptly, she released him, stepping back.  "Don't you understand?" She
stepped back in, close to him, her mouth next to his ear, her firm curves
pressed close against his body as she stood on tiptoe to reach.

   "There is nothing you have that I cannot take," she breathed into his
ear, the rough leather of her halter digging into the flesh of his chest.
"Nothing you cherish, hold pure, that I cannot sully." Her mouth slid down
along his jaw, brushing against his throat.

   "Nothing you desire that I cannot make you desire me over." Her teeth
sank into his throat and he cried out with surprise and pain, flicking the
fingers and wrist of his left hand in the simple gesture that summoned fire
to his fingertips.  A wave of pleasure rolled over him, as soft and heavy
as the surf at high tide, and he found his newly freed hands burying
themselves in her thick, silky hair, crushing her head against his throat
as she drank deeply.  His head rolled back, and he staggered, dropping to
his knees.  She fell with him, never breaking the contact, the pleasure of
her kiss triggering his own helpless, shuddering climax, a pale reflection
of the pleasure she offered but the only way his body knew to react to such
incredible sensations.

   At last she lifted her head, breaking his suddenly strengthless embrace
easily.  She looked down at him, kneeling, exhausted, spent, for a long
moment, and then, wordlessly, she stepped back, fading into the shadows
cast by the nearly burned out candle.  Her mocking crystal laughter echoed
in his ears for an eternity as he remained kneeling where he was for a long
time after that, head down, feeling utterly empty.  At last he climbed to
his feet and, burning the bonds around them away with a gesture, walked
over to Rye's side.  Carefully, wearily, he slipped into the bed next to
her, gathering her into his arms.  She shifted slightly, in her sleep, eyes
fluttering, and he was surprised at the sudden rush of relief he felt at
knowing she would wake.  His eyes closed for a moment as he searched the
emptiness inside for some spark of feeling, and then he was blinking awake
under the yellow light of the sun streaming in through the window.

   He frowned, memory twisting treacherously.  Rye was curled up next to
him, her breathing deep and regular, and he suddenly had to know- gently,
he slipped his hand between her thighs, parting them, searching for the two
small marks that would prove his memory true.  She turned in her sleep,
with a gentle murmur of pleasure.  He found nothing, and forced his
thoughts back over the events of the evening past.  Yes, there had been a
card game, one in which he'd been uncommonly lucky... yes, Rye had been
there, but not in a silky gown, in her normal clothes, the clothes that
were strewn around the room in a most unelegant fashion at the moment,
layered with his.  He shook his head, irritably, lying back as Rye followed
his hand in her sleep, stretching one long, tanned leg over his waist and
curling up half on top of him as if he were a giant pillow.  He could
almost remember the dream he'd had, but it was fading fast in the light of
the sun...