Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbed)

The paladin stared at Tybalt for a few seconds in silence.

The necromancer began to wonder what she could be thinking. It was a simple offer. He had seen through her dreams, her memories and fantasies. He had felt her desperation.

This should be a simple decision.

“I don’t believe… You can’t actually do that,” Samara said slowly. But her voice was full of hope. “Save me. Remake me?” She swallowed, her expression and her voice full of unspoken questions, but she continued on, “You’re talking about invading an army camp. If you come here, they’ll kill you.”

His heart was a little bit touched that she was concerned for his safety.

Just another reason for him to rescue her from being among the army he meant to slaughter.

“You underestimate me, Samara,” Tybalt said, making his tone haughty. “I’m far more powerful than you realize. And my life is my own to risk. I crept into your dreams. Don’t you think I can sneak into an army camp?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off.

“Forget about the practical difficulties for now. Do you still want the things you used to beg me for?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding eagerly.

The sense of shame that had followed her in most dreams seemed to have deserted her now. All her pride and reserve had been broken.

“Do you want to belong to me?”

“Are you… a demon? An evil god?”

“I’m entirely human.”

“Then yes… master.”

The dream faded into darkness as Vidalia disconnected Tybalt from the paladin.

“Well?” Vidalia asked as they sat up. Her tail wagged noticeably.

“We’re going to go get her, of course. Samara will belong to us from now on.”

***

The next period was a haze for the paladin.

She was dreaming, she knew she was dreaming, but she felt a comforting presence, smelled his musky body odor, felt his hands lifting her body in a princess carry, his fingers stroking her hair. From her other side, a soft pair of lips kissed her forehead. That was the foxgirl. She was always soft comfort after Tybalt had left her raw in the dreams.

It was a dream, Samara knew it must only be a dream… but it was so comforting, she wished not to wake up. The morning would only bring a rough shove and an order to wake up, then more marching. More shame. Eventually, she would have to fight, and if she was unfortunate enough to survive it, she would be tortured and paraded around Enh for her earlier transgressions.

“Don’t worry.” The voice was deep, soothing, and distant. “You belong to me now. I take care of my possessions.”

“Yes, master,” she murmured sleepily.

There was a blur of images. Town walls, torch light, a confusion of buildings, then a sleepy, grumpy violet-colored face that became less grumpy as the deep voice of Samara’s master spoke.

“Kingdom kept her prisoner… I need… shackles…” It was impossible for her to keep her focus on his words. She was only half awake and still so tired. The world faded away completely again.

The next thing she remembered feeling was a strange lightness to her body. Then she felt warm water all around. That was what woke her.

“Wh-what’s going—”

“Shh,” said a quiet voice. Gentle fingers ran through Samara’s hair, and she realized she felt someone behind her. They were both nude, skin on skin, in a bath. She was still half asleep, and the room was dimly lit. She could almost believe this was still a dream, and she allowed herself to lean back into the figure embracing her. It was another woman, so at least it wasn’t her guards trying to attack her. In fact, Samara felt a pregnancy bump behind her. It made the other woman seem utterly harmless, and therefore it relaxed the paladin even more. “There’s no cause for alarm. Tybalt has you. He and I agreed that it was best that I bathe you before what comes next. So the servants drew us a nice hot bath.”

“My shackles,” Samara muttered. She lifted one foot out of the water and almost giggled at the sight of it rising unencumbered. The sound died on her lips when she saw the welts in her skin from days of marching while chained. That had been real. Of course it had.

“They’re yours to wear,” the woman behind her said. “Or not. You have choices to make now. He’ll put them back on you after I bathe you, unless you don’t want that.”

Why would I want that? Samara thought.

But she already knew. If the dream lover truly had her, as this woman said, then the shackles weren’t to keep her from escaping. They were… to set a mood.

After the last few days, Samara had played out a twisted parallel to the scenario Tybalt had often used as a prelude to seduction in her dreams: the Last Temptation of Astara.

The paladin, like her patron before her, had been persecuted, abused, shackled, and now she was in the custody of her rescuer.

He’ll want me in the shackles, she thought. Despite the fatigue that still gnawed at her focus, she felt herself begin to grow hot at the thought. The most important part of the sentence, after all, was, He’ll want me. This was the real thing. Not a game, not a dream.

She knew that, even as parts of her wanted to deny it - wanted to deny responsibility or perhaps push off the reality until it was inescapable. Until he was inescapable. If she thought about it too hard, she might run away, when what she wanted was… she didn’t know.

So Samara remained silent. The other woman resumed washing her, which she had clearly been in the midst of doing when the paladin woke. Weeks of sweat and sand came off of the paladin into the bath, and she gradually relaxed again.

She relaxed so much that she fell asleep once more.

Samara woke in near complete darkness and almost thought she was back in the desert. Her shackles were back around her wrists and ankles, she noticed almost instantly. Her body had been dried off by someone. But she wore only the shackles.

She lay on a soft bed, almost spreadeagled, arms stretched out over her head, legs spread apart to the maximum extent they could be with the shackles on.

“Please,” she said into the darkness. “Please.”

She didn’t know what she was asking for.

“Please what?” said that same deep, male voice from earlier.

Without her consciously realizing it, she began to smile.

“Please, master,” she said, her voice pleading. She already felt the heat rising between her legs at the mere sound of his voice.

“What are you asking me for?” His voice was cool, demanding - unmistakably the same master from her dreams.

“Make me your property, please.”

The words were almost a reflex. She didn’t care about anything anymore. She was free from the soldiers, free from probable capital punishment, and soon she would be free from her vows to Astara. If that led to a new life as a sex slave, she would deal with that possibility when it arose. Tonight, she was ready to become his property, whatever that meant.

Asha had been wrong about her. For that matter, so had the Love Goddess, Astara. Samara was not too good at rule following to be a whore. She just needed the right motivations.

He snorted. “Weren’t you a virgin, bound by a vow of celibacy?”

I was, once. She knew what to say, what her role was in this situation.

“Only physically,” Samara said. “You have seen to that. You and your beastgirl… but mostly you. You showed me the pleasures of the flesh… and how to please you. I’m ready, master. You can do all those things you used to in my dreams. You want that, don’t you? You must, or you wouldn’t have played with me so often. I learned my lesson, master. All those times I tried to push you away, it didn’t help me. It just left me filled with yearning. I was longing for you. Do you want me to beg?”

“He does enjoy that from you.”

Samara started as she heard another voice from the darkness, much closer to her. She turned her head and saw the outline of a pregnant figure in the shadows beside the bed. It was the foxgirl from the dreams, she knew from the voice. The pregnant belly also confirmed that this was the same woman who had bathed her earlier. She had been too drowsy earlier to fully recognize it.

The figure in the shadows stepped forward, ran a finger along Samara’s neck, and drew out another spike of arousal, another rush of heat to her sex. Even though it was a woman touching her.

“But Tybalt will have you when he wants you,” the woman went on. “Wait for him to take you.”

Vidalia, that was her name. Right? Like the onion.

Samara just nodded.

“All right…”

He wanted to play his usual games with her, then, and the other woman was there to participate. Samara would endure it and receive her reward.

“There’s something else I want from you first,” he said.

“Some sort of oath?” Samara guessed. His posture stiffened, she could tell even through the dense darkness that surrounded him. She thought he was probably slightly surprised that she had figured it out. But she remembered a lot about the dreams, especially right now when she had just awakened. “You used to mention it all the time. Wanting me to swear vows to you in contradiction to the vows to my patron. Probably trying to bind a paladin to your will for some reason, right? You’re clearly not a demon, and I guess you can’t be a god. But I’m sure there’s some other power that would enjoy controlling a paladin of Astara.” She stared Tybalt in the eyes. “But you know I won’t be a paladin anymore after this, right? You’ll taste the forbidden fruit once, and after that, I’m just… fruit. I don’t know if you’re going to throw me away or keep me. I’ll swear an oath of allegiance if you wish. I’m just telling you, you might not get what you want out of it.”

“I want you to pledge yourself to the service of the God of Death,” Tybalt said.

Her eyes widened.

“Pledge myself to the God of Death?” Samara repeated, her mind reeling.

“Lord Mudo’s power is what allowed me to save you,” Tybalt continued. “Open yourself up to it fully. Open yourself to me fully.”

“You’re the Defiant Necromancer.” The revelation hit like a ton of bricks. That was why he’d spent all this time corrupting her to his side.