Nexwave Erotic

The Big Time Pt. 09

*”Standard Disclaimer:”*

“You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it…you know the rest.”

“This story may NOT be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use. ”

“This work is complete fiction; celebs don’t act like this in real life…probably.”

“Any copyrighted names, works, or whatever are products of their respective owners.”

“Comments and suggestions are welcome and wanted. Please send any thoughts you may have to the address in my profile.”

“(Another disclaimer: Fans of a prominent author of our community will no doubt notice remarkable similarities in both tone and subject between parts of this chapter and one of his most beloved works. Similarities so peculiar that it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence, that I must be plagiarizing him or ripping off elements of his story to enhance mine. All I can say is that it truly is a coincidence and his work was not in my mind when I wrote this chapter. The only proof I can offer is that I SWEAR it was raining around 5:30 pm on July 5, 2003 here in Chicago and it would have been derelict of me to ignore what fate had so perfectly laid out for my timeline. If he happens to read this series, I hope he understands why I had to write it the way I did)”

* * * * *

*Chapter 9: The Shoot*

*9:45 pm. Tuesday, July 1. Hotel Allegro. Chicago, Illinois.*

Michael waited, rubbing his knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. Three seconds passed and he knocked again, this time with the bottom of his fist. There was nothing but a short scream from the woman. He pressed his eye to the peephole again.

The man was screaming, and the woman did nothing but cry in response. He pointed his finger at her, then reared back with his foot and kicked her viciously in the stomach. Michael was banging on the door now, yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs.

The man turned towards the door. He held the woman up and punched her flush in the cheek. Laughing, he started ripping her clothes off. She struggled but there was as much muscle on her small stature as one might expect. He forced her up against the windows. Holding her by the back of her neck he began pushing her pants down.

Michael drove his shoulder into the door. Once, twice, then again and again and again. He took a step back and began kicking the door with his heel. When it finally began to give, Michael moved back against the opposite wall and dashed forward, pounding his way through in a shower of splinters. The man let go of the woman and turned around in surprise.

He was even more surprised when Michael grabbed his hair and cracked the television screen with his forehead. Then Michael shoved him out of the room where the man landed on his chest. The woman made no attempt to stop Michael from following his prey outside of the room; indeed, neither did Michael himself.

The man got to his feet. “What the fuck is your problem?!” Michael’s hands shot forward and grabbed the man by the collar. He yanked him around in a circle and threw him head first into the wall, splitting the man’s eyebrow. “FUCK!” cried out the man.

Michael grabbed him by the top of his pants and proceeded to bounce the man’s head off the opposite wall. He staggered away from Michael down the hall. Thomas walked up to him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said. He drove his knee into the man’s stomach and then punched him in the solar plexus.

“Having trouble breathing Connor?” asked Michael.

“You know this guy?” said Thomas as he held the gasping man up. Connor flailed wildly at Thomas.

“Send him over here.” Thomas shoved Connor forward. Michael set his feet, snapped his hips and broke Connor’s nose with the hardest punch he had ever thrown. Connor’s head whiplashed and he landed flat on his back. Slowly, he got to his knees and tried to crawl away, Thomas and Michael circling like vultures. “Let’s get him outta here,” said Michael.

They latched onto Connor and dragged him down to the elevators. Thomas hit the call button. Connor’s blood was dripping to the carpet and he feebly struggled against their grips. “Urgghhg, why did, ur.”

“Shut up,” said Michael.

“Urrh, fuck you!” yelled the man through his tears.

Michael yanked the men’s head up by his hair and glared into his eyes. Then he and Thomas used him like a battering ram, driving his limp body into the golden doors of the elevator over and over. “You better hope these doors open soon or we’ll be pounding your face into it all day long,” said Michael through clenched teeth.

As they were rearing back for another thrust the doors opened and Connor ended up slamming against the back of the elevator. He fell into a heap on the floor. Michael entered the elevator and propped Connor up against the wall. Then he took a few steps back and kicked Connor so hard in the stomach that he vomited. Michael waited until Connor was done, then grabbed his hair and rubbed his face into the freshly regurgitated bile that was pooled on the floor.

Thomas reached in and slapped the button for the lobby. “Doors are gonna close in a sec Mike,” he said. Michael let Connor go and stepped out of the elevator. “Who is this guy?”

A terrified hotel guest was standing at the back of the ice machine room, clutching an ice bucket. “Can I borrow that?” asked Michael. The shaken guest handed him the bucket. “Thanks.” Michael went down the hall and into the woman’s room.

“I’m sure he’ll bring it back in a sec,” said Thomas. The guest nodded hesitantly.

“Oh my god Tom, what’s going on?” asked Keira. She was standing outside of her room. “What were you doing to that man?”

Thomas walked back to the woman’s room and looked inside. Michael was entering the bathroom with the ice bucket. Thomas picked up Keira’s bag and continued down the hall. “That cocksucker was slapping around a woman in the room over there. We took care of it.”

“Is she okay?” asked Keira as she took the bag from Thomas.

“I think she’ll be fine, Mike’s in there right now,” replied Thomas.

The woman was huddled against the wall clutching a blanket tightly around her body. Michael came out of the bathroom with some tissues and a small towel. He knelt down and held the tissues out to her. She visibly flinched at his outstretched hand. “Natalie, Connor is gone. I’m Mike, we had lunch together once?” Natalie slowly raised her eyes. Even through her tears she looked beautiful. Michael pulled the sofa chair closer and she sat.

Natalie accepted the tissues from him. She wiped her eyes and sniffled. He gently lifted her chin and looked for any marks on her delicate features. Michael took some ice out of the ice bucket and wrapped it in the towel. He held it to Natalie’s left cheekbone. “As far as I can tell it’s just a light bruise.”

She did everything she could to hold back the tears coming down her cheeks. Natalie blew her nose and replaced his hand with hers on the makeshift ice pack. She clutched the blanket even tighter. “How did you know?”

“Are there any cuts, sprains, anything like that? Anything feel like it’s broken? Like a finger or something?” asked Michael as he examined her face, carefully avoiding her eyes. Natalie shook her head at each question. “Did you hit your head? Are you dizzy or having trouble focusing?”

“No,” said Natalie. She sniffed. “You never said you were in med school.”

“I’m not,” said Michael. He went over to the table and picked up the phone. Michael dialed the front desk. “Hi, I’m calling for Natalie Portman from room 8042. She would like a new room as soon as possible. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No sir, it won’t be. Just one moment,” said the attendant.

“What are you doing?” asked Natalie.

“I’m assuming you don’t want to stay in this room, you can’t even close the door anymore,” answered Michael.

“There is a suite available right now if that is alright?” said the attendant.

“Fine.”

“Shall I send someone up to take her bags?”

“Yes. Tell him to wait at the elevator. She’ll come to him.” Michael hung up the phone. “You’re new room is ready whenever you are.” Natalie stared at Michael’s hand. He looked at his hand and then back down at the bloody print on the phone “Sorry.”

“Is that yours?” asked Natalie. She swallowed hard as the blood coagulated before her eyes.

“No. I’ll go wash it off.” He headed for the door.

“Wait.”

Michael stopped and turned around. “Yes?” He saw her eyes get drawn to his hand and he held it behind his back. Natalie regained her focus and looked up at him.

“How did you know?” asked Natalie.

“I heard shouts. Then I found out that the peephole was put in the wrong way.” Natalie glanced at him in surprise. Michael cleared his throat. “I only saw the last few seconds. Then I broke the door down and…”

Natalie wiped her nose. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but luck had more to do with it than I did,” said Michael.

“But you stopped him.”

“No I didn’t,” said Michael. He stared at the floor. “If I did, you wouldn’t be holding that ice to your cheek or that blanket around your shoulders.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

“If you hadn’t been there at all-”

“I don’t think he’ll be coming back.” He turned to leave the room. “I’ll make sure nobody comes in while you’re getting ready.” Michael stood outside the room and held the door shut.

Natalie brought the ice down from her face and examined it. There was a blood on the towel as well and she dropped it in disgust. She let go of the blanket and entered the bathroom. There was a dark mark on her stomach. The bruise on her cheek was not nearly as noticeable in comparison. Natalie washed her face and then got dressed. Michael was standing with his back to the door when she came out of the room.

“Mike?”

“What is it?” said Michael without turning around. The manager of the hotel and a bellhop came out of the elevator.

“Why-”

“They’re waiting for you down there,” interrupted Michael.

Natalie walked away from him towards the elevators. “Ah, Ms. Portman, my name is Gene, I’m the manager. I’ve come to tell you that your room is ready. I hope it’s more to your liking.” He snapped his fingers and the bellhop took her bag from her. “David will show you the way.”

“If you’ll follow me miss.” David turned and entered the elevator, Natalie following.

The manager waited until the doors closed and then walked towards Michael. Michael quickly hid his hands behind his back. “What the hell happened here?” Michael cleared his throat and was about to answer when the manager saw the shattered door frame and entered the room in disbelief. Gene stared at the cracked television screen. “Are you the one who called the front desk?”

“Yes,” replied Michael.

“Were you also the one who left that bloody fucking mess in my elevator?”

“Well-”

Thomas came down the hall from Keira’s room. “We did, actually. But he’s the one who did most of the bloodying.” Michael hit Thomas on the shoulder. “What, man, you did.”

Gene walked out of the room looking furious. “You two jackoffs are gonna pay for the damages to this room, right fucking now. If you do, maybe I won’t tell the police what you two did to that poor bastard who’s on his way to the hospital right now.”

“Wait a second!” said Thomas. “We had a good fucking reason to bust the door down and beat the shit out of that guy. He was hitting that girl!”

“She didn’t look hurt to me,” said Gene. “My television, however, is a different story.”

“She didn’t look like she was hurt because we stopped him!” snapped Thomas.

“I don’t give a fuck,” said Gene coldly. “This WILL stay quiet. My hotel is not going to be on the front page because two idiots broke into a room and fucked up some celebrity’s boyfriend, I don’t care what the reason is. If this does get out, I’ll make sure both you dumbasses get thrown in jail. Now, one of you give me a credit card.”

“Fuck you, make that guy pay for it,” said Thomas.

Gene took his cell phone out and dialed nine and one. Then he held his thumb over the one button. “Fuck me?” Disgusted, Thomas took his wallet out and gave a card to Gene. “Pick it up at the front desk in a few minutes.” He pushed Thomas and Michael out of the way and started down the hall towards the elevator. “I better not catch either of you two faggots in my hotel again.” He got into an elevator and went back down to the lobby.

“What a fucking asshole! We saved that chick and he’s giving us shit for it?!” exclaimed Thomas. “And I want half of whatever he charges my card Mike.”

Michael nodded. “Fine.”

Keira shut the door to her room. “What is all the yelling about?”

Thomas sighed. “The manager just told us we had to pay for the damages to the room.”

“Didn’t you tell him why you had to get inside the room?” asked Keira.

“He doesn’t want the publicity,” said Thomas mockingly.

“Nothing we can do about this now,” said Michael. “I’m going home. See you guys later.” He headed for the elevators with Thomas and Keira behind him.

“Mike you wanna come hang out with us?” asked Thomas as the elevator headed for the lobby.

“No,” said Michael.

“Come on, let’s go celebrate, we’re heroes now,” said Thomas. “It’ll lessen the sting of whatever we get charged.”

Michael shook his head. “I’m gonna spend the next few hours burning that fucker’s blood off my hands with boiling water.” The door opened. “Bye.”

“Alright, see ya,” said Thomas as he walked out of the elevator. Keira pressed the button marked fourteen. “Did you forget something?” asked Thomas.

“I suddenly feel like staying in tonight.”

“Oh. Alright,” said Thomas with a trace of disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t be dense,” said Keira. “I didn’t say I wanted to stay in all alone”

Thomas jumped back into the elevator. “Oh. Well then.” He pressed the lit button a few more times impatiently.

“That won’t make the lift go any faster,” chuckled Keira.

“For American elevators it actually does.” He pressed the button rapidly.

“Really?”

Thomas cracked a grin. “No not really.”

Keira shoved him. “I’m never going to believe another word out of your mouth!”

“You wouldn’t be the first girl to say that.” A few moments later the doors opened and they were off to the races back to her room.

Lips locked and hands grabbing they rolled around on her bed. Clothes flip flopped across the room, shoes thudded to the floor. Keira rolled Thomas over on his back. “I think I need a proper shower,” said Keira.

Thomas blinked. “Good idea!” He quickly sat up and carried Keira into the bathroom. They hopped into the tub after stripping off the last remnants of their clothes. Keira shrieked as Thomas turned the shower on full blast with the wrong faucet.

“COLD!” yelled out Keira.

“Sorry!” said Thomas as he fiddled with the other faucet “Is that better?”

“Much,” said Keira. She let the water spray over her. Thomas watched her turn back and forth under the steaming hot water. Her hair properly soaked, she whipped it back over her head and looked at Thomas. Keira beckoned him with her finger.

Thomas stepped behind Keira and kissed her neck. He reached down to the side and picked up a bar of soap. Then he tore the packaging off of it and built up a lather in his hands. “Wasn’t I supposed to be the one with that?” said Keira.

“You can have it when I’m done with it,” said Thomas. He put his hands on her smooth shoulders and slid them down her arms to her small waist. Still holding the soap, he rubbed his way up her abdomen until he found her tender, soft breasts. Keira found herself leaning back into Thomas as he fondled her tits. Her nipples slipping in and out between his fingers, the soap dropped out of his hand to the bottom of the tub.

Keira bent over to pick it up, her ass brushing up against Thomas’s cock. “Stop,” said Thomas and he put a hand on her back to hold her down. He took the soap out of her hand and began applying it to her puckered asshole.

“You filthy man.” Despite her words, there was no effort to stop Thomas from what he was doing.

Thomas snickered. “Well, duh.” With a soapy hand he rubbed her pussy and a finger used the cover fire to sneak into her ass.

“Nooooo, Tom,” whispered Keira.

“Okay, if this doesn’t feel good, then I’ll try something else, okay?” He pressed another finger in as far as it would go. Thomas felt Keira shiver against his body. “Did you like that?” Keira grunted in response. Thomas’s cock was at full mast and he soaped himself up. “Soooo, should I stop?” asked Thomas as he nonchalantly slid his fingers back and forth.

“Yes,” moaned Keira.

“What?” asked Thomas.

Keira pushed back, coaxing his fingers back into her ass. “Please stop,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Thomas was utterly confused. “Huh?” Keira put her hands on the tile wall and pushed back harder. “Okay, I’m going to take that no as a yes. You better not cry rape when we’re done.” He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his dick. Keira whined softly as he penetrated her ass, the water and soap providing steady lubrication.

“Ooooh,” groaned Thomas as her butt hit his pelvis.

“Ohhhh yeeeessssss,” moaned Keira.

“Phew, I was worried there for a sec,” quipped Thomas. Just to be sure, he did not move at all and let his cock snuggle in Keira’s ass for a few moments.

Keira reached out and placed her hands against the walls of the shower. “Fuck me Tom, fuck me.”

“Uh, no.” Keira looked back at him with desperate eyes. “Kidding!” He grasped her hips. Her waist was tiny, he could nearly touch his fingertips around it. This also meant that her ass was so tight he had trouble pulling himself out. Of course, that was an extraordinarily minor setback and he savored it. With some effort he pulled back until only the crown was still inside, then he pushed back in slowly.

When he pulled out again he dribbled some more soap bubbles onto his shaft. It became a little easier and he got into a rhythm that soon had both of them panting with pleasure. The heavy steam flooding the room made it a little harder to breathe and it served to make the sensations even more intense.

Keira groaned and straightened up into Thomas. She leaned back against his chest as he continued thrusting with his hips. Reaching back she grabbed Thomas’s hair and pulled his mouth onto hers. Keira practically sucked his tongue into her mouth. They kissed frantically as Thomas began rubbing her clit vigorously. She yelped as an orgasm rocked her body.

After a few more strokes he suddenly pulled out and shoved himself into her pussy without missing a beat. She shook with surprise and accidentally slapped the faucet. The water instantly turned skin tingling cold but both of them continued thrusting frantically. The heat of their sex was battling with the coldness of the water and it brought them to new heights of pleasure.

“Oh Jesus!” yelled Thomas. He was pounding into her as hard as possible, the bubbling in his balls turning into a full blown boil.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” shrieked Keira as she came again. Thomas pulled out again and forced his cock right back into Keira’s ass. The freezing water spraying over them meant that the only warm parts of their bodies were his cock and her ass. In a shock as tingly as the suddenly cold water Thomas exploded into Keira’s ass, coming so hard it almost immediately began leaking.

As they struggled to keep each other from falling down Keira reached for the faucet and the water became a reasonable temperature. Thomas extracted himself from her and leaned against the wall. “Oooh, man.”

Keira was still panting when she turned around and picked up the soap. “Now I “really” need a shower.” Thomas nodded with a silly grin on his face.

*11:39 am. Wednesday, July 2. An apartment on the North Side.*

She started to moan and grind her ass back onto his cock, working it around, spreading her own asshole wider, as she held onto the sheets with a white-knuckled grip.

He put one hand on the small of her back and used it to hold her steady while he violated her ass, and ran the other hand up her side to her tits. He pulled and tugged on her nipples, knowing that she loved it from her reactions.

When both her nipples were hard, Zelos switched his focus and moved the hand to her pussy. Colette started making breathless little noises when he thrust two fingers into her pussy, using the same rhythm he was using on her ass.

The noises she made got progressively louder until she was screaming with each thrust of his cock and fingers inside her. She finally came with a loud cry, and her ass squeezed his cock hard enough to hurt.

She was shaking, sweaty and near collapse when the waves of pleasure finally stopped. He pulled out of her ass, watching it gape for a few seconds before closing up.

Zelos turned her over, knowing she wasn’t going to be able to stand for a while. He grabbed her waist and pulled her down the bed until he was straddling her just below her tits.

He began to jerk his cock and felt his balls gather up. “Open your mouth,” he managed. Colette’s addled brain processed the order just in time, and her mouth opened as the first stream of cum flew out of his cock.

He closed his eyes and kept working his cock as his cum splattered in her mouth, on her face and tits. As his cock finally started to go flaccid, she licked her lips and swallowed what was in her mouth.

Zelos rubbed his fingers over her tits, picking up some of the cream that was there as well as making her arch her back. He held the fingers with the semen on it up to her, and she eagerly licked his fingers clean, and sucked on them when she was done.

They smiled at each other, and she pushed herself up on her elbows. “Can we do this again sometime?”

“Not if you don’t remember the magic word.” The smile she gave him was shy, and her eyes were burning with an internal light. He stroked a hand over her hair. “Or we’ll have to work out a new punishment for you.”

“Daddy’s not very happy with you,” She said in her little girl voice as she threw a blast of Hellfire so strong that it shattered one of my Protective spells.

I realized that she was no ordinary demon, but a much more powerful demon lord or maybe even a devil. I had to defeat her quickly before the protective wall would collapse and she could hurt any of the others.

“Little girl didn’t your mommy tell you not to play with fire or you might get burned,” I said as I bathed her in a full blast of my own hellfire. I saw her body catch fire and burst into flames as the room filled with smoke and the sickly sweet stink of burning flesh.

But she stepped forward through my flames and laughed at me. “Oh, baby brother, you’ll have to do better than that,” she chided as the burning flesh melted off her body to reveal a scaled and spiked demonic form underneath. She continued to laugh as she grew in size until her new form was well over twelve feet tall. She had turned into a nightmarish creature made of claw, fang and spikes as she charged towards me. She hit me with such force that it knocked me off my feet. She roared with laughter and started to drive her fist towards my head.

That blow could have done some serious damaged if it had connected, good thing that I had transformed my body into mass of living Hellfire. She realized her mistake to late to stop her punch. Her fist passed through my skull, burning her hand and most of her arm. I stood up and walked though her, letting my body of living hellfire burn her as I traveled.

She was screaming in pain and rage when she turned around to find me in human form once again. She was injured but not that badly, she could still defeat me yet; she lunged at me with amazing speed and connected with several blows shattering the last of my protective shields and knocking me back several yards.

I launched three mystical bolts at her, hitting my target with all three, but that just slowed her down and spurred her anger. She stopped her charge and drew herself up to her full height, then looking down at me she released a powerful blast of mystic energy that slammed into my chest knocking me to the ground. I lay there stunned, helpless for a few seconds, trying to regain my feet before she could attack me again. I was too late.

She leapt into the air and would have landed on top of me, if it weren’t for Hunter nailing her in mid air with a blast from his rifle. Her acid-like blood left a trail in the air as the force of the blast knocked her against the sidewall.

The room was still shaking from the force of her impact. But she quickly regained her feet and charged at me again, this time her jaws where expanding into a huge mouth of razor sharp, venomous teeth as if she intended to swallow me whole.

This is really going to hurt, I thought as I drew my fist back and punched it into her opened mouth with all my strength, driving my fist deep into her throat. I don’t know which of us screamed louder. Was it I as the force of her attack dislocated my shoulder and her teeth tore into my flesh? Or was it her, as I released a large blast of white hot hellfire down her throat and into her unprotected gut, burning her from the inside out. I kept screaming as I continued to release my hellfire, pouring it into her as fast as I could summon it. I didn’t stop until I was completely drained and felt myself drop to the ground.

I wasn’t unconscious long because the room still stunk of her burnt flesh and her skull was still wrapped around my useless right arm, when the women woke me up. “Father, thank God you’re awake. You need to tell me how to seal the Hellmouth.”

“Help me up.”

“Are you strong enough, my Love?” Lyra asked worriedly as her naked body pressed against mine, steadying me on my feet.

“I’m strong enough for a lot of things,” I said suggestively as I kissed her temple.

I looked towards the Hellmouth to see Hunter, Kathy and Samuel standing near it at the ready. As we got closer I flung my right arm forward and jerked it upward and back into place. It was painful, but the pain quickly faded away as I summoned up the last of my will and sent magical energy into my arm to mend the broken bone and regenerate the damaged flesh.

“That feels better. Now, everyone step back. Hunter, please have your men start placing charges. When I am done here I want this cavern sealed permanently. Sabrina, Samuel I’m going to need you two to perform the ritual to close the portal. The ritual is long and complicated but together you two can do it.” With that said, I started explaining to them the long and careful spell that would seal the portal once and for all.

“In real life you can stuff these rules up your ass,” the barbarian snapped, then waved her hand. “All right, dammit. Once he is back in shape you and he will train together. You must see that not all that is drow is evil. And he is as far from being evil as your righteous person, girl. Evil drow don’t let anybody beat the crap of them.” She smiled impishly. “Damn, considering how he looked like when I found him, I am pretty sure he could use a couple of lessons in sword fighting.”

The girl dared to look up at her. “But you have been training me for three months now and you say that he has never held a sword in his hand…so…”

“So he will be at least as good in using it as you are,” Callia replied immediately. “You have no idea about defense, you can’t move quickly enough; damn, even Xanos is better than you!”

The half-orc straightened his back and smiled proudly. “But of course I am! Xanos will be as good in melee weapons as any fighter. Some day.” He glared at Mischa. “Sooner than you, little human.”

The barbarian snorted. “Don’t be so damn sure. I don’t make miracles happen.”

Dorna choked again and quickly ran out of the room.

Drogan sighed and buried his face in his hands. “Must every meal end this way?” he asked quietly.

Callia grinned. “You mean with the half-orc feeling damn proud of himself, Dorna laughing her ass off at him, Mischa blushing and you feeling old and tired?”

The dwarf chuckled lightly and nodded. “Exactly…”

Suddenly they heard a muffled thud upstairs. Unmistakably a sound of a body hitting the wooden floor.

“Everybody stay here!” Callia ordered and rushed to the stairs, with her dagger in hand. Climbing up, she kept looking around warily, but seeing no danger, she stalked straight to the room where the drow was resting.

~*~

She found him crawling on the floor, with the obvious intent to get to the window.

“Running away, pansy?” she asked, crouching next to him. “We are upstairs, you would kill yourself if you jumped out being so weak, idiot.”

The drow drew a ragged breath and turned on his back to scan her face carefully. “Don’t talk to me like that, woman,” he hissed, trying to sound as if he was extremely insulted.

Callia raised an eyebrow. “Ye gods, have I offended your majesty?” Not waiting for his answer she stood up and, grabbing his tunic with just one hand, she pulled him up to his feet. “And yes, I am an elven woman, so being a drow male you owe me much more respect, no?”

He was too busy with struggling to keep himself standing to reply to that. Feeling his knees buckle, he instinctively clung to her to prevent himself from falling.

Callia rolled her eyes. “I said respect not affection, dammit,” she grumbled and wrapped her arm around his back for support.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “It was you,” he murmured. “You found me there in the forest… I recognize your scent… steel and leather… warrior’s scent…”

“Yes it was me, but I’m not going to carry you again,” she said with a frown and helped him walk back to the bed. Once he was properly settled there, she spun on her heel and moved to the door. “I’ll go get Drogan here.”

“Wait!” the drow called after her and, seeing her eyes nailing him to the bed as she looked back, he added, “Please…”

At the pleading tone of his voice, Callia turned around and, folding her arms on her chest, rested her back against the door. “What?”

“My name is Qua’laen,” he whispered, refusing to look at her. “And I thank you for saving my life.”

Narrowing her eyes, she approached the bed and shook her head. “It’s not your real name,” she said simply.

The drow curled up, wrapping his arms around himself under the blanket. Only then did he dare to look up at her. “Why do you think so?”

Callia shrugged. “I’m just guessing. Qua’laen in your language means ‘against’, and I seriously doubt if any drow female would give her male child such a name…”

“You know my language?” He sat up on the bed, his eyes blinking in delight.

She waved her hand. “Don’t get so excited, I only learned a few basic words,” she murmured. “The ones you need to know to confront a bunch of drow in the arena. But all right, you want to be Qua’laen, fine by me. Now I’d better tell Drogan to come here. He has lots of questions for you. And take my advice – don’t tell any damn lies to him.”

Qua’laen nodded, and didn’t dare to inquire about the arena she mentioned, even though the curiosity was nearly burning him. His eyes watched Callia leave the room and suddenly he realized that he felt much safer when she was around.

~*~

Callia was sitting on a small stool in the armory, holding the sword on her lap and wondering who the drow could be. “Perhaps I was wrong about him… Why would he conceal his name? What did he have to flee the Underdark? But damn, I have never seen a drow to be such a pansy… “Rubbing her forehead with one hand, she mindlessly dropped the other to the sword and ran her fingers along the blade, as if looking for some comfort. Soon, she traced a little fracture on the edge and frowned, immediately shifting her entire attention to the sword. Indeed, the blade was jagged.

“Why haven’t I noticed that before?” She thought, trying to recall when the damage could have been done. “Aye! That bunch of muggers, three days ago in the forest. They thought that just because there were three of them wielding big axes they could get me down. Fools. Good that I got them before they got to the school.”

Chuckling lightly, Callia reached to the shelf behind her and picked up a set of whetstones. Tilting her head a little, she began sharpening the blade with skilled, smooth moves. Her hand seemed to be caressing the steel with gentle, loving strokes. Her face cleared a bit and she smiled when, after a long while, she checked the edge with her thumb and found no fractures there anymore.

As she was putting the sword away, the door opened and Mischa ran into the room, panting heavily in excitement. “Go to the lab, quick! Master Drogan talked to the drow and told me to get you immediately!”

Callia raised an eyebrow and snapped her fingers at the girl. “What did I tell you about self-control yesterday, huh?” she asked frigidly and sent her a warning glare. “You are supposed to be a paladin, not a hot-headed thug like me, so be so kind and calm down.”

Mischa hunched her back and took a deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to prevent the blush from creeping onto her cheeks. She always felt embarrassed when Callia called herself such names. Then she stretched up and, keeping her gaze low, she bowed slightly. “Master Drogan would like to meet you in his lab, he has some information about the drow.”

The barbarian nodded, satisfied, and got up, stretching lazily. “Much better lass, though I still don’t like that the word ‘drow’ sounds like an insult when you say it.” With that she quickly left the armory, leaving the girl stomping her foot and clenching her fists irately.

~*~

Ignoring Riisi’s wings fluttering annoyingly close to her, Callia entered the lab and looked around to find the dwarf. She spotted him by a table, making some notes in something that could be a diary. Approaching him slowly, she cleared her throat to draw his attention to herself. Drogan, however, did not react, so she raised her eyes to the wooden ceiling and began whistling some catchy tune she knew the dwarf hated.

Drogan smiled a little, but kept writing, pressing the quiver against the paper so much that it began to make irritating noises. The barbarian nodded, and began whistling even louder.

Riisi started flying around the two in circles, trying to figure out what was going on. At last she stopped, hovering above the table, and shifting her gaze from the woman to the dwarf and back. After some time she failed to keep her curiosity contained.

“Master Drogan, why you let her annoy you at work?”

Callia laughed out loud and Drogan soon joined her, when he saw how confused the pseudodragon was. “You lost, Riisi,” he said, chuckling and shaking his head in amusement.

“I lost what?” she inquired, feeling even more puzzled.

“Never mind,” the woman waved her hand, and sat on the table, facing the dwarf and ostentatiously turning her back to Riisi. “Well, what did you manage to get from our dear Qua’laen?”

Drogan scratched his eyebrow, watching his familiar fly away, visibly offended. “Not much, but he has no bad intentions, this is for sure,” he murmured and, seeing the woman sigh with relief, he added, “Yes, your instinct did not fail you, Callia. He refuses to reveal his name, all right, but I think this is because of shame… He was… as low in the drow hierarchy as it is possible. Less than a slave, less than an object… You should see the scars on his back, Callia…”

The Barbarian shuddered and bit her lip. “So this is why he is so damn touchy. And this would explain his resistance to pain, as well. But how could someone with his position flee the Underdark?”

The dwarf shrugged. “This will have to remain secret until he is ready to tell us.” He put his hand on Callia’s knee. “I told him he could stay here as long as he wished if only he proves himself useful for the school.” Seeing her grin impishly, he patted her leg and nodded. “Make a good use of him then.”

“Damn sure I will… Mischa is going to whine, of course, but the hell, she must stop being afraid of him… and despising him for what he is,” Callia replied and frowned, locking her gaze on Drogan’s face. “I suppose that being less than a slave he has no special skills, hm?”

The dwarf winked at her. “Oh, but he has… from the times before he became a nothing.”

The Barbarian jumped off the table and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Well? What is it? I can’t wait to make him use it on Mischa, whatever it is!”

Drogan’s eyes went wide and he began laughing, holding his stomach and shaking his head frantically. “Well, my dear… this will have to wait… I’m afraid…”

Raising an eyebrow, the woman glared at him, and tapped her foot impatiently. “Are you going to tell me or die of laughter first?”

The dwarf composed himself and looked up at her, managing something that was supposed to be a deadly serious expression. “He claims to be an exceptionally skilled… lover.” As he burst into laughter again, Callia rolled her eyes and giggled.

“Definitely must make him a part of her training, then,” she said, grinning widely. “Even a paladin should have some theoretical knowledge at least, no?” Not waiting for his answer, she stalked to the door, chuckling mischievously on the way.

*CHAPTER 4*

~*~

Qua’laen woke up and winced at the sun hurting his eyes. It’s been more than a month since he had fled the Underdark and he still couldn’t get used to the excessive light. He pulled the curtains and sat on the edge of the bed.

As usual his first thoughts concerned Callia. The one who saved his life. The one who owned his life now. His mistress.

He got up and put on the soft, black tunic Drogan had offered him more than three weeks ago, together with anything else he could possibly need.

The drow shook his head in amazement. The other thing he couldn’t get accustomed to was their kindness. From the dwarf’s concern and good advice, to Callia’s rough scolding whenever he strained himself wandering around the school’s building for too long. Gradually, Dorna and Xanos began to treat him as their equal. And Mischa’s persistent ignoring him was much more than he had ever hoped for from a girl like her.

Quickly brushing his long white hair with his fingers, he smiled to himself. He was almost grateful to the thugs who had attacked him in the forest. What he got in exchange was certainly worth the pain they had inflicted on him.

“Callia,” he thought and felt a thrilling, but pleasant sensation running across his body. “I’ll tell her today…”

~*~

Mischa bent forward, panting heavily and looking at Callia with barely hidden disgust. “That sword of yours is too big,” she whined, dropping her short sword to the floor and rubbing her aching muscles vigorously. “You’re going to kill me one day!”

Callia snorted and put the tip of her blade to the girl’s chin. “I’m not here to kill you, lass.” Mischa looked up, swallowing loudly, afraid to make any move. “And you must learn to fight against any weapon. Are you really so stupid to think that you will have a choice against whom you fight? Especially if you are a paladin and want to face all the evil bastards in the world. I assure you most of them will be wielding damn big weapons.”

When Callia removed the sword, the girl slumped to the ground and hugged her knees. It was obvious that three hours of training left her sore and exhausted and she let out a soft moan. “I really do not understand why Drogan wants me to be such a good fighter…”

“You don’t because you are a cretin, my dear,” came the answer. “How, by all the Nine Hells, do you plan to survive without any combat skills, hm?”

Mischa shrugged. “I am pretty good with spells, something you have no idea about,” she snapped, failing to hide venom in her voice.

Callia stood in front of her and shook her head with contempt. “Spells,” she spat. “A few protective trinkets and most of your spells are useless. Magic is not a weapon, lass. At least not one you can trust.” She pointed at the sword laying abandoned on the dusty floor. “THIS you can trust. You keep it sharp and it will never fail you on a battlefield. Provided that you have at least SOME skill with it, of course.”

The girl stood up and looked into the woman’s eyes unflinchingly. “You are but a barbarian, you will never understand.”

“And I’ll be damned if I ever try!” Callia grumbled and roughly pushed her towards the door. “Now you’d better get the hell out of here and pity yourself somewhere else. Come back when you are ready for more.”

Mischa practically ran out of the chamber, slamming the door behind her.

Hearing the girl call Drogan’s name in the most dramatic of her tones, Callia cursed under her breath. Slowly, she approached a small stool standing by the wall, and sat heavily, resting her elbows on her knees and gazing at the wooden floor.

“This cretin will never learn anything; she is too blind to see that her damned goddess will not be by her side when it comes to a fight.” With a silent growl, she buried her face in her hands. “I can make Xanos into a swordsman in no time, even though he moves like an iron golem, and a damn rusty one. Because he wants to learn. And she… she is…”

Suddenly, she felt gentle hands touching her shoulders and sliding down her back, massaging and forcing her tense muscles to relax. She was so deep in her thoughts, however, that it took her a while to realize that someone has entered the training room.

Scolding herself mentally for allowing anybody to take her by surprise so easily, Callia grabbed the stranger’s hands and, with one rapid pull, made him land on his back on the floor at her feet. Pinning him to the ground with her knee, she bent down and looked into the drow’s lavender eyes.

“What the hell do you think you are doing here, drow?” she hissed through her gritted teeth, with every word pushing her knee more against his chest.

To her surprise, Qua’laen offered her a wide grin. “You looked so tense,” he whispered soothingly. “I thought you could use some relaxing…”

“Shut up, damn you!” Callia yelled, releasing him and crouching beside him. “I could beat the crap out of you for that!”

He blinked and sat up. “If this will make you relax, I’ll be happy to…”

Rolling her eyes, the woman grabbed his shoulders and shook him firmly. “I could have killed you, fool!”

He rested his hands on her wrists and let his palms travel up and down her arms, tickling and gently caressing the muscles under her skin. “You are strong…” he murmured and smiled sheepishly. “I am sure you could kill me easily. But it won’t be necessary, I will obey.”

Callia swatted his hands away angrily and stood up. “Don’t you dare touching me like that EVER again!” she yelled, sending him a death glare. “Understood?”

The drow rose to his knees and bowed low. “Your wish is my command. How do you want me to touch you then?” he asked quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on her feet.

“Get up, you little fool,” she replied, grabbing his tunic and pulling him up. “I don’t want you to…”

He didn’t let her finish, however. “You saved my life,” he began slowly, his voice both passive and worshipping. “I will be your slave, I will do anything you tell me to, and I can bring you as much pleasure as you could ever imagine to get…”

Callia’s eyebrows raised. Qua’laen’s submissive stare and utter devotion reflecting on his face took her by surprise, and for the first time in her life she didn’t know what to say.

Shyly, he reached out and took her calloused palm in his hand, raising it to his lips. “Just say a word, or give me a sign…”

“Damn you,” the female elf managed to say at last. “You owe me nothing for saving your life, fool. I need no slave and certainly I don’t need a damn…”

Suddenly, they heard a sound of a metal object hitting the floor.

Mischa was standing at the doorstep, blushing and gaping, her helmet still rolling on the floor at her feet where she had dropped it.

Callia switched her gaze from the girl to the drow and realized what had surprised the girl so much. Quickly, she removed her hand from Qua’laen’s grip and stepped away from him. “And look what you’ve done, drow,” she scolded, chuckling quietly. “She’s going to have nightmares tonight.”

The girl composed herself at last and picked up the helmet. Holding it to her chest in a firm embrace, she approached the two and eyed them from heads to toes.

“What were you doing here?” No inquisitor would manage to convey accusation equally well in one simple question.

Unexpectedly, the barbarian found the situation to be extremely amusing. She put her arm around the drow’s shoulders and roughly pulled him to herself. “And what do you think, lass?” she teased with a naughty grin.

Mischa’s eyes went even wider as Qua’laen snuggled up to the woman and wrapped his hand around her waist with a delighted smile on his face.

“I guess that… I guess… I…” Stuttering, the girl made a hesitant step away from them and dropped the helmet again. “I do not want to know.”

Callia nodded approvingly. “Good, because I really don’t like nosy creatures,” she warned. “Now be so kind and leave us. Qua’laen and I have some more things to… discuss. Oh, and don’t forget to tell Drogan what you saw here, my dear.”

When the sound Mischa’s quick footsteps was no longer audible, the Barbarian grabbed the drow’s neck and forced him to look up at her face.

“Listen to me carefully now,” she hissed, all amusement suddenly gone from her voice. “Do not make me regret that I saved your damned life and stay away from me, understood?”

“Your eyes,” he whispered, oblivious to what she had said. “I have never seen a female elf with blue eyes before.” His hand slowly moved from her waist to her shoulder. “Your strong arms that could crush me so easily… and your scent… so dangerous…”

She slapped his face. “Wake up, lover-boy!” Muttering nasty curses, Callia pushed the elf away. “This won’t work, dammit, how many times more do I have to tell you this, huh?”

Qua’laen licked the blood from the corner of his mouth and dropped his head to his chest. “Your wish is my command,” he whispered and dropped his arms to his sides in a gesture of complete resignation. “How could I ever think that a woman like you… and a filthy slave like me…”

“By all the gods, will you shut up, fool?” she yelled, exasperated. “You are not a slave anymore! Hellfire, I can stand anything but not slavery, try to remember that, drow.”

He sighed and sent her yet another compliant glance. “I would gladly be your slave, Callia.”

Desperately trying to keep her irritation contained, the barbarian spun on her heel and stalked to the door. “Look around the armory and pick something for yourself,” she offered in the calmest voice she could muster. “Tomorrow you start your training. And I’ll beat the crap out of you, I swear. We’ll see how happy you’ll be then.”

With an enraged growl in her throat, she left the training room and headed straight for Drogan’s chambers.

~*~

“I really don’t see what is so damn funny about it!”

The dwarf put a hand on her shoulder. “You really should have seen Mischa’s face when she rushed into my library!” He chuckled. “Holy avengers look less determined, believe me.”

Callia hit the table with her fist. “This is not about Mischa, Drogan!” she snapped.

“I am sorry,” he offered. “But if he wants to give you some pleasure so much – why resist? You are both adult-” An icy glare from her made him raise his hands in a mock surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

After a long, uncomfortable silence, the woman jumped to her feet and began pacing the room. “If I need a man then I need a MAN, not a drow boy,” she said at last, treading furiously. “And I can have what I want in any tavern, for money or by force, if necessary, damn sure I need no slaves for this.” The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Drogan replied. “I just imagined something.” He coughed. “Well, I think we need to keep our Qua’laen busy, so that he has no time for brooding.”

“Damn right,” Callia grumbled, sitting on a chair and resting her elbows on her knees. “I already told him to get ready for some combat training.”

Nodding, the dwarf rubbed his forehead. “He has no knowledge of magic, no skill in this field either, so I guess that will be the only choice for him…”

“I told him to choose a weapon, I only hope it won’t be a greatsword,” the fighter murmured. “But damn, I wouldn’t be surprised at all…”

Drogan chuckled, but said nothing.

“You are giggling like a tavern lass today, dwarf.” Callia’s eyes pierced him.

He waved his hand. “My mind brings me really weird images today,” he offered. “You and the drow, wielding greatswords, against poor Mischa… this could be too much for her.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Callia stretched her legs and crossed her arms on her chest, eyeing the dwarf. “He could be a damn good fighter, though. He knows pain, his reactions are damn quick, and he can keep his balance far better than Mischa will ever manage.”

“If he kept himself standing after your slap, then I have no doubts about his balance.” Drogan pulled a chair for himself and sat in front of her. “So, what weapon did you choose for him?”

“I didn’t slap him THAT hard. And he staggered anyway.” Callia shrugged. “I can see him with two rapiers, it’s a light and elegant weapon, perfect for such a lover boy elf as him.”

The dwarf tilted his head. “Rapiers? Do you have any knowledge of them?”

“I have SOME knowledge of every damn weapon, Drogan,” she replied wearily. “And rapier was the first real sword I ever used in training… The Master, he said…” Her voice trailed off and a shadow ran across her features as she clenched her fists. “Damn, never mind what he said. A rapier was light enough for a skinny kid I was back then, I could fight holding it with both hands, so yes, I do know something about rapiers. And I have lots of scars from them.”

She got up and headed for the door. “I need some fresh air,” she murmured and, not waiting for his reply, quickly left the room.

“Forgive me for bringing this back, Callia,” Drogan whispered to himself. “I wish I could make your memories disappear.”

*CHAPTER 5*

~*~

A loud curse outside woke Drogan up. He approached the tiny window and carefully looked out, but saw nothing in the pale moonlight. He frowned. Various robbers had tried breaking into his school, but usually they were much more careful, and since Callia moved in with her greatsword, crooks seemed to prefer to stay away.

“Callia.”

Drogan’s eyes widened. He remembered that she had been in a bad shape since morning, and this time it was long before sunset when she went for her usual walk. It was almost dawn now and he hadn’t hear her enter the house. He knew well it was one of the days when her past clawed at her from the darkest recesses of her soul, making her moody, irritable and so incredibly defeated that it hurt him to look into those incredibly blue eyes of hers. The emptiness and self-loathing he saw in them made him wince every time, especially since there seemed to be no way he could make her think better of herself.

Disregarding the icy cold air, the dwarf opened the window and looked outside. Soon he spotted a single trail of footprints in the fresh snow and… there she was. Sitting on a small bench by the building’s wall, her elbows on her thighs and her head buried in her hands. Again.

Putting his tunic on, Drogan walked quickly out of his room, heading straight to his students’ chambers. He tapped on one of the doors gently and hearing loud snoring as the only answer, he entered, carefully closing the door behind him. Approaching the bed, he reached out his hand and shook Xanos’ arm vigorously.

The half-orc sat up and looked around sleepily, instinctively waving his fingers to cast a protective spell. When his eyes focused on his mentor’s face, however, he jumped out of the bed and, fully awake, looked down at the dwarf.

“What is it? Time for my final test?” he blurted out, staring at him intently.

Drogan shook his head. “I need your help,” he replied dryly. “Callia.”

The half-orc rolled his eyes. “Why must Xanos be the strongest one in this school?” he grumbled, putting his clothes on and striding to the door.

“Because you are a half-orc, naturally,” the dwarf replied, following him along the corridor and trying to conceal the resigned look on his face. “Believe me, I would much prefer to do it myself if I only could.”

When they went outside, Callia was still sitting on the bench, with her fingers tangled into her hair and eyes tightly shut. Drogan stood before her and gently touched her shoulder.

“Come into the house, Callia, it’s too cold for you to stay here,” he whispered.

Callia looked at him and sniffled loudly. “And why would you care, dammit?” she muttered, fixing her drunken gaze on his wrinkled face. Her lips were pale and her fingertips already turned blue from the cold. “Why would anyone care for someone like me? No damn need. Don’t bother. I will stay here, I say. You go home. You… Go away.”

The dwarf sighed and waved for Xanos to approach. The half-orc shook his head violently and didn’t move. “I won’t come any closer to her unless you calm her down,” he warned and, seeing Drogan’s raised eyebrow, quickly added, “I don’t want her to break my rib like she did last time! And just because you forbade me telling her about what had happened I couldn’t even complain when she made me train with her the next day! Can you imagine what pain it was? I am doing so much for her and she doesn’t even try to be nice!”

Callia rested her back against the building’s wall and sent the half-orc an amused look. “I broke your rib? Damn, only one?” She chuckled but a moment later she frowned and pointed her finger at him. “But hey, what the hell are you doing here? Watching me making fool of myself, huh? You scum, I’ll…”

Drogan didn’t let her finish. The blue glow of a spell lit the woman’s face and she slumped onto the bench.

Xanos sighed with relief and grabbed the Callia’s tunic, roughly pulled her to sit up, then putting one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees, lifted her up and headed for the entrance.

“Tell me master Drogan, why does she always wear her chainmail shirt?” he asked, panting as he slowly climbed the stairs. “She would weigh much less if she didn’t put it on…”

Hearing his voice, Callia stirred and opened her eyes a bit. “Damn, you smell like a foul beast,” she murmured, trying to fight back the effects of the spell and lift her head.

“And you smell like a brewery,” Xanos replied and, unable to hide the surprise in his voice, he added, “Like some spell resistant brewery.”

The dwarf shook his head at this exchange and opened the door to Callia’s bedroom to let the half-orc inside.

“Do not treat her like this,” he hissed when Xanos threw the half-conscious elf onto the bed. “I forbid you! You owe her respect!”

The half-orc shrugged. “How can I respect a drunken elf?”

Drogan sat heavily on a chair and nodded slowly. “Yes, you can’t possibly respect a woman who does not respect herself… but my lad, you have no right to judge her.” He looked up at his student and motioned for him to come closer. When Xanos crouched before him, their eyes met and Drogan put his calloused hands on the half-orc’s broad shoulders. “Callia needs to forget many bad events from her past, she needs to set herself free of this somehow… unfortunately she chose the worst possible way to do it.”

“I respect her as a fighter. And as my tutor as well. Besides she is the only person that can make Mischa feel like an idiot, so I do like her, master.” The half-orc smiled widely. “And I never told anyone about her drinking escapades. Never, even though I wanted so much a couple of times! Oh yes, Xanos wanted really badly! But I swore it to you and I am keeping my promise! You should be very proud of me, master. Without doubt I am your most loyal student.”

The dwarf sighed heavily. “Your greed for praise will be the death of you one day,” he whispered. “But I thank you for being so trustworthy. I really appreciate that. Now please go back to your room and try to get some more sleep. Tomorrow you all are going to have a difficult day in the training room, I think.”

Xanos got up and stretched lazily. “Yes, master,” he admitted, glancing at the barbarian curled up on the bed. “I call such days ‘hangover days’ but I never say it aloud, of course.” Exposing his fangs in a self-content smile, the half-orc left the room, visibly proud of himself.

Deep in his thoughts, the dwarf sat motionless for a long while, scratching his eyebrow. Then he got up to cover Callia’s shivering body with a blanket. “Stop doing this to yourself girl,” he whispered, brushing hair off her face. “Please…”

Her eyes flew open at his gentle touch. She snorted and tried to swat his hand away, but missed it. “Damn. Why would I…” She licked her lips and frowned, trying to focus her attention and find the right words. “I mean… what life do I have? Shitty life, Drogan. No dreams, no wishes, no needs. You hear me? I just live. Exist. Nothing more. And when I look at you… I… dammit…” Turning on her back she raised her arms and began examining her palms. Then she reached them out to him with pure disgust reflecting in her eyes. “Look at them, just look! So much blood on them… all I can do is kill. Kill quickly or painfully slowly. Kill.” She sobbed quietly and dropped her hands onto the bed. “I still hear their screams and wheezing during the night, Drogan. I see their eyes… looking at me, in agony… I hate it, hate myself, but when I take my sword, when I feel its weight in my hand I feel whole again and I just… I’m so damn lost, so lost…”

Drogan felt tears under his eyelids, but he didn’t allow himself to show them. Instead, he took her hand in his and simply held it, letting her talk, as he always did. He let her pour all her frustration on him in a half-sober jabber, he let her sob until she cried herself to sleep. And when she had finally closed her eyes, he whispered a sleeping spell to make sure she wouldn’t wake up all alone in her room.

Walking to the door, he stopped in front of Callia’s sword supported against the wall. He touched the cold blade, carefully running his fingers up to the hilt, high above his head. It was obvious that this piece of steel had seen many battles and had bathed in all kinds of blood. And it was the cleanest and the sharpest blade he had ever seen.

“How difficult it must be to live when all you are able to trust and love is a piece of cold steel,” Drogan thought, letting a single tear run down his cheek at last. “And how painful it is to see one struggling with her past and lose… and be unable to help.”

Shaking his head, he left the room, dragging his feet to his chambers. He didn’t notice a dark figure hidden in shadows, he didn’t hear a quiet squeak of the door to Callia’s bedroom when the intruder sneaked in there.

Qua’laen tiptoed to the bed where Callia was lying. He knelt on the floor, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed and fixed his lavender eyes on her sleeping face. Tenderly, he caressed her ruffled hair with his slender fingers and sighed quietly.

He had heard the voices on the corridor and peeked out of his room just in time to see Xanos carry the half-conscious elven barbarian to her room. Luckily he managed to eavesdrop on almost everything that had been said. And now he was determined to watch over Callia this night, to be with her in a difficult time. To give her anything she would wish.

Suddenly she shifted on the bed and he noticed the moonlight reflecting from something metallic. Taking a careful look, he realized she was still wearing her chainmail shirt. Frowning disapprovingly at such negligence from Drogan, the drow got to his feet and removed the blanket the barbarian was wrapped in. In several practiced and masterfully smooth moves he undressed her, dropping the smelly clothes and the chainmail to the floor. Then he gently laid Callia back on the bed and, desperately trying not to stare at her, he looked around the chamber in search for something comfortable to dress her in. When he had finally found a light tunic in one of the drawers, he returned to the bed and then his eyes, almost against his will, began to travel up and down her exposed body.

“Scars, gods be merciful, so many scars!” The tunic fell on the floor as the elf’s hands began to shake at the sight of such cruelty. “How? Who? And, most of all, why?”

Qua’laen bent over Callia and couldn’t prevent himself from tracing some of the most prominent marks with his fingertips. He kept shaking his head, wondering how many battles she must have been in to acquire so many wounds, and how much suffering they had to bring her.

“What do you think you are doing here, drow?”

The elf jumped and instinctively flinched, expecting a heavy blow. When no such thing happened, he quickly turned around and saw… Mischa. She was eyeing him from head to toe, then she shifted her gaze to the bed and her jaw dropped when in the pale moonlight coming through the window, she saw Callia, naked and fast asleep. The girl stalked to the bed and quickly covered the Barbarian with the blanket. She sensed some magic being used on her and she turned her contemptuous eyes back to Qua’laen.

“You dared to put her to sleep to…” she hesitated and the drow was absolutely sure she had blushed. “You miserable creature! I shall tell master Drogan about what you did! Worse! I am going to tell Callia once she is awake! And I am sure you will not survive her wrath!”

Qua’laen panicked. He knew that such accusation was completely irrational, and nobody would believe her, yet he had to do something to make her stop shouting at least. And he did. Approaching Mischa in few quick steps, he sealed her lips with a kiss. She was so surprised that she did not even struggle. When after long moment he broke the kiss to draw a full breath, she didn’t say a word, but he couldn’t miss a small movement forward, as if she wanted him to continue. While he was congratulating himself on the idea, she simply stood there, trembling, her lips quivering as well and her eyes opened wide, staring at him in complete, utter shock. The elf considered it to be his only chance to explain all this to her. He kept his voice low and soothing, carefully omitting any facts that could make her think less of Callia. She listened to his every word, with her mouth open a bit and nodding slowly from time to time. When he finished, Mischa sighed and looked at Callia.

“She had definitely had a bad day. And all of us with her, it seems. All right, let us dress her and stay with her tonight,” she whispered, sending him a warning glance and picking the tunic up from the floor. “No, I am not letting you stay here alone with her!”

Once they made sure that the barbarian was comfortable in her bed, Mischa sat on a chair by the door and, gazing into the darkness outside the window, began saying a silent prayer to her goddess. Qua’laen, in turn, sat on the floor by the bed and kept his eyes fixed on Callia’s face.

They spent some time like this, in absolute silence before the drow sighed. “Look at her Mischa, even in a drunk induced sleep she keeps her fingers clenched,” he said quietly, not looking at the girl. Then he slowly reached out his hand to the barbarian’s fist resting on the pillow. Carefully, in caressing movements, he began stretching her fingers one by one, and finally he planted a light kiss on the inside of her palm.

Mischa jumped to her feet, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Stop that! Immediately!”

The elf stared at her for a long while. “Why?”

“Because…” She shook her head violently and hissed. “What do you mean why? How can you know she would want you to do that? And who are you after all? You are just a…”

Qua’laen winced. “Yes, say it. I am just a drow. But still I see no reason why Callia would not allow such a low life form as me to worship her and show her my fondness.”

The girl sank to the chair and absent-mindedly licked her lips, as if remembering the kiss. “Why do you want to worship HER? She is not a goddess! She is a cruel, merciless and rude fighter. She keeps telling me I am unworthy of becoming a paladin, but now, smelling all that ale from her, I think she is unworthy of even your affection.” Suddenly she gasped, realizing she had said too much. “Anyway, she is nothing without her sword.”

The drow winced again at that remark. “Her sword is nothing without her,” he snapped and got up to approach the girl. “And now, I think that you could use some depravity to make you less perfect in your own eyes.” With that he grabbed her chin and, raising her head roughly, planted a fierce kiss on her lips, finding them all too willing to respond and to part for him.

With a satisfied smile he stepped away from her and nodded hearing her quickened breath. “Just as I thought. But I will not be the one to give you what you want, not after what you have just said about Callia.” Without a single word more he left, leaving Mischa with her eyes still closed and her cheeks flushed.

When the girl had finally managed to calm down, she got up and came to the bed. She squeezed the bedpost in a white knuckled grip and for a long while regarded Callia’s face - her constantly frowning eyebrows, her rarely smiling lips, and her strawberry blonde hair, making her tanned skin look pale in the silvery moonlight.

“She is not even beautiful,” Mischa thought bitterly. “She is just fierce and dangerous…”

“I hate you,” she said aloud and spun on her heel, leaving the room as fast as she possibly could without making too much noise.

~*~

*CHAPTER 6*

~*~

Callia opened her eyes and growled furiously. She turned on her stomach and hid her face in the pillow to cover her eyes from the bright sunlight. After a long while, she crawled to the edge of the bed and sat up, wincing when her bare feet touched the cool wood of the floor. With her elbows rested on her thighs, she desperately tried to remember last night, but her mind brought her only the image of the barkeep shaking his head when she demanded more ale. Unfortunately, squeezing her head in her hands didn’t stop the throbbing pain and she let out an exasperated sigh. Tossing a quick look around the room she found a huge tankard of water near the bed. “Good old Drogan,” she thought, greedily draining the water to the last drop. Then she got up and, stretching a little, approached the window. Once her eyes noticed the long shadow of the building on the snow, her fist hit the windowsill, making the stained pane rattle in the wooden frame of the window.

“Damn, but it’s late!”

Disregarding her aching head this time, she spun on her heel to find some clothes. To her surprise, she found them neatly folded on the lid of the chest standing by the door. Even the chainmail shirt was carefully put on a chair and it was obvious that, considering her condition last night, Callia wouldn’t bother to do it all herself. Cursing, she swept the clothes off the lid to open the chest but she froze, seeing her underwear jumbled on the floor with the rest of her outfit. A nasty smile crept on her lips. “Drogan, you damn old weasel!” Picking some fresh tunic and pants from the chest, the woman quickly got dressed and, grabbing the chainmail shirt from the chair, left the room.

Putting the chainmail on as she headed for the stairs, Callia noted the almost unnatural silence. Usually there was the sound of either Mischa’s whining when she failed to give the right answer to one of Riisi’s riddles, or at least Dorna’s voice scolding Xanos, coming from downstairs. Shaking her head, the woman returned to her chamber to take the sword. With the blade rested on her shoulder, she hastily went downstairs and scanned the main chamber. Seeing nobody inside, she approached the large door leading to the dining room. She could hear nothing through the thick wood so, steeling herself, she pushed the heavy door open.

And she smiled, relieved. The students were sitting at the table, a sheet of paper and a quill in front of each of them. Qua’laen, Xanos and Mischa were scribbling quickly as Drogan was explaining the nature of some spell. Dorna, in turn, was visibly bored, shamelessly playing with her set of lockpicks, arranging them into various shapes on the table. Callia chuckled and put the sword away, resting it against the wall by the entrance.

“Well, teaching them some new hocus-pocus tricks, I see?” she said, winking to the old dwarf and sitting on a chair next to Mischa. “Take your notes, lass,” the woman added, looking at the girl’s writing. “You’re gonna need them whenever you drop your sword during a battle like you do all the time in the training room.”

Mischa narrowed her eyes and put down the quill. Her breath quickened as anger washed over her. “How dare she talking to ME like that! How dare she, after falling so low last night!” Taking a deep breath to tell Callia what she thought of her, Mischa slowly turned her face to her. Suddenly she received a powerful kick to her ankle and she had to bite her lip painfully to prevent herself from screaming. Glaring at Qua’laen, the girl clenched her fists, but when the drow sent her a wide, meaningful grin and blew her a kiss, she didn’t dare to say a word. Blushing at the memory of her reaction to his fierce kiss last night, she swallowed hard and fixed her gaze on her notes again.

Callia’s eyebrows raised and she shot a questioning glance across the table, to Dorna and Xanos, but the two seemed to be as puzzled as she was, watching Qua’laen with their jaws dropped. The drow kept smiling naughtily, but his eyes had a strange, ferocious look behind them when he kept his gaze fixed on Mischa.

Callia shrugged. “Don’t pay attention to me, Drogan,” she offered waving her hand. “Continue please, these four are definitely enjoying their time here. Well, at least one of them.”

The dwarf cleared his throat. “Well, I was about to dismiss the class anyway,” he murmured, frowning as he gathered the books. “You are free to go, my dears, Xanos, close the door please.”

When the students left the dining room, the dwarf put his hands on the table and leaned forward towards Callia. “We need to talk about last night. You must stop this, girl,” he said in a firm voice, nailing her to the chair with the scornful look in his eyes. “I don’t want to see you like that ever again!”

The woman crossed arms on her chest and snorted. “Very well. Want me to leave?”

“By all the gods, NO!” Drogan hit the table’s surface with an open hand. “I want you to take a better care of yourself!”

Callia jumped to her feet and began pacing the short distance between her chair and the wall. After a while, when she managed to calm down a little, she stopped and glared at him. “I have never taken a better care of myself than I do now,” she hissed. “I eat three meals a day like some cursed aristocrat, I sleep in a damn warm bed, I have a room waiting for me to practice with my sword whenever I wish.” She stopped, panting a little, her expression so full of despair that it made the dwarf shiver. “Because you chose me… damned ME! So I’m here to do something damn good for others instead of looking for a challenge to get myself killed. What else do you want me to do? Wear warm socks because it’s winter? You are not my damn mother, dwarf. You are not… You have no idea what…”

Drogan’s shoulders sagged and he dropped his head to his chest. “Is your stay here so difficult for you, Callia?”

“Damn it is,” she whispered, clenching and unclenching her fists angrily. “I feel trapped. I need… something… I want…”

The dwarf nodded slowly. “You want real fights, you want danger and blood on your blade again, is that so?”

She swallowed. “And I hate myself for this.” Spinning on her heel, she moved to the door and there she stopped, with her one hand on the knob and the other on the sword’s hilt. “I…”

“Go and prepare yourself, then come to the training room,” Drogan said unexpectedly, not letting her finish. “I may have a surprise for you.” Without a word more he gently pushed her away and, deep in his thoughts left the room, heading straight to his laboratory.

Callia watched him go then picked the sword up and slowly went to her chamber, disregarding the curious looks from the students. “Prepare for what, dammit?”

~*~

Some time later, when she finally got bored with sharpening and polishing her sword, the barbarian entered the training room and she could hardly believe her eyes. Drogan was standing in the middle, holding a scroll in his hands, his face serious and focused as he was finishing some complicated spell.

When the spell was completed, a large beast began to materialize in front of him. The creature had the features of both a wolf and a hyena, its shaggy and spotty coat smelled of decaying corpse and the bristly mane along its spine was marked with dried blood.

Drogan slowly backed away to the door. “Forgive me Callia, but I had only this in store, anyway it’s all yours now.”

The barbarian laughed out loud. “A krenshar!” She sent the dwarf a quick, thankful glance. “This will do for sure, had to deal with them once or twice in the arena…”

The dwarf smiled cheerlessly and hastily left the room, exactly at the moment when the beast roared furiously and prepared for the attack - it pulled the skin back from its head, revealing the muscles and bones of its massive skull.

“Oh yeah, damn nasty creature you are,” Callia murmured and, holding the sword in both hands began to walk in circles around the beast. “But I’ve seen nastier things in my life. Damn sure I did. You won’t scare me.”

The krenshar seemed to be a bit confused that his prey did not flee in panic. It howled and whipped the air with its long, muscular tail, preparing to charge.

Callia stopped and swung the sword back and forth in front of the creature’s eyes. “Easy, I won’t let you die too soon.” Her voice was soft and soothing as if she was trying to calm the beast down. “First I’m going to play with you.”

~*~

Drogan nodded hearing Callia’s laughter. With a heavy sigh he went towards his sanctuary. “I forbid ANY of you enter there, under the penalty of being expelled from the school,” he told the students in reply to their curious looks and ordered them to stay in their rooms. Then he called for Riisi and disappeared downstairs, raising the magical barrier behind him.

Qua’laen tilted his head, staring intently at the training room door as if he wanted to see through the thick wood reinforced with heavy iron bars. Unmistakably Callia was fighting with someone there. Or with something. Absent mindedly, he ran his fingers through his long hair and licked his lips. He wanted to see it so much! To watch her and her blade being as one, so lethal and dangerous. And so powerful… Suddenly he received a fierce nudge from Xanos.

“Come on drow, master Drogan told us to stay away so we WILL stay away, understood?”

Dorna laughed at that remark and sent Qua’laen a knowing smile. “You see? Such a big half-orc and such a pansy to have his reputation shattered.”

The drow nodded, smiling faintly and, dragging his feet, followed the group upstairs. He couldn’t stay calm in his room, however. He kept pacing the chamber back and forth until his eyes caught the sight of two rapiers hanging on the wall by his bed.

His weapon. The blades SHE chose for him.

~*~

With her eyes narrowed to slits Callia watched the beast retreat when it had received another shallow, but painful cut from her sword. Then she waited for its furious counter attack, dodging in time to avoid the merciless slash from the sharp claws. She was just about to laugh again, when unexpectedly the krenshar’s incredibly long tail swept her off her feet and she had to quickly tumble away from the reach of its fangs. The barbarian cursed silently and with a well aimed kick into the nose made the creature back away again. Getting up, she adjusted her grip on the sword’s hilt and with one swift slash cut more than half of the beast’s tail off. The creature howled in pain and tossed its huge head backwards to let out a blood-curdling howl. Callia waited patiently, bent forward, holding the sword ready and watching even the slightest twitch of the krenshar’s muscles. She knew that this was the end of the game. It was time for the real fight to begin.

Focused entirely on her adversary, she didn’t notice the door open and then close quietly. But the beast did. Growling furiously, it charged forward, passing by the surprised barbarian, and after a graceful jump landed on top of the unfortunate intruder. There was a sharp cry of panic and the sound of metal hitting the ground as the twin rapiers fell to the floor, one of them sliding right to Callia’s feet.

“You little fool!” she shouted angrily and quickly drew the animal’s attention back to herself, attacking it fiercely and mercilessly until it left the drow’s body and charged at her. Noticing Qua’laen’s tunic torn to shreds and blood soaking the tattered fabric, Callia knew that the fight had to be short. And she made it short.

Before the creature’s dead body hit the floor, she was by the drow’s side, checking for his pulse. His heart was still beating, but the wounds on his chest looked horrible and he was losing a lot of blood. Cursing under her breath, the barbarian left the sword by Qua’laen’s side and ran out of the room to fetch Drogan.

~*~

*CHAPTER 7*

~*~

Qua’laen opened his weary eyes, in hope that the krenshar and the unbearable pain in his chest were only a bad dream… Indeed, he was in his chamber, lying on his bed, but when he met Callia’s scornful glare, he knew he was in for some serious trouble.

The barbarian was sitting on a windowsill, with her arms crossed on her chest, and she was watching him with an angry expression of her face. As soon as she noticed him move, she quickly approached the bed.

“I don’t give a damn how many spells Drogan had to waste to patch you up,” she said harshly. “I’m gonna beat the hell out of you, fool! What, by all the Nine Hells, were you doing in that room?”

Qua’laen sat up on the bed and carefully examined his chest. There was no trace of the wounds he had received.

“I only wanted to…” He hesitated, looking for some good excuse. “I wanted to see if I could… help.”

Callia snorted. “Help ME?” she yelled. “Help me deal with ONE damn krenshar? Don’t make me laugh!”

“But…”

“But damn what?” she demanded, her voice more quiet, but also more venomous. “You really think you helped me by letting this thing harm you?”

“No, I…”

Callia made him shut his mouth with just one irritated look of her eyes. “You really think I needed ANY help? And least of all from you? You’re a cretin. A damn cretin! That beast has almost killed you! How do you think I would feel if you had died there, huh? Just because you are able to properly hold your blades and because I’ve taught you a couple of tricks does NOT mean that you are allowed to enter ANY battles yet! You still know shit about sword fighting, fool.”

Qua’laen hunched his back and turned his eyes away, penitently accepting all the curses and insults she was throwing at him. He knew that she was right. He knew he did something terribly wrong. And he wished so much he knew how to explain himself to her! Taking a deep breath, he gathered all his courage and looked up, only to see her leave the room and close the door behind her with a loud bang.

~*~

Stomping her feet furiously, Callia went downstairs and put a cloak on. As she was heading for the door, Riisi appeared, hovering at a safe distance in front of her.

“Master Drogan wants to talk to you,” the familiar announced. “He is waiting for you in his chambers.”

The barbarian frowned and reached out her hand to grab Riisi’s fleshy neck. The creature squeaked and struggled, flapping her wings frantically, but couldn’t achieve much without choking herself.

“Get the hell out of my way, wyrm,” Callia hissed, violently shoving Riisi aside. “It will be better for us all if I leave. Now. Tell Drogan I’ll be back before the nightfall.”

With that she strapped the sword to her back and went outside, greedily inhaling the cool air in hope it will help her calm down.

~*~

She didn’t get far before she realized that someone was following her.

“If it is you, drow, I swear I’ll kill you,” she grumbled, stopping but not turning back. Hearing no answer, she shook her head. “You should know when to give up, Qua’laen.”

The drow stopped as well, narrowing his eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight reflecting from the snow. Trying to catch some breath after plowing through the snow fast enough to catch up with the barbarian, he bent forward, supporting his hands on his knees and waited for his quickened breathing to calm down.

“I came to the training room, because I wanted to see you fight,” he said at last, stretching up and looking at the sword at her back. “To see you and your blade bringing death together…”

Callia’s fists clenched and she moved on, at a much quicker pace than before. “Shut up.”

Qua’laen followed her. “I have never met a woman wielding such weapon,” he kept on talking, surprised that the words were now coming so effortlessly to his mind. “I have never seen anyone to be so attached to their blade! Do you know that whenever you put your hand on the hilt there is that loving twinkle in your eyes, and such longing for…”

“Shut your mouth, drow!”

He only shook his head. “You have no idea how much I admire you, Callia. You are so strong and so deadly! I heard you laughing before I entered the training room. You were enjoying the fight so much! Shedding blood, bringing pain and making your opponent suffer before you finally kill…”

Callia spun around and without any warning slammed her fist into the drow’s chin. When he landed backwards in the snow, completely unable to move, she looked down at him and then at her fist. And she cursed quietly.

“I told you to shut up, yes?”

Qua’laen slowly sat up, rubbing his aching jaw and nodded, sending her a repentant glance.

“Then why couldn’t you just be quiet, dammit?”

He dropped his head to his chest and shrugged, sighing quietly. “It’s all right that you hit me,” he said slowly. “I am used to that. I… like it.”

Callia rolled her eyes and crouched beside him. “Don’t tell me shit like that.”

Placing her finger beneath his chin, she raised his head and examined his jawbone. Frowning, she grabbed a handful of snow and put it to the already swollen flesh. She held it there until the snow melted and then she got up, roughly pulling him up with her by his tunic.

“Don’t piss me off again,” she offered dryly. “And I guess it’s damn time for you to go back. You still need some rest.”

Qua’laen bit his lip, then looked straight into her eyes. “I would like to tell you the truth about me, Callia,” he whispered.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Only if you wish to listen, of course,” he assured her, embarrassed by the barely hidden tone of irritation in her voice. “I mean…”

She waved her hand and looked around. “All right, but let’s move on, it’s too cold to stand in one place for too long,” she murmured and took the lead. “It will be much warmer in the forest.”

~*~

“I think I know this place… somehow,” Qua’laen said quietly when they reached a small clearing in the woods. It was indeed warmer there and the chilly wind was gone. “Is this where you found me?”

Callia nodded and pointed to the south. “There.” Then she led him to a large fallen tree and cleared it of snow with a few hasty moves of her hand. She sat astride on it, wrapping herself in the cloak. “Now sit down and talk, I’m all ears.”

The drow nodded and, suddenly feeling uneasy in her presence, sat on the other end of the log, keeping his gaze fixed on their footprints in the snow. “This is a rather… trivial story, I’m afraid. Nothing heroic or special or…”

Callia growled. “Is this what you wanted to tell me so much?”

“No, of course not.” He coughed. “My mother, cursed be her name, is the owner of a tavern in one of the minor drow cities in the Underdark,” he began slowly, trying to keep his voice under control. “And I am her only child. Can you imagine such irony? The only child, the only possible heir to the fortune is a male…”

“I bet she hates your guts, hm?”

He smiled miserably to himself. “Indeed. Since early childhood I was forced to perform the most strenuous and humiliating duties in the tavern… cleaning the rooms after all night long feasts, cleaning the cages where the slaves were tortured, and she never allowed me to be in the common room when there were guests there. Never.”

He stopped for a moment, trying to conceal the disgusted expression of his face.

“But some day, by sheer accident, I was forced to enter there to deliver a very important message to my mother. I knew I would be punished for this later on, but the female warrior who gave me the letter left me no other choice, really.”

A pained look was enough to prove that the threat he had received from the warrior must have been very convincing.

“My mother didn’t want to make a scene in front of the guests, so she quickly sent me away to my chamber. When she came there, long, long hours later… I was ready for anything, but… she was… smiling! She said she had finally found some use of me. It turned out that some guests considered me to be good looking and wished to have me for their pleasure…”

Callia smiled and nodded. “The Drow have long been considered to be the most handsome of all the elven races. Pretty creature sure you are,” she offered, winking at him when he shot her a surprised glance. “Now go on, you got me seriously interested!”

Qua’laen coughed again, but didn’t dare to comment on her words. “Well, she – my mother, that is – had some of her most expert slaves teach me all the tricks in the art of lovemaking. I was very young, but they used to say I was a very skilled student. I mean… Never mind. My first ‘guest’ was a temple guard. She was very tense, constantly edgy and I… I made her melt. I made her feel relaxed and tranquil. I did so well that she paid some extra money for my service. And this is how I became… popular, I guess.”

Tags: Stars, Story

This entry was posted on Friday, August 20th, 2010 at 3:36 pm and is filed under Stars Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.