Rabid For Her Revenge

The mansion was smaller than Sarakiel’s. Built of cream colored brick and stone, it was more of a countryside manor. Built to withstand the harsh winters in the north and having endured them for decades by the looks of the weathered state of it. Luckily, it was fall, and the first snow had not yet occurred.

While there was a definite chill in the air, the brisk temperature did little to bother me. Subjected to the horrid effects of Myrin’s mercury serums, I had felt it all from blistering heat to tundra cold. Besides, the inside was sure to be heated, not that it would need to be as the number of bodies in the same room would be ample enough where heat was concerned.

I was able to escape notice upon arrival. It was late evening, shadows swallowed up by the darkness of falling night. The lights were on to illuminate the entrance, but only the butler would really see the faces as they entered the manor. Still in line, Sarakiel the only invitation I needed, I felt my hand tighten into a death grip on his arm as I spotted a male with red hair step up with his consort to accept the welcome from the butler.

And like he had heard my heart stumble in my chest the redhead turned, and I was met with green eyes. My whole body began to shake, out of fear, out of grief, out of rage, I didn’t know, but I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

It was Myrin, he was somehow alive. He was going to drag me back to that hell, inject me with more mercury, drive me deeper into my insanity.

Sarakiel was alarmed, frantically looking around for what caused my reaction when I didn’t respond to his low whispered question. Then following my line of sight, he found the object of my panic. Pulling me close so that others would think he was placing a kiss on my head, he whispered gently but urgently, “It’s not him Daylin, he’s dead. Look, he’s leaving see?”

But he wasn’t, he was standing right there, staring me dead in the eyes, his lips twisted up into that awful smirk.

“Daylin, I promise you it is not him. His hair is the wrong shade anyway. Myrin’s hair was darker remember?” Sarakiel calmly continued in his efforts to soothe me, all the while slowly leading me up towards the entrance. “Look, Daylin.”

I focused in on his voice, listening to his words and letting them dictate my actions. Look, he had told me, so I looked. I looked and saw that he was right. The hair was fire red, not blood red. I blinked and the illusion vanished. The male had never turned to look at me, he was oblivious to my existence, already disappearing into the manor.

I felt my breathing even out and slowly let the tension out of my fingers, loosening my grip. I directed my gaze to the ground, embarrassed Sarakiel had witnessed my meltdown. I was disappointed in myself for losing control that easily.

“It’s alright, Daylin. Do not hate yourself for that,” Sarakiel murmured to me, walking us forward as the line moved.

I said nothing, because what would I say anyway?

I kept my head down until we reached the butler and he choked in surprise. My head snapped up, my silver eyes sending a glare his way. My eyes told him he’d better not make a spectacle of me or I’d make one of him.

He gulped, unable to conceal the uneasiness and fear in his eyes. Then he straightened as if remembering he was a male and I a lowly female.

A feral female that was now collared and tamed by my master.

Regaining confidence, he tipped his nose up at me and said, “Mr. Heelark, a pleasure to have your presence with us this evening. It’s a relief to know that there are those strong enough to teach a feral its proper place. It serves as a good reminder to the females that breaking from society yields nothing in the end.”

Trying to bite my tongue through the first part was hard enough but ignoring the fact he had just referred to me as an ‘it’ well that was impossible to ignore.

I lunged up, snapping at his nose. I probably could have taken it off too had Sarakiel’s firm grip on my arm not anchored me to him. “Daylin,” he warned quietly.

I knew he expected me to at least make it past the door, and his words were hardly a direct insult worth me losing my temper over. If that set me off, I’d be snapping off noses the rest of the night.

Knowing he was right, I attempted to soothe the boiling in my veins before snapping at the butler, “Even a dog knows not to bite the hand that feeds them. Biting the hand that hits them though…” I let it trail off in a warning.

He gulped and Sarakiel decided it was time for us to go inside. Pulling me with him into the manor, we followed the signs leading us to a massive ballroom.

It was a sea of fabric and color. I had a hard time believing it was only the Ones and Twos and their consorts of the Northern Province here. There were easily over two hundred people here, so either Sarakiel had lied to me or…

“There are many people here that belong to this territory,” Sarakiel told me as if hearing my thoughts. “This is their heir’s naming ceremony after all.”

We made it all of ten steps into the ballroom before Sarakiel was swarmed. Ones in their Rassahs and Twos in their suites. Consorts in dresses of all styles and colors, standing demurely with their eyes lowered next to their male or openly trying to seduce other males with coy smiles and intense eye contact. Some even dared to meet the eyes of Twos and Ones, laughing along as if they were actually a part of any conversation.

I scanned the faces around me, digging through my mental files for their names and the rest of the information Phineas gave me on them. The males all congratulated Sarakiel on ‘finally settling down with a consort’.

It was a joke I could tell. They were mocking me with the title, all of them thinking I was just an idolized pet that Sarakiel had to claim to keep.

Little did they know that Sarakiel had given me all of the same powers as a consort, the same privileges aligned with the title, without having to do any of the work.

I was free to laze away, not having to organize parties and keep my male’s schedule organized. I did not have to socialize with other consorts or keep order around the mansion. I was simply respected as my title demanded, everyone in the territory knowing an act against me was an act against their One.

Outsiders were not so aware of this and hence had to sometime learn the hard, painful way.

“Who knew a feral was what you were waiting for all this time,” a One joked.

“But as I recall, the savage beast was at the Finding this year, but you passed over her. Was she not quite bloody enough the first time, Sarakiel, or was it the fact that she was naked the second time around that caused you changed your mind?” Laughter ensued after his remark another one easily adding on.

“No, no, he has a thing for blondes. She was a mousy haired cretin the first time, remember? Now she’s got the albino look going on.”

And on and on it went, the Ones and Twos speaking about me as if I weren’t there. Speaking about us, I realized, like we weren’t there. They made jabs at Sarakiel as often as they made them at me. Sarakiel stood calmly through it all, and for a second I wondered if he realized they were mocking him. But then I remembered Kiro’s story.

“He naturally assumed the weakest one to be the male who did not involve himself with others, who stayed out of conflict and never allowed himself to be provoked. The stupid young male mistook that as a sign of weakness, not strength and when he issued the challenge, he found out the hard way how wrong he was.”

Sarakiel was very aware that they were making fun of him, he simply did nothing about it, not believing them to be worth his time or effort. He let them act like children, let them believe he’d never do anything about it. They mistook him as a pushover, no one took him seriously.

I didn’t understand how they could misread the powerful One at my side. Myrin had known Sarakiel was dangerous, that he was a threat. I had known the power of the male as I’d knelt at his feet in front of the council, in front of the cameras and ranked wights present. But these fools, these ignorant, childish fools were blind.

“So Sarakiel, is the feral worth it? Is she as wild in bed as she was off your leash?”

My eyes narrowed in on the male who spoke.

His first mistake was daring to so openly try and broadcast my worth as a good lay, as a whore. His second and grievous mistake though, was when he reached out a hand to touch me.

His hand had barely grazed the bare skin of the rise of my breast before I had his hand in a vice like grip, slowly twisting it to a painful angle.

It went deathly silent around me. Even the shining eyes of the females who had delighted in hearing me slandered and objectified went wide.

Sarakiel’s dull drawl pierced through the silence of our bubble separated from the rest of the guests. “You all go on and on about my feral,” my consort began lucidly, “but I think you’ve all forgotten what exactly that means.” Sarakiel brushed his fingers where the previous male had tried to touch. “While she has been tamed, she is far from docile. And like any beast, she is trained to be obedient to her master. Which means she is mine and mine alone. She is obedient to none but me,” he said, tracing his knuckles down my cheek. “She yields to none but me,” his eyes flittered up my face and I did not move a muscle, did not flinch from his touch. “She is touched,” he said placing a delicate kiss on my brow, “by only those I permit.” He pulled back, letting his hand fall away. “While you may have no qualms in divulging your intimacies with those around you to compare your goods or demoralize your consorts, my private affairs are my own and you’ll do well to remember that you have no right or privilege to hear about my pleasures or as you have all been suggesting, lack thereof.”

“May I?” I growled out through clench teeth twisting the offending male’s wrist further.

Sarakiel placed his hands on my shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze to tell me I would have my way soon. “To touch what is mine without permission, will not be overlooked or tolerated.” He squeezed once more before letting my shoulders go. “Break it,” he commanded me.

With a mere flick, the bone in my hand snapped audibly, causing a few females to gasp and some of the males to wince.

“Good girl.” The words left his lips without intent to. I could tell by the breathiness of the words and the way he stiffened.

Deciding to have a little fun, I teased him and sidled up to his side, clinging on to one of his arms while standing on my toes to kiss his cheek and cooed, “Anything for you, Prince.”

The others were only confused by the nickname. I had the pleasure of seeing his neck flush red, although his cheeks remained void of color. Before I could tease him further a voice interrupted, parting through the circle encasing us.

“Ahh, Sarakiel Heelark,” the One of this Territory, Mark Davis, greeted my consort. “I had heard you decided to come, and with your consort in tow,” he remarked good-naturedly as his eyes found me. “Already introducing her I see,” he laughed, spotting the male whose wrist I had just mutilated. “Always the life of the party, Sarakiel, but in the name of Daedra, please try not to maim any more of my guests. It’ll reflect poorly on my hospitality.” He slapped, my consort heartily on the back before excusing himself.

That male, I decided, talked too much. Seeing my mirrored expression on Sarakiel’s face I deduced he felt the same, not too fond of the One.

As the host disappeared, those around us decided to also take their leave, finally allowing Sarakiel and I a moment of peace. To avoid sticking out like a sore thumb, I pulled Sarakiel to dance with me. A quartet played dutifully off to the side, currently in the midst of a soft ballad.

I grabbed my consort’s hands and placed them on my waist as I put mine on his shoulders. His hands didn’t stay there for very long. They began to rove around my body, exploring. Not once did I feel the uncomfortable pin pricks from his touch.

A cool chill nipped at my back, but I wasn’t sure if the shiver came from the draft of his touch. I could picture the back of the dress as I felt his hands trace my skin, outlining every crease, fold and curve. Like the front, the back was split in a v, however instead of only going to my navel it dropped to just above the dimples of my derrière, the black gossamer film concealing my skin and scars.

His thumbs pressed into those two small indents, causing my breath to catch at the sudden pressure. I could feel Sarakiel smile against my skin, his lips ghosting across my jaw line, tracing the sharp edges.

Instead, on the looping chains at the front of my chest there was black silk that covered my shoulders in the back, coming together in a high point then disappearing under the back of the collar. Two long tails of black silk came down from the descending point of the back of the collar, ghosting over the bare skin of my back.

Sarakiel pulled on those silk tails, wrapping them around his fist, bending me backwards. What I did not expect was for him to quickly utter the words, “By the musicians, red suit jacket, grey pants, dirty blonde.” He leaned me back further and I tipped my eyes to the top of my head to spot the described male. The pressure on the silk tails loosened and Sarakiel pulled me back up into a standing position facing him. “That’s a Zeta agent no doubt here on order of the council. Where there’s one there’s more.”

My consort was right, they were here on the council’s orders no doubt. I wouldn’t be surprised that they sent their police to monitor a large gathering of Ones. They’d be eager to see if they could catch any talk of rebellion or overthrowing the council in a war for the position of Paramount. “Are they watching you?” I asked, wondering if the Zeta agents had caught on to his plan.

“Not just me,” Sarakiel answered, “but you as well.”