Ophari felt a spine-deep shiver run down her back. Her eyes glazed over with grief and fear as she stared at the dust on the ground—what had once been Murra's body. Despite their arguments, Murra had been her ally, someone who had fought for the same cause.
For a few fleeting moments, Ophari couldn't bring herself to look at Black. He stood there naked, more aroused by Murra's death than he had been when he was inside her. His eyes were utterly dark, devoid of anything remotely human.
"Madness! Madness!" she cursed inwardly, her body still kneeling, lowering her head like she would for Adrani, their clan leader, if there were any way she could get out of this alive.
"Well! What are you going to offer me?" Black's voice pierced her thoughts. Her heart thumped violently in her chest, threatening to burst. Sweat mapped a trail down her neck and back as she struggled to think, her fear palpable.
"Nothing, my lord! You—you already have it!" she replied, trying hard not to stutter, her voice trembling as she realized that he indeed held her life in his hands, just as he had with Murra.
Whatever plan Murra had concocted—one she herself had almost foolishly joined—was nothing but stupidity.
"Lords! He's more powerful than Adrani! What were we thinking? That he would be less cruel?" she thought, lowering her head an inch closer to the floor, waiting for him to speak. The throbbing in her knees from kneeling was ignored.
She could have healed her bruises, erased the pain, but she dared not use even a speck of her energy. That would seal her fate, and it would be the same as Murra's.
"You learn quickly! You'll still die, you know," he said almost casually, as though it was an inevitable truth etched in stone.
Ophari hesitated only for a second before lifting her gaze, letting him see her sincerity through her eyes.
"I live at your pleasure," she answered, meaning every word. He could kill her if he wanted, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, even though she didn't want to die. Her only hope was that Adrani would bother to search for them in the morning, when neither she nor Murra returned to report.
"Can I stall him until dawn?" she wondered, only to abandon the thought quickly, realizing such ideas could get her killed.
"I am at your mercy, my lord," she repeated, her will to resist dying before it could even rise.
Had her face not been fixed to the ground, she would have seen the excitement radiating from Black's expression as he realized he could use her. He could pull power from the fabrics of their realm into her body, filtering it before assimilating the purer version.
She would die, of course, but she would have died usefully. And that, in his twisted logic, was something she should be proud of, even in death.
Flonda hurried off, out of the compound, heading straight for the low-ranking houses. Her steps were long and fast, aware of how quickly she needed to return to her post lest she incur her master's wrath.
Her wounds had healed, and she felt slightly stronger than before—a surprise that improved her mood.
"I'm his only slave, regardless of who he's with," she thought, wearing it like a badge of honor rather than the chain it would have been to her as a free woman.
"I need to get the cleansing water!" she murmured to herself, prepared to spend all her money on the purest she could find. If it didn't work, she would have to accept that her master's calm demeanor masked a hidden madness, one she hoped wasn't the cause of his recent behavior. A sharp pang of insecurity stabbed through her heart as she wondered if he had ignored her simply because she wasn't as beautiful as others.
Flonda discarded the thought, focusing on her steps as she neared the one person in her past family who would have what she needed.
It didn't take long before she stood before his door, knocking as quietly as possible, mindful that night had fallen. It would be rude to disturb anyone but the person she sought.
She knocked again, and then once more, before finally hearing footsteps. The door opened, revealing a frowning masculine face, already showing irritation even before fully seeing who was there.
"Leave! I won't tell you—Flo—" he began to say her name but paused, his tone shifting into something colder. "Slave."
Flonda wasn't fazed. They had been family once, but the reality was that she was now a mere slave, and not even one belonging to the top three families of the clan.
"I apologize for disturbing your sleep," she said, a brief flash of anger passing over her face before she quickly bowed, raising her head again. "I need to buy pure cleansing water," she requested, hoping he wouldn't turn her away and feeling relieved when he didn't.
"Half-pure?"
"Fully, if possible," she replied, suppressing the urge to bow again, something that had become almost instinctual since her enslavement.
A scoff echoed in the quiet night as he eyed her with ridicule. "...And you can pay?"
"Yes!" she responded instantly, lifting a heavy bag of coins—all she owned—along with the promise of a favor. She was handed a small pouch of what she had demanded, and she hurried back, arriving just in time to hear a loud groan that dampened her spirits further.
Carefully, she opened the door, peeking inside, expecting a grim scene. Instead, she saw a woman writhing in pleasure on the bed, naked as the day she was born. Her master stood over her, his face devoid of emotion as he barked orders, watching as the woman glowed brighter and brighter, enough to light the entire room.
Flonda wondered where the other woman had gone but quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing on the jug of water and cup in her hands. If all went well, her master would never know. But if it didn't, she would either die a terrible death or, worse, be cast away.
"Lords above and below! Please don't let me be wrong!" she prayed silently, using her elbow to close the door more easily than she could have before her wounds had healed.
Black immediately turned his gaze from the failing experiment on the bed to Flonda, who had been ordered to guard the gate. His dark eyes trailed over her warrior-like body, silently evaluating whether she might survive the ordeal that was killing the woman on the bed.
He didn't want to use her yet, but perhaps the time had come.