Ryke closed the diary and drew a long, measured breath. He stroked the thick blue cover with the embossed branching twigs and leaves, gold blossoms, and tiny long-beaked birds. Drette had been a lover of archaic nature. He’d read the whole book, though some of it might take days to sort out due to the convoluted phrasing. Drette also had a love of secret codes and weird notes. This woman, Gio, could possibly help him with that. Once she recovered.
He looked up, his brow arching. She’d provided good entertainment. Three orgasms from her, at least?
Her gasping was the only noise disturbing this very sound-proofed room, until he stood and paced to her then around the chair, examining her. Wrecked seemed a good adjective. He went to one knee beside Gio, amused at how she’d managed to impale herself to a most impressive depth. He hadn’t joined her in orgasm. Keeping himself in control was necessary, even when his erection felt as big as this fucking huge dildo.
“For someone so reluctant to do this, you certainly did well,” he murmured. She didn’t stir and answer, or look up, even when he wrapped his hand over her knee.
Unconscious? He pinched above her clit and she barely moved. Her eyes were closed, her lace dress sodden with sweat, her breasts flushed. Marks from the straps tying her down showed on her arms and legs where she’d strained against them. The tears on her face and general dishevelment pleased him.
Raggedly, her chest rose and fell.
“Gio?”
Still nothing. He rose and pulled up her eyelid. Her eye twitched and bastard fumbled from her tongue.
“Good to know you’re alive.”
She ignored him, again. Alive but a little too close to utter exhaustion to please him. He fetched her water and made her drink but all the while the ramifications of the diary and her...attitude, her entire martyrdom – because that’s what it was – bothered him.
The diary made it plain that she knew considerably more than she’d told anyone. She could’ve made herself indispensable and saved herself from execution for a long time, if careful.
She hadn’t.
She’d called him cruel. He knew he was. Just...her stand on this seemed to lend more weight. None of his past clients had cared enough for the swathe to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. None. Broken, brought down to their most primitive state, they’d all begged. What power there might be in being self-sacrifice. If you lived.
Well, she had lived, and he had to admit, she was making him think past his usual.
Yet here she was, naked, and spread out on his favorite chair. Damn helpless, and so stunning when she’d come the first time that he’d neglected to breathe.
Her head had fallen crookedly across the headrest and he straightened it, rearranged her wet hair, wiped away the tears and drool with a cloth. He couldn’t have her killed after this, if Gyle was telling the truth, and he must be. That lent an entirely new slant to this relationship of interrogator and client. What might they let him do with her when he was finished with official business?
Why did she martyr herself? To aid her race? More portals meant more humans brought through. Good for the swathe due to the rich density of Factor H in human blood. Mekkers also found fucking a human to be exceptional. Cock-exploding was the general street description.
“Get the fuck away from me.” So quiet, it was a moment before he was certain what she’d said, then Gio opened her eyes and unleashed a glare of hate.
“Shhh. Don’t worry. I don’t fuck my clients. Not my duty to do so.”
“Duty?” She hiccupped in laughter, her hands flexing even as her eyelids fluttered down.
He watched every flutter of her eyelashes. The wings of the birds on the diary cover wouldn’t be as delicate as this.
Gods.
The power imparted in having her here and his to do with as he willed was his kind of aphrodisiac. This was his drug.
Her thigh trembled under his hand then she slipped lower in the seat, until the bindings stopped her. The nearest strap of her dress was halfway down her arm. Carefully, he pulled it straighter, left it atop her shoulder, though he let the neckline remain where it was, beneath her breasts.
Now seemed a good time to push for answers. Even if muddled there might be a kernel of truth.
“Why didn’t you tell the other lawgivers how much you knew?”
“Pfff to your...”
“You could’ve saved yourself.”
Though he waited, she added nothing further.
A pinch on her upper breast produced a lesser response than before.
Ryke sighed and straightened. He had a hunch she wasn’t going to tell him more than she had to either. He’d have to find a weakness, a way to make her believe that telling him was better than keeping secrets. The diary would not hold everything that’d happened between her and Drette.
That bruise...
He frowned, studying the purple and black splotches on her face. She’d already taken enough abuse and pain to make most people cave. A strong woman.
It was time for the antidote.
He retrieved the vial from the small fridge and drew up what he judged to be the required amount and took the syringe to her, along with a swab moistened with alcohol.
A buzz at the door interrupted him. Using the screen connected to the peephole, he saw that Gyle, the king’s Advisor, waited in the corridor outside. Anyone else would’ve been a surprise as no one, not even the Governance members, should know how to access that corridor.
Anyone else he’d likely have killed, after questioning them.
Ryke undid the three locks and welcomed Gyle.
“Thank you.” The man walked in until he reached the center of the room, though his steps slowed when he saw Gio in the chair. “I see things went well. You retrieved her without problems?”
“I killed everyone else in that room but made sure no significant people were there before I entered.”
“Good. Has she revealed anything? Or the diary?” Gyle glanced at where Ryke had left the book.
There were several boxes of papers and books, though the diary was deemed most likely to yield anything new – everything else had been studied by previous investigators and lawgivers.
“What I read supported what you told me. She’s important and helped Drette far more than anyone else thought. I agree with your assertion that some of the notes are in code. We need her.”
“Yes. You haven’t let her die, I hope?” He took a few slow steps closer to Gio, frowning, hands in the pockets of his nondescript gray clothes. His court uniform of black and gold was never worn on his visits to Ryke.
“She’s a little overcome...by my business with her, as well as the drug they gave her in the blood-snack room. I’m about to give her the antidote.”
“I see.” Gyle smirked, focusing on the dildo spearing between her legs and the naked state of his client. “Yes. Doing well, I hope?”
“I am.” Whatever Gyle truly thought of this, he’d not meddle. Ryke smiled. Like any man, Gyle probably had his perversions when it came to sex, he, Ryke, was simply more able to act upon them.
“Pretty, yes?”
“Very. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Hmmm. I mainly came to tell you, in person, that others seem to be unduly interested in the little slaughterhouse you created today. And in her absence.”
“Others, sir?”
“Yes. Judge Ormrad for one. Be careful if you let her out in public.”
This time he was the one frowning.
“She’s human and, excuse me sir, those are fucking rare.” He waved at her. “Bright gold hair and nails. A very conspicuous female. And I may need to take her outside.” Surely she’d have to be revealed anyway? Eventually?
“Disguise then, Ryke. Heard of that?”
He nodded. Improvising such a thing should be possible. Conceal her hair, her eyebrows, her nails. Her face too as some might remember her. There were masks he could use...gloves.
Ryke catalogued the equipment on his walls. “Yes, that might even be interesting.”
“Huh. I’ll leave you to it then. How long before you break her? Assuming you haven’t already.” He chuckled. “She looks a bit past tired.”
“Ahhh, yes. This isn’t broken. She isn’t. I may need days, weeks.” He really had no clue, and that was novel. Usually he could put a finger on an approximation.
“As fast as you can, please. We need more humans. Quite a number of our people have a lust for these. Our economy needs them. We trade them with the grounders, use their blood for factor H...” Gyle rambled, as if Ryke didn’t know all these facts. “Some of my own enterprises as well as the king’s are suffering.”
“I’m efficient and loyal, sir.”
“Of course. Keep me updated, Ryke.”
He let the man out then relocked the door, turned to her. She’d not stirred during all the talking. He retrieved the syringe of antidote and screwed on a needle as he went to her, then squatted, swabbed the side of her ass and slid the needle home. The plunger descended smoothly.
Not a whimper came from her. She’d gone deep and likely hadn’t heard a word of the conversation.
To his bemusement, he felt relieved and, with a little reflection, he understood why he was relieved.
To some degree, he was ashamed of the reasons for them needing her. Money. He served the swathe and the Mekker people, same as she seemed to serve her own people. He’d always seen it as a higher cause. His was a necessary, unappreciated, but essential job.
He truly was uncomfortable with this.
Would he have been, if this was his normal greedy, scheming client?
Good question.
Not that he minded questions. He liked thinking things through since it was how he broke clients. Even her.
Even beautiful her.
Cupping her chin, he lifted her head, examined her pupils again – they’d rolled upward, but her breathing seemed steady, as was her pulse. He removed the dildo spear and rolled it aside.
He wasn’t sure how long it would take to see the effect of the injection. This was partly guesswork since he wasn’t sure of the drug used on her. This antidote would work on the two commonest aphrodisiacs that also caused some stupefaction.
If it didn’t work, he might have to go do some digging to figure out what this was.
In the meantime, that bruise could do with ointment applied. Ryke fetched some from his medical kit and rubbed it into her cheek and jaw where the colors were the ugliest.
When she sighed he paused simply to look at the curve of her lips.
After Gyle had asked him to be the King’s Own Lawgiver, he’d had a period of adjustment.
He sometimes wondered what happened to a man who refused this post. Probably he would be killed, quietly.
Early on he’d decided he must steel himself against feeling emotional attachment to clients. He couldn’t survive if he did. It would’ve torn him apart. He’d let that part of him go, let it die, flicked that switch. What he did to people might be cruel, even terrible, but it was necessary.
Most days he reflected on this at least once. That didn’t mean he changed back to what he once was. He didn’t even know how to turn that switch on again.
This was who he was.
She was a slave. His actions were justified. Slaves had no rights in any situation.
He didn’t let himself feel empathy for clients. It wasn’t ever a good idea.