Chapter 3: Training Day
“Choose your weapon, human!” Elathan repeated with a dangerously low voice when Igraine didn’t move a limb but just stood there, staring at him like an idiot.
Choose a weapon? Good Lord! Igraine had never touched anything more dangerous than a paper cutter in years. She didn't use too sharp knives in the kitchen to avoid hurting herself. Unfortunately, she seemed to attract injuries. She couldn’t even slice an apple without stabbing herself in the hand and nearly bleeding to death. When this had happened, the doctor who stitched up her hand strongly advised her against spending too much time on household chores, so she wouldn’t accidentally kill herself. Once she broke her leg after climbing up a ladder to clean the high windows in her apartment.
“I am not sure. Maybe I could blind you with a shot of my hairspray?” She gasped and put her hand over her mouth. When she was frightened, she happened to make more or less funny remarks to ease her tension. She just couldn’t help it. Judging from the look on Elathan’s face, he didn’t find this entertaining at all. With one quick movement, he drew a small silver dagger from his belt and pressed it to her throat. Grabbing a fistful of her hair with the other hand, he forced her head back so she had no choice but to look right into his cold, unmerciful eyes. Igraine let out a small cry of pain. Before she knew it, she was pressed tightly against his strong body while he held her in his deadly embrace.
The sharp blade cut the delicate skin of her neck ever so slightly, and she felt a drop of blood emerging. Elathan cocked his head to the side and watched the small stream of blood running down until it nearly mingled with the sweat trickling down between her breasts. Her well-worn favorite sweater had slid down over her right shoulder, and a good part of her cleavage was exposed. The elf seemed to watch her intensely, in a way a lion would contemplate his prey before the killing blow.
“Curious,” he murmured. “Your worthless human blood is as red as mine, yet our races are so different. If only your poor-spirited kin had honored the truce with the Fae. Instead, they began to take over more and more of our world. I can remember a time of peace between us and your people, long ago. Perhaps I wouldn't have learned to hate your kind so much if they hadn't killed the only thing I ever cared for. But which choice will be yours, woman?” he whispered softly into her ear. “Will you surrender?”
Igraine shook like a leaf when he let go of her hair and touched the sensitive skin between her breasts, catching the drop of blood with one of his long, elegant fingers. Then he guided it slowly between his lips, savoring it. She shuddered, suddenly wishing he would lick the tiny red line from her skin, all the way up to her throat. Heavens, where did these perverted thoughts come from? “Now tell me, human,” he continued with a voice so deep and alluring it almost sounded like a lover’s. “Will you live or die?”
Now she knew it. Death was beautiful. Her own personal death, at least. Igraine found herself unable to speak a word. She couldn’t help watching his sharply drawn mouth. A bit of her blood still painted his lower lip red. She wondered how he would taste, how he'd feel if she kissed him there, licking the blood away. Did this hard warrior ever kiss a woman, softly, deeply? Or did he just take her body? No, there was nothing soft about this hard, cynical mouth - except when he smiled. His lips had looked fuller, strangely sensuous then. What an alluring, exotic creature he was.
“Live,” she managed to say. “I want to live … Elathan.” Speaking out his name for the first time coursed like a shock through her nervous system, as if this was the point when she realized that all of this was really happening. She was actually here and facing a creature who, according to her certain knowledge, was immortal and only existed in old legends or fantasy stories. But no, it wasn’t a dream, and she hadn't gone mad. This was real. He was real.
Elathan's eyes narrowed dangerously. “So you shall live, at least for the time being. But listen to me. You'll never call me by my given name again. You are not my kind. You mean nothing to me. You are naught but a feebleminded human, a slave. If you want to stay alive, from now on your only duty will be to please me. Should the need arise, you can call me ‘master’ or ‘my Lord’, if the first choice doesn’t suit you. Your name is Igraine, you said?”
Igraine nodded, followed by a reluctantly whispered “Yes, my Lord.” If she wanted to avoid being killed, she’d better succumb to his wishes for now. Later, she would think about a way to escape. Elathan seemed to watch her expression intently. “An old, noble name for someone so young. I once knew a human woman bearing that name. She was the mother of a great king, the last one of a long line to respect the truce and live in peace with the Fae.”
“Arthur?” Igraine's eyes widened. “You knew King Arthur? But I heard he never existed,” she dared to say.
Elathan smiled sadly to himself. “That is what he wants humans to believe. He still dwells in Avalon since he left this despicable world behind, never to return. I was not so fortunate. Now come, slave.” Abruptly he turned around, his rigid posture indicating that the idle talk was over. The elf strode to the training circle and picked up two long wooden sticks from a rack. He threw one to her so quickly, she hardly saw it coming. Relieved that she had managed to catch it, she joined him in the arena. He needn’t realize too early how clumsy she was.
The prince was already waiting for her. He surveyed her briefly with a mocking glance. His stick was circling in his right hand, so fast she could hardly follow it with her eyes. Igraine grabbed her own stick in the middle and held it out threateningly … or so she thought. Elathan shook his head. “Did you never see anyone pole fighting, human?” he asked with a sigh. “Look, this is how to hold the staff. One hand at the end and the other at shoulder width above, thumbs on the inside.”
He stepped behind her and grabbed her arms, moving her hands on the pole to the right position. Igraine felt an incredible heat emerging from his body. Somehow his pale skin made him look hard and cold like a stone, but that was not the case at all. Oh no, he wasn't cold at all. All right, hard he was, everywhere. She doubted that the prince had a single soft spot on his body. Was he hard down there, too, right now? The thought came to her uninvited, and she blushed deeply. Her heart began to beat like a drum. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the way his presence affected her. She just had to lean back a little, and she'd feel his warrior's body pressed against her back.
“Now hold it level in front of you. Yes, that’s it. You raise the pole over your head, back to shoulder level, like this. Then thrust your arms out in front of you, now drop them down below your waist. With this move, you can strike your foe or avert an attack.” He went to her side, demonstrating it to her, followed by other techniques. Igraine watched in awe how gracefully he fought, light and quick like a dancer. Hard muscles moved and tensed under his pale skin, showing off his strong arms and wide shoulders.
After Elathan showed her circular movements, thrusts and jabs, he decided that she was ready for practicing. “Brace yourself,” he said with a wicked look in his eyes. “Now, attack me.” He dropped his own staff to the floor. “Look, woman, I am unarmed and defenseless.” Igraine hesitantly lifted her pole. “Attack me, or I’ll rip your heart out and throw it to the dogs, stupid human!” he thundered.
There and then Igraine's numbness faded away. Anger prevailed over fear. It felt like a brick wall collapsing inside her mind when she finally had the strength to overcome her shock. Suddenly, she was beside herself with rage. All that she had gone through during the last two days took hold of her. She had been kidnapped by a creature who shouldn’t even exist. He had robbed her of her life, dragged her into this creepy place and constantly threatened to kill her. Besides, she really hated being badgered and humiliated by this pompous ass of an elf.
Being angry was a strange feeling to Igraine. For years and years, she had seldom allowed herself to become enraged, out of fear that Stephen would stop loving her if she did. She never complained, not even once shouted at him when he dumped her for that dumb blonde just like that; after all she had sacrificed for him. Instead she wordlessly turned around and left shortly afterwards for the motel – just with her suitcase and two bags, leaving most of her possessions behind. Stephen had never bothered to send them after her. He probably had disposed of them in the garbage. Once settled in her new apartment, small but hers alone, she started to eat and eat. Every time her anger seemed to well up again, she couldn't resist the temptation to indulge in food. It felt so good and eased her pain. After that, she felt at peace and comforted for a while, but not for long. Soon the rage and anxiety would raise their ugly heads again, and she would continue the same way, day after day.
During this moment, all the anger, hate and disappointment broke over her like a huge wave; so many long-suppressed emotions which at one time she could almost not endure without breaking down completely. But now something else was there. At first she didn’t know what it was. But it felt good. Actually, she felt great and very alive. Adrenaline shot through her body, her heart pumped. Even her skin felt hot and oversensitive to any touch.
With a fierce cry, she lunged at the prince, fully intending to thrust her pole into his ridiculously handsome face. She hoped she would break his all-too-perfect straight nose which he had way too high in the air most of the time. A crooked nose in this otherwise flawless face would be her special present for him and remind him of this ‘stupid human’ long after he had killed her. She grinned wickedly, not afraid of dying at all at this moment.
Elathan was clearly surprised by her sudden ferocity, but not for long. His warrior instincts rapidly took over. When she lifted up her right arm to strike a heavy blow at him, he grabbed the end of the staff she had thrust forward to hit his head. Igraine didn’t have a chance against his strength and swift reactions. Before she knew it, she was catapulted high into the air like a pole jumper and crashed onto the stone floor with a loud thump. She felt a sharp pain in her right wrist when she tried to catch herself before the impact. Then she hit her head hard on the floor. Moaning, she tried to get up, but was hit again by a series of blows with the pole. “Stand up!” Elathan ordered. “Stand up and defend yourself, woman!” He held the tip of the pole to the base of her throat, obviously assuming that she would give up now. But Igraine was beyond fear and pain now. She didn’t care if she lived or died, as long as she gave the pointy-eared bastard a hard time.
Bleeding from several wounds, she took hold of the pole directed at her and pushed it aside before rising slowly. It was a difficult undertaking with only one hand. When she tried to support herself with the injured wrist, she winced in pain. Elathan watched all this with a mixture of indifference and curiosity; his unblinking eyes holding her furious gaze. He seemed to be musing whether she was worth his effort at all, or if it would be better to kill her at once.
Coming to stand before him, she straightened to her full height and looked him straight in the eyes, refusing to give up. “Now what? Are you tired already, sweet prince? Why don’t you call one of your servants to carry you to your royal chambers and tuck you up in bed?” Then she tried to attack him again, this time with her bare hands pushing into his hard chest as hard as she could. It made the pain in her wrist almost unbearable, but she didn’t care. He stood there like a rock and didn't move an inch. His slightly amused smile indicated that he wasn't enraged, but she knew that he couldn’t let her live after this insult. Not anymore.
Igraine's anger grew even more when he didn’t lift a finger to fight her. The wound on her head kept bleeding, and she was feeling dizzy. Tiny lights began to dance before her eyes. But she would never give up. She couldn’t. “Just finish this farce and kill me, elf,” she hissed. Simultaneously she stretched out her hand and grabbed a short, light sword from the nearest rack. The tip was blunted for training, but the blade looked sharp. She surely could do some damage with it, at least. Crying out with rage and frustration, she swung around the sword, aiming at Elathan’s neck.
The air was violently pressed out of her lungs when her back hit the floor. Elathan had thrown himself into her body and landed right on top of her. Effortlessly, he took hold of the sword and flung it away. It skittered over the floor and beyond her reach. It was over. This would be her end.
Igraine was struggling for air, but it was impossible to get any with the weight of the tall elf pressing down on her chest. Her eyes were closed while she awaited the pain of his final move to kill her. He didn't need a weapon to perform the task. Would he slowly choke her to death with his strong hands, or break her neck with one swift movement? It didn't matter, as long as he got over with it soon. However, nothing happened.
After a while she dared to open her eyes. Elathan's face was so close to hers that the heat of his breath touched the side of her neck. He didn't move, just stared down at her with his lion's eyes. She fought the sudden desire to touch his cheek and trace the long scar leading to his chin with her fingertips. Unexpectedly, the elf grabbed one of her wrists with each hand and pinned her to the ground. He rested a part of his weight on his elbows, so she could easily breathe now. When Igraine finally felt brave enough to lift her gaze to his, she gasped. The expression of his strange light eyes was not cold or amused anymore, nor did she see her own death in them. What she saw was untamed desire, a primitive craving so raw, so powerful that his eyes were burning with passion. This was like nothing she had ever seen in the eyes of any human man before. His body as well as his mind seemed to call out to her, not asking, but demanding the fulfillment of his carnal needs.
Once again, unexpected feelings hit her like a wave, but it was not rage or fear this time. She couldn’t move under his weight, but she loved the pressure on her body, her own weakness confronted with his overwhelming strength. Softly moaning, she tried to move under him, though not to escape. Instead, she rubbed herself against him, just a little bit. The elf reacted with a sharp intake of breath. Igraine could feel all of him, his strong shoulders, the incredibly hard chest crushing the softness of her breasts, his flat, tense abdomen. His long, muscular thighs tensed, one of them settling right between her legs, spreading them. There was no doubt that he was fully aroused, and his erection felt huge against her hip.
During the fight she had not seen one single drop of sweat on him. Now, his pale brow glistened with tiny pearls of moisture. One of them was running down to the notch in the base of his long, muscular neck. Igraine couldn’t help herself. She had to taste him. Following a sudden, undeniable urge, she lifted her head up to his neck and put her lips right there, licking him with small strokes of her tongue, like a cat lapping milk. Elathan went rigid, every muscle in his body tight before he finally threw his head back to ease her access. She felt him shivering and smiled against his heated skin. For once, she had managed to surprise him. When he groaned deep in his throat, it was a sound so incredibly erotic she felt it deep in the core of her womanhood. Wetness started to gather between her legs. God, he smelled so incredibly good. Her whole being screamed out to him to take her, even if he meant to kill her afterwards.
Elathan closed his eyes, breathing heavily and pressing harder against her body. When he lowered his head to inhale her scent at the curve between her neck and shoulder, his long hair fell over his shoulders and covered her face. She wanted to wrap herself up in it completely and lose herself forever, embedded in the silky softness of it.
Igraine gasped when the prince’s lips touched the delicate skin on her neck. At first his mouth seemed to tease her as a revenge for the sweet torture she had applied on him before. Then she felt his tongue on her, moving in tiny circles over her neck. Her nether regions throbbed with desire, and she grabbed him, hugging his wide back, touching every hard muscle on it. She winced when he started to bite her with his sharp elven teeth, causing a pleasurable amount of pain without really hurting her. Wantonly, Igraine began to rub her lower body against his arousal, to show him that she was his and his alone to take. She didn't know why she behaved that way. Was he using his magic on her again or was she just a victim of his supernatural beauty? Whatever the case, she didn't really care. For now, he obviously didn't want to kill her as long as he was enjoying himself. So why couldn't she use him the same way and give in to her overwhelming need to touch him? Later, she would find a way to escape and maybe even pay him back for what he had done to her.
Then, to her utter frustration, his weight was lifted from her body, and she lay on the floor, alone and trembling. She was fully dressed, but felt naked and cold. Igraine opened her eyes to see what had happened. Elathan crouched before her on one knee, watching her with a naughty, self-contented smile. Fae or human, the species didn't really matter when it came down to male arrogance.
“I must admit you took me by surprise, human," he said. “To tell you the truth, I didn't think you'd even survive your first training. But you did quite well - in both disciplines. Most eager to learn, aren’t you?” He stretched out his hand and touched the bare, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, where her jeans had been torn during the fight. Slowly he caressed her there, his fingertips moving upwards until he almost reached the spot where she longed and ached for him. Igraine moaned when he took his hand away.
“I think it is you who wants to be tucked up in bed now, slave,” he remarked with a slightly evil gleam in his eyes. Then he was gone.