vicious [d.m]

four: blood & limes

Darkness surrounds her like a shroud.

It's a tight embrace as she descends into the darkness, clinging onto the rungs of a short ladder. When she reaches the bottom, sharp pain laces up her side and she stumbles, still in the dark.

"Lumos," she murmurs — but her wand doesn't light up.

"Magic doesn't work down here," Malfoy tells her in the dark. "Not yours anyway."

Protective Wards. So nobody can use magic against him here. The thought makes dread tighten her throat. But exhaustion has made a home in her chest — and the blood seeping down her back from the climb down the ladder reminds her of her wounds. She has no other choice.

She senses Malfoy's hand reaching for her in the dark, aiming for her elbow to support her. She twists away despite the fire that races up her torso at the movement. "Don't touch me."

His hand falls away. "And to think I was being nice."

She nearly snarls at him in response. Her pain is nearly blinding, corded between her muscles and tendons, keeping them seized. It's an effort to remind herself to breathe.

"It's not far," Malfoy says, his voice blank. "Follow my voice."

Khione braces one hand on the side of the narrow hallway, dragging her feet as she forces herself to move. "Where are we?"

"Underneath the boathouse," he responds like it's an obvious answer. "A hideout."

She freezes on instinct, her breathing hard. She doesn't think she can make it even the next few steps — let alone back up the ladder. But hideout implies—

"It's just mine," he says, as if reading her mind, a couple paces ahead of her. "What, just because I'm a General, I can't want my own space?"

"Why here?" she grits out, putting one foot in front of the other, grimacing at the agony that stabs through her.

He's quiet for a long time — but her sharp ears pick up the sound of his footsteps, the weight of them, and so she follows that.

"It's quiet here," is all he says — and then he stops, abruptly. Khione halts as well, a good distance behind him, hefting her wand in her hand just to feel the comfort of it. "I'm going to open the door now."

She hears the rustle of his clothes in the darkness as he draws his wand and for a moment, she's struck with the realisation that despite her attempts to avoid it, he could kill her right now. Cornered, in the dark where no one would miss her. He'd probably toss her body into the lake and let the mermen have at her.

Fear curls low in her gut — but she refuses to feel it. Instead, she channels it into her wand, although there's no comforting hum of her magic to soothe her.

Malfoy murmurs under his breath and the smell of his blood wafts up to her nose, jolting her. It's different from hers — so she knows it's his. He's sliced open his palm, she realises.

She can't see him in the darkness but she assumes he presses his hand against the door ahead of him because locks start to click and turn, drawing away with a sharp, resounding thunk. There has to be at least fifty, judging by the time it takes for them all to slide out and unlock.

"Precautions," Malfoy says over his shoulder, as if he can see her face. Then he pushes open the door, revealing a dim circular space within.

Khione lingers in the doorway even as he steps through, moving off to the side to discard his cloak.

The room isn't that large — probably as big as the size of the tent that she shares with Cal back at the camp. It's circular, lit with dim sconces, the flames throwing flickering shadows over the dark stone of the walls and the floor. A low-backed sofa and two armchairs — emerald green in colour — are situated in the center of the room, framing an ochre brown rug and facing a fireplace set into the wall. Bookshelves line the edges of the room and a bureau with books and papers piled atop it interjects the wall of books, empty bottles of alcohol lined up along the top shelf of it.