Blood of the Merciless

Chapter Twenty-One

21.

Alaric stood outside Gwenllian's establishment. He did not want to go in. He had to, for Ashe and Savia's sake. This part of town had been emptier as usual. Possibly due to it being mid-afternoon.

Are you ready?

No response. He has been quiet for a few days. Alaric had been panicking. His plan relied on him and Alaric hated that he had to rely on him. He decides to enter the establishment. The showroom in the daytime had been a different sight. There had been no or little noblemen or women. It didn't smell as bad and it was quiet. The mysur slaves had still been shackled. They sat in silence. Alone and naked. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He was going to save them. He had to. But first, he had to get rid of her. He looked toward the stage where Gwenllian watched him. A grin on her face. Her demeanour insisted that he had to go towards her. She was inviting him. He walked toward the stage. He had not looked at the mysur slaves, he could not. He would not jeopardise the plan. He reached the stage. Gwenllian had still been protected by her two soldiers. She smiled at him. That smile. He hated it. She wore revealing clothing like usual.

"You came?" She asked.

"We had a deal. I at least intend to keep mine," He said. It came out harsher than he intended. He had been incredibly nervous. How could he not be, his brother, friend and whatever Savia is to him are risking their lives.

"Ahh, you break my heart. Do you think I will not honour our agreement? Why, I would do anything to get my hands on some premium meat such as yourself." Her hands ran across his chest like usual.

"It is not every day I get the son of Jerial showing up at my doorstep." She said, wagging her finger in his face.

A new scent entered his senses. He began feeling drowsy.

"You knew?"

"Of course, I even met you once. You were about three years old. Still in the arms of your pitiful mother. Of course, Great Lord Jerial did not care about any of that when he chose to bed me."

Alaric was struggling to keep his eyes closed.

"You have to take responsibility for what your father created."

Those were the last words he heard before darkness engulfed him.

He felt as if he were drowning. It was a familiar feeling for him. It happened on numerous occasions. He hated it. He could see, feel, hear and smell everything but he was not in control.

I did not say you can take over yet.

Silence

Alaric knew it was pointless to struggle; there was nothing he could do. Another panic hit him. He wouldn't be able to keep his promise to Savia and the people of Nezzagwyn.

Give me back my body!

No response.

Alaric deflated. When his body regained consciousness, his body had been stripped bare. He could also feel metal restraints on both of his wrists. He had been laid upon a soft bed. He seemed to be in a private room. He felt a heat in his lower half. Gwenllian had been atop of him, wearing nothing less than he was. She had been moaning. He could see the purple of his eyes glow against her skin. He could hear his voice chanting quietly. Gwenllian seemingly did not hear it, she had been too preoccupied. A sharp pain could be felt at his wrists. His body did not seem to react to the pain. Alaric wanted to scream, but he had not been in control. The restraints around his wrists began to melt into a silvery liquid. His hands had been free. Alaric watched as his hands grabbed Gwenllian at the throat.