SWEET CREATURE [ Ramsay Bolton ]

CHAPTER ELEVEN

     Winterfell quickly falls into Ramsay's hands and what was once a family's home has turned into a bloody battleground. Katherine walks around the castle grounds, watching in stunned silence as the castle goes up in flames and the inhabitants are slaughtered. The Bolton men aren't moved by pleas or screams. They simply kill, just like the thoughtless beasts that Ramsay keeps in the kennels.

     The smoke begins to burn her lungs so she opts not to breathe. Her eyes, however, remain open and she watches as Winterfell burns to the ground.

     . . .

     Katherine is old. It's easy to forget how old she actually is as the years begin to blur together. Sometimes, there's a need for reflection, to remember everything she's survived, everything she's outlived. Over the centuries, she's been witness to a number of disturbing acts. It's hardened her heart, desensitized her to cruelty. She thought she's seen it all. And then, she met Ramsay.

     Ramsay, she is sure, is one of a kind. She realizes as much when she stands before his entertainment, a man strung up and skin falling off his bones. The man, barely clinging to life, has gone half-mad with pain. When she was younger, she would have turned away with disgust. Now, the man intrigues her. He's new and fascinating and she wants him.

     "Is this the kraken you've been telling me about?" Katherine asks, watching the blood drip to the ground. Her gums ache and the man is whimpering, pleading for death. How it would please her to oblige.

     "No," Ramsay says, still holding the bloody blade in his hand, his disgust evident as he observes his newest victim. "This one is quite insignificant." The man's head lulls forward and he lets out another weak groan. His breath rattles in his chest. The sight is pathetic; Katherine is rarely weak enough to be moved by emotion but she finds herself feeling rather tired. The mixture of fatigue and pity inspire her to show mercy.

     "Then you won't mind if I take a small bite." Without waiting for permission, she weaves her fingers through the dying man's hair and tilts his head back, baring his throat. Her teeth sink easily into the delicate skin and the blood flows weakly past her lips. She doesn't stop until the faint heartbeat finally fades away. When she releases her hold on him, his head falls lifelessly forward.

     "I was having fun, Kat." There's thinly veiled anger in his tone. It's hard for him to get used to this new dynamic between them. The only other person to ever hold such power of him was his father. Women held no power at all.

     Until Katherine, that is. She's a monster, a witch, yet still a woman. His blood runs hotter.

     "Your type of fun repulses me," she says with a sniff. Still looking distastefully at the flayed man, she feels Ramsay step up behind her. The tension reaches a new, unprecedented height. He's never been so bold since she dropped her Esme Ambrose Act.

     With his chest brushing against her back, he places his lips at her ear and breathes, "Does it really?"

     She pauses at the feeling of having him so close to her. It's a power move, she realizes. He's testing her limits. At any moment, she could push him away, remind him of his place. She doesn't.

     Instead, she relishes the burn that stirs in her belly at his close presence.

     Instead, she tells him, "It's revolting, messy." She feels his hand grip her waist, tightening as she goads him. "There's no skill in this blood lust of yours."

     "It's much harder than it looks." He brings an arm up around her, presenting the blade in his hand. The candlelight shines off the steel and the bloodstains seem to glow. Ramsay watches the way her eyes greedily follow the weapon's movement as he tilts it to and fro. "It takes a certain delicacy to sink the blade just right under the skin."

     "You're a savage," she snaps, even as her fangs elongate. When he quickly turns her to face him, her fangs are back in place. The beast is nowhere in sight. There are no ugly veins sweeping across her face. Only pretty, pretty skin.

     "Would you like to see how savage I can be, my lady? I think you'd like it." The blade burns against his palm and he wants to thrust into her belly just as much as he wants to rip the clothes from her body. He wants her death, her screams, her cunt. He's greedy and he wants it all.

     Katherine's brow cocks and she looks impressed at such a bold statement. "Oh, you wouldn't even know what to do with me," she whispers, bringing a hand up to brush her fingers against his cheek. He's recently shaved and the smooth skin feels silky under her touch. When the caress turns harsher, he grabs her wrist in warning. "But I..." she continues, "I can read you like an open book."

     "They do say you should know your enemies." He begins to move forward, forcing her back until she feels a table against the back of her legs. "And, believe me, I plan to learn everything there is to know about you."

     Learning her weaknesses, specifically, is his main priority. Katherine isn't completely invincible, he's sure of it. Eventually, he will find the chink in her armor and she will regret ever stepping foot in the Dreadfort. Until then, he's allowed his fun.

     He finds much delight in pushing the limits with her.

     "Am I your enemy?" she asks with a huff of laughter. "You shouldn't be so eager to take on someone who could crush you like a bug, Ramsay."

     "You have quite the mouth on you," he hisses. "Someone should teach you what to do with it."

He's still holding back, still waiting for the sign that will allow him to give into his desires. It takes Katherine a moment to decide whether she will give him that sign. She takes her time observing his tense facial features, his taught frame. Ramsay appears too small for all the power he wields, for all the viciousness he acts on. His beauty is strange, not handsome like her previous lover. Yet, she sees it in his mouth, in his cold blue eyes. Still, she's not sure she likes what she sees. All she knows is, she wants to find out.

     "Show me then," she tells him, amused at the look of suspicion that crosses his face. "Go on," she insists. "Do your worst."

     He dives in without another thought.

     For centuries, her hunger for blood was all consuming, her main priority. She's always been insatiable, yearning for more. This type of hunger is something similar and completely different. The pleasure is incomparable, thrilling.

She finds herself being suddenly lifted from the ground and slammed down on the table behind her. A sharp gasp escapes her but the pain is fleeting, but any damage made on her skills heals immediately after impact. Looking up at him, she admires the calculating look on his face before he decides to reach down and tear open her bodice.

     . . .

     She waits to speak until he's lacing his breeches back up. There's something vulnerable in his appearance now, with his hair a mess and clothes in disarray. Her own garments hang off of her in tatters though she makes no attempt to cover her bare skin. She's far beyond modesty.

     "You're not going to kill her," she states as she slides off the table. He looks confused until she clarifies, "Fiona. I know what you do to your whores when you've finished with them. She's off limits, Ramsay."

     "You like her." The observation isn't much but it's something for him to remember. It's something more than he had before, trying to discern Katherine's wants and wishes. Anything he can glean from her is useful, he decides, even if it's her preferred smallfolk.

     "I don't want her dead," she carefully corrects, aware of his searching gaze. Before their combined sweat even cools between them, he studies her, looks for her weaknesses.

     "Very well," he says with a grim smile. "You know I would deny you nothing."

     Yes, she certainly does know.