The Blitz (BEING REVISED)

Chapter Twelve: You Won't Remember a Thing

        So basically, sex.

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        Sleptaas awoke suddenly to an empty bed. She groaned and stretched as she got up and began to dress. It was oddly quiet in her old home, and she wondered where Merek was. No, not Merek. The stranger. The assassin’s mind was clear now, but her head ached from remembering and an uncomfortable sleep. She opened the door to her bedroom and went into the main room, and was greeted by her dead lover, who was sitting at the oaken table, reading a book.

“Good morning, love,” he said, setting down his book. Sleptaas sensed fake cheer in his voice.

“Morning,” she replied, forcing a smile.

“I have another job for you.”
“And what would that one be?”

Merek stood and walked over to her. “I want you to find someone for me.”

“Who?” Sleptaas was uncomfortable with this man’s closeness, and she stepped back, but he caught her in his embrace, pulling her close to him.

“A girl.”

“That’s not helpful information, Merek,” she said.

“She’s blonde, a bit shorter than you, and has pretty silver eyes,” he murmured to her as he bent to kiss her neck. “She’s a mage, and will be seventeen this winter. I think you know her.”

“Twixy,” Sleptaas breathed, and started to pull away again. Merek took her by her wrists and made her face him.

“So you do know her?” His eyes flashed ice blue as he smiled. “I do not recognize that nickname, though.”

“I will not kill Twanette for you!” Sleptaas snarled.

“Oh, love, I don’t want you to kill her,” Merek said cooly. “I merely want you to find her, and bring her to me.”

“No!” The assassin brought her knee up to hurt him, but he twisted away, as if he’d expected the move. She pulled her arms from his and reached to her belt for her knife, but Merek was quicker, shoving her against the edge of the table, pinning her with his weight and strength.

“Sleptaas, my love, I’m afraid you’re upsetting me. You were supposed to be a good girl and obey me,” Merek’s voice was wickedly calm, but his eyes glittered with a dark, dangerous lust. He grabbed her roughly by her jaw and made her look at him.

“You’re not Merek,” Sleptaas growled.

The man chuckled. “Now, where did you get that idea?”

She spat in his face as her answer. “Who are you?”

“My name is Erik, m’lady. Now I’d love to stay and tell you my life’s tale, but you, my dear, have a party to go to.” He grinned again. “Unfortunately you’ve built up a tolerance for the drugs we’ve given you, so I must put a spell on you.”
“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you won’t remember a thing once I’m done with you, you poor, pretty thing,” his voice was dripping with cruelty as he breathed into the soft skin in the hollow of her throat. He undid her sash and was reaching for her shirt when she realized what his intentions were. Sleptaas tried struggling again, but suddenly she was unable to move, and was helpless as he finished undressing her and removed his own clothing, then laid her down on the oak table. He climbed on top of her, and was kissing her, caressing her, and pressing himself closer to her.

She didn’t look at him as he let himself in. She refused to let herself feel anything. Erik was still kissing, biting, running his hands up and down her body. He was moving with powerful, lusty intentions; his moans were hard against her skin.

“Oh, you lovely, beautiful thing,” he whispered into her ear, panting, and as he climaxed, a single tear rolled down Sleptaas’ smooth cheek.