The Devil's Smile

Chapter 23

The black was spinning and swaying drunkenly in Amina's head as she woke. She groaned as she felt the nausea and dizziness twist her stomach. When she opened her eyes she found herself in complete darkness. The fire had gone out in the hearth. How long have I been asleep, she wondered.

At first she didn't remember where she was. The bed was warm and the bedding was silky. This wasn't her bed was it? The black was heavy on her chest and her stomach suddenly heaved. When she tried to lean over the edge of the bed to vomit, her muscles didn't want her obey her urgent command. As she began to heave she found the strength to turn over just in time to lose the bile in her stomach down the side of the silky bed sheets and all over the floor.

Amina groaned as she continued to heave and nothing came out. The bile she'd lost smelled foul and tears came to her eyes as pain joined the weakness in her muscles all over her body. She had never felt so sick in her life. Her head screamed its upset at her for having moved at all, searing down her neck and shoulders and back to mingle with the sore tired pain that started in her legs and moved up her chest.

With more effort than it should have taken she managed to work herself onto her back at an angle in the bed. But at least her head wasn't dangling over the vile smell that the bile vomit was emanating from the side of the bed. Confusion and fear spread through the sick and pain. Where am I? Her brain didn't want to think. It hurt too badly. Suddenly she realized what had brought her from the bliss of unconsciousness into nightmare reality. She needed to use the chamber pot. She racked her brain to try and remember where in the black it might be. As she tried desperately to remember, flashes of where she was and what had happened to her began to flash across her vision in blinding clarity. Her hand reached unsteadily downward to find the hair on her mound matted and crusted to her body with his dried spendings. Amina withdrew her hand as if it were on fire.

Butterflies joined the nausea in Amina's stomach and stirred it to the point that she began to heave again. She was grateful for her empty stomach as she felt her jaw extend, her throat contract, and her muscles jerk painfully. There was no way she could roll over again and if there had been anything in her, it would now have been on her. But now her bowels were complaining more violently. It was all she could do to keep from peeing the bed. More tears squeezed out from under her eyelids.

Amina threw the blankets off to the side of the bed. Determination boiled in her as she forced herself to sit up. She whimpered with each movement as she lifted one leg and then the other off the edge of the bed. She sat there a moment, breathing heavily and gathering her strength as she tried to judge the distance to the chamber pot in her mind. She could picture it under the small stand, against the far wall, fifteen or maybe twenty feet from where she was. It's not that far, Amina reassured herself.

A gurgling in her stomach urged her to move. Amina scooted forward until her feet touched the carpeted stone floor. The room was starting to spin again. Amina took a deep breath and tried to stand. For a moment, she actually believed she was going to manage to get to her goal. Without warning her legs gave out as they felt her weight. Amina cried out as she tumbled to the floor. She grabbed for support only to topple the small stand next to her bed. There was a loud crash as the porcelain pitcher that had been on the stand hit the stone floor. Amina heard the sickening thud as her head hit the floor. Pain screamed through her skull. A monstrous image of a pale skinned creature with empty eye sockets and a mouthful of fangs enveloped her. Amina felt liquid warmth puddle and flow over her thighs as she began to black out.

Moras's sword sung sweetly as it sliced through the air and crashed violently against the armor on the practice dummy. His strikes were a bit off this day. He hadn't slept and kept looking at the large wooden double doors and expecting them to open. Every random sound had him checking to see if she had woken up yet. He wasn't sure if she was just weaker than the others, if he had drained her more than he should have while he was trying to teach her his lesson, or if she was hiding in her chambers afraid of him. He swung the sword angrily at that thought and dented the already battered shield again. The last was the most likely of the options. They didn't usually sleep this long. It was her own fault, he told himself over and over as he swung his weapon haphazardly.

He considered going to check on her. That pissed him off more. Why, the hell, do I care, he thought and brought the sword down on the dummy hard enough to crack the breast plate strapped to what should have been its chest. He swore and threw the sword down. It clattered across the floor and lodged against the hearth of the large fireplace. Moras pulled his armor off piece by piece and tossed it at the foot of the dummy. He started for the door and then paced back to the dummy indecisively. Moras took a couple deep breaths and then went over to pick up his sword. He sheathed it properly and hung it with care on the armor rack next to the dummy, picked up his armor and set it where it belonged. The actions were therapeutic in a way. Once he had calmed down he walked toward the door, his soft boots echoing footsteps on the stone down the hallway. When he reached her door he paused and tucked in his white shirt. He was sweaty and considered changing first. But then shook his head and forced himself to just go in and check on her.

The darkness in the hall was unsettling. She never let the candles burn down this low. That was when he realized that she wasn't just hiding from him. Something was actually wrong. His pace quickened as he walked to her bedchamber, almost starting to run as he neared the door. When he opened the door the smell of vomit and urine assailed his senses. He could see the empty bed from the door. With his hand over his nose he rushed into the room. The guilt he had been hiding beneath a blanket of anger bubbled to the surface when he found her lying naked and hurt on the floor next to her bed.

Moras knelt next to her and reached down to push her hair back from her face. "I'm sorry little one. I took it too far," he said softly. Gently he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her body was stone cold. He felt his heart sink into a sick fear. Leaning down he placed his ear against her chest and listened for a heartbeat. He had never accidentally killed anyone. The second it took for the weak thud to tap against her chest seemed an eternity. He let the air out of his lungs and listened for a moment, before standing up and looking around the room.

The carpets would have to go and the bedding would need changed. The pitcher and night stand would need replacing. He looked down at Amina. First he would get her cleaned up though. Moras tucked the blankets around her so that she might warm up a bit. He headed to the small chamber that held the bathing tub. He worked quickly, lighting the coals under the tub. He had replaced the water the day after he had fed from her, so that it would be clean when she woke. As he waited for the water to warm he pulled the rugs up from either side of the bed and dragged them out into the hallway. Then he went back into the room and tried to think of where he could get another rug to cover the cold stone floor as he cleaned up the shards of porcelain from the broken pitcher and stood the night stand up.

There was one room that had rugs in it that weren't being used. He looked over at Amina again and made the decision. Elizabeth was long dead. She wouldn't miss the few items. But the rugs would need to be beaten to drive the dust from them. He would take care of that after he had her cleaned up and back in her bed.

Moras lit the fireplace and candles about the room, so if she woke while he was there she would be able to see and he may not frighten her as badly. He still didn't know how she would react when she regained consciousness. Though at this point he wasn't quite as inclined to blame her if she was frightened of him. He knew full well how much pain and weakness accompanied a sleep this deep for this long. He had rarely taken the first feeding this far. But it had happened on the few occasions that the girls had taken too long to come around.

Moras checked the bath water, finding it warm enough he returned to her bedside and lifted her carefully into his arms. He carried her cold body to the warm water and lowered her into the tub, ignoring the water that splashed over the edge and soaked his shirt and pants. He propped her securely in the tub and left her to warm up while he pulled the blankets and sheets from the bed and replaced them with clean ones.

Amina was still unconscious when he returned to her. Moras sighed and picked up the lilac scented soap he had left for her last week. He rubbed the soap in a soft cloth, then held her with one arm while he gently ran the cloth over her back and arms. He leaned her against her against the tub again and stroked the soapy cloth over her breast, smiling when she took in a deep breath as if she were enjoying what he was doing. His hand seemed to lose the cloth momentarily as he dipped beneath the water to clean her s*x. Moras cradled her with one arm while the fingers of the opposite hand combed through the hair covering her mound and then caressed the folds of her p***y as he remembered how she had tasted. Amina moaned softly and he turned his eyes on her face to see if she was awake, but there was nothing.

Moras sighed again and pulled is hand from her body. The part of his mind that told him he shouldn't be molesting an unconscious woman was winning out over the part of his mind that told him she belonged to him and he could do as he liked with her. As he washed her hair he found the bump on her head that told him exactly how hard she'd hit her head when she fell. He growled at himself for not having checked on her sooner, then rinsed her hair. Moras grabbed a towel from the chair near the tub, where he had placed it. He lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in the in the soft material before carrying her back to her bed. He found a soft white shift from the chest at the foot of her bed and dressed her. Laying her back on her pillows, he pulled the blankets over her, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Lastly he went to her store room with the larder and found some dried meat and vegetables. He took them back to the fire, pulled the small pot from the brackets and filled it with the ingredients. Moras wasn't a great cook, but he knew that she'd need to eat when she woke up. He placed the pot back on the brackets and swung it into the fire.

With a last look over at the angel lying in the bed, Moras decided he'd go changed out of his wet clothes, get cleaned up, and then come back to check on her before he got some sleep. The worst was over. The more she slept the better she would feel. But that thought didn't stop him from feeling guilty for what he'd done. He knew very well that it didn't have to go that far. He had been frustrated by Amina and was trying to scare her. Obviously it had backfired. Or maybe it hadn't. When she woke up she may very well be terrified of the monster that hurt her. At least this time he knew that he couldn't blame anyone, but himself for it. To some extent he thought it might be better that way. Fear is what he was used to. This one was getting to him far too much.