Driven By Instinct

12 - Decay

For days afterward, Vica never spoke, answering only when Constantine posed questions that required a response. Too agreeable by far, he thought as he observed her, but he couldn't make room in his conscience for regret. He didn't live by a code of etiquette that allowed for an excess of scorn from a captive, and she had forgotten to respect the nature of their relationship: they weren't friends. He wasn't an escort. He was a killer, albeit a killer hired to keep his mark alive this time, and he had no orders to be kind about it.

A little banter and some attitude were endearing, thrilling even, but Constantine and Vica were not equals. To that end, he had no qualms about controlling her with the threat of using her body.

But it might have worked a little too well, he had to admit. The first few nights following the disciplining, he had kept his hands off Vica intending to heighten the suspense. But suspense it was not: he had her sleeping in his arms every night since then, and he could feel her shaking even though he knew he was warm enough to stave off the cold. She would shake until she fell asleep, skin clammy and cool.

She wasn't in suspense. She feared him.

She wasn't waiting with a pout for the next time he touched her, he had realized, with a plan to try to bash his nose in and stand her ground this time. She was falling asleep every night expecting to be torn into, waiting for the inevitable. She didn't intend to fight him at all.

Constantine had his share of darker fantasies, but even those always ended with his women eventually giving into forced pleasure and wrapping their legs around him, mindlessly moaning as he plowed their bodies with wild abandon. He had yet to meet a soul to resist his advances beyond an obligatory, fluttering "I can't" - and even those would inevitably melt into pleas for more, harder, faster. That meant that he had few opportunities to satisfy his predator drive, the urge to chase down and conquer, to force pleasure so intense that even an unwilling body would cave under his touch. Vica's existence had teased just such a thing. Weeks of stalking her like he would a deer had developed a s****l component after he had realized his mark was a lithe little woman and not a wizened old man. The hunt had stirred something primal in him that nothing but her complete domination would satisfy.

Forcing her on top of him and rutting against her had been a transcendental experience, but some part of him had expected her to develop a taste for it despite her objections. A body could be twisted to crave his touch, if not the mind - and yet, he thought as he watched Vica sit down on a nearby stump, no part of her seemed to want him at all.

It was one thing to imagine forcing her down and spreading her open, ignoring her insults and flailing fists as he violated her helpless body, drawing out alternating moans and protests. It was entirely different from his current reality: if he grabbed her now, she would shake as she lay limp, try to play dead and stare past him at something he couldn't see. She would try to pretend none of it was happening, that the body pressing into her was just a passing nightmare.

Vica wasn't trying to avoid r**e. She was treating it as a foregone conclusion and was simply praying it passed soon, like a bad storm.

Constantine, for his part, had never r***d a woman. Even the most brutal conditions of his occupation had only involved some crude garroting, perhaps providing unwanted amputations and broken limbs and whatever other torture he'd been paid extra to administer before the final stroke, the kill. Did she think him something filthier? Conscientious he was not, and he rarely cared what others thought of him, but he had never f****d a woman who didn't want it in the end.

But Vica hadn't wanted it. He hadn't even taken off their clothes, so what was she so stricken by? Anger he had expected, embarrassment. Not this. Even her magic had changed. It had been boisterous before, betraying her true emotions every time she fought to still her tongue. She knew nothing of his ability to detect them and had probably been mystified every time Constantine responded to a shift in her mood. Frustrating her attempts to escape had been turning into one of his favorite games.

But now, her magic remained contracted and dense, unmoving. Like a wooden ball, he thought, a wooden ball that would simply roll off in whatever direction he pushed it in. If he left her sitting on the roadside, would she sit there dumbly waiting for him to return?

The idea of f*****g a woman who only wanted it over with gave him no pleasure. Constantine found himself thinking less and less of s*x with every passing day when the image of Vica's sickly expression of mixed nausea and shock kept crowding it out.

Or maybe it was all a pretense, he thought dubiously before dismissing it instantly. Vica couldn't hide anything worth a damn. His polar opposite in all things. But then again, she was nearly two weeks into her unsettling submissiveness. Was it impossible for her to have had a change of heart more sinister in intention than he thought? Maybe this was all an act to make him lower his guard. God knew that in her position, Constantine would have considered the same - and gotten away with it. But that was the difference between them: he was a born liar. Vica wasn't.

"That's Winding Oaks," he told her, a quick jerk of his head indicating the town's direction. "We're going to stay there tonight and tomorrow. Then we start heading to Aventon." He didn't bother looking at her when she failed to respond. All he would get was her choice of obedient mono-syllabic word for the day. His jaw clenched in irritation, but he couldn't command her to regurgitate half-stifled impudence on command. She had nothing to say because all she had was fear.

Silence enfolded them like binding ropes. She continued to follow two paces behind him when they entered the town proper, and Constantine decided to leave her be instead of forcing her to walk beside him. There were a few weak magical presences nearby, but he wouldn't lose her in the crowd. Her unique signature, even subdued, stood out starkly.

"One room. I'll need it until tomorrow night. We'll be leaving early the morning after." Constantine slid the innkeeper two gleaming, grey coins over the counter.

"A boot boy for the missus, sir?" the man asked as he took them. His balding head gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the window. "Mighty nice things in the market this time of year, lots to carry back. It's strong and quick, do your cleaning and washing both nights. Normally I charge ten copper a day, but the thing's been begging to be worked. Half price."

Constantine glanced around the man when he jabbed a thumb to indicate the 'thing.' Half-hidden by a shadow cast by a large cabinet, a slender, sharp-faced juvenile stood in the corner. He was clean, but his clothes were ragged and sported frayed threads at every seam. Constantine chuckled inwardly. It didn't look like it was begging for anything other than freedom, perhaps. "No need -" he began to say, and then for the first time in days, he felt a familiar twinge pluck at his senses. He turned to look at Vica mid-sentence and scrutinized her with hawk-like intensity.

She was staring at the elf boy. The elf stared back.

"The missus might be thinking otherwise, sir," the innkeeper persisted. "Best boot boy I've got. You'll find a use for him. Ten copper's a steal."

Ten copper wasn't a steal. As a matter of fact, ten copper was a loss if the elf tried to nick their pockets and make off with more than he was worth the way boot boys tended to do. Elves in particular. It wouldn't manage to take anything from him, though, so it could well be worth the cost.

Constantine glanced from elf to mage and back again, hand still on the counter as he deliberated. This was the first time he'd seen any sign of life in her. Was she scheming something? He couldn't be sure, but it wouldn't matter either way. He sensed only cantrip magic in the elf's bones, and while it might prove troublesome if the elf dared to engage in mischief - old magic was something he couldn't suppress - Constantine didn't intend to let Vica out of his sight. A juvenile elf like that would barely amount to trouble even if it tried.

Maybe Vica just liked elves, he thought. She liked wood nymphs plenty. Ten small copper coins joined the two silver on the counter, and they promptly disappeared under the innkeeper's hand.

"Third room on the right, second floor," the balding man said cheerily. He turned and grabbed the elf's shoulder with a rough grip and sent it stumbling forward. "Well, get to it," he snapped.

Constantine glanced at Vica again. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to say something, but as if she could sense his eyes, her gaze darted to him instead. By the time the elf had shuffled around the counter and was standing next to them, Vica was looking at the floor again. 

"Thank you," Constantine told the innkeeper, who waved them away with a grin and disappeared into a back room.

They were halfway up the stairs with Constantine trailing behind when the elf's hand shot to the side. Elves were quick, quicker than most humans, but Constantine had his hand wrapped around its slender wrist before it could touch Vica.

Another twinge. Constantine glanced at the woman now, noting the wavering gleam in her eyes as she stared at where he held the elf's wrist, and memories of the wood nymph flashed to the forefront of his mind now as he stared at Vica. Was she going to do something? he wondered. Raise a scene? She seemed undecided, but if he waited long enough, maybe she would do something to prove there was still a human behind the glazed look that she had been wearing for days -

The elf shook off Constantine's grip like a horsefly, and as if nothing had happened, reached for Vica's satchel. He tugged on it once. She turned her eyes on the boot boy now, surprised, but instead of speaking, he gave her bag another impatient pull. Vica hesitated again, but with the third tug, she ducked her head and allowed the elf to bring the strap over her head.

Constantine watched as the elf hung the satchel over his own shoulder and proceeded up the stairs, Vica following quickly with footsteps that tapped energetically on the wood all the way up.

Constantine narrowed his eyes, but without a word, climbed the stairs behind them.