Page 68 of Eldritch
She sauntered toward him until standing face to face, and her gaze lowered toward the scar on his cheek. “What is this?” she asked, sending a quick glance to the warden.
The warden rolled his shoulders back and crossed his hands in front of him. “We haven’t quite determined the cause of it.”
“Has it tainted his blood?” She addressed the warden again, as if Zevander couldn’t answer for himself.
“No. In fact, the hearty bastard seems resistant to the diseases in the mines. Hasn’t fallen ill once, as far as I know.”
Her eyes found Zevander again, lips curved to a half-smile. “Strong. I like that. I want something fashioned to cover it up. The sight of it disgusts me, but I like him well enough to keep him.” She squeezed Zevander’s bicep—just as she had the first day he’d arrived at the mines as a boy—and sauntered away, toward the fountain. “You’re dismissed, Warden.”
“Of course, General.” He sneered as he stepped past Zevander. “Good luck,” he whispered and leaned in closer. “I don’t even give you a year.”
Zevander gnashed his molars, glaring after the warden, whose gaze lingered on the unclothed women as he exited the room.
“Prepare him for a bath,” General Loyce commanded, returning to his side and circling him as if he were the fresh catch at the market. “I want him cleaned and properly groomed. Every trace of dirt is to be scrubbed.” A rough hand gripped his shoulder. “Sordesz vet signe da’servio,”she whispered. “Filth is the mark of the slave, isn’t it?”
“Tell me why I’m?—”
The moment Zevander spoke the words, a blade nicked his skin where she propped it just below his chin. “You’re to demand nothing from me unless you no longer value your tongue.” Notan idle threat, seeing as Zevander had once watched her cut a boy in half with her sword. Turning her attention back to the soldiers, she gave a nod toward him. “Divest him.”
The soldiers stalked forward, and Zevander stepped back, raising his shackled fists in the air, ready to strike anyone who came near him. A scar-faced soldier lurched first and swiped out his arms, but Zevander sidestepped when he attempted to grab him. The bulky soldier stumbled forward to his knees, and when he twisted around, Zevander hammered his foot in the bastard’s face, cracking the Zephromyte across the cheek.
General Loyce let out a boisterous laugh. “You’re going to fight every soldier in this room with your wrists shackled? Bold, indeed.”
The next soldier charged forward, and Zevander slammed his fists together into the Zephromyte’s solid chest. A third came up from behind, clamping around him as they lifted him off the ground. The crushing grip against his chest banished the air from his lungs, and Zevander let out a cough. Lifting his feet, he drove his heels into the chest of the soldier in front of him, a jolt of pain throbbing throughout his leg.
His body came down hard against the marble floor, slamming into his spine with an agonizing zap that shot straight to his sinuses. The room widened and shrank, and he shook his head, as two soldiers approached and hoisted him by his arms. He wriggled and kicked, but to no avail, and in spite of all his thrashing, they managed to secure a metal clamp around his neck, attached to two long poles that were clutched in the hands of the Zephromyte soldiers. The moment Zevander attempted to get to his feet, both Zephromytes pushed down on the poles, and the cuff at his throat tightened, pressing hard against his windpipe. Mouth agape, he fought to suck in a single breath, the pressure in his face swelling.
All at once, the soldiers let up on the poles, the cuff loosened again, and Zevander gasped a breath, turning to the side as he coughed and wheezed.
His body jostled with the rough movements of the guards, as they yanked away his thinning clothes, tearing the tattered fabric, until he lay naked in front of the general.
“Get him to his feet,” she ordered.
With little effort, the soldiers pressed on the poles just enough to prompt Zevander upright. He clawed and scratched at the clamp squeezing his throat, while the soldiers pried him to his feet. Once upright, they loosened their grip again, and Zevander stood on display, his manhood undisguised as he looked around at the others, who didn’t bother to spare his dignity.
While he’d grown used to being around other prisoners without clothing, the only woman who’d ever seen him that way was his own mother, years before he’d arrived at the mines.
Fascination lit the general’s face, the predatory sweep of her gaze churning a sickening shame in his stomach. “Now this…this is a body that was made for fucking.”
Humiliation burned his cheeks, and he lowered his arms to cover as much of himself as he could.
“What is it? You’ve never been the center of attention this way?” The general circled him and ran her hand along the curve of his backside. It was uncommon to have reached manhood with little to no experience with a woman, but even stranger that he’d neither been seen, nor touched, by one. “Get used to it. Perhaps I’ll have you train to maintain your physique.” A look of satisfaction gleamed in the general’s eyes while they skated over him, paying particular attention to where his hands covered his flesh. “Place him in the water.”
Both soldiers gripped his arms, and his heels scraped over the stone floor as they dragged him to the bath. The water cooledhis overheated skin, when they seated him onto a submerged stone bench that sank him deep enough for the surface to bob against his chest, then they lifted his arms toward that hook he’d spotted earlier. Its purpose fast became clear when they fastened him to it by the chains at his wrists.
The general snapped her fingers, and two of the young women with long, blonde hair that failed to cover their bare breasts stepped forward. “Bathe him.”
Zevander’s heart pounded at the command. His breathing shallowed, as they grabbed sea sponges from a basket at the edge of the bath and stepped into the water alongside him. After soaking the sponges in soap poured from ornate bottles, they set the sponges to his skin, gently dragging them over his body. Muscles shaking, he forced himself not to look at their naked forms, his eyes burning with both curiosity and humiliation.
“Well, well. It seems you like a woman’s touch. That’s good.” The general knelt at the edge of the bath, undoubtedly taking notice of the stiff flesh between his thighs. A reaction he desperately tried to tamp down by turning his thoughts to his father.
Yes. Father.
Eyes screwed shut, he allowed the misery of his father’s death to infect his mind and steal him away from the soft hands across his skin.
“Stroke him.” The general’s voice cut through those dark thoughts, and the moment a delicate hand met his engorged cock, he clenched his jaw and buried his face into his trussed arm.
“Please…don’t …” A battle waged inside his head. The curiosity of being touched by a woman was only a minor distraction from the shame of having a complete stranger fondle him that way.
