Aon was lurking.
They titled him the King of Shadows for many reasons. One of which, was his pension for standing invisibly in the darkness of rooms. He preferred to hide, to remain unseen, and to watch.
It was amazing what one could learn if they took the time to sit and listen. All the others—perhaps accurately—had labeled him as one who enjoyed the sound of his own voice. And yes, he did. But he spent much more of his time silent. Silent, and watching.
And so, here he was. Lurking in the darkness, sight-unseen to the two others in the room. One was unconscious, so perhaps she did not count. The other, he kept his rapt attention upon.
Maverick.
The “doctor.” A laughable and somewhat pedantic title, for Under needed no one of such a profession. There were no lives to save in this world. Either their death would resolve itself, or it would not. Either way, ailments were not worth the attention of others.
Yet, for the first time in his hundred-and-some-odd years since coming to Under, Maverick had a reason to ply his old trade. For they had a mortal to care for. One whom, or so he had heard from Navaa, had frequent cause to be treated by the former medical professor.
Aon smirked behind his mask. He remembered the night he fetched the man. Lydia was not the first one to try and surgically remove the mark that had suddenly appeared upon his body. He had materialized inside the man’s London house while the man was in mid-suture. Aon had offered to help him and had delighted in the man’s terrified screams as he taunted his prey with his fearsome appearance and clawed gauntlet.
It was one of the few times he had ever seen much range of emotion out of the doctor. The memory of causing such fear always brought him pleasure, and he watched Maverick with keen enjoyment of how he had dragged the man, kicking and screaming, through the gates of hell.
Now, he sat on the edge of the bed where Lydia was lying unconscious, measuring her “vitals” and tending to her wounds. Aon bristled. He wished it to be his hands grazing her body, testing for broken bones or dislocated joints. He hated—utterly despised—that Maverick was touching her.
But Aon had called him here for this very reason.
Killing him would be poor sport.
Scatter his brains along the walls. Tear out his lungs and strangle him with it. Remove his soulmarks and teach the world that the true king of Under has returned. I can see it now, and it is beautiful.
He flinched and shoved the errant thoughts and images back to the depths from which they had surfaced. It was not a memory, but perhaps it was lucid enough to have been one. For that second, he watched Maverick’s gray matter spill out over the floor as he dismembered the man. He had to take a slow breath and focus himself. It was hard not to know that he hadn’t, indeed, done the deed. For a second both were true; the doctor was Schrodinger’s cat, both alive, tending to his new ward, and dead by his hands.
But the madness receded, and he was glad to realize he had not in fact murdered the doctor.
Mostly for that it would be troublesome to explain to the others as to why he had done it.
He hated to be inconvenienced.
“Work quickly,” he snarled from the dark. Maverick flinched at the sound of his voice and cast a glance over his shoulder. The Regent in Purple would not find him. He was, in fact, entirely invisible to the naked eye. Part of the shadows and nothing more. Maverick was a talented man, intelligent above most of the rabble, and unmatched in their brand of science that would be viewed as magic by the mortals of Earth, save by perhaps Vjo herself.
But Aon was far, far older. And far more powerful.
“I will do what I can. She has no broken bones, but a mild concussion I believe.”
Mortals were so fragile.
“If she suffers from one, it is minor. She did not seem anything but lucid when we spoke,” he replied tersely, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. The doctor didn’t know which way to look, and it made the man nervous. Aon delighted in his obvious fear and did all that he could to encourage it.
Maverick’s brow furrowed as he clearly doubted his words. Second-guessing what he likely viewed as dismissive, as he could not guess the source; that he wanted Maverick to cease touching his mortal and leave. Now that her wounds were cleaned, and she was deemed intact. “Why did you summon me?”
“I thought that much would have been rather obvious when Navaa told you ‘Master Aon wishes you to tend to the girl.’ What part escaped your attention?”
Maverick sighed. “But why? One would think you would delight in her pain.”
Ah, yes. That. His reputation was an earned one. He could not be bitter at Maverick issuing it against him. “You think I seek to use her mystery to my own ends.”
“Do you?”
“A difficult task, seeing as I do not know the source of her condition as of yet.”
“Of yet.”
“I intend to find out.”
“And if you do?”
“Then I will use her to my own ends, Elder,” he said, his sadistic pleasure leaking into his tone. It made the other man shudder, and what he could see of his face grew pale. Maverick was no fool. He knew that his words insinuated far more than what they were discussing. Far more.
Maverick had begun caring for the wound on the girl’s knee. It was a deep scrape but seemed hardly life-threatening. Aon watched his methods carefully. If the mortal was as accident-prone as Navaa was to claim, he may need to do the same for her before long.
Perhaps I will have to bandage wounds I give her. Aon smirked. How delightful that would be. A new game for him, to play nursemaid to someone he had tortured. To mend the wounds of someone in Under was a foolish endeavor. But she was mortal; he could harm her and heal her. Gain her fear and trust in the same breath.
Convincing her that his experiments were for her own good would be how he would do it. Tell her that the machines to which he would strap her would divine the source of her mortal mystery. That the needles he would feed into her tender skin would send her home in the end. He would have to be careful, to break her mind to his needs and not shatter it entirely. More careful still, not to shatter her body.
Time would tell which was weaker; her flesh or her soul. He did not know for which he wished to break first. He had not danced with a mortal in thousands of years. Their flesh melted too quickly beneath his desires. With this one…he would have to practice restraint. He would have to inspire more pain than damage. Needles. Yes. That would do nicely.
He could picture her in his minds’ eye, spread out naked upon his metal laboratory table. Arching and crying in fear, calling out his name, wishing for mercy as he racked her body with his poisons. Then, once she was on the edge of the cliff, he would stop; cease all suffering and cradle her as he exchanged the acid for something far more soothing. He would teach her that he was in control. He was the master here.
Aon struggled not to sink father into the fantasy. It took a great deal of restraint not to eject Maverick out the window and see it done immediately. Cuts, bruises, and a mild concussion were no trouble to him. Before the day was through, she would have several new lines of cuts upon her flesh painted on her supple flesh by his hand.
Oh. She was awake.
Time was a lurching and broken thing for him. In his mind, he had lost track of precious moments. It jumped forward and he became aware of himself once more. It was not as simple as daydreaming; it was as though the time were truly missing. Troublesome.
Maverick was talking to the girl. Jealousy welled in him; anger worse. He had intended to be what she saw when she awoke. His masked visage. For he was the one who carried her to safety. Instead, the doctor was whom she cast her gaze upon as she blinked her eyes clear enough to see.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she muttered at him.
Maverick merely smirked faintly in response and shook his head. “I fear if you attempt more flights of fancy like you did last night, we will meet like this quite frequently.”
Was that fondness he heard in the man’s voice? Although he was often like judging the current mood of a slab of marble, Aon had many years of experience with Lyon as his only confidant. He was well-accustomed to the subtle movement of the more stoic souls of Under. Maverick was scolding the girl for her foolishness—he would only do such a thing if he cared.
“I don’t think I’m trying that one again.” She grunted in soreness as she shifted to sit up. “Can’t promise I won’t try something equally stupid, though.”
Maverick chuckled. “I admit, I am disappointed you did not Fall into my own house,” he said as he worked at cleaning a scratch on her upper arm. “I think we would ‘get along,’ as you more modern children like to say.”
“I think I owe you a big thank you. Both for this time and last time.”
“Send me a card.”
Maverick was fond of this girl. It bristled Aon more than it should have. It took every ounce of him not to drive his claws through the man’s back and pool his blood upon the sheets. He figured his new mortal ward may not understand the intricacies of such things and find the matter a little upsetting.
Lydia laughed. The sound broke him out of his dark thoughts. He had never heard her laugh before, and the sound and sight of it took his breath away. Even tired and battered as she was, it was captivating.
He wanted to hear it again.
Beautiful lips curled in a sarcastic smile at the elder. She clearly carried no reverence for the man’s rank. Good. “Am I gonna live, doc?”
“You have a mild concussion, and some scrapes and bruises. You fainted due to exertion and stress, I believe. Otherwise, yes, clearly your prognosis is optimistic.”
Lydia snickered again.
“I was not joking this time.”
“I know, but you’re still funny.”
“You must inform my wife of such news. She will be ecstatic.”
Aon nearly roared in frustration and jealousy. But he kept silent and remained hiding in the darkness as he was. To reveal himself now would put him in a position of weakness. Lashing out in violence that the girl would not understand would do nothing but terrorize the girl. Currently, she was looking about the room in curiosity and not trying to hide beneath the furniture. He would bolster this trust as much as he could. It would serve his ends well.
Her inquisitive mind finally got the better of her. “Where are we?” Lydia asked.
“Aon’s estate,” Maverick answered reluctantly. “You are in his care now.” His expression went quickly from passive to dark. His visible yellow eye narrowed. “I counsel you to be careful.”
Oh, do tell, Maverick. Explain to me why I am about to murder you.
“Why?” Lydia asked again. Ah! The first useful thing to come of the conversation made itself known. The girl was hungry for information; he saw it burning away in her eyes. She wanted answers. She wished to know why he was dangerous? He would show her in short order. But her curiosity…her eagerness to know. That he could use to his advantage quite nicely.
“You believe the Priest is ancient in his nigh two thousand years? He is nothing in comparison to Edu and Aon. Those creatures cannot even recall how old they are. Consider what that duration of life does to the psyche. One man survives his age with indulgence, the other with madness. I needn’t tell you which is worse.”
Maverick stood slowly from her bedside and moved to walk out of the room. His hand settled on the doorknob. “Mind your words around Aon, I beg you.” He opened the door and left her with his parting words. “Or the next time, I may not be able to find the means to heal you.”
Aon grinned, and his anger at the doctor was wiped away. The man had set the stage for him perfectly! His anger and jealousy vanished as soon as the elder had walked out of the room. That left him to watch his little mortal ward to pull herself out of bed and wander the room in fascination.
He did not know who was the more awe-struck; her exploring the room, or him watching her do it. How he wanted to appear to her now, to pace her back up against the bed and convince her to give to him what he so very desperately wanted.
Patience! he shouted at himself in his mind. The mortal was sore, in need of rest, and likely at her wits’ end. She had been through a great many ordeals in short order. To do such a thing now would likely send her mind over the edge and into the abyss. He did not want a broken toy; he had plenty of those throughout his years.
When she wandered into the bathroom…he knew he shouldn’t follow her.
He knew he shouldn’t.
It was the gentlemanly thing to stay here, or better yet, to leave the room entirely.
When the water in the bath began to run, he couldn’t help himself, like a child stuffing his hand into the cookie jar. He was standing in the shadows of the room, invisible to her and…watching her undress.
The fabric she pulled from her body was tattered and torn. Yes, she could stand for a bath, he agreed. She was dirty, scuffed, and exhausted. And, as she pulled the last of the fabric over her head, and stood there, her naked body free for him to peruse as he saw fit, he bit back a moan.
Patience.
It will make it so much more delicious if you wait.
Do not ruin your game.
Do not ruin it!
Oh, but he wanted to.
He wanted her.
Watching, rapt, as she sunk into the hot water, he could not bring himself to leave for her modesty as she bathed. He was a rogue, a rakish fiend to stay here, spying on the girl like an adolescent. But he could not find the shame worthy enough to inspire him to go.
Her shoulders slackened in the hot water. She sunk down into it, and peace crossed her face. The first look of solace since he had seen her. She sought out hot water to console herself.
That was something they shared.
He kept his private hot spring for that very reason; somewhere only he had ever set foot. Hidden deep in his home, with no doors to access it, it was his private sanctuary away from the world. For there, he could sink into the water and his madness both and try to let it all drift away.
She began to laugh, and he watched her, concerned she may be insane already. When the laughter turned into tears, he was concerned. When she began to weep, he was suddenly at her side without intending to be.
Her head was bowed, and she did not see him there. Her blonde hair was wet and curtaining off her face. He wanted to brush it aside, to lean in and whisper to her that all would be well. What was wrong with him?
She ducked her head under the water and sought to rinse off the soap she had discovered. As she did, his mischievous nature regained control of his senses first. “Making ourselves at home?”
He vanished into nothingness as she swiped her hands towards him, eyes like blue sapphire saucers in fear. She sent water cascading over the room. It took everything in him not to cackle in joy at her terror.
“Pervert!”
Aon blinked. He had to leave the room at that time to avoid her hearing his stifled laughter at her insult. Pervert? Oh, darling, if you only knew. He stood in her main room, hearing her slosh around and clamber out of the tub. Gesturing his hand, he summoned some clothes for her. Something he thought she might not protest too badly at wearing. He would not have her putting on that gray and useless dress.
He would teach her that he would provide for her; whatever she may need.
Albeit his fashion would be distasteful for a modern child such as she, it would do for now. He laid the clothes out for her and vanished as she walked back into the room, a towel around her waist.
Lydia’s face was drawn tight in consternation, exhaustion, and fear. And, if he were not mistaken, anger. She knew what he had done, and the self-righteous indignation on her features was beautiful.
He wanted to watch her dress. If only so that he could imagine him doing the deed to her in reverse order.
Sadly, his plan was interrupted. “Master Aon. We have guests.” Navaa. His regent never disturbed him unless it was imperative; it was the only reason the man still owned his life.
“Who?” Aon asked in response, his attention divided entirely in twain by the girl who was now examining the clothes upon the bed and the voice of his elder.
“Edu.”
His sport was over. At least for the moment. Aon struggled not to growl in rage as he disappeared from the room and left his new ward be for the moment.
But…if Edu was here to protest his taking the girl…perhaps he had another use for her tonight.
