The Willow Key:

(Unofficial Key Story)

By Lady Tempest

~~=*=~~

Hooded by a plain, brown cloak, Lucian stood in front of the large wooden door. An intricate carving of what appeared to be a willow tree faced him. He glanced down at the delicate key in his hand, his aqua eyes narrowing. There was no escaping the truth now. This was definitely the place Vandar meant.

He had been unsure before, considering the opulence he had observed as he entered The Palace. From the very entrance with its exotic and high arched gateway, to the lush gardens that lined the marble walkway leading to the elaborate Palace doors. Gold, marble, silk and gems graced everything within with a subtle elegance. Even the many servants that scurried about its many halls did so elegantly.

All the luxury disturbed him. Comforts were an unnecessary thing, but he supposed those without the duties of a Jiei desired such extravagance. Desire, an emotion like all others which Lucian only understood in the detached manner of an observer or scholar, never beyond. And the desire, lust, hunger he had observed as he strode past nearly-naked servants and the hungering looks of the other guests strained his understanding. He would never comprehend what outsiders saw that made them choose to be so weak, and he chose to not want to understand.

Their weakness was so strong he could feel their lust like clawing fingers scratching his skin, his plain brown cloak no discouragement to overactive desires. He felt very uncomfortable, and feeling at all made him even more uncomfortable. He wondered what sort of place Vandar had sent him to and sensed that he probably didn't want to know. His student, well friend, had insisted that he needed a vacation. Lucian had resisted, he had no need for vacations. He saw no purpose in such things. A Jiei didn’t relax; relaxation meant letting down one’s guard and letting down one’s guard meant death, of either oneself or more importantly one’s charge. But the older man had been persistent, appealing to Lucian's sense of duty. Now that he was here, he realized with aching clarity how much he shouldn't have trusted him.

Lucian took a breath and slid the key into its lock, turning it slowly. Considering the decor of the Palace so far, he was reluctant to discover how much more of the same would be his home for the next week. As the heavy wooden door swung open the sight that met him nearly brought shock to his eternally impassive face.

Black. The walls, the plush carpet, the satin covering on the bed all were black. White laced through the darkness in depictions of willow branches on the walls and silver embroidering on the satin coverlet. But the stark darkness was only the surface of his shock. Cold metal chains and rings hung all across the walls, some in unlikely positions. The bed was also equipped, chains and rings running along the headboard and the four posts.

He stood in the doorway. This had to be some sort of joke. But Vandar knew he had no sense of humor; a Jiei can't afford the indulgence. He stared at the key, an unsettling reality in iron and wood.

With a half-sigh, he started to turn to close the door, but the click of an opening door at the far end of the room distracted him. His muscles eased, by instinct, into a fighting stance as he peered from under his hood at the figure in the doorway.

The slight figure stepped forward, delicate and pale, long white hair hanging in hundreds of tiny braids, the tips tickling the back of his knees. His face, in the midst of shock and a growing sneer, had a gentle, almost feminine curve and odd eyes. And it was a he, only apparent by the flat, lightly toned chest peeking from under a pale-gray leather vest and the fit of his matching loincloth.

****

Willow emerged from the bathroom and froze. He had been told that a new master would be arriving, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. Folding his arms across his chest, he glanced up and down the much taller man, a scowl twitching his lips. An ugly brown cloak hid all but broadness of shoulders from Willow's scrutiny. At least he was alone. A shiver tickled his neck at the thought of his last master and his friends, and the two months it had taken to recover.

He narrowed his albino-red eyes as he walked across the room towards his new master, trying to snatch even a glimpse of what lay beneath that hood.

" What's with the hood? Hiding a face uglier than those clothes?!" Willow sneered, a hand on his slender hip. His glaring red eyes searched the hooded shadows; Chill pink lips pressed together in an emotionless line was all he found.

" Are you going to just stand there all day like an idiot?" Willow snapped. " I thought even a peasant would know how to close a damn door!"

" Who are you?" the man asked with a cold, even whisper.

" Your slave," he replied simply with an edge of irritation like the fact should have been obvious.

" My slave?"

" Yes. And that key in your hand makes you my master." He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, the tiny white braids swinging like willow branches in a summer storm.

The hand clutching the key opened and the hooded head lowered, silent, apparently studying the wood and metal key in his palm. " How can this be?" he finally breathed with a thick, smooth resonance.

" Damn! How much plainer can it be?!" Willow growled. "You own the Willow Key, so you own me. Unfortunately. What, are you ugly and stupid?!"

The man strode toward him. Willow flinched, though he should have been used to this by now. After all, the anger was supposed to happen. The anger was what he was trained to make happen. But instead he found nothing. It was almost as though this new master hadn't heard a single word.

His master brushed past him and dropped a pack onto the bed. " I have no need for a slave," he replied bluntly, his voice low and emotionless. " You can go."

Willow bristled. His master didn't need him? Didn't want him?... What?! What the hell?! What was this fool up to? This had to be some sort of sick joke. Though it certainly wasn't funny. Not in the slightest.

" What kind of idiot comes to the Palace and doesn't want a sex slave?" He could feel the man behind him tense. Turning his head to at least have warning for the blow that was sure to come, he caught the man bent and still, hands frozen in the act of unpacking. The master straightened and slid cold, pale eyes to meet him, ice clashing with fire-red. His muscles spasmed and he fought back the trembling that wanted to break free.

He leaned casually against a bedpost, a smirk masking the fear of the inevitable; the fury which he was trained to provoke. Yet nothing. The man turned and walked toward the bathroom, his stride as cold as he was. Yet it also oozed gentle grace, a mix between an elegant dance and a stalking jungle cat.

" I have even less need for a... sex slave," he murmured calmly, only a hint of an awkward rumble in his last words. " Leave." Then he shut the bathroom door behind him, leaving Willow alone staring at the space he just left.

Willow blinked. Was this some sort of game his new master was playing? He felt more fear of this man than any of his other masters. At least he knew what they wanted, how they would react. At least he knew when they would punish him for their own sick pleasure. To a degree he controlled that, controlled the intensity, so their pleasure would be greater. And pleasure was his purpose, what he was made for, no matter how painful. Only his master and his master's desires mattered.

But this new master was a mystery. Why couldn't he just get whatever perverse game he intended to play over and done with. The waiting was agony. Not knowing when or how the man would want his desires satisfied terrified Willow. Though he would never dare show it. That could be a worse torture than the raw anger. Masters fed on fear even more than the anger. He may have to submit to their will and give his body to their abuse and lust, but he couldn't, wouldn't, give them his fear. That gave them all the control, all of him. And that was even more painful. He slid slowly to the floor, never taking his eyes off the door, his hands clawing absently into the carpet.

***

Lucian leaned against the door and let out a slow breath. What was Vandar thinking sending him to a place like this? And how did he not notice the insanity his student obviously had fallen into. The older man's influence must not be a positive one if his focus was slipping that deeply. His encouragements to 'loosen up' and 'let yourself be human' were causing a disruption to his stoic philosophy, a philosophy with which he had yet to see a disadvantage.

Well, he decided, he would deal with his troublesome student when he returned. No more letting Vandar disrupt his centered mind. The older man may have thought he was helping, but he would never understand the responsibilities and discipline a Jiei must maintain. It wasn't his lack of emotions that kept him from being the perfect and efficient bodyguard, as Vandar believed, but his failure in eradicating all emotion that kept him weak. That will change.

Pushing himself from the door, He stepped towards the onyx basin in front of him. Lucian stared at his impassive image in the large mirror, ignoring the decor he would find as disturbing as he found the outer room. Clasping the sides of the sink till his knuckles whitened, he clenched his eyes shut.

How many times had he failed in keeping Jet safe? How many times had she come so close to death? Every wound she received was evidence of his weakness, his failure. Every wound should have been his. It was fortunate for her that he was released from his duty to her. She didn't need him anymore. He supposed the fates realized she had become a powerful enough mage to no longer need a Jiei, no less one as pathetic as he, to protect her. At least she survived his protection, unlike...

He rested his head against the mirror with a quiet thud. No Jiei had ever lost a charge. Until him. He was a failure, a disappointment, a disgrace, to the Jiei, to himself, and to Sul‘yen, his Jiei master.

Lucian stood, glancing at himself. The disgust he felt never rising to his smooth, beautiful face. Turning to the large onyx tub, he paused. After several minutes of fumbling to discover which of the many chains and rings hanging from the marble wall operated the water, he finally found a ornate lever and started his much needed bath.

****

Willow heard the running of bathwater and let himself relax. Hopefully his new master liked long baths; the less he had to deal with the terrifying man the better. He collapsed on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, sighed. Too bad life wasn't like in romance novels. No more masters to serve, no more torture for the pleasure of others. Or if he had a master, they would be kind and gentle and beautiful. And they would love him, and he them. He sighed again. None of that was real; it was just stories. No sense in thinking about such things. Especially not with a frightfully mysterious danger in the next room.

He waited, almost drifting off to sleep several times. The bathroom door opened. He rolled his head lazily to the side. Danger stood in the doorway, drying fine, golden hair with a black towel. Stifling a gasp, Willow sat up and wrapped himself around the bedpost as he watched the exquisite and naked sight before him. His master was truly beautiful: Strong, slender legs, smooth and long; a firm, nicely rounded ass; Willow bit his lip, almost hoping the man would turn around so he could see all of him; hips gently curved to a slender waist leading up a strong, toned back and powerful shoulders. The way his muscles rippled softly under his smooth, pale flesh hinted at a strength far greater than his acrobat-like built would suggest. Even the act of rubbing a towel over his hair was graceful.

Willow suppressed the gasp that nearly escaped him, and continued to watch, his hands tightening on the post. The blond stopped, hung the towel on a rack just inside the door. A quick shake of his hair, he turned then instantly froze. His blue eyes locked onto Willow's and the slave felt a flash of hot and cold. God, that face was one of an angel, a cold, marble angel. He risked a glance along his master's toned, perfect chest and flat, perfect stomach, and strong perfect hips and ...

" Perfect," he muttered, not realizing the thought reached his lips.

The nude man before him didn't seem to notice. " I asked you to leave," he said quietly.

" I can't," Willow absently replied. He tore his crimson eyes from the beautiful body before him and fell into water blue, the ice waking him from his admiring daze. He had meant it? His master had really wanted him to leave? But....

" Can't?" The blond stepped towards him. " Aren't you supposed to do as I ask?"

Willow began to panic. No. This was just part of a game. It's all just a sick game. And it was his duty to play along. No matter what. He unwound himself from the bedpost and slowly stood, scowling.

" Even an idiot like you should understand 'can't'!" His lips began to tremble, but hid it behind an angry sneer. " I'm not allowed to leave without my master, " he said slowly, mocking. " And no matter how much it disgusts me, that means you, blondie!"

Icy eyes narrowed. Willow tensed, prepared for the what he knew would come. His master lifted a hand. Willow flinched.

" He's going to suffer," the blond mumbled, pressing a hand to his forehead, slowly massaging his temples.

Willow stumbled backwards, shaking, knowing that his resistance would only bring him more pain, but not able to control himself anymore.

Golden lashes lifted to allow blue eyes to peer down at him. " Then I suppose I have no choice," his master replied with a voice deep and smooth, a whisper, and as cold as those eyes.

Willow shivered, burying his face on the bed. " Just get it over with!" he muttered into the blanket. He felt the bed shake as something settled upon it and he just waited. The bed shifted again, this time the weight lifting. Willow clutched the satin blanket and forgot to breathe.

After what seemed to Willow to be eternity, still nothing from his master. He peeked up from the mattress and saw no sign of the other man. He jumped to his feet and spun around, fearing the man was looming behind him. But in the midst of his haste, his eye caught a gold streak at the far corner of the room. The graceful figure, now wearing baggy black pants though nothing else, was absorbed in an exotic dance. Each motion flowed into another, elegant legs performing kicks of impossible flexibility, arms swaying with slow, beautiful precision.

Willow dropped to the bed, staring mesmerized and finding himself oddly disappointed that his master had covered those gorgeous legs. He wanted to enjoy the moment, enjoy the peace, and watch his lovely master and his skillful display. But his duty was to please this man, no matter how much he feared it and he had yet to figure out how. The man had to be angry with him. He had to be. All the others would have been. But he showed no sign of anger. He showed no sign of anything.

" Godammit!" Willow screamed, his hands twisting in the blanket. "What do you want?" The man's graceful movements continued uninterrupted, as if he hadn't heard. " Didn't you hear me, you bastard?! What do you want?!"

" I heard you," the silky voice was calm and unstrained, the dance unceasing.

" Well?!" the white-braided slave growled.

" I told you." Deep and even. " I have no need for a slave."

" Godamn sick bastard! I don't believe you!"

" Do as you will," somehow his tone shrugged, " but I don't lie."

He blinked, glaring at the unnaturally calm blond. He couldn't be serious, could he? Willow wasn't going to allow himself to hope. Yet part of him twinged with an unfamiliar pain at the thought that maybe his master really didn't want him.

He pulled his knees up to his chin and watched. Even if it was true, even if this master wasn't like the others, there was no way that such a man would ever want someone like him, someone so used, tainted. His albino-red eyes traced every motion his master's body made, losing himself in the tranquil rhythm of softly rippling muscles, gracefully flowing limbs, and fluttering gold and black. He savored the moment of peace as if it were his last. And he expected that it was.

***Part 2:

Lucian spun his long legs into what would have been a kick if he’d had an opponent, twisting his body as it hung mere seconds in the air, the plain, black cloth of his loose trousers snapping as it fluttered with his movements. Flowing effortlessly into a roll that brought him to the floor and on his knees, he finally stopped.

His breathing and his heart rate were only mildly accelerated. His skin tingled with a faint sheen of sweat and the warmth of exertion. He brushed a hand through his pale, tousled hair to push it from his eyes.

Settling onto his knees and the balls of his feet, back straight, he rested his hands calmly on his thighs. With a deep cleansing breath, he closed his eyes, focusing his mind to a core within, still and cold. He centered on the hours spent in practice; every motion of his body, twitch of muscle, spark of nerve, pulse of blood, replayed and analyzed. Every flaw in form: noted, every limit in body: noted, every action short of perfection: noted. All to keep himself in discipline, to push himself to greater skill, to purge himself of his weakness and eliminate distractions. All distractions.

Even his awkward, kneeling position for his mediation was designed to conquer the urges of his body and mind. To master himself would be the first step of many in mastering the highest skills of a Jiei. And to do so would bring much honor to Sul’yen, his Jiei master, perhaps enough to pay the debt of his failure. An unconscious twitch around his closed eyes instigated yet another analysis of each function of his body and mind., and the errors he was sure to find.

*****

Willow squirmed. The black satin coverlet bunched underneath him like the rippling of a pond in the darkness of a moonlit night. Night. If not for the muted light through the skylight, he would have had no awareness that night had not yet fallen. And if he hadn’t been so numb with boredom, the odd brightness of a sunlit sky would have startled him. Days, hours, minutes, seconds, all blended into a thick haze.

Time was as still as his master. So completely unmoving he wanted to scream. Once the mesmerizing dance ceased, and the blond began whatever the hell he was doing, or rather, wasn’t doing, Willow became painfully aware of how sluggishly each moment passed. Granted, each tick of time brought that much more of a reprieve from the sick games his master would torment him with, however, it also brought that much more apprehension. And that much more boredom. With a sigh, he squirmed again, shifting to stretch his numbed legs.

How the hell could anyone sit as still and as long and as silent as his master has? And on the floor, no less? Sure, it was carpeted, but even the far more comfortable bed became anything but if one didn’t move, at all, long enough. Willow twisted his fingers around a braid and flopped back onto the bed. God, how much more could he take? Not that he wanted to be used, but being useless was maddening. The instinct to please had been, much more to his annoyance, too ingrained into his nature.

With a growl, he hauled himself upright once more, clutching to the bedpost. He clunked his head against the spindling wooden vines.

“God-dammit, you’re driving me insane!” Willow yelled. “Shit! You’re fucking boring!”

His scarlet eyes glared at the silent young man sitting perfectly motionless across the room. Not even a flinch or flickering eyelash in response.

“You are the sickest bastard of them all! You’re going to bore me to death! I think I prefer being whipped!”

“Boredom is merely a state of a weak mind.” Lucian said evenly, his eyes still closed and his hands still resting calmly on his thighs.

Willow growled, delicate lips twisting into a snarl. He didn’t know which made him angrier: that he thought the blond bastard was laughing at him behind such an insult, or the fact that he wasn’t. “Fuck you! It’s your fault I’m bored.”

“How is it my fault that can’t occupy yourself with something useful?” his master replied with, frustratingly, still no emotion.

“Because you’re here and I’ve never had to ’occupy myself with something useful’ when a master was around.”

His master was silent for several moments, then narrowly opened his blue eyes, gazing intensely at Willow. “Very well. Show me to a quiet, sunny spot in the gardens, where I won’t be disturbed, and I will leave to your own designs until nightfall.”

“What? You serious?”

His stoic master stared at him with unblinking blue ice.

“Oh. Right.” Willow rolled his albino-red eyes, shaking his head, the tiny braids swaying with the slight movement. “Okay. It’s a deal then.” Unraveling his shaking hands from his hair, he stood and gazed warily at his master.

The statuesque blond nodded and rose in one fluid motion. “Lead the way.”

***********

Willow stalked along the white marble paths crisscrossing throughout the Palace’s grounds, his imposing master mere strides behind him. He was oblivious to the manicured beauty growing around him, intent only on finding someplace acceptable to leave the dangerous man and see if he would keep his promise, allowing Willow a few hours to himself.

Willow rarely had been let out of his room in all the years he’d been at the Palace, so he didn’t know his way around like he had let on. But the opportunity to be free of his master’s clutches, for even just a little while, was too sweet to pass up.

Navigating through the thick flowering trees, high, maze-like hedges, and flower beds exploding with vivid reds, blues, yellows, purples, and their every variation, he led his master down increasingly deserted paths. With the dwindling of people other than themselves, he suspected he most likely neared a section of the gardens his master would accept.

He stepped from a path of hedges into a small clearing, a circle of, ironically enough, willow trees with a patch of sunlight, pale golden bands streaming and fluttering where it peeked through the leaves, warming the grass.

“Will this do?” Willow said blandly, his hands on his slender hips.

The tall blond brushed past him to stand in the streaming light, a ghosting of fingers along the slave’s bare arm in a flare of heat, then quickly gone, with his master. “Yes. It is sufficient. Thank you.” He lowered himself to his knees, sitting much like he had in Willow’s room, hands resting on his thighs, and closed his eyes.

Willow stared for a few moments, mesmerized by stunning gold shining in the sun, like a halo glowing around an angel’s face as impassive as marble. He frowned and with a scowl at his own stupidity, he left.

******

Each step away from his strange master eased the anxiety from his tense muscles, but still suspicion shrouded him. No footsteps followed behind him, to rob him of his small taste of freedom while under a master’s control. A part of him expected he would, listening alertly. However, only the thundering of his heart, twittering of birds and other sounds of nature, met his ears. Occasionally, as he drew closer to the Palace itself, giggles, and moans, and voices of guests and their slaves drifted to him, though he had yet to encounter any face to face.

He breathed easier as he gained distance. Hopefully, he could manage to return to his room without being questioned. Slaves at the Palace were rarely allowed to wander freely on their own. Except, when dismissed to their room by a master. At least as far as he had been told.

As he crossed from one maze of hedges to another, trying to remember his way back to his room, a large, dark shadow fell across his path. He looked up, a scowl twisting his face at being possibly detained. A scowl which flashed to fear.

The stocky man before him smiled, a malicious twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Well, what have we here?” the man sneered. “My Willow. Been looking for you. I’ve missed you.”

“Well I haven’t missed you! Out of my way!” Hands defiantly on his hips, Willow quickly masked his panic with an answering sneer of his own.

Two other men stepped up on either side of the first, completely blocking the passage from the hedge. Willow swallowed, shoving down his fear. Vaneau and his friends. The ones who had broken and beaten him so severely it had taken over two months to recover. The ones, above all others, he had hoped to never see again.

Vaneau’s hardened face tightened in anger. “How dare you speak to me that way, slave!” He lurched forward, hand arching to deliver a slap. But Willow stumbled back, dodging the blow.

“You’re not my master! You have no right. So leave me alone.”

“I’ll always be your master, Willow,” the man hissed, advancing slowly towards the albino slave. “Don’t you ever forget that!”

Willow retreated just as slowly, his scarlet eyes darting between the three men. “No, you’re not. I have a master and he’s not you.”

“No one else can own you but me.” Vaneau snatched Willow’s wrist, twisting his arm awkwardly as he jerked him forward.

“He won’t be pleased if you hurt me.” Willow bluffed. Honestly, he had no idea if his master would even notice, much less care.

“We’ll see about that” His former master’s breath slithered against his ear, drawing a shudder from the pale slave and an acidic roiling in his stomach. The revulsion only grew with the nearness of the man.

A sudden wisp of air fluttered behind him, more heard than felt, followed by a soft thump on damp grass. Willow would have thought nothing of it, assuming one of the garden’s exotic birds had flittered onto the path, except Vaneau’s eyes darted over his shoulder, startled.

“Yes, we shall.” said the even, whisper of a voice Willow was shocked to recognize.

He spun his head around, his eyes falling on the one sight he had no expectation of seeing. His newest master stood calmly, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted down slightly, intense, ice blue eyes glaring.

Vaneau snatched Willow to his chest which rumbled with laughter. “And what can a scrawny, little pretty thing like you do? He’s mine!”

The cold, stone emotionlessness of his master’s face sent a chill through Willow. As did the realization that Vaneau meant to fight for him, to claim him once more. Willow had no escape now. Perhaps, the known terror of Vaneau’s tortures would be better than the unknown, the inevitable, yet he couldn’t let himself surrender to it. No one had been worse than Vaneau, before or since. Anything had to be better. Had to be.

“A man should not be possessed. He belongs to himself and himself only.”

Willow’s struggles in Vaneau’s steel grip stilled as he gaped at his master with wide eyes..

“What utter foolishness,“ Vaneau mocked with another shaking laugh and a menacing grin.. “So do you give up ownership of my dear Willow?”

“I don’t own him,“ the icy blond replied calmly. Panic rose in Willow’s heart like a clawing thing. He wouldn’t just give him over to such a monster, would he?

Then his master added, “But neither do you. Nor will you.”

“And what will a pretty thing like you do to stop me?”

“Preferably, I will need to do nothing. But I doubt you have the wisdom to realize that to be your best course of action.”

Vaneau laughed louder. “ Hell, I alone can beat you into submission. But my friends here guarantee I will get what is mine. And maybe something more. You‘re outnumbered.”

“ True, this would not be a fair fight.”

No. Willow shuddered violently. It was hopeless. Vaneau would have him. And without even a fight. Maybe his master had been telling the truth about not wanting him. Well, damned if he would let either of them have him.

While Vaneau was distracted by his own laughter, Willow elbowed him in the stomach and, twisting his wrist painfully, wrenched his arm free. He tumbled to the damp grass, scrambling as quickly as he could away from the loathsome man.

However, Vaneau recovered too quickly and grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet. “You little...” he growled, raising his hand to slap him. Willow cringed, clamping his eyes shut.

But the blow never came.

“What the fuck?” Vaneau cursed.

“I can not allow you to harm him,” he heard his master’s cool voice breathe.

Willow squinted open his eyes. Vaneau’s hand hovered over him like it had been frozen in mid swing. His dark eyes seethed with anger as he reared back for another strike. Before his fist reached Willow’s face, it recoiled, like it had been swatted away by some unseen hand.

“Release him.” The blond’s icy threat chilled far more than any emotional expression of menace.

“What the hell...?” Vaneau sputtered, a strangle of confusion and chaotic anger.

“Release him.”

Vaneau’s dark eyes narrowed and he released his hold on Willow, letting him stumble away. “I’m through playing games.” His former master reached into his boot. “I think we’ll take both of you.”

“Master! He’s got a weapon.” Willow yelled when he caught the glint of silver as Vaneau pulled a long dagger from his boot.

“Get behind me.” His master’s head gestured with the words, his only motion since the moment he had appeared in the hedged path. His body otherwise stood in the same imposing stance, rigid yet somehow casual, much like a gracefully crafted sculpture.

Willow nodded and scrambled behind the tall blond, watching anxiously as the three men advanced, all with blades in their hands and maliciousness, and the all too recognizable lust, in their eyes.

“Let’s get away. Quickly!” Willow muttered, his throat dry. “They’ll kill us. Or worse.”

“You should listen to him. I will make you pay for keeping my dear Willow from me.”

The blond stood silently, his breathing even.

“Master!” Willow said urgently. He should just leave the lunatic. It was probably what the bastard deserved, to become the toy of his own kind. A bit ironic. And fitting. But something kept him frozen, and almost as panicked at the thought of abandoning the strange man as remaining with him; and at what the imminent defeat at the hands of his monster of a former master meant for them both.

“Just stay behind me. You will be safe,” his master’s voice kept the same emotionless tone. No arrogance. No fear. No anything. Just calm.

Willow nervously gnawed his lower lip. Bewilderingly, he found the blond’s cool confidence warmed him; Warmed him a way he couldn’t explain except through the conjured images from his treasured books, spinning fantasies of knights in armor rescuing fair damsels. And living happily ever after. But, though he was fair, he certainly was no damsel. And his master no knight. Willow shuddered, not sure if at his traitorous thoughts or the startling tangible warmth rising between them from his master’s body.

******End Part 2

Part 3:

********

“Arrogant bastard, aren’t you?” Vaneau growled at Willow’s unmoving master as he advanced on the two.

“I give you a last opportunity to cease this foolishness,” his master stated, cold and rumbling, like thunder through thick ice. If the blond felt any concern for the wolfishly approaching men, no sign crept into his voice or his perfectly still form. If anything, he seemed even more at ease.

“Oh, it’s going to be a pleasure to beat that arrogance out of you.” The accompanying smirk of malicious glee on the much larger man’s rough face brought a lump of fear to Willow’s throat; And shudders crawling along his skin.

Willow backed a few steps, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he wished to blend into obscurity with the dark green hedge. In spite of his master’s confidence, he saw the conflict couldn’t turn any other way but bad. Very bad.

It occurred to him when his master still hadn’t moved while the three monsters slinked within arms reach, that maybe yet again he was the pawn in a demented game. Maybe, new master and old merely played conspired roles for his greater torment? Why else would the imposing blond incite the beasts to a conflict he apparently had no intention to fight?

Though, perhaps, it was just some odd tactic his master employed, like a deadly move which must wait until the last moment to strike an opponent. His cold master obviously practiced martial arts. Not that he had actually ever seen any before to know. But he’d read about them, in some of the more adventurous of his romantic novels.

Yet, Vaneau seemed as confused and agitated as Willow. His dark brows bunching in irritation and twitching, the man‘s mouth curled into a scowl as he nervously tapped the flat of his dagger against his thigh. “You not going to fight?” Vaneau blustered.

Stillness. Willow’s new master was becoming frighteningly predictable. So much so, that though several feet behind the young man, he could easily see the cold intensity on the angelic face, the ice burning in his blue eyes. Willow hugged himself tighter, a frustrated snarl on his lips. ’Don’t just stand there!’ he wanted to scream. ’Do something!’. But for once, his fear froze his tongue.

“So, you’ve seen sense, then?” Vaneau chuckled, a grating, mocking thing.

“Have you?” his master queried as his strong arms dropped casually to his sides in the deceptively submissive motion of a shrug and the blond head tilted upward slightly; almost akin to a haughty gesture, if Willow thought his master capable.

“You arrogant fuck!”

Had Willow blinked, he would have missed it. Vaneau lunged forward, his fist flying. It slammed into the blond’s narrow jaw with a loud crack. The little slave cringed, the sound so familiar, so much a part of his life, he felt it like the blow had been for him.

Knuckles pounding against flesh, a flurry of blows quickly followed the first. After the several well-placed strikes to the blond’s chest, his strange tunic fell open, fluttering in the violence stirred air. Each successive attack echoed of skin smacking skin and bone thudding against bone..

The horrible sounds of the beating strove to suck him into a terrifying pit of his own memories. Nightmares where the sting and ache and pain clutched him tightly, choked him, the slaps and cracks melting into his own screams. Only his master kept him anchored to reality. Or whatever the confusing scene before him masqueraded as.

His master hadn’t moved. Hadn’t attempted to defend himself at all. He merely accepted the attack as if a light, spring breeze wisped past him carrying the gentle chirps of tiny birds.

Vaneau must have noticed the passivity just breaths after Willow. Panting, his dark eyes sunk darker still as his broad face twisted into a rage.

Willow stole a quick glance to Vaneau’s friends, who had left the fight so far to the large man, likely assuming they weren’t needed. The two men peered at each other, brows lifted, mouths slack with shock.

A flash of silver snapped his attention. Shit! “Dodge, you idiot!’ Willow screamed. “He’ll kill you!”

Vaneau laughed. His knife slashed in an upward, shining arc across the young master’s stomach. “You should know better than that, dear Willow,” he jeered in a thick, lusty tone as he stepped back to survey his handiwork. “I like my toys to...” His dark eyes stared, startled and wide, at the tall blond’s midsection. “...Suffer,” fell from the cruel former master’s mouth like a forgotten letter in the wind.

Willow scrambled forward, keeping along the hedge. His master should be stumbling, or at least bent over in pain. He knew well the agony of such wounds, red splattering everywhere, vivid and warm, the stinging only the messenger of the hot, aching torment to come. But there was no blood, no stumbling, no... wound.

Willow fell to the soft grass, his limbs useless as his strength drained in a dizzying rush. No wound! Nothing. Nothing at all, not even a scratch. Mouth falling slack, Willow smothered a gasp with his slender hand. How? How could...? He saw... There was no way.

His master’s arms still hung relaxed at his sides, fingers flexing in loose fists as the statuesque blond strode forward. He took just two steps with those long legs when his ice eyes peered mere handspans from the unmoving Vaneau, who blinked erratically.

“Shall we end this now?” his master breathed softly, like frost on crystal. “While no one has been hurt?”

“What?” Vaneau stammered, his dark eyes awakening from their daze.

“Surrender,” his strange master spoke as if familiar with the challenge and its compliance. Willow shuddered, and gnawed his fingernails, infinitely more fearful of the cold angel.

“Fuck you! Freak!” Vaneau screamed, and then all became chaos.

His master’s hand vanished from his side in a pale blur, and suddenly Vaneau flew backwards in a black, shrieking streak. He skidded along the grass yards from where he had stood, plowing a dirt furrow with his flailing legs.

However, before he had the chance to savor the vision of the demented monster writhing on the ground, rough hands grabbed Willow by the arms and hair.

“Let go...!” he hissed, his voice