///Closed Room K -- Challenging the Power

For once, time was on his side, and with each passing day, the Puppeteer had grown stronger until he felt almost normal. True, many of his abilities had been reduced to little more than a ghosts of their former power, but he looked human again instead of a gaunt ghoul. He no longer fretted over the way his skin stretched across his cheek bones because his flesh had filled out the former hallows after over two weeks of eating regular meals, sometimes garnished with the delectable fruit that his… companion provided. The Puppeteer was just as much a man of manipulation as the woman was one to wrap others around her little finger, so he had quickly caught onto the snare she had created with her fae fruit. But he had fallen for the trap since no other sustenance had been available and he had been too desperate for food to wait for anything else. And so she had gained an upper hand against the Puppeteer that she could maintain even after he had recovered from his imprisonment.

It was the click of her heels that announced her presence as surely as any knock upon the door, when she entered the tiny suite. The Puppeteer kept his head lowered, feigning continued interest in the book spread across his lap, but his eyes, hidden by the brim of his top hat, peered through the open doorway into the room she had entered. While the tome sprawled across his lap had proved enlightening, it had only been entertaining enough to pass the time as he lounged in the room alone. With her return, he had little interested in the terrible tales of the fae creatures detailed in the leather-bound volume. He waited, wondering if she would call for him.

A second after the clicking of her heels ceased, the scent of fae fruit exploded in the room. For an instant, it brought a madness over him. He salivated, nearly drooling, as the overly sweet smell assaulted his senses. It was no gentle tickle of a scent but a slap across the face that demanded his attention. The Puppeteer’s body shuddered with desperate need before he suppressed the motion, commanding that his human body obey him. He refused to be reduced to nothing more than an addict incapable of resisting his addiction. But that scent clawed at his mind as if she had cast her line and the hook had caught his flesh and she was trying to reel him in with harsh yanks that tore at him.

Before he knew it, the woman, his savoir and captor, walked through the bedroom of the suite and had continued towards the balcony, ignoring his presence as if he didn’t exist. The muscles in his jaw tightened—he hated to be ignored.

The Puppeteer tucked his fingers, no longer thin, bony digits, but long and well muscled, beneath the front cover the book and snapped it shut. The clap the book created broke the silence. “Did you get everything you needed?” he asked, calling out to her from the room. There was a tremor so well hidden in his tenor that only a woman well accustomed to his suffering would most likely detect the hint of desperation, the signal of his addiction, in his voice. He emphasized the ‘you’ as if trying to imply he had no need or even desire of her fae fruit, despite how much the scent of it set every molecule in his body ablaze with craving for the taste, the scent, the touch of her fae fare.

Time ticked by, counted by heartbeats since there was no clock that the Puppeteer could see to monitor the seconds as they slipped away. One by one they march onward, forever lost in the past and he became lost in his thoughts. Oh, once, no second had been ever truly lost for the puppet master, but no longer was he able to manipulate to fabric of time. He could no longer fold it so the corners touched, allowing him to hop from one time to another. And it infuriated him far more than anything else about his current captivity. Two centuries ago, before he’d been entombed by the Seelie do-gooder, the Puppeteer had mastered arts that few men or even demons knew that allowed him to escape to anywhere in an instant. His powers had dwindled in the coffin though, drained so that he might preserve his mortal flesh. Demonic energies had bled from him, fighting the losing battle against aging. Perhaps, he did have his victory since he’d exited the tome not a day older than when he’d been imprisoned, but could a victory at such a cost truly be considered a win?

Distracted by his own brooding thoughts, the Puppeteer was unaware of the woman’s stirrings until the sharp click of her heels announced her presence only a few feet in front of him. Still seated, the Puppeteer craned his neck and peered up at her. The fruit she held tortured him with its delicious scent. The sweet smell clawed at his senses, leaving them raw. But there was a slight allure to the way the woman licked at her bite in the fae fruit’s flesh, swiping away a few droplets of its juice. The Puppeteer felt a stirring he’d long since forgotten, one he had not expected her to draw out. Lust? How curious this woman is, trying to manipulate the master manipulator.

When she offered him the fruit, the stem snared between her fingertips so that it swayed ever so slightly, he quirked an eyebrow. “And then what is it that you need, Kalika?” he asked, reaching out with one hand as his other splayed across the cover of the tome still settled across his lap. Strong, nimble fingers caged the fruit from below and he closed his grasp on it. “There are not many things I can offer these days,” he added as he gave the fruit a gentle tug, to see if she would release it for him to take.

The deal had been simple, in exchange for his release, he would serve her wishes and she could not do him harm. So far, she had technically lived up to the bargain, though she had found ways around it to wreck his life. Already ensnared by the arrangement, the Puppeteer was bound to her by his weakness. While stronger than when he’d first exited the tomb, he still doubted that he was strong enough to stand up against her if she became enraged and used whatever Unseelie magics she possessed. His own abilities were still reduced to such a point he wondered if he would ever regain his former might. And before he had a chance to find out, she had caught him with another sticky strand of spider silk in her plan to completely control him. The fae fare, the forbidden fruit offered by the serpent, had been offered to him when hunger would have made him grab for even poisoned food, and now the sweet venom kept him trapped.

But yet she kept weaving her web around him, trying to bind him until every motion he made only further her hold on him. Little did she know, the avenue she was trying to lead him down was one he had walked so many others down when he was the master manipulator. A slow smile spread across his lips, though it was quickly eclipsed by the glove of fruit. The Puppeteer took a bite, savoring the sweetness as it washed over his palate, and then lowered it. For a few seconds, he chewed, the sound filling the silence after her question, and then the quiet gulp as he swallowed the pulp. He wanted her to see that he was in control. Even as she worked her new ploy, a playful seduction, he kept a composed smile on his lips. Not even her touch seemed to rouse a reaction from him as her nails slid across sensitive skin.

“Many things. Clothing, upholstery, tailoring and the likes,” he answered, and then eyed her, an appraising gaze traversing her body. “And style, something you seem to sincerely lack, my Unseelie hostess.” He clucked his tongue, lifting his eyes to hers again and the fruit to his lips for another subdued bite.

Kalika had been kind, though not overly so; she had done what she could to give the Puppeteer his freedom. She had asked nothing of him while he was recovering, save for the occasional silence. To top things off she was acting as dealer to his little addiction of faery fruit. All of these things were pushed to the back of her mind though, her building resentment of having him here included. Personal space invaded by a charge she had taken on willingly. Kalika had pushed her wicked intentions aside for this short span of a night. She was allowing her mind to traverse on the grounds of a more….carnal way of thinking.

Her touch against the Puppeteers lively flesh had been gentle as he feasted upon the seed of his addictions. His insult made her pause the slight affection she was showing him, a soft laugh spilling forth from parted lips. The tiny barb was hardly worth her time to dwell on, it was little more than his way of fighting back. She wasn’t pulling at his mind with power, not yet at least, just good old fashioned charm of a female. Even if she wasn’t human and wasn’t one to seduce men, more like tie them up and torture them. This new setting meant new rules however, and she was trying to fine that balance of destruction and…kindness.

To her, this was more of an experiment than anything else. A test to see if she could keep the monster at bay and still have fun with someone. Though she would certainly miss the screams of torture, this would do for now. Shift of her stance and she brought her right knee up to rest against the seat of the cushion. If he didn’t fight or protest in any form she would move her other knee forward until she was straddling his thighs. Lithe form supported by her own hold she moved her hands against his shoulders and grinned.

”If you don’t enjoy my sense of fashion…Perhaps you should do something about it?” Delicate brow quirked as she locked those shining eyes with his, daring him to do something about her dark clothing. Nails of her right hand slid from his shoulder to his chin, ghost of a touch teasing along the skin, “Show me how good of a tailor you really are.”

After all the hidden harshness in her treatment, in her tone of voice, even in the graceful motions of her body, the Puppeteer was a little surprised that she didn’t fall for the bait of his insult. What she did instead caught him off guard. The chair cushioned dimpled beneath her knee as she bent her leg and took a partial perch over him. Quirking an eyebrow, the Puppeteer ceased eating his fruit, though the globe still hid his mouth, and looked up at her. Two hundred years was a long time to go without certain needs being fulfilled, he thought to himself as she straddled his lap. He offered no protest, curious how far she might go if he didn’t challenge her.

With the fae fruit in his hand, he reached out and put it on the end table beside the chair, never removing his eyes from her. Of course, distracted as he was, he released the round morsel a little too high, and it thudded and bounced on the wood, bruising the fruit’s flesh before it rolled off the table and smacked into the floor. But the Puppeteer was so curious about the woman hovering over his lap, that he scarcely noticed that he had accidently destroyed his drug. Every one of her touches was its own little needle pin-prick, injecting him with a new drug of her store with which he was unfamiliar.

A few quiet moments passed before the Puppeteer mastered himself and cleared his throat. Though he still delighted in the gentle touch of her nails gliding over his skin, he turned his attention to her challenge. “Mm… maybe I will,” he murmured, his voice a soft, pleased rumble in his throat. Had it not been for the fact that she had claimed him and not the reverse, he might have been more open to the oddity of the woman. He always liked exotic dolls—the more unusual, the better. While it was hard to get much more unusual than an Unseelie from the fairy court, or wherever it was she was from, the fact that she had reversed the relationship he often sought troubled him. But the gentle praise, the thought of dressing such a beautiful form in clothing just as beautiful perked his interest and delighted him.

Digits paused their graceful attention at the dull thud of his addiction. Silver eyes cast towards offending fruit for only a flash of a moment before her entire focus was back on the man beneath her. Nails traveled from chin to cheek to the curve of his neck, fingers toyed with the hair on the side of his head below that elegant top hat of his. Touch trailed downwards once more to grace the material of his shirt. Slight pressure increasing as she carried her hands across his chest and down his stomach.

The moment was ever so slightly interrupted by the clearing of the Puppeteers throat. Kalika found her focus on his eyes, one delicate brow rising as he addressed her teasing challenge. A slow smile found its way onto her lips as she leaned back ever so slightly, “That would be wonderful, though I do beg of you, absolutely nothing pink or frilly. Dreadful things lacking in any sense of style.” Note of teasing in her voice as she regarded him, weighing the consequences of her next move.

Right here before her was the very thing she crave, an outlet and conductor of the emotions she desperately sought. There was also danger to getting close to this monster in front of her. They were both tricky creatures that fought for their lives in one way or another. The same in the fact that they had dominant traits… The only problem with this little negotiation was that Kalika wouldn’t be able to escape him afterwards. She would be drawn to him simply for that rush of a carnal climax, that overwhelming pleasure of emotions. It was a dangerous thing to be drawn to your own charge, especially for one of her kind.

Still… Kalika was attracted to danger like a junky to their next fix. The promise of stopping all but forgotten when something oh so tempting was within reach. Right hand rose to slide her nails along his chin before she leaned forward just a bit. Lips barely brushed against his skin, lingering there for a moment longer than she should have. Pulling herself away she slowly stood, desire raging through her veins like a wild beast demanding blood. Slow rise and fall of her chest as she stepped away from the Puppeteer, her voice was a note off on its melody. Just a touch of desire weaving its way through her tone, “You really should… I tire of the clothes I have.” She slowly tugged at the leather bindings, string resisting her touch for just a moment. Material loosened its hold upon her porcelain flesh, clinging to her form if just barely. Standing there bathed in moonlight she watched the Puppeteer with only a slight smile curled upon her lips.

[Continued Elsewhere...]