20.1

Alone in his quarters a short time later, Dirk grabbed the monocle from its chain around his neck and willed it to show an image of his wife. An instant later, the device emitted a familiar green glow as the magic activated. Slowly, a picture formed within the magical shard's center. He recognized the strange architecture of Zyrdicia's palace in the cloud world. She sat upon her enormous, black bed there, hugging her knees like a child.

Zyrdicia stared back at him accusingly through the monocle. She had an uncanny sense of its magical intrusion. Her eyes had the glassy, misery-filled look Dirk had come to associate with Sephiroth torment of her. In fact, occasionally she had recently woken up from particularly unpleasant bouts of nightmares wearing that very same expression.

"Leave me be tonight!" she pleaded telepathically. "I want to be alone."

"You know better than to lie to me. You loathe being alone."

She sighed sadly, not bothering to contradict him. They both knew he was right. But at this moment she preferred the distress of loneliness to the horror of the blood hunger.

"We have unfinished business in the torture chamber. Return to me this instant!" he commanded, the intensity of his mental tone leaving no room to doubt his seriousness.

"I almost killed you. I cannot risk that."

Dirk paused a moment, weighing that bit of information carefully. He had no fear of her. He found her emotional reaction to the perceived risk highly intriguing, though. The thought of murdering him genuinely seemed to upset her.

20.1.1

Zyrdicia stared uneasily at the single, uniformed torture trooper whom Dirk had ordered to remain with them in the dungeon. Having anyone else in the room felt strange.

"Let's go back upstairs!" she urged, her voice soft with apprehension.

Her husband shook his head slowly. It had taken two hours of charming, telepathic persuasion to coax her to return. He was not about to let that effort go to waste. He intended to enjoy this.

Dirk flashed his most seductive smile as he reached for her. He purred, "My dear, you simply must learn to trust me."

One hand slipped around her waist, tugging at the clasp of her enchanted belt. He cast the magical chain aside. The sound of the arcanium links clinking against the stone floor seemed loud in the otherwise silent chamber. She glared at him, but made no effort to retrieve the source of her preternatural strength.

The king leaned back comfortably against a stone pillar. Despite his casual air, he was careful to see that his footing was secure. He could easily brace himself against the pillar, if need be. He regarded her a moment, his lips curling in approval.

"What?!" she demanded impatiently, irritated by his stare.

"It is not often I've seen you afraid," he crooned smugly as he peered at her. "Let me savor the intoxicating beauty of the sight."

She glared at him acidly, recognizing the backhanded compliment for what it was.

Like a connoisseur admiring a prized piece of livestock, he raised his hand and gestured gracefully, "Turn around. I wish to savor you from every angle."

Zyrdicia's eyes narrowed angrily, but she complied with his request. She muttered nastily, "You might as well enjoy it! Convincing me to endure this night is going to cost you dearly-"

Her words broke off as Dirk's hands unexpectedly whipped around her, fastening around her arms with an iron grip. Facing away from him, she had completed exactly 180 degrees of her turn when he grabbed her.

"Yes, do be quiet!" he ordered in a silken tone. His gloved hands squeezed her arms until he was certain he was cutting off circulation. "You know how much chatter annoys me when I have a serious task before me."

With a quick motion, he pulled Zyrdicia in front of him, pinning her arms easily behind her. He tugged her unresisting body backwards until most of her weight was on her arms, against him. Her negligible bodyweight left her easy enough to control without the enchanted belt, but he knew better than to underestimate her.

He adjusted his grip, squeezing tighter. Anyone else would have writhed in pain at pressure easily enough to bruise. She hardly noticed, though.

"No one else would go to such lengths for you," he noted, sounding pleased with himself. "This is entirely for you, you know."

"Liar."

"Come now. How many times must I tell you? You must learn to trust me," he purred wickedly in her ear. He nuzzled his face in her hair at the back of her head, chuckling to himself.

The king nodded curtly to the waiting torture trooper. The man turned his back obediently to the watching couple, and promptly slit open a hanging captive's throat. Blood gushed from the wound. In an instant, it cascaded down the victim's torso. Large, splattering drops hit the cold floor.

Zyrdicia inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her throat. Her entire body tensed. With a quick jolt, she lurched forward. The force of it was such that she very nearly dislocated both shoulders in a fluid motion to wrench herself free of the grip on her arms.

Dirk lifted her slightly off the ground as he pulled her firmly back against himself, surprised by how close she had come to succeeding. He could not remember her ever being that strong without magic.

"Resist it!" he chided softly, once he was again certain he had a hold of her. He was amazed at the blood's effect upon her, even all the way across the room.

She writhed in his grasp, oblivious to the harsh tugging on painfully twisted arms. He was glad for once that her body weighed almost nothing. He tightened his grip and tugged her more firmly against him.

"Stop struggling, dearest," he whispered intently against the flushed skin of her cheek as he dragged his lips across it. "Obey me!"

Somehow human sexuality resonated at the very same chord in the cosmos as the infernal blood craving. In all the world, only Zyrdicia could fully appreciate that particular mystery of the universe. She suffered the mortal desire in the same breath that she was consumed by the murderous Sephiroth one, and she lacked the capacity to indulge in either. Something about the realization sent her mind careening back ten decades.

"Again!" Dirk called out loudly to the executioner. "In two minute intervals!"

An instant later the second victim's life fluid spilled out.

"I can't stand this," Zyrdicia whimpered weakly, her body taut with the need to kill.

"But imagine my delight," Dirk breathed smugly, savoring the magical sensation of their psyche's connection. It only intensified as the ordeal deepened for her. He whispered eagerly, "I know you want to obey me this time. I can feel it."

"I hate you," she professed adamantly, writhing again.

"Unlikely," he scoffed, amused. "If that were true, you would have already vanished - or tried to kill me. As things stand, we both know that you adore feeling overpowered by me. You love feeling possessed, of finally belonging to someone strong enough to provide for your unique needs."

She fumed silently in his grasp, his words only adding to her considerable frustration.

"And that is why you are terrified of killing me," he purred cockily. "Admit it, pet."

"No," she snarled stubbornly.

Dirk smiled to himself. He lifted her off the ground by the arms pinned behind her back, watching her shoulders strain as her wrists pulled up painfully toward her neck. With minor effort, he shoved her nearer one of the bleeding bodies hanging from the ceiling.

He was ready for the next sudden thrash from her. With her feet still off the ground, though, she had no leverage to pull away from him. He watched patiently as he let her struggle. She put more into the futile fight that he expected. She seemed to have limitless reserves of stamina for it. The punishment to her shoulders gradually concerned him. He began to fear that she would rip her own arms off just to get to the blood.

"Deesh, enough!" he commanded sternly. "Be still."

She froze instantly, disconcerted by the sound of Azriok's pet name for her coming from a mortal throat in such a context.

Dirk carefully masked his surprise at the command's effect. He had never before dared to use the word. He knew from her biography that the handful of mortals who had taunted her with it or used it in jest had all met gruesome deaths at her hand.

"Don't call me that!" she frowned uncertainly. "You have no right."

"But Vector once told me that it means 'possession' - and you are my possession, dearest," he replied confidently. "I have the only right."

He pulled her away from the hanging corpse, putting distance between her body and the blood once again. Her gaze never wavered from the fluid she craved. Her chin stretched out toward it longingly.

"The hunger is so intense it hurts," she confided hopelessly, her voice speaking from somewhere deep within a hell he could hardly fathom. There was nothing pleasant about the pain this time. It was bitter, miserable and all-encompassing. "And mostly I want yours. Please make it stop!"

Dirk's lips curled in pleasure. From her, the sound of such pleading was angelic. When the next prisoner's blood spilled, her body convulsed once. He pulled her harder against him, then leaned back against the pillar. Tugged backward suddenly, she was off-balance enough to have no chance of wrenching away from him.

"Tell me how much it hurts you, dearest," he coaxed eagerly, his tongue moving from her ear, down her neck.

"My only desire is to rip you open and devour soul through your lifeblood!" she moaned earnestly, her eyes filled with frightful innocence as she stared at the mayhem across the room. "I yearn to open your heart, to suck its nectar dry as it convulses around my tongue."

He bit her neck harshly in reply. That earned him an immediate sigh. She was nothing if not predictable. Very hard bites interspersed with quick nips and kisses accomplished what mere caresses never could with her. He felt her fixation on the blood waver with the fresh physical pain. She merely needed something new to concentrate on, he decided. She had long since become accustomed to the pain in her shoulders. He hoped a new pain source would distract her.

After a few moments, her body relaxed slightly. She still drew breath in heavy, exhausted gasps. He had calculated his victory perfectly this time. She was finally growing weary, and the tide was turning in his favor.

"That's better," he whispered approvingly into the soft, white flesh of her throat, caressing it with the skin of his cheek seductively. "Focus on me alone!"

Too many sensations vied for her attention. The sight and smell of the blood competed with delicious pain, the brush of lips on the back of her neck with the urgent need to kill. She sighed in a combination of confusion and mental exhaustion. She gave in to him, closing her eyes to the crimson object of desire. The tension gradually waned from her body and her head fell back against his shoulder.

She was relieved when his lips found her mouth. The taste of him momentarily eclipsed what she craved. But for her silent awareness of the pulse in his tongue and his heartbeat behind her, she could almost pretend the temptation was not maddening - until the next victim's blood gushed forth.