Unpleasant. Unsettling.

“Volkan, please.” Felicia’s voice cracked on the word. “Please, just let him go, I’ll do whatever you want, just not him—”

“You’re getting hysterical.” Calm and steady, Volkan placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her towards one of the leather armchairs circling the fireplace. “You need to relax if you want to be with him for this.”

At that, Marcus snapped. “Stop touching her, you fucking freak—”

“I’ll get to you in a minute, boy,” Volkan said, waving a dismissive hand in his direction as he forced Felicia into the chair. She was pale, silent, eyes wide, and she allowed herself to be sat down without protest. Their chance for freedom was slipping away.

“Felicia—” If she was tied down, if neither of them could move, it was over. Marcus fought his bonds with fresh urgency. “Felicia, do something!”

She locked eyes with him, and hers were dull, the light fading. Everything was moving too fast and in slow motion all at once as Volkan pulled cuffs from his pocket—fucking creep, did he carry those around all the time?—and bound Felicia to the chair by one wrist, then the other. Marcus thrashed, and by the time Felicia snapped into action, she was already trapped. They had lost before they’d even begun.

Volkan brushed her hair from her face with a mock tenderness, then turned back to face Marcus. He cleared the space between them in in a few steps and loomed over Marcus. Fuck, he was so tall. Marcus had to crane his neck to look up at him, and that pissed him off even more.

“Volkan, please.” Felicia’s voice was shaking, and the sound of it hurt Marcus more than anything. Looking past the bulk of Volkan, Marcus could just make her out in the glow of the fireplace, small and making herself smaller with every breath.

Volkan’s smile was slow, indulgent, infuriating, and he allowed her to stumble over her words for a minute before sliding a knife from his belt. The blade of it caught the light, and Felicia fell silent.

Marcus was silent, too, watching the knife like a hawk. It was danger—but it was an opportunity. All he needed was two fucking seconds and he could do it. He’d grab the knife and drive it through Volkan’s heart and get them both out of there. His pulse pounded with anticipation.

Turning the blade, Volkan pressed the flat of it against Marcus’s cheek almost gently. His free hand ran through Marcus’s hair with an intimacy that sent ice through his veins, that reminded him of what Felicia had told him after the dance and what this man was capable of.

“Open your mouth.” The command was both unexpected and inevitable, and Marcus could only recoil. From her chair, Felicia was struggling anew, pleading, “Volkan—”

Volkan smiled down at Marcus almost sweetly, and then he crossed the room in two steps and buried the knife in Felicia’s stomach. It was so fast, so sudden, Marcus couldn’t process—and then it slammed into clarity, and he was yelling, and Felicia was frozen, blood welling up around where the knife pierced her. Her eyes were glassy and her chest heaved with tiny breaths.

“I can heal her.” Volkan left the knife to return to Marcus. Marcus couldn’t tear his eyes from Felicia, whose hands gripped the armrests with white knuckles, whose face was paling by the second. She was going to die while he did nothing.

“Marcus.” Rough hands tilted his face away from Felicia to look up again at Volkan. He was already hard, the piece of shit. “I can heal her. But first you need to open your mouth.”

“Fuck you, you bastard,” Marcus spat. Volkan was a sick fuck, and it was a game to him, and Marcus had lost.

Volkan said nothing, smiling broadly, and after a heartbeat and another hitch of breath from Felicia, Marcus opened his mouth.

Volkan took his cock out and rested it between Marcus’s lips, doing nothing, and fuck, this bastard was going to make him do all the work. From the corner of his eye, he could see Felicia stirring, coming back into herself; and then he realized he couldn’t look at her while doing this, so he closed his eyes and began to suck.

With his eyes shut and the roar in his ears blocking out the world around him, the cock in his mouth could be anyone’s, some anonymous hookup at a bar, some guy he’d crashed with after a late night. He leaned into that feeling; this was sex, nothing more, and if he could finish it quickly—

“Eyes open, boy.” Volkan’s voice struck like a clap of thunder. “Look at me.”

White-hot with hatred, Marcus opened his eyes, and as he made eye contact with Volkan he swore the cock in his mouth twitched. Fucking smug piece of shit, good eye gleaming in the firelight, one large hand resting lightly on Marcus’s head, and Marcus was off-kilter with his hands still tied behind his back but fuck it, he was going to finish this. He leaned forward, venomous, taking Volkan deeper, tongue tracing a vein along his length. He had never hated someone more, and he turned that hatred into a twisted passion, because Felicia was bleeding out in a chair and every second he spent indulging this sick bastard was another second she slipped further away from him.

Marcus worked the cock in his mouth by feel, responding to each twitch and throb, tightening his lips, his glare never leaving Volkan’s face. The bastard was so horny, it couldn’t be long now—and there it was, Volkan pressed the back of Marcus’s head and hilted himself down his throat and came. Marcus took it all without a sound, a thin line of saliva connecting his lips to the flaccid cock as it was drawn from his mouth. Volkan tucked himself back in his trousers, and in his face Marcus saw the post-orgasm haze of pleasure that meant his guard was down, that this was their best chance.

Volkan crouched, knees cracking, and brought his gaze to Marcus’s eye level. “You’re fun,” he murmured, good eye tracing the venom in Marcus’s expression. “It’s almost a shame, what I’m going to—”

Marcus slung his head out in a wild headbutt, angling for Volkan’s blind side. It hit with a satisfying crack and a grunt from Volkan, and Marcus was already scrambling back. He was jumbled, still tied up, but his mind already raced ahead; maybe if he could get the knife, or one of those fireplace tools—

Then his world exploded with stars, head cracking against the hardwood floor as Volkan bore down on top of him. He struggled to rise, but Volkan’s hand forced his head into the ground, his eyes watering as he stared into the fireplace. “We’re not done here yet,” Volkan growled in his ear.

Still bearing down his weight, Volkan shifted and began to work at the rope binding Marcus’s legs together. Marcus’s blood froze; and then he redoubled his efforts. “You piece of shit,” he spat, “she’s going to die—”

Then his legs were free, and he pushed himself away before Volkan could make his next move, struggling to his feet with his arms still bound behind him. To his surprise, Volkan let him stand. Marcus braced himself, legs wide, finding his balance. He kept his eyes trained on Volkan, but risked a quick glance at Felicia—face pale, chest fluttering with breath, eyes wide—before fixing his attention on the threat before him. Volkan rose easily, rolling the tension from his shoulders, considering and then he punched Marcus across the jaw.

For all he had been expecting an attack, Marcus was still caught off-guard by the speed with which Volkan struck. The blow sent him staggering, and then he lost his balance and stumbled to the floor. He rolled away, expecting a kick that didn’t come. Instead, Volkan loomed above him, the ghost of a smirk crossing his face. “Get up, boy,” he growled.

Face throbbing, Marcus rose, and when Volkan attacked again, he was ready. He danced out of the way of the next punch, using his momentum to put space between them and buy himself some time. As much freedom of movement as he had, he was useless with his hands still bound behind him. If he could just cut the ropes—he risked another glance at Felicia, the dagger embedded in her abdomen, but fuck, if he messed with that she could just bleed out even faster—and then Volkan landed another blow on his cheek, sending him reeling across the room.

There had to be a way out, but every time Marcus approached it, Volkan struck again. The blows left him unbalanced, unable to focus, if he could just take a minute to catch his breath—but Volkan was relentless. And the worst of it was that even as each blow stunned him and took his breath away, Marcus could tell the man was holding something back. He was toying with him, smiling, probably getting hard again, the bastard. Each punch, each kick left Marcus more and more exhausted, while Volkan was still pristine save the growing bruise on his face where Marcus had landed his headbutt. Furious, desperate, he tried the same maneuver, slinging his head at Volkan’s blind side. He missed, and an elbow to the back of the skull send him sprawling on his stomach, wind knocked from him and the world spinning around him.

Volkan was on top of him again before he could move, and the rough hands at his back began untying his wrists. He couldn’t dare to trust this new freedom, not with Felicia watching with fresh terror, and at the jangle of metal behind him, he barely managed to turn his head and look back over his shoulder. Above him, on top of him, Volkan held two thin metal bangles, twins to the ones Felicia wore, and even with his untuned senses Marcus could feel the prickle of magic gathering around them.

“What are you—” Marcus began, and then Volkan slipped the first cuff around his wrist and he suffocated. No, that wasn’t it—he could breathe, but something was weaving around him, trapping him, threatening to invade, and then Volkan slid the second cuff around his other wrist and—

And he was gone, he couldn’t see Felicia or the room or anything anymore, he was in darkness—

and something ensnared him that he couldn’t understand, something in his mind or soul or whatever the fuck, and he still couldn’t breathe—

and then something that was him or the thing ensnaring him told him to relax, and he did, and the darkness became even darker but he was relaxed, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t breathe.

***

Felicia was fading. The knife embedded in her stopped the worst of the blood loss, but each pulse of her pounding heart drained more life from her, and she could almost convince herself that the prickling she felt all over was from that and not from the magic Volkan was weaving over Marcus’s unconscious body. The metal cuffs on his wrists gleamed dully in the firelight.

Volkan rose with his same easy smile, poison in his eye. “We’ll give him a minute,” he said with a nod at Marcus as he stepped over to Felicia. She couldn’t look at Volkan, couldn’t take her eyes off her friend’s crumpled form a few unreachable steps from her.

“Volkan, what—ah!” She cut herself off with a sharp gasp of pain as he twitched the knife in her abdomen. He had barely touched it, yet that tiny movement was enough to drive her breath from her, insides twisted and burning and pulsing.

Volkan traced the thin ooze of blood around the blade of the knife. “I hope this hasn’t been too distracting for you,” he murmured, twisting the knife just so and forcing a ragged yell from her strained throat. Her weak fingers gripped the edges of the chair she was bound to, and when he ripped the knife from her body, her vision went white.

She blinked rapidly, and as her vision returned, the first thing she saw was Marcus, unmoved. He could be dead, but for the slow rise and fall of his chest. Volkan probed into her now-freely-bleeding wound and she arched her back, straining to get away. Her blood soaked into the thin dress she wore and pooled into the worn leather of the chair.

When he finally healed the wound, it was with a slow breath that promised more pain to come, and it gave her no relief. Marcus still hadn’t moved. “Volkan, what—what is he—”

“He’ll be fine.” He brushed her hair back with bloodstained fingers, leaving a smear across her cheek. Her body tingled with the lingering absence of pain from the healing, the slow replenishing of blood within her. Willing herself beyond the hopelessness of the situation, she focused her gaze on Marcus, as if the power of her staring would be enough to bring him back.

Then he gasped, and her heartrate redoubled. Marcus twisted on the ground, eyes a bright flash in the light of the fireplace before he shut them again, face turning away. Volkan moved to him and crouched over him with something that could be curiosity. He murmured to Marcus, voice too low for Felicia to make out any words, and then he stood back.

“Marcus, get up,” Volkan said, and Marcus did so. There was blood on his face where Volkan had touched him. Marcus was bleeding as well, a thin trail of blood from his nose mingling with a split lip, and bruises were already forming across his face. For a moment, that was the only damage Felicia could see.

But the longer she stared at him, and he stared back, silent and unmoving, the more her skin prickled. Something in his energy, his stance, was different. His face was blank; even as his eyes bore into hers, they simultaneously looked beyond her, or maybe at nothing. And he was so still. Marcus had never been still in his life.

Something was very wrong.

“What did you do to him?” Her voice was shaking.

“He’s completely fine,” Volkan said. “Marcus, let her know you’re fine. Give her a smile. Wave hello.”

“I’m fine,” Marcus said, in a voice that was and was not his. The corners of his lips turned up in a facsimile of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes; his hand moved in a wave with no feeling behind it.

Felicia recoiled as if he’d slapped her. That couldn’t be Marcus. It moved like a creature wearing Marcus’s skin.

“Volkan. what—” She strained against her bonds, lightheaded with terror. “What did you do?”

“Marcus, slap her in the face.”

Marcus moved as if he were completing some mundane household chore, and then his palm cracked against Felicia’s cheek. It didn’t hurt. There was no force behind it, but neither was there any apprehension. It was a slap.

Volkan moved closer as well, considering. “Harder than that, Marcus,” he chided.

The next slap snapped her face to the side, her ears ringing. Tears sprang to her eyes from the physical shock of it, and Marcus loomed over her, unmoved.

“Punch her in the face.”

“Marcus—” Before she could finish the thought, his fist slammed into her cheek, cracking her head against the back of the chair. “Marcus, Marcus, stop—”

“Keep hitting her until I tell you to stop.”

The blows came at her at random, glancing across her cheek, her shoulder, her jaw. Whenever she blinked the stars from her eyes, she saw Marcus’s face, her best friend, but no, it couldn’t be him. He couldn’t be beating her with that blank look on his face. Each punch rattled deep inside her, driving cracked rivulets through some secure part of her she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding onto. How naive of her, to think there was any part of her being that Volkan couldn’t shatter.

“Marcus, stop.”

Marcus’s arms dropped to his sides, gaze once again focused on nothing. Felicia sucked in a deep breath that turned into a cough that shook her body in fresh pain that sent her into a spasm of gasps, folding in on herself as much as she could with the bindings still holding her tight to the chair. When her vision cleared and she looked up through sweat-damp bangs, Volkan held the same knife he’d stabbed her with.

“Marcus.” He took Marcus’s hand and placed the knife in it, curling each finger around the hilt. “Use this knife to stab yourself in the left eye.”

Marcus’s arm moved as if in slow motion, and Felicia’s heart froze. “Marcus, stop!” The knife drew closer to his face. “Stop, please, Volkan, I’ll do whatever you want, just stop—”

Volkan spoke and rose his hand, and Marcus froze, the knife hovering inches from his face. Volkan’s gaze on Felicia was hungry. “Whatever I want?”

No no no no, she thought, but she bit down the protest. “Yes,” she choked out, “whatever you want, just please, leave him alone, you already have me—”

“I do have you,” Volkan agreed, “and you already do whatever I want. Marcus, do it.”

The knife moved again, and despite herself, Felicia squeezed her eyes shut. A soft sound that might’ve been a grape popping, and a small exhale of breath, and when Felicia peeked out from half-shut eyes, it was done. Marcus stood at ease, knife casually dangling from one hand, freely bleeding from the ruin of his eye. She was going to be sick.

“Marcus…” she began, but there was nothing to say.

Volkan took Marcus’s chin in his hand and turned his head, examining the gore with grisly relish. He took the knife, wiping the blood off on Marcus’s shirt before sheathing it and turning to Felicia. His hands brushed the cuffs holding her, leaving a smear of blood, and with a spark of magic, the bonds were released.

She flexed her wrists, staring up at Marcus in mute horror, unable to move.