CHAPTER 11

When Gella had used the spell against her, Celia had been actively aiding it, and it had still taken moments to seal her thoughts in a cage of iron. This wasn’t anything like that. In an instant, the moment the word had been spoken, her mind was tied, wrapped in sinuous, soft, yet strangely warm bindings. There was no space to resist, no time to accept. Just pure, overwhelming power. The malice that had disappeared with the crystal came back in full, and she could feel a distinct hint of satisfaction in it.

“You will do nothing but blink, breathe, and follow my orders,” Aversa purred into Celia’s ear.

The warrior’s body instantly detached from her. She could feel it – feel the warmth of Aversa’s breath, and the cool chill of the air in the room – but her body refused to obey her in even the slightest of ways. Her heart sped up, and for a terrifying second she thought it might stop dead in her chest. Aversa hadn’t ordered her heart to keep beating… but no, it seemed that it wasn’t something the spell controlled. She relaxed just a little at that, though that didn’t extend to her body.

“Oh my,” Aversa purred. “Your heart is fluttering like a little trapped bird. Be calm, Celia.” Like with Gella, the words rang in her mind, as though spoken from within her thoughts.

Celia’s body instantly began taking in slow, deep breaths, even as her mind raced. But it was hard to hold on to that panic with her body relaxing. Even as she tried to fight it, her inner flame dimmed, shrinking to barely a flickering candle.

“There we go. Much better, don’t you think? Do stand at attention like a good little soldier, now.”

Celia straightened, planting both feet together like an eager recruit in the royal army. She snapped her head up, facing her captor with a salute, staring straight past her grinning face. She knew what was coming, somehow. What Aversa was about to say.

“Good girl,” she purred, and Celia felt the faint brush of arousal ghost over her. The woman smiled teasingly, making it clear that hadn’t gone unnoticed.

She placed a finger on Celia’s exposed shoulder, and if she had any control of her body, she’d have jumped. But no. She just stood there, straining against mental bonds uselessly, as Aversa began to walk in a slow circle. It was agonizing. She couldn’t even close her eyes to focus on that instead of the sensations.

“Now, my dear Celia,” Aversa’s voice shifted to a warm lilting purr. It reminded Celia of Deborah but without the fae’s playful humor. Aversa’s humor was cruel, and Celia knew she was the butt of it. “Tell me. What brings such a curious and foolish little mortal scurrying into a mage’s basement? I would think you’d know better than to open a door as ominous as mine.”

Words poured free, calm and even, without the slightest bit of input from Celia. “I was looking for anything to prove my fears about Gella true.”

That received a giggle, light and airy, from the unseen Aversa. “The plot thickens!” Nails slipped through Celia’s hair, running over her scalp, and she felt herself try to flinch. “I think I need a more complete picture.” Celia felt hands press on either side of her head, and there was a strange wave of vertigo for a moment. Once it cleared, it left behind a force inside her mind.

It was a very odd sensation, like tiny fingers trailing across her scalp, and dipping deeper, passing through her skull. It didn’t hurt, not exactly, but it was hardly comfortable. She would have shivered and cringed if she had any control. The fingers moved all along, sometimes pushing in deeper and brushing against a memory. Flashes of sensation danced across her awareness, the scent of cooking meat, then a burst of metal on metal.

The force brushed against something that filled her with a sense of dread, a powerful fear taking hold that made her body’s breathing reflexively speed up, despite the command. The lightest touch with a phantom finger was a twist of a knife. She gasped and whimpered, desperately wishing she could at least cradle her head, but the sensation faded, and the force retreated with a faint but distinct sense of caution.

The sensation blessedly withdrew and Aversa’s voice whispered in her ear. “Your memories taste of smoke, Celia. Interesting.”

What? What did she mean by that? But helpless to ask, she could only stand there, as…

As Aversa came into view.

Her blonde hair was gone, and so was her clothing. It couldn’t be the same woman. Illusion? Probably. But which was the illusion? Was it the ragged girl, or was it this tall, crimson-crowned demoness of ashen gray, black leathery wings covering her like a cloak? Was she just trying to intimidate, or was this her true form?

Aversa smiled condescendingly. “So inquisitive! What does it matter if this is me or not? You’re mine all the same.”

Celia looked on, breathing slow and evenly again, but her mind raced. A demon, then, and a powerful one. Best to assume the worst. She had faced lesser demons before. But they were base creatures, rage and hate and other raw emotions given form. Aversa’s presence was deeper than that. Richer, somehow. If Celia had to put an emotion to her, it would be… avarice. But that, that was only the surface. What lay beneath… Celia would have gulped, if she could. What lay beneath was desire.

Celia felt it pouring off the demoness. Unbidden, in response to some unspoken order, she flicked her eyes up to meet Aversa’s, glowing like embers, and the sense of calm shattered with a surge of lust. Heat like a bonfire rose within her, and her breath caught as sudden intense need overwhelmed her.

“Ah, there it is.” Her voice was like warm syrup. No, it was honey. No, it was fire. It was…

The demoness brought up one hand, no, a claw, with a wickedly razor sharp point. So sharp, so deadly, and Celia had nothing but her racing mind and her rapidly rekindled desire. She should be scared, terrified, worried what the demoness would do, but it looked like it would feel so good, and – Oh!

Aversa trailed the tip of that claw along Celia’s bare skin, leaving a line of brilliant flame. Had it broken skin? She couldn’t tell. The same claw deftly sliced along the side of Celia’s shirt, leaving the warrior with only the supporting garment hiding her breasts. Two swift flicks of Aversa’s claw and it too joined the fabric at her feet. “Hand me your sword, Celia.”

That sparked Celia’s resistance, even in the midst of her desires and the magic controlling her. The last time she had handed over her blade while so enchanted, she wasn’t sure if she would ever see it again. And Aversa didn’t seem nearly as benevolent as Gella turned out to be. She forced the calm and the lust away, feeding everything she had to the furnace of her will. Somehow, painstakingly, her arm stopped moving. She was the blade. She was steel. Steel didn’t move. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, and she felt her muscles strain against the command. With teeth gritted she forced her arm away from the hilt of her blade, bit by bit. She was steel. Unbending.

“Impressive, Celia,” Aversa praised. “Few could resist like that. Such single-minded dedication… why, it could be used so much better in other ways, don’t you think?”

But freedom, or at least resistance, was costing Celia. Her flame was beginning to gutter, and her mind wavered, the meditative unity of woman and blade splintering. Her muscles ached, and it felt like even her soul was screaming in exertion, but she couldn’t relent. She would keep her blade. She would stay a warrior.

“Won’t… let you… take it!” She hissed, surprising herself as the words came out despite the command.

“Very well. Don’t.” Instantly, all the fight and fury Celia had built crashed forward, straining against something that wasn’t there. It left her… empty. Drained. She let her arm fall to the side, and almost gratefully relaxed back into the calming rhythm of breathing. She didn’t want to let Aversa control her, of course, but being relaxed and aroused was better than losing her sword. Whatever power she’d managed to claim over her speech had deserted her, leaving her once more a passenger in her own body.

“That was certainly impressive. If ultimately pointless.” Aversa deftly undid the buckle on the sword belt and slipped the blade and scabbard off of the warrior. Celia tried summoning up the same resolve, the same force to resist, but she was exhausted, mentally and physically, from the effort. She couldn’t draw up the fury, couldn’t muster the will, not before the creeping arousal and relaxation smothered it entirely. “You have no power here, Celia. Amusing as it may have been, rebellion was a waste of energy.” Aversa tilted Celia’s chin, and the warrior had no choice but to meet her firelit eyes.

That need crashed into Celia, and exhausted as she was, it swept her away completely. The loss of her blade, her pride, everything else simply washed away in the torrent. She flushed, overwhelmed.

“You can move, Celia,” Aversa smirked. Celia barely waited, practically tearing her pants off to get at her slick pussy, uncaring as she sank to the floor. Of course she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Not that her legs were spread wide, and she was giving Aversa a lurid show. That didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The only thing that mattered was cumming, letting that pressure go and finally getting release!

The sensation built and built, and finally she felt herself at the peak, ready to plunge into orgasm, when Aversa’s voice sounded clear as a bell in her mind. “Hands flat on the wall, Celia. Now!” The warrior’s hands flew away from her body, and she whimpered in protest. She still cleared the lip and felt herself twitch and shiver but it was an empty, hollow thing. The burst of pleasure, the relief from the building heat, and the warm glow were all absent, and all that was left was a hypersensitive needy puddle of desire.

Aversa knelt down beside her. “That was unruly of you, Celia. You earn the right to an orgasm.” Celia shut her eyes, and weakly shook her head back and forth. It was her body. Her pleasure, right? She was supposed to feel pleasure, share it with those she wanted to. This wasn’t… No, she wasn’t so easily cowed as to be ruled by her needy pussy.

“Are you not?” Something delicate and soft teased along her slit, and Celia bucked forward with her eyes wide. The cruel demoness had pulled a feather from…. somewhere. A no-space, probably. It was a long white one, and she brushed it with agonizing slowness along places far too sensitive to bear. The touch was nothing, barely even contact, yet Celia had to clench her teeth tight to keep from begging.

“Now, I could just order you to submit, Celia,” Aversa continued conversationally, her words still sharp and clear despite the muddled horny mess Celia’s mind had melted into. The feather made circles, figure eights, entire circuits on Celia’s spread thighs, never more than a whisper of sensation for the warrior to cling to, but even that whisper was agonizing. “That little flame you hold so dearly onto would go…” She blew lightly into Celia’s ear. “Poof!” That pulled a moan, half terrified, half desperate, from the magically bound warrior. “It would be efficient, but nowhere near as fun.”

Celia shut her eyes again, focusing intently on that inner flame. It was such a small and frail thing now, buffeted by desire and diminished by exhaustion. She didn’t want it to go out. She needed it. It was her core, her center, her… “No,” she rasped out, throat suddenly dry.

Something cool and hard was pressed to her lips. “Drink,” Aversa ordered, and Celia did. It was a glass of cool, clear water, and it soothed the dryness. The glass was removed quickly, and a wickedly sharp talon grazed the very tip of her clit. She yelped in pained surprise, and Aversa just laughed. “No? No is not the right answer, Celia. It’s yes, Mistress Aversa, understand?”

No! She would never call this demon Mistress. Not her, not Gella, not anyone! “Never…” She growled through another needy groan.

If Aversa took offense, it didn't show in her voice. It was as warm and heavy, as decadent and elegant as ever as the demoness simply trailed that sharp claw across Celia’s nipple. She winced and gasped again, in pleasure or pain she didn’t know. “Never, you say? Mmmm. I do enjoy a challenge.”

Celia felt Aversa’s claws, no, fingers, how had she transformed them, illusion or something more? The fingers brushed her temples, rubbing with unexpected tenderness. Her mind suddenly softened, and she… things shifted… and…

The world fuzzed into darkness.

________________

A fresh cool breeze blew across Celia’s bare skin, smelling of recent rain and pine. It brushed past the wetness on her thighs, sending a slight chill along her body. She blinked her eyes open, trying to remember what had happened. She had gone downstairs, and… and…

Aversa! Her eyes snapped open and she stiffened, then relaxed. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t. She was safe. There was a small set of paints in the corner. Icons to Shala on the night-table. A faint scent of perfume. This was Lauren’s room. How had she gotten here? She tried getting out of the bed, but her arms refused to move. Looking along the headboard, she gasped. Her wrists were encased in glittering golden magic.

“Oh!" A warm, soft voice called out. “You’re awake.” The priestess stuck her head out of the bathroom, and Celia’s breath caught. Lauren’s long pink hair was brushed to a lustrous sheen, and hung loose in a curtain down her back. Rather than her usual dress, she was just wearing a simple white robe tied with a sash. Her pink-rimmed eyes sparkled in delight… and desire… when she gazed at the warrior. Celia gulped.

Even as that set her a little bit on edge, it helped her relax. She wasn’t in danger. Well, she might be in danger of being seduced. But that was fine. Lauren was here, her friend. True, Lauren might not be all she seemed… but Celia banished that thought. Even if she couldn’t be sure about Gella, she knew the priestess had earned her trust. So why was she bound?

“You were thrashing about,” Lauren said gently as she walked over to the bed. “I didn’t want you hurting yourself.” She ran a hand along one strong calf, gently, light and warm, and the contact sparked all manner of wonderful feelings in the warrior. Okay. So she had… a nightmare? Or was sick, or something? Had everything with Aversa been a dream? That thought brought her a bit of relief, and she let herself relax. She… was safe. And… she was with Lauren. Someone who was safe. Someone she could ask, ask to kiss her, hold her, touch her. If nothing else, someone who would listen. The pinkette hopped up into the bed and lay next to Celia, dabbing at her sweaty forehead with a soft cloth. That lent credence to the fever dream theory, at least. What else had been part of the dream? The Lord Sorcerer? “Thirsty?” The priestess asked sweetly.

At Celia’s nod, Lauren placed a glass of water at her lips and carefully tipped it a bit at a time, letting the warrior drink small sips. “I think I can handle drinking water myself, Lauren,” she frowned as the priestess took the glass away. Even if she had been sick, she was clearly doing fine now. “Could you undo this, please?” Lauren didn’t respond beyond showing that wonderful smile of hers, then she leaned in for a kiss.

It was passionate and deep, a marked contrast to the almost chaste kisses of New Gyr. But she wasn’t complaining. It was amazing, and still somehow soft, and it fanned the soft desires into an inviting heat between her legs. “Hmmm,” Lauren hummed lightly once the kiss ended. “But keeping you like this is more fun, isn’t it?” She giggled, and Celia couldn’t help but smile back. She trusted Lauren. Trusted her more than anyone she could remember. She had earned that in spades. She just wanted to help.

Celia sighed, letting herself sink into that lovely softness. She was bound, and Lauren wasn't going to let her up anytime soon. Unless she asked, probably, but… why would she do that? She was entirely at Lauren’s mercy, much as she had been with Tabby. She hoped, desperately hoped that it would end the same way. The look Lauren was giving her, sensual and powerful, made Celia’s heart flutter. A single finger slowly traced a spiral pattern on Celia’s waist, and left a wake of trembling desire behind it. “You’re so pretty, you know, Celia. Smart, strong, and kind.” Lauren flashed a smile so warm it melted Celia’s thoughts away. “Mmmm, and so very turned on too,” she cooed, moving her finger down to slowly tease Celia’s slit.

The simple, light touch pulled a desperate moan from Celia. She needed more, needed to cum. Evidently, even a fever dream could be a wet one. Words rang in her mind, distant but undeniable. I need to earn the right to my orgasm. Maybe that had been the source of the dream, the cruel demoness representing a step beyond Lauren’s comfort. The idea was tantalizing, though better to stay in the realm of fantasy. But for now…

“Please… Lauren,” Celia moaned, and Lauren looked at her with a playful smile. Slowly, she kissed along Celia’s tummy, before laying a longer kiss right on her belly button.

“Please what, Celia?” Lauren’s voice, so sweet, so honeyed, promised pleasure and delight in equal measure. And she wanted both.

“Please make me cum, Lauren!” Celia cried out in one breathless burst. The need and desire had built past any sense of embarrassment or shame. She could feel it, a molten, bubbling pool just beneath the surface, and she wanted, no, needed her friend to set it free.

“Mmm, I can do that, Celia,” Lauren promised with a teasing kiss to one nipple. The tip of her tongue circled once around, before warm lips drew it in for another, more tender kiss. “I want to play a game first.” A game. Lauren had mentioned the games that she and the others played. Mentioned how they were fun, could be sweet, and didn’t have to go further than just playful teasing if you didn’t want to. And she had the oath to keep her safe. And she wanted to play, wanted to do what Lauren wanted.

“Just answer the questions. Correct answers get rewarded!” Celia nodded quickly. Rewards sounded amazing. A needy whine escaped her lips, and Lauren giggled softly. “Wonderful.” She brushed her fingertips along Celia’s tummy. “First question. Are you a good girl?”

Something in her crumpled in an entirely pleasant way at the thought, and she squirmed in the heat that followed. She was a good girl! Or, at least she thought of herself as one. “Yes!" She cried.

Lauren seemed pleased and nodded. “Well done.” She eased her hand between Celia’s legs to brush the pad of her thumb over Celia’s clit. A cry of bliss erupted from the warrior’s lips, her whole body bowstring taut. “Sooo close. Just a little bit more, Celia.” Lauren breathed sweetly with an added kiss to Celia’s flushed neck. A moment passed, and Celia felt herself slip an agonizing and tantalizing hair’s breadth away from the edge again. “Next question. What do good girls do?”

Huh? What do good girls do? Celia’s brow furrowed, trying to understand the question. What was it supposed to be? Good girls were good, but that wasn’t the answer she wanted. She didn’t, couldn’t be only partly correct. She needed to answer. A half-memory provided it, and she gasped. It was so simple! “Good girls do as they are told!”

The smile on Lauren’s lips confirmed it. “Well done,” she whispered. Delicate fingers played across Celia’s sensitive skin, down towards her slit, before slipping in and curling. The pinkette’s thumb once again teased her clit, and Celia had no idea how she didn’t cum then and there. She was stranded on that peak, the sensations building and building with no release. “Do as you are told, Celia,” Lauren cooed invitingly.

“Anything, please, please, please, Lauren. I’ll do anything.” The words came out amid breathless needy gasps, each second a another blissful torment under Lauren’s skilled fingers.

“Say ‘May I please cum, Mistress Lauren.’”

A tiny frigid core of ice seemed to drop into the ocean of boiling desire. Something dark and dangerous, a deep unknown, it broke the surface before slipping back beneath the waves. She… she couldn’t. She didn’t know why she couldn’t, but she couldn’t! “I… I…" She floundered, whimpering when Lauren withdrew her fingers. The priestess looked at her curiously, then slowly licked each finger clean.

“Don’t you trust me, Celia?” The sorrowful look on Lauren’s face was like a dagger to Celia’s heart. She did trust Lauren! Truly, she did. It wasn’t her fault that ice had come.

She tried to explain, but another voice cut her off. A calm, collected voice, utterly certain of itself. “It’s not you, sweetling,” Gella mused from a spot on the couch by the windows. The mage stretched her arms over her head, showing the outline of her beautiful body to Celia’s hungry eyes. She was dressed in a flowing robe, similar to Lauren’s, but in a shimmery lustrous black.

Lauren instantly brightened. “It’s not?”

Gella shook her head, Lauren squealed in delight. Worries assuaged, she rested her head on Celia’s shoulder, perfectly content to cuddle.

“My Lady is correct,” Violet added, slipping into the room to drop to her knees by Gella’s seat.

“It’s me that Celia doesn't trust,” Gella continued, trailing her fingers in Violet’s long hair.

“Which is silly. You’re the best person ever, Mistress!” Tabby continued, lounging in the chair by the bed. When had she come in?

The mage and all three of her Treasures in one room, and Celia was helpless to do more than squirm and moan. Her desires were already more intense, more imminent. Lauren had seen to that. Gella glanced down at Violet, and nodded toward the bed. The priestess gave her a last parting kiss and slipped away, trading places with the elf. Gella wrapped an arm around the giggling priestess, and drew her in for a loving kiss.

“That could be you, Celia,” Violet said lightly, cupping Celia’s cheek. In contrast to Lauren, she was controlled and measured. No less passionate, sure, but a passion that was harnessed and controlled. The warrior’s head spun. Need and terror mixed, fear giving the desire a darkly satisfying edge.

She couldn’t submit. It would lead somewhere dark. It had to. Nothing would hold Gella back, no oath to a deity or contract on paper, from changing Celia however the mage wished. It was tempting to believe that it was all just fun, sexy, silly games that wouldn’t make her a different person. Gella had promised, but Gella had also taken every bit of choice away from the woman currently kissing her. If Celia understood Vi’s implication right, she had taken that away forever.

“Mmmm, Gella wants you.” A kiss. “Celia. Celia Evergleam.” Another searing hot kiss. “Every inch of you. Every part of you.”

“She’ll never hurt you. Never betray you,” Tabby purred, low and enticing. Celia’s mind raced. Hadn’t it just been Violet… but the maid was currently passionately making out with Lauren. Was she still sick? The cat–girl nipped at Celia’s ear, just sharp enough to sting playfully. “You can do as you are told.” The phrase sent a surge of desire playing beneath Tabby’s thrusting fingers. The heat, the need, it wore on her mind, at her reasons to resist. Such things were so fragile, so hollow in the face of such pleasure.

She shut her eyes tight, trying to find some thought to grab onto, something fixed and real. Could she? “You’ll feel so amazing once you say yes. I should know.” Celia’s eyes slammed open and looked into a pair of cerulean blues. Her eyes. Okay. Right. Hallucination. Celia… another Celia, her twin, was curled close, and working two fingers in and out of her slit. How sick was she?

The other Celia knew exactly where to touch to bring the warrior just to the brink. “You can’t bullshit me, Celia,” her own voice whispered seductively. “I know how this makes you feel. Helpless. Controlled.” Her twin’s lips – were they someone else’s, or just a delusion? – claimed her own in an inferno of a kiss.

Why… why was she resisting? The faint edge of worry had worn to nearly nothing now. It would be so easy to submit, so easy to say… but if she had a Mistress… “Noo,” she whimpered. “Having a Mistress is bad.” But why? It was so hard to say. So hard to turn away from the pleasure. And she didn’t even know why.

“Mmmm, but you don’t need to have a Mistress. You don’t need to be a slave. Never a slave.” The kisses trailed down Celia’s neck to her collarbone. “But instead, a good, loyal knight, sworn to her Lady.”

Yes. Yes, that could work. Service, not slavery. Bound with oaths, bonded in duty and service. It wasn’t slavery. It was loyalty. She yelled, practically crying as that small realization seemed to solve all of her problems. “Yes!”

Aversa smiled at her indulgently, curling her fingers inside Celia’s folds. “Cum, Celia.”

A moment of confusion burned away as her world became pure incandescence. Choice, fear, worry, all were consumed in that blaze of pleasure. She thrashed and cried, her hands returning to her control, but that was the furthest thing from her mind. Touches became like blazing starlight, and she was certain the whole manor could hear her screaming. Time ceased to matter. It didn’t matter. How could it? She could hear her heartbeat thunder in her ears, and lancing through it all was jolt after jolt of intense pleasure. Aversa whispered something, and she was certain she screamed a yes, before another torrent of sensation washed it away, along with the tingle in her mind.

Celia drifted, coming back down slowly from whatever heights she had been to. Gella and the rest had vanished, along with Lauren’s room, and she was laying in a richly made bed. The dark silk sheets had been kicked aside, and her hair stuck to her skin with sweat. The heavy, heady scent of desire hung in the air, and she felt utterly and gloriously spent.

“Never wasn’t very long, it seems,” Aversa chuckled at Celia’s side. The demoness was completely naked as well, her strange… no, terrifying… no, enticing gray skin on full display. Celia drank in the sight next to her, feeling only faint flickers of arousal, too exhausted to muster anything else. Everything felt wonderful, airy, and incredibly content.

“Enjoy yourself?”

She nodded, smiling lazily. Enjoy was an understatement. It was amazing. Aversa slipped off the bed, leaving Celia to bask in the afterglow. Slowly she came back down from the blissful warmth, and the concerns that had driven her down here to begin with flowed in. Aversa was a shapeshifter, or an illusionist, or something of that nature, and presumably the whole scene with the evil crystal had been for her benefit. That explained the what, if not the why. “Aversa?” She asked from the bed.

The demoness returned, holding a large glass of water, which Celia gratefully took. “Drink,” Aversa said simply, and Celia felt the undercurrent of the spell beneath her thirst. She drained the cup in a few gulps and handed it back. Unthinkingly, Celia glanced into Aversa’s red eyes, and flinched, waiting for the surge of desire. The demoness laughed lightly. “My ‘gaze obeys my will, as is natural. It can be dismissed as easily as it is summoned.”

Even if the burning eyes didn’t induce lust, Celia still felt their attention running down every inch of her exposed body. Flushing slightly, she gathered up the sheets to drape them over herself. She may have been proud of her body, but that didn’t mean she wanted to show it off to just anyone. “Ah ah,” Aversa interjected with a wicked smile and a waving finger. “Don’t do a single thing to hide your pretty body, Celia.”

The silken sheets dropped from the warrior’s fingers. The magic seized control again, and that action simply became impossible. She could picture hiding herself easily enough, but the moment she tried to actually do it, her body refused to obey.

“So, that was an illusion,” Celia said. It didn’t need to be a question.

“Yes. Did you have fun?” Aversa smirked. “There’s little need to answer that. The answer is obvious.”

She squirmed at the memories, the satisfaction of doing what she was told. The images Aversa had created… she looked back on them, eyeing them as the illusion they were instead of the fever dream she’d thought. She could be a knight. Aversa had a point. They took oaths, and obeyed their lieges. It was honorable. Noble, even. The fact that it would make her feel so damn good was just a bonus.

“What are you thinking about?” Aversa asked curiously. She had settled into a high-backed chair that Celia swore hadn’t been by the bed-side a moment ago. She swirled a dark red liquid in an elegant wine glass – though it didn’t quite look like wine – with perfect ease.

“Don’t you already know?” Celia snapped. Aversa only smiled, and Celia sighed. “Everything I just saw,” she confessed after a moment. There was no reason to hide it. She already knew, and even if she didn’t, a command would find the truth just as easily. “I came down here to find something that would help me make up my mind about Gella, then you did your…" She trailed off.

Aversa laughed softly. “Seduction, I believe, is the word you seek. And you certainly got an answer. I wonder if it was to the question you were looking for, loyal little knight.”

Images of Celia fighting, training, serving as Gella’s knight came to mind, each their own temptation. Damian and Lathrion truly could be what she needed to hone her skills, and she’d be hard-pressed to find others like them. It was easy to imagine bending the knee and offering her blade to the mage beyond the bounds of the contract, vowing to serve and obey her with her very life, to be her knight in all the ways that oath would mean. It was odd how comforting the thought was. Gella had sworn she’d protect Celia from anything. She tried looking at it from other angles, and the immediate issue of being with a demon that even at that moment had her mind in chains came up.

“Did you put that idea in my mind?” She asked cautiously. She wanted it to be her own idea. She didn’t want to let this opportunity go by, even with what she knew it would cost. She could control that cost. She didn’t have to be a slave.

The demoness swirled her probably-not-wine and took a slow sip. Celia got the distinct impression that Aversa was toying with her from how long the demoness spent savoring the taste. It got a little irritating, even, and she couldn’t help but snap. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer?”

The look Aversa gave her sent a shiver along her body. It wasn’t a frown. Not at all. Nothing about it was displeased. It was a look of complete confidence. “Go completely limp for me, Celia.”

Before she could even think, the magic took control and the warrior’s body simply refused to listen further. She fell back among the pillows and the sheets in an awkward slump. She couldn’t keep her gaze steady, but she could hear Aversa rise from the chair and felt the bed sink with her weight. “You amuse me, Celia.” A wickedly sharp claw ran lightly along Celia’s neck, and she flushed. Just a few words and she had been rendered helpless. That should be terrifying. This wasn’t Lauren. She wasn’t safe. She shouldn’t be feeling arousal mingled with her fear. She tried to shut her eyes, but even that was beyond her. “But let’s not forget who has all the power here. You can speak, Celia. Who has all the power here?”

“You do, Aversa!” Celia growled, and a tight hot jolt raced along her body from her pussy. A warm hand, with fingers again instead of claws, shifted Celia so she was laying comfortably. As the demon met her eyes, noted the look of desire, one which was deeper than that, almost caring. It reminded her of the looks Gella had been giving her since her capture. And now, without the ability to look away, she was forced to confront it. Aversa had been entirely correct. Here, Celia had no power.

“Now, you came down here looking for answers. Answers I can provide,” Aversa began, returning to her chair. “You can move now, Celia. But stay on the bed.” Celia shifted, pulling herself into a cross-legged sitting position, hands in her lap, watching her captor with fear and traitorous lust. “But you know how demons work. So the question is, pretty human, what do I get in return?”

Celia grimaced. She had some money, more now that Gella had gifted her a small fortune, but she had the feeling simple gold wouldn’t please a demon this powerful. “I doubt you’ll want gold. You can compel me to do anything you might want,” she considered. “So your asking means I have something I can trade.”

“Ah, so you have a mind as well as strength!” Even the backhanded compliment in Avera’s voice sent a warm tremor, like a drop of pure satisfaction, across Celia’s mind. It felt wonderful, and before she could stop herself she was smiling. She tried to school her features back into a neutral mask, but stopped. It was pointless. The demoness had already demonstrated she could read her mind. Hiding her emotions was a waste of energy. She didn’t trust Aversa, but there was a strange, twisted freedom in being so controlled, so known, that secrets were irrelevant.

“What you have is your willing submission, Celia,” Aversa continued. “You want information. I won’t be so crass as to ask for your soul. Not for something as simple as this. But I want you to explore this side of yourself, to drink deeply and indulge.” The demoness stood, and Celia noted her tail was swaying like Tabby’s did. She moved to lay a hand on Celia’s blade before clicking her fingers together.

The chains around Celia’s mind vanished, and she tentatively slipped off the bed, watching for Avera’s reaction. She could probably bolt to the door, past what had to be the demon’s binding circle, maybe make it up the stairs before Aversa could enthrall her again, but that would mean leaving her blade behind. She might never see it again. She couldn’t abide by the thought. So instead, she looked Aversa right in the burning eyes. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Bend the knee, Celia. Kneel and offer me your blade. Be my knight.” She said the words plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Celia snorted. “I hardly know Gella. I would never-”

“Ah, but never is such a short time, is it not?” Aversa cut in smoothly. “And you’ve had but the barest taste of what I can offer.” Suddenly, the demoness moved, and before Celia could even react a wing was around her, pulling her against warm gray skin. Immediately Celia felt lust rising, burning, at the contact. She was so helpless… so… soft and weak, against her. “Mmmm, I could make you mine right now. Part of you wants it, to submit and surrender. You know that.” She leaned close to whisper. “And I promise it will feel so good to do as you are told.”

The heat she was feeling surged even higher, dark and dangerous and so very tempting. Whether she submitted and surrendered, or was clearly beaten by Aversa's power, either way she would end up defeated. Delicate fingers trailed along Celia’s neck and she let head be tiled up to look into the demoness’s emberlight eyes. There was no deluge of need, no reaction to her demonic nature, but there was an undeniable strength there. A strength that eclipsed her own, and Celia knew it would feel amazing to accept that strength, let it consume her, overtake her.

Aversa smiled indulgently at her conflict, and withdrew her hand and wing. “Take some time. I’m not going anywhere.” With a dexterous push from a wing Aversa moved Celia toward the door, and she gasped as the malice that had been like an oppressive blanket vanished when she passed through the warp. “I’m keeping your blade. Consider me a custodian. I won’t toy with it. I know what you would try to do to me if I did, and it would not end well for you. So either it gets returned to Gella, or it gets bestowed on my chosen knight, Celia Evergleam.” She gestured toward the door. “Oh. And one more detail. The puppet priestess-”

“Lauren,” Celia interrupted. It was foolish, but even with what she had learned, she still felt a kinship for the pinkette. Hearing Aversa refer to her like that grated on her. “And Tabby and Violet. I’m sure you know their names.”

Aversa simply looked at her, expression unreadable, and Celia fought to keep her expression neutral, even though she knew that was useless. Finally, the demoness offered a tiny smile. “Yes. Lathallen knows I’m here, of course. Nothing hides from her. But Lauren and Tabitha do not. Let’s keep it that way.” Deftly, she slipped Celia’s blade from its scabbard. “If you happen to let that slip I might become… cross.” Celia saw the brief flash of malice across her face, and instantly understood the threat.

“I won't,” Celia growled. “So don’t touch my blade.”

Aversa smiled brilliantly, returning the blade to its sheath and placing it on her table. “Glad to see you understand so quickly.” She made a shooing gesture toward the door. “Off you go. Get some rest. See Gella off, if you like.”

Heedless of her nudity, Celia made a quick escape, closing the too-black door behind her. Her thoughts were a whirl, though, and she barely noticed the time between the basement and her room. What was her choice? To do as Aversa suggested and indulge? It had appeal, certainly. The fear of Gella being a secret slaver lingered, even if the one piece of evidence backing it turned out to be wrong or misunderstood. Tell Gella everything, and hope the mage could retrieve her blade for her? She grimaced. That would be a problem for more reasons than just her pride. It would be admitting she couldn’t handle herself, couldn’t fight for her own honor. Couldn’t protect her.

A yawn broke her concentration, and only now with the adrenaline wearing off did Celia realize how tired she was. She had just unlocked the door to her room when she felt the same strange sensation of being watched as in New Gyr. She whipped around, but saw only the empty hallway, and shook her head. It would be comforting to dismiss it as mere frayed nerves, but even if her nerves were frayed, she still trusted her instincts. A soft footfall to her side caught her attention. She pivoted swiftly, and…

And nothing. Nobody was there. Celia shook her head, grimacing again. There was nothing and nobody there. It had just been nerves after all. She slipped in her room, stopping briefly in the bathroom to freshen up. The thought of her bed, so warm and cozy and soft, was a greater temptation than any Aversa had given her, and she fell onto the pillows, drifting off to sleep.