Aaralon stared at her beautiful, pure body, stretched out appetizingly before him. Her cheeks flush with exertion, her tenderer parts puffy with her climax, her breathing heavy and deep...
His member strained at the sexy sight, and he almost lunged forward at her, but at the last minute, something caused him to hold back.
Two small, girlish tears were trickling down her cheeks, and he realized that almost half of those sexy, heavy breaths were panicked, frightened sobs. Aaralon had never possessed the strongest of moral fiber: quite the opposite in fact. But, seeing Sarah's fear and sorrow, what few morals he had made him pause, and hold back.
No. Not like this.
Instead, as his mind reeled at the sudden change of pace, he remembered Sareth's command. Mentally cursing the brief hormonal rage that had stripped him of his chance to save his skin, he leaped from her window, muttering quietly, "Aerocus newton negatus."
The Brief Featherweight spell caused him to drift, blown by the wind, until he was safely away from the castle grounds.
"Damn it," he growled, feeling his feet meet the road and his normal weight return. Suddenly, as though a fog were lifting from his mind, he realized that the king's guard would soon be combing the city searching for a man fitting his description. "Damn it," Aaralon snarled again, his head in his hands. "What possessed me to..."
He paused. Possess?
"Yes," came the whispery, world-weary sigh of the demon. "My spiritual form, once absorbed into you, began to corrupt your mind. Inflamed lust, easily wounded pride, unreasoning rage... Did you not think there would be a price?"
"You-"
"*I* did nothing, child. You could have resisted it. A strong mind is always its own. Exercise free will, or lose it."
Aaralon began to set a quick pace to find Camila again. "Your test wasn't really about slavery. It was about seeing how easily you could control me, influencing my will."
Krish'rah's sighing voice spoke in his mind again. "Indeed. I see you are intelligent, master. Yes, it was. I am old beyond your reckoning, and have found the majority of my masters to be easily twisted, full of scarce-concealed greed and foolishness. I tire of it, tire of their weakness. A noble master, however, would have been a new thing indeed. I must compliment you, on turning back at the brink. I didn't think you had it in you."
Aaralon felt sick, sick to the pit of his stomach. He could feel the demonic strength in his body, altering it, feel the taint of the demon in his mind, corrupting his thoughts. |