Chapter 6 Lex #2
I cocked my head in curiosity, watching as they surrounded his table, one on each side. In synchrony, they began making cuts along the man’s torso and arms. Small at first, but they grew in size and severity, the louder the man’s moans became.
I was transfixed, utterly unable to move. Caught somewhere between revulsion and intrigue, disgust and arousal, as I watched the two men in robes inflict increasing pain on the man as he found his release in the woman on top of him.
As soon as he finished, the woman pushed herself up and off the table, his softening dick falling from her pussy as his cum cascaded down her thighs.
Without turning around, and not bothering to clean herself, the woman approached the next table and mounted the man strapped down without a second thought.
I shook my head slightly at the sight.
Clearly, these people were hired flesh and, on closer inspection, the brand on their right shoulder confirmed my suspicion.
I wonder which pleasure house they belong to, I thought as I watched the men in black robes make notes in a large leather journal that was attached to one of the front legs of the table. It hung by a strap, its suspension tool also serving as a bookmark for easy access to the current page of notes.
“They’re making observations about his blood. About his characteristics before, during, and after the experiment,” a low, gravely voice spoke in my ear, and I jumped at the intrusion. Lord d’Refan chuckled lowly. I glanced at him behind my shoulder, but his eyes never wavered from the robed men.
I opened my mouth to speak, but had to wet my lips a few times before I could actually voice my question.
“What are they doing?” I whispered. Lord d’Refan was silent, and I became concerned that my question was lost to the noise in the room.
“Each of the men and women on the tables you see is tested for the possibility of carrying two powers.”
“Like me,” I added unnecessarily.
Lord d’Refan simply inclined his dark head in my direction.
“I have a room for each of the opposite powers—one for Fire and Water, another for Earth and Air, a third for Creation and Destruction. This”—he gestured to the space with his hand—“is obviously for Pain and Pleasure.”
I didn’t say anything as I continued to catalogue the details of the space that I missed during my initial shock.
There were desks in the very back of the room, along with two tables that looked like they belonged in the mess hall.
A few bookcases filled with instruments and worn leather books.
At the very end, nearest the mess hall tables, was a final door.
“I keep each of the powers separate because each person needs something . . . specific to their power to Awaken with one, or both, powers. As a Pleasure and possibly Pain affinity, you would not react to the same stimuli as a Fire and Water Mage. And vice versa,” Lord d’Refan continued, his eyes never leaving the man on the table.
I focused my gaze there as well, curious to see how he was coping with the trauma inflicted on his body.
Narrowing my eyes, I noticed that he wasn’t really a man. If he were any older than me, I would be surprised. My eyebrows rose as I quickly catalogued the ages of the men and women in the room. None of them looked over the age of twenty.
“They have to be young for this experiment. Not just Pain and Pleasure affinities—all of the affinities. The body is more resilient, more likely to bend the way we want it to when the subject is younger,” he explained.
“And once someone has Awakened, their ability to Awaken a second affinity is nonexistent.”
I nodded.
It made sense, logically, but my gut roiled at the thought.
Clearly, soon, I would be one of those subjects. I shuddered at the thought before focusing again on the man on the table.
His skin was a sickly white, like he had lost too much blood or overexerted himself. As I watched, his body began to tremor and then convulse. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and his mouth began to foam as blood trickled from his nose.
The longer I watched, the more forceful the convulsing became and, suddenly, the straps on the table made sense.
Blood began seeping from his eyes and ears in earnest, and he made deep, throaty gasping noises.
Yet no one moved to help him.
No one approached the man as he suffered.
My palms began to sweat and I shifted on my feet, unable to tear my eyes away from the man even though I so desperately wanted to. The man shook so hard the table rattled, and still, no one approached.
One of the men in black robes looked up from his conversation at one point and made a note in his leather journal, but otherwise, life continued as normal. Other men and women were fucked and stabbed as they climaxed, and this man bled and convulsed.
His gagging became so loud, I could no longer ignore it.
“Is anyone going to help him?” I thrust one sweaty palm in the direction of the man, my voice cracking in my rising panic.
Lord d’Refan simply raised one dark eyebrow at me as the table shuddered in front of us.
“What is happening to him?” I whispered
“He’s Awakening.” Lord d’Refan’s response was blasé at best, entirely unconcerned with what was happening to one of his subjects.
“Awakening? That’s . . . that’s not how it’s supposed to look,” I muttered the last part to myself.
“No, it’s not. But it’s what happens when someone is forced to Awaken early. Especially under the . . . conditions here.”
I dropped my hand to my side with a thwack, utterly flabbergasted at the pure lack of emotion from Lord d’Refan.
Is that what’s going to happen to me?
For the first time in over a year, I contemplated my decision to stay at the Academy.
Finally, the man’s shaking subsided. His head lolled to the side, his neck no longer stiff and straining. The blood from his eyes, ears, and nose slowed, and his whole body relaxed.
I held my breath, waiting for him to open his eyes, for his magic to Awaken. For something to happen. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one waiting to see what would happen—a quick glance showed that both Lord d’Refan and General d’Alvey had their gazes pinned on the man as well.
Open your eyes. Wake up! I pleaded.
But he just lay there, unmoving.
Then the unmistakable smell of feces and urine filled the air as the man’s bowels emptied. Lord d’Refan made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort of derision before stepping in front of me to address the two men in black cloaks.
“Clean up and dispose of the body. Make sure to record your observations in the master log.” He sounded almost bored. Disappointed, yes. But there was no remorse within his words for the man who passed.
I watched, dumbfounded, as the robed men unstrapped the man and carried him to the door at the back of the room before cleaning the space with a detached efficiency.
Within minutes, the table was disinfected, the body removed, as if the man had never existed at all.
All the while, the sounds of pleasure and pain bounced around the room. No one stopped to mourn the man, no one even paused.
I’m not getting out of here alive.
I broke from my trance, my head whipping to where General d’Alvey stood against the door we entered. His emerald gaze refused to meet mine.
Look at me. Is this what you brought me here for? Am I a sacrifice to be made in madness? Is this why you saved me?
But I could voice none of my questions.
One of the robed men came to my right side, firmly grasping my arm and pulling me in the same direction as the body of the dead man minutes previous.
I tried to dig my heels in, tried to stop the forward progress, but it was futile.
He was clearly an Air Mage because, as I tried to halt our progress, he simply lifted my feet into the air and pulled me along by my arm like a toddler with a balloon.
Never once did I pull my eyes from General d’Alvey. Never once did my gaze falter.
At the last moment, General d’Alvey raised his head.
The last thing I saw as the man in black robes pulled me through the open door into a dimly lit space, was his emerald eyes.
His gaze full of worry.
Of love.
Of regret and apology.
And, at the last second, a flicker of hate as his eyes fell on Lord d’Refan.