Caught

He watched her avoid capture three times before she was cornered. And even then she did not cower, she stood ready to fight. To fight the world, the three young men - her posture made clear that she was not particular which, as long as there was a way to fight. Even from this distance he could see her pride and stubbornness. So did the young men as they spread out further to allow for the severe resistance they were about to meet. As a young man himself he had been a runner and taken part in many tamings. When he decided to specialise as a diplomat rather than an Eyean many had tried to convince him that he had a gift, that leaving the tamings was a duty he was abandoning. A duty, the thought made him smile - it had never been a duty. Trying to protect a shaky and overextended empire against self destruction was. And now he stood here looking at the woman he was sure held all their futures in her hands and he had to serve her through a taming.

He saw her veer right to avoid Feriel’s grasp and knew that this was the moment he had to get hold of her. If she was allowed to run lose much longer she would cause herself harm. She was entirely reckless in her resistance, disregarding her own safety or pain in her flight. Various scratches already marred her skin from her use of the shrubs in her attempt to lose the boys. He touched Feriel’s mind and hoped the young man was not to caught up in the chase to ignore his wishes. He should not have worried, the fey looking youth reacted without a moments hesitation and altered his course to force their reluctant captive into his reach. With two strides he was able to move himself into her path, halting her forward movement with his body. She had been too concentrated on the pursuit of the young man to pay any attention to the waiting predator in front of her. The momentary surprise only bought him a moment’s grace before she tried to escape his arms. This moment was always the most crucial, where the decision was made if the catch was successful or if the woman had to be allowed to escape in this instance. It largely depended on the character of the woman in your arms and the skill and luck with which you were able to execute the initial contact. The aim was to hold her securely so that her struggles would not cause her any pain or allow her to injure herself in your arms. If you were not able to achieve this secure hold then it was better to let her go and allow someone else to bring her down. The level and amount of struggle you had to consider in this decision dependent on the woman, on her character, her pride, her fear - her Being. He had always been good at making this judgement-call, had known when to hold on and when to let go, had known when a woman would eventually submit to him and when not. But today there was no when, this woman mattered. He knew in every bone that this one would be all he wanted, all he needed for his people. But in the moment her surprise halted her movements and he met her eyes he also realised that this one would also fight him at every turn - even to self destruction. In this fight he dared not lose there was an almost even chance to do so as there was to win.

He caught her wrists and forced them behind her back, at the same time pulling her off balance, which allowed him to force her to kneel on the ground with her knees firmly caught between his. Most male Eyean tried to avoid this position as it left a man, if the captive were to come free, vulnerable to an upwards thrust with a knee directly to the groin. Few men were willing to risk this - or were able to keep a firm hold - in the case were it to happen. However, it was a position which, if held firmly, allowed for the highest degree of control and, most importantly, highest level of intimacy. With this woman he craved, no needed, the intimacy, not only to imprint himself on her soul but to fill the empty place in his own. That thought almost made him lose his grip on her wrists and he was reminded why it was important for an Eyean to know himself first and foremost before tangling with a captive. Until three days ago he would have sworn that his interest in a captive was based on his desire to see his home return to stability and prosperity. That had been before he had felt THIS woman and he knew in that moment that now every aspect of his being had become linked to this woman in his arms.

A woman who was doing her best to cause him severe bodily harm. Though he had immobilised her arms and legs, she had quickly recovered and tried to break his nose with her head. As he was able to move out of range she collided with his collarbone instead; causing herself more harm than him in the process. This did not deter her in the least as her next action was to sink her teeth into the side of his neck. Her intent was clearly not to warn but to do real damage as she valiantly tried to bite down. He adjusted his hands, combining both her wrists securely in one of his, freeing his other hand to cradle her head. However, instead of pulling her head back he pressed her mouth closer, forcing her to take more of his flesh into her mouth. She had managed to draw blood with her initial attack and was now forced to swallow the drops running into her mouth. He felt her gag reflex shake her body and she attempted to turn her mouth away from the wound in his neck. He increased the pressure by a minute amount, not pushing across the pain threshold but letting her feel his control. It was sheer luck that in her first interaction with him she would have drawn blood and ingested it. Even these small amounts, the few drops, would help to prepare her for a bond - possibly not noticeable at first but when the time came for a formal bonding the foundations would be lain for her body to accept his own.

A second gag shook the body he held and he allowed her to move her head. Before she had taken her first full breath he tightened his fingers in her long blonde hair and pulled her head back. He had never truly had the opportunity to look at her. He had felt her to some degree for the last three weeks, like velvet against his skin, an ever present pressure he craved to pull into his core. But he had only seen her from the distance, through small openings in an unbelievably tall wall. He could describe her purposeful movements, her straight posture that screamed of pride not rigidity, the way she held her head slightly to the side when she contemplated a new situation. But he had never seen her eyes. He had thought them dark, brown or even black. This did not do them justice. They were brown with specs of gold and green and black. When he had been a child he had been taken to Kresota where he had been allowed to visit the great cats. As he looked down into the eyes of this woman he felt transplanted as the same eyes glared at him from her pale face. And whilst the cats had looked at him with mild disinterest, these eyes definitely did not express a mild emotion. He doubted they ever did. At the moment he saw hate, terror, confusion and hints of pain. Immediately he adjusted his grip hoping that this would alleviate her discomfort. The lesson she was to learn today, the first lesson and arguably the most important, was that no matter how much she fought or what she did, she would be held tight, unable to escape, but without any pain. She was to learn that she was in his control, completely and absolutely. Experience would teach her over time that this control did not mean harm.

A drop of blood ran from the corner of her mouth down her neck leaving a red trail on her surprisingly white skin. Her freckles hid the paleness on her face but her neck was untouched by them and showed the almost translucent colour of her natural skin tone. Without a conscious thought he moved closer and ran his tongue up her neck along the path the blood drop has left on her skin. Her taste exploded on his tongue and in his mind. Indescribably unique, an exotic fruit, spicy and sweet at the same time. Whilst most of his mind was consumed with this first taste, a little voice of regret glamoured for attention in the back of his mind. He had expected to taste his own blood on her skin - but the taste in his mouth was indubitably and completely hers. She must have nicked herself when she was biting him. This evidence of her hurt, and might it be only a small wound, impacted him almost physically. Before he could react in any way a dry chuckle in his mind disrupted his reveries.

“Licking blood of her skin at a first taming - what do you think our old master would have had to say about this? You have developed strange views on what will calm a woman. Possibly I should not have granted your request to take part today.” The voice filling his mind was dry, cracked and well-known - as was the man who crouched besides him. Jocelyn stroked his finger softly down her cheek in a calming caress and had to quickly rescue his fingers from her snapping teeth. “A biter, I see” as Jocelyn turned to him he noticed the blood filled tooth impressions on his neck and laughed loudly: “But I see you have already found that out.”

Damien brought her head to rest in the crook of his head, effectively narrowing her world to her interaction with his body. With open eyes she would not be able to see anything but his skin in front of her eyes, her sense of smell was dominated by his scent - and were she to bite again then so would be her sense of taste. He almost hoped she would. Instead she tried to escape his hold by contorting her body away from him.
“Go away Jocelyn - we are fine here. Look after your other charges” He intentionally spoke aloud rather than using the well worn mental path to his friend. It would be a long time before the struggling woman would be able to hear his mind voice and he wanted her accustomed to it.
“I will send you Feriel then” and with a last caress for the woman Jocelyn left to turn to the next Eyean holding a captive. Only about two thirds of the Chosen had been caught as yet and the field was still a place of chaos and screams. Curiously, the woman in his arm had not uttered one sound throughout all her struggles. He knew that she could talk and had even heard her voice raised in anger and laughter. But not today. Captives rarely remained quiet. Normally they raged, cried, screamed, pleaded - male and female alike. However, this woman remained entirely quite - though her struggles were not less violent for that. He dropped his head and allowed his nose to travel caressingly from her temple to the soft skin behind her ear. Her scent filled his senses and made him feel alive - the smell of oranges, ginger, lemons and cinnamon combined with something uniquely her, uniquely female. He let the scent role over his tongue.

Suddenly the woman pushed against him, tried to upset his balance by throwing her whole body forwards. Her head collided painfully with his nose and Damien had to stifle an oath. The first rule of an Eyean was to never let your mind wander from the person under your control. A moment’s inattention might lead to a missed opportunity in a taming or more importantly cause the captive unnecessary pain. A moment’s true pain might undermine days or even weeks of trust building, especially this early in a taming. He used his superior body mass to settle the writhing body back into her previous position, firmly cradling her head to his body. Out of the corner of his right eye he saw Feriel weaving his way through other groupings in his direction but he was not willing to be distracted again. He allowed his own face to burry into the side of her neck and just concentrated on the movements of the body in his arms. Each tensed muscle, each spasm, each panted breath told him something about the woman, taught him something about her and gave him a small tool which he might be able to use to accustom her to her life and future. Whilst the success-rate of tamings had increased significantly over the last three centuries the strength of bonding to the Chosen had deteriorated to a degree, where many shattered their minds within the first few years. He believed this to be a contributing factor to the current civil and military unrest across the empire. This woman would neither fail nor shatter - so he held firm and listened with body, mind and soul for anything and everything that would help him to tame and bond her.

The field grew less and less frantic as the last captives failed to elude their captors. Even the screams and sobs quieted down as men and women exhausted themselves in their fight. And still she tried to free her wrists and bucked her hips to push him away. Her endurance and stubbornness amazed him, though her movements began to be less coordinated and she even started to halt regularly to allow herself to gasp for breath. In those moments he could feel her hot breath caress his bare chest like fingers stroking his skin. With each touch of her breath he had to force his body to relax and not press her painfully close. It was as if he body and mind wanted to surround this woman, pull her into his core and possess her utterly. And then her struggles would begin anew her body moving against his did nothing to calm the rising heat in his body. As her movements lost strength he began to speak to her - senseless sentences and utterances. She had not been chipped as yet and would not be able to understand him at any rate but he wanted his voice to surround her, to trickle into her mind and fill it with sound, drowning out everything else. At the same time his moving lips caressed her neck, just where it met her shoulder, and her reaction told him much. As his lips stroked the sensitive skin her whole body went rigid and shuddered. Even as terrified and confused as she was in this moment she could not suppress the sensual reaction to his touch there. Oh, he did not delude himself - this woman was a sensualist, anyone’s caress would have causes this physical reaction and it was not an indication that she was any closer to acceptance. But it was a weapon, that, used judiciously, might open her mind to him.

With her waning strength more and more apparent he readied himself for the next step. “Feriel? The cuffs?” Damien ensured that his tone remained even and soothing but could not avoid her start as Feriel’s positive answer set off another round of struggles. “Get ready when she settles down next. At my signal, I want you to slip them on her. She will panic - so be prepared”
“Yes, Mylord”
When she had exhausted herself enough to be reduced to panting, Damien lifted his head and, with his hand buried in her hair, guided her head away from his shoulder. This was enough to set of her struggles again. Even though there was no chance of escaping his hand she frantically tried to rip her head out of his hold, non regarding that her actions caused herself enough pain to bring tears to her eyes. With a low oath he forced her head securely back down and let his own rest in the crook of her neck again. Whilst he waited out her frantic movements he spoke to her calmly again. As she exhaustedly settled down again, her pants traveling over his naked chest, he repeated the movement with the same result. She showed no regard for her own well-being or pain levels, being entirely consumed by her need to fight him. Stubborn indeed. Her body was drenched in sweat, she was close to collapsing from exhaustion, he suspected more than one strand of hair had been ripped out - and still she fought. What a woman! A moment of unease rose in his chest as he wondered if his saviour was simply lacking in intelligence. He needed a strong Lady - but he did not want a stupid one. Thinking back however to her flight across the field and her evasions of the young men, he realised that there was definite evidence of tactical and analytical thinking. This woman was not mentally challenged - anything else needed to wait.

As he brought her head back to his shoulder for the third time he felt Feriel’s restless movement besides them. “What is it?”
“Mylord, why are you moving her? I can slip the cuffs on her without it. She can even be sedated like it.” The young man’s voice was respectful though worried. Was he concerned about correcting a high ranking official or..?
“Why are you worried, Feriel?”
“Mylord, she is hurting”
The young man’s answer let a smile fleetingly pass over Damien’s lips. Jocelyn had chosen well in this one. At the end of his education he would be superb. Well, he had the time to so some teaching whilst his captive rested safely in his arms.
“Feriel, what is she feeling?
“ Ahm - pain, Sir”
“Temporarily, yes. When she fights my hold. But what is she feeling more general?”
“Sir? Fear?”
“What else?”
“Anxiety, confusion, terror?”
“All of these. And none of these are “good”, positive emotions. Most importantly, she is not feeling any trust. She is even hating us, at this moment. And she is expecting to be hurt badly, possibly raped and killed”
At this the young man winced and reached out to the woman as if to stroke her. Before he could touch her though her let his hand fall back down and turned anxious eyes to the man. Damien continued:
“ Having any sense perception limited, as I am doing at the moment with her sight and even movement, is terrifying. It can be frightening when in the control of people you trust - for her, here and now, it must be almost unbearable. But as long as I am robbing her of her sight, there is no pain, there is not even retribution for her struggles. She is simply confined, held firmly without any possibility to escape. When her world is limited to the feeling of my body holding hers, my scent surrounding her - there is no actual pain. When you slip the cuffs on her she will panic completely. It will be proof of her captivity, her helplessness and the terrors she expects in her future. This will be even more drastic when we sedate her.”
“And you do not want her to associate being held against you with this, Sir.”
“Yes. Eventually she will either accept my hold out of desperation or exhaustion and then you will slip the cuffs on her.”
“She will fight again then.”
“Yes, she will, Feriel. But we have all the time in the world - she also will settle again.”

It was to take almost another hour before he was able to guide her head back without causing her to fight him. She was so exhausted that she was barely able to hold up her own head, most of its weight rested against the palm of his hand. And still she glared at him, her spirit and pride unbroken in her eyes whilst angry tears left tracks on her cheeks. He did not think she was aware of them.
“Feriel, if you would, please”
“Yes, Mylord”
The young man deftly slipped the cuffs over her wrists - they were made of soft fabric, designed to restrain not to hurt. As predicted, the moment the young man touched her hands with the cuffs; she panicked. The terror allowed her to briefly marshall her strength, but she was too exhausted to keep up the struggle. Damien brought her head back to rest against his body, tenderly kissing her temple. He rocked her body softly whilst Feriel ran for the sedative. She would be alright. He would not allow for any other outcome. Most importantly, she would become the Lady of Arendt.

It was Jocelyn who returned with Feriel and the sedative. He gracefully knelt besides Damien running his eyes over the replete woman. “Has she stopped struggling?”
Damien could not help the grin tugging at his lips: “Why don’t you touch her and find out?” The look he received from his friend out of slightly narrowed eyes was questioning - and hopeful. Softly he rested his hand on her shoulder and was startled by the weak struggles. Jocelyn raised his triumphant eyes to meet Damien’s. “She is strong. Even in her exhaustion, she still fights you.” He slipped one arm around her and let his body rest against hers; holding her between both of them. For a moment both men just held on to the woman they had vested all their hopes in.
“Damien, I will take her now.” Jocelyn moved back as if to take her. Instinctively, Damien’s hands tightened on her, holding her closer. Before he could open his mouth to protest, however, his friend continued.
“ Your assessment of her is right, she is strong. But strength can be broken easier than weakness in the early parts of a taming. She is terrified beyond rhyme or reason and the sedation will only add to this. The taming will be hard on her, very hard. She might not be able to bend and that might break her spirit. I want to preserve a safe haven in your arms for her and that means that you cannot hold her when she is being sedated. I want her to know exactly what is happening to her as long as she is with you so that she never has to wonder if you betrayed her trust, when it is then given. Let me take her now and you move back.”
Damien slowly let go of the woman and entrusted her to his friend. As he loosened his arms around her, her body tensed - but she had no strength left to fight. Even her eyes had finally shut and silent tears brimmed underneath her lashes. As Jocelyn settled the shaking body on his lap, Damien had to suppress the bone deep need to snatch her back. This passivity, displayed by a woman who had tirelessly resisted everything and everyone for 6 hours, was almost unbearable. He caressingly ran a finger down her face, from temple to chin, and was rewarded with her eyes snapping open. There was no defeat in them - but utter hate. It forced him back. And whilst she was still glaring at him, Jocelyn forced her face into his own shoulder and administered the sedative in her neck. He calmly rocked her until her body relaxed and she obviously had fallen into unconsciousness.