He had found another place.

Not really a home, per se, but...a place to meditate, to wait, to ponder.

For the first time ever in his entire existence, he feels free. And yet, even so, he is still a slave to habit.

The deepest depths of the Institute house unimaginable darkness, cold blackness, silence, a place to be still and silent.

Almost like a dungeon.

The Dark Mage had said he would be not only guard and assassin, but pupil and student, master and teacher.

This place seems to be perfect for both the former and latter purposes. There is much one can learn both in and from the darkness, and such a deep, dark lair would challenge any that seek to learn from him his ways.

The lair he has found even has a furnace, old and crude, the kind that burns wood, out of date and yet perfectly suited to his purposes. Kneeling before the flames has always been where he felt most at home, most at peace...at least, until Amiryn.

Now perhaps, he has found another place he can find that peace...amongst other things he has not allowed himself to indulge in for the sake of the cold discipline that has ruled his life.

As though the thought of her had conjured her voice, he hears his name upon her voice, a summoning call, beckoning him up from the deepest part of the old asylum, calling to him in a way not even his former master's could have.

Irresistible.

No theatrics are necessary for the bonded Anguissette, and so he merely steps into shadows, emerging from shadows at the courtesan's side.

Her name breathed in the same tones, revered whisper as his form is within touch at her merest call.

"Amiryn."

"You should not be in the shadows and flame alone any longer, Abyrdan. The Dark Mage has given us quarters to share... will you share them then with me?"

The crimson eyes watch her closely, a scrutinizing gaze that travels over each and every millimeter of her form as she moves.

Many is the succubus that he has encountered. Nearly as many had tried to seduce him, seeking the raw power of his form, a night's excitement, enjoying the challenge of the attempt at seduction, only to be turned away, rejected, disappointed at his lack of response.

It is a mystery to him why so many of them - who had been similar in so many ways, just as exquisite a form, just as fluid and alluring in movement - should fail to appeal to him, and yet this courtesan had succeeded in not only gaining his attention but stirring within him more than mere flickers of desire.

It will be a difficult task indeed to keep the image of the hardened assassin in her presence. As it is, he is sure that the Dark Mage and the Headmistress might not be fooled, at least as it applies to Amiryn.

Fortunately, here, he would not have to uphold that image. Such is the luxury afforded by a home, of sorts.

The touch against his face is soothing, a coolness to balance the fire that constantly burns inside him, causing him to turn towards her as his eyes slip closed slightly, savoring. No allure there, no spells worked, no charms used.

Perhaps that is what so attracts him.

How could he then refuse such an offering, fail to be drawn in by such a question?

Warm hands travel up her arms, the fingers of one lingering at her wrist, tracing along the writhing patterns of the mark left upon her where they had joined. What other marks might be made by other joinings?

The faintest of smiles shows at the corners of his lips as the deep, faceted orbs of crimson meet with her own unholy sapphires. "You ask a question which has an answer that should be obvious. I would not refuse such an offering."

He had been taught the perils of emotion, of love and desire and the distraction it could bring, of the dangers such distraction could present a demon.

Thus has he come to suppress the upwellings of such trivialities, even unto the point of being able to resist the succubi and their twisted magicks that had so often sought to test his resolve. Physical desire and emotions are a distraction he had not been able to afford, and thus they had been disregarded.

One might question if perhaps the desires of the flesh might not have a sway upon the demon, or if perhaps repression had in fact made them all the more powerful upon their being unleashed.

Such a thing is difficult at best to say, save for the demon himself. Having not only been freed from servitude but given the opportunity to explore his own bounds, to learn and grow, still he is uncertain what such a bond could do to him, what effect such feelings and desires may have.

He knows that, in lesser creatures, such pain as what he senses Amiryn going through may have caused him anguish to be aware of, were he one of them. He can feel the power that has attached to her from him growing, changing her flesh, altering her chemistry.

He knows that pain is part of the process. One could liken it to a cancer, save that this infection will not kill the host but make it stronger.

He raises a hand, placing it in the valley between her breasts, feeling the steady pulse of power growing, adjusting itself to its new home even as it adjusts its new home to itself. Like a living thing it writhes, calming under his touch as his crimson eyes seek hers. Not because of any power he has to heal or sooth pain, but instead the familiarity of presence. As she soothes him, so even does he do the same for her.

Fascinating.

His musical voice is soft as he speaks. Warmth touching it, filling it. "I can think of nothing that would bring me greater pleasure than to stay here with you, Amiryn."

His other hand traveling away from the claim of her wrist, moving to explore. Ever as always expanding his boundaries, perhaps it is time he should explore parts of himself that have forever been denied. Following the curves of muscle under sleek skin, he can feel at last desire, fierce and hot, raging, just barely restrained.

And still that power within her, calm for the moment, threatening to rage should he pull away. "Soon we must begin the process of learning to use what you have gained. As the power in you grows, it must be exercised, lest it should consume you."

The smile at the edges of his lips spreads slightly as his hands begin moving to explore once more, the touches bold and yet somehow tentative as they find the curve of a breast, the peak of a nipple, the sleek softness of the inner thighs. "Soon...but not immediately."

He is aware of the sensation of desire, a feeling that not only burns but rages, flushing blood from various parts of his body to his groin, a curious sensation that seems to be robbing him of rational thought. For the very fist time in his long existence, he overrides the enforced discipline that seems to be the focal point of his life, for once simply feeling.

Passion...desire. Love?

Such strange things for one that has been so cold for so long, and yet undeniable, felt with strength. He wonders how it is that one could be considered weak in the grip of them save that it may distract at the wrong moment.

For one with the proper discipline, the proper perspective, such feelings could be used to advantage.

His hands continue exploring as he leans in close, suddenly hesitant, and yet knowing exactly what it is he wishes to do. His lips touch her skin, soft, sampling her taste, her scent, both of which to him are exquisite. It is the first time he has kissed anyone, and he finds the sensation thrilling.

Lips touch hers softly, his tounge tracing softly against the outline of her lips, before they moves over her cheek, heading for her ear, his voice a soft murmur. "Lord Arkon has told me I should learn, grow...expand my horizons. "I confess that since meeting you, Amiryn, there has been one thing I have not explored that I have been wanting to explore..."

His lips move past her hear, traveling down even as his hands move upwards, fingers hooked to dig roughly into the soft, supple flesh of her inner thighs.

The crimson eyes take in every nuance of movement as she sheds the silky smoothness of garment, as she steps back, the bed claiming her curving form in cushioning comfort.

"I wish to know it all, Amiryn."

No other words spoken in this moment of coveted heat. Action is what is required.

No hurry in his own movements as his own clothing is stripped away, the boots slipped from his feet, the shirt pulled over his head. Each piece evaporates curiously as he tosses it away, as much a part of him as his own power. Such action is not necessary, as he could, if he wished it, simply will the clothing away...and yet it is his wish to experience this one thing in every subtlety of sensation.

With each piece removed more of his body revealed, the writhing ebon twist and intricate embroidery of tribalesque tattooing that is so often displayed over his arms found to continue over the rest of his flesh, the patterns formed having a unique sort of asymmetry that does, nonetheless, appear to have a sort of symmetry all its own as it crawls over the hardened sculpture of muscles underneath.

Even in his disciplined body his heart races with anticipation, a reaction that could not be slowed, lustful desire for Amiryn overriding eons of training and control.

The last thing to go are the pants, pushed down to reveal a hardened length of him that nearly springs from its kept place as though the touch of her body had given it life, moving on its own as though it breathes.

The only thought in his mind is to, for the first time, utterly give in. Dominance in submission and submission in dominance. To experience every sensation he has been denied by a lifetime of servitude.

Slow steps taken to the bed upon which she lays, as he comes near, he drops to his knees, near looking as if he intends to pray.

Or, perhaps, prey upon.

His hands move over every inch of supple flesh, from her feet up over her shins, moving around to the calves to pull her legs wide with slow patience. Control won't be lost so easily, it seems, shown in the very deliberateness of his movements. Lips find and taste the smoothness of her thighs, his tongue lapping over her flesh to taste the sweet cream of skin as he moves so slowly upwards to the place they meet.

Along the way, punctuations of teeth against skin, sharp bites to flesh to feel the supple elasticity of skin between his teeth with agonizing slowness, moving every closer, closer, until lips and tongue find the joining place, soft, aroused flesh that parts under his lips and tongue and fingers as he tastes the very core of her.

"Let me show you the way... beyond all boundaries, beyond all pain... beyond all pleasure that can be imagined."

The rich dark wine of her voice fell in a smooth undercurrent as she gazed to him as she stood framed by the balcony window. The moonlight and shadows moved like clothing across her skin, caressed the marque of the briar rose that claimed her back.

Her eyes were smoldering with the afterglow of heat and passion, ignited with desire and the bond that chained them together.

"Let me know you again... to the point I would worship you with my lips, my tongue, my hands, my body."

Words a whisper, lashes smoothing low against the pale cream of high cheekbones, the exquisite features of the Anguissette.

"I only wish to touch you once more."

Speaking to shadows, artic blue eyes claimed their resting point where the shadows were thicker, heavier. Heady with power and the taste of need she knew so well.

This is what she was trained and skilled to do.

The night and moon would paint her flesh as a canvas, the scarlet mote that marred one depth of artic blue to become a drop of ruby jewels within depths.

Kushiel's dart. Kushiel's chosen. Never to know the sacrifice of life for pain was pleasure and pleasure was pain.

"Come to me again, Abryrdan... there is more you are meant to know, more I was meant to show you.. more that you were meant to show me. Seal the bond."

The weight of words held in a whisper.