Before U'W disbanded.
Trigger warning: death



Tariq'ra'd had been looking forward to spending a little personal time with the new kajira. Her sister had proved to be pliable--err, polite, and had settled in nicely (not that he understood why someone wanted a blind banu in the first place since it was such a boring concept). But the kajira? The kajira who blinded her own sister?

Tariq really was looking forward to getting to know her.

While the matter hadn't been officially decided, if Tariq couldn't break her she would likely be executed. Well, maybe it wouldn't have anything to do with that in the end. Regardless of how new they were to the pride, she had technically attacked a pride member. But if she was going to be executed anyway, Tariq could still have some fun beforehand, right? He had told the Sultan he'd put in his best effort, after all...

When he went to the prison they had been keeping the kajira (Lamya, was it?) in, he was pleased to see she was just as keyed-up as ever. She really was a wrathful thing. That was why Tariq was interested in her. It never turned off. Just like her. She was on all the time--always glaring, always snarling, always arched, always ready to kill...and she was beautiful. She was as enticing a package as Tariq had ever encountered, save for a certain lioness of his past who he was trying quite determinedly not to think about.

As Tariq moved away from the boulder covering the prison entrance, he heard the lioness spit something vile-sounding at him, though he didn't catch what. He doubled back and looked inside again.

"What was that, lovely?" he cooed, bringing about a predicted roar from the lioness. She answered him nonetheless.

"Will you kill me or not?" she snarled. Tariq grinned, though Lamya could only see his eyes through the gap.

"Are you so eager to die?" he asked.

"Are you such a coward?" the kajira snapped. "You and all the rest. You all really do have your s**t together if it takes you this long to decide whether or not to execute someone." She was trying to get a rise out of him, perhaps, or trying to mask her fear. Perhaps even both. But Tariq's eyes only squinted slightly in his mirth as he peered in at her.

"Who says we're deciding whether or not to execute you?" he asked sweetly.

"You mean to keep me here forever?!" Lamya cried, but the Vizier only snickered. Lamya lunged at the gap in the rocks, earning herself a mild start from the caught-off-guard male.

"YOU CAN'T HOLD ME!" the lioness roared. "YOU CAN'T! YOU WON'T!" She continued to scream through the gap, vowing to kill him, everyone, various obscenities and oaths, and so on. Tariq's expression was cold. He turned away and made his way back to the Sultan. He would advise him to cut her food. No meals for a while. Weaken her. Demoralize her. Let her suffer physically. And when she was weakened...Tariq would pay her a face-to-face visit.

And then the real fun would begin.


________________________


A week.

It had been a week since she'd eaten.

Hungry, tired, achy, cranky--no, spiteful.

Lamya paced around her prison, her fur unkempt and dusty, eyes sunken in but still lit with a passionate hate. She was ready to fight if she had to. She wanted to. She was waiting to. She would...

But the cowards weren't showing themselves. She was sure it was that dark male's doing. The pride had been ready to kill her, she knew that much. Somehow the dark one had put a stop to it. He was starving her. Weakening her...

"Dastard," Lamya growled, curling up on the worn ground. She was young and strong. She could survive much more than a week without food if she had to. With no way to escape her prison, all she could do was wait. She wasn't so desperate that she would take her own life. That wasn't her way. Much better to go out fighting...to die trying. And she would if given the chance--when she was given the chance. And she knew the time was coming. A week was a milestone. They would be back to check on her. He would be back to check on her. That pink-eyed lion, yes, he couldn't resist, could he?

"Disgusting," she mumbled into her paws. A fresh wave of anger washed over her and she stood once more. If she gave in and rested, it could be the end of her. She couldn't get careless. She had to be ready. Pacing helped. It kept her body in motion, kept her muscles awake, kept her mind working, thinking, plotting. The prison was small. It felt smaller all the time. Four walls, cold stone, stale air... She shook herself and quickened her steps.

"Enjoying your exercise?" came a seductive voice. Lamya reeled on it and was met with two pink eyes. She glowered and offered no response. The male seemed to regard her carefully for some moments, gaze roving, observing every inch of her. Despite the violation she felt, Lamya did not waver. "You're looking a little...tired," the black lion said finally, his hesitation over word choice making it obvious that Lamya looked a terrible state. He was trying to get to her, trying to chip at her confidence. He wouldn't succeed.

"And you still look like a pathetic coward," Lamya spat.

Tariq'ra'd grinned. The lioness was still so full of rage even after all this time without food? Maybe he had let the guards give her too much water? Or maybe she didn't need food or drink at all to fuel herself? Maybe all she needed was pure hatred? What a glorious concept. The itch within Tariq worsened.

"You're much more impudent than your sister," he said.

"THAT'S NOT MY SISTER!" the lioness roared. "I have no sister." There was such a finality to her words as to evoke some degree of reverence even from Tariq.

"How lucky for you, then," he said after a moment. "You have no one to miss you while you're locked up in here forever."

"I know you don't mean to keep me here forever," Lamya hissed, gold eyes two fires in the darkness. Tariq watched them, rapt. "You starve me, chastise me, deny me water, sleep, privacy, all to weaken my resolve. But you failed."

Lamya's heart was pounding, blood coursing, adrenaline zapping through her veins. She evened her breaths and kept tense, but not obvious. All was unfolding accordingly. She had been planning this, waiting, anticipating. The time was coming. Just a little more. She would succeed.

She would succeed.

"All you males act sooo mighty, sooo responsible," she counted haltingly, her hateful tone laced with mockery as she began to pace, "such dapper diplomats who get together in a big stupid circle and give big stupid speeches and pretend you know better than everyone else, that you're better than any lioness," she trembled angrily. Those two pink eyes were cold. Soon. "But you wanna know what I think?" Lamya was sure the pink eyes narrowed just slightly. She stopped pacing. "I think you're all scared. You know lionesses are stronger and smarter than all of you males put together. There are more of them than there are of you, your precious banus, but no, it's not the numbers that scare you because here I am, one lioness, and you're all so terrified that you stick me in a cage and avoid me and pretend you can weaken me, break me, but you can't, you COWARDS!" she roared.

Exquisite, Tariq thought. There was no other word to describe her. But she had no idea what he was capable of. He was much larger than her, and though his build was more lithe than bulky, he was much stronger than her, too. Especially now that she was hungry and weak--well...more so than before. She could hiss and spit and scream all she wanted, but the moment he sunk his claws into her, she would be powerless. All bark, no bite. He would break her. And he would enjoy it. Even if he had to kill her. A week was long enough. Getting approval or back-up be damned. He would break her now. He wanted to break her now.

He wanted her.

Lamya watched with bated breath as the boulder door was moved away just enough to fit a body through. The sound of rock grinding against rock set her hairs on end. A beam of light stretched into the prison and covered half of her where she stood, left eye watering in response. She was not used to the sun. But the light was soon blocked out by a pillar of shadow. A black tiger-striped lion stood before her, pink eyes sultry and watchful. He moved closer, closing the space between them. Lamya didn't move. They regarded one another in silence.

"I appreciate your honesty," Tariq finally said.

"Liar," Lamya spat, glaring through her bangs. Tariq smirked.

"Maybe," he said, "but not a coward." The kajira gave a single derisive laugh. "I'm in here, aren't I?" Tariq persisted. He contained himself with great effort. He could feel his muscles twitching at whim, his blood pulsing hotly. He was careful and collected, but he could flip his switch at any moment. And he would. But not yet. He liked the build-up.

"You will never be anything but a coward," the lioness rumbled. A spark lit the male's eye and he moved closer, pushing Lamya to retreat. The smirks and placidity had gone.

"I'm really getting tired of that word," Tariq said lowly. "I think it's time I teach you some new ones." Lamya never blinked, never flinched, only stepped back with each step forward the male took. She knew what he would do and what he wanted. But she wouldn't let him.

Tariq'ra'd took in the kajira's scent steadily, letting it fill his lungs and settle within him. He watched her grow closer to the dead end behind her, watched as her backside pressed against the wall, watched as he towered over her. He took his final step--and gasped sharply as his front paws sank deep into soft earth up to his elbows. Pink eyes locked with gold and Lamya used the back wall as a springboard, launching herself at Tariq's throat with gaping jaws. The force of the blow toppled the male onto his back, but not before something in his front legs cracked upon their forced release. Lamya savaged his neck mercilessly, claws anchoring his shoulders to the spot. He tried to roar with pain and shock, but only managed a strangled gurgle. As his back legs realized they needed to kick her off and started to, the lioness stopped her assault just as quickly as she had begun. In a flurry of dust, she was gone, leaving Tariq bloodied and fractured in her wake.

The vizier recovered slowly, dazed. He rolled to his stomach, blood leaking through clenched teeth. It sprayed and sputtered as he seethed. He watched the gap in the rocks, sunlight too bright to see out. He couldn't call for alarm. He hacked up blood and matter, scrambling to his feet, but his front legs would not obey. Pain shot through them and racked him with agony. Fueled by rage and denial, Tariq took to dragging himself, using his back limbs to push his weight out of the prison. When he was out, he attempted to stand again, but doubled over and spat up more blood. There was blood all around him. He was cold with it, hot with it. It was in pools and trails, dripping, following, drowning. Drowning.

He was drowning.

Eyes wide and disbelieving, he sought instead the horizon, the surroundings, looking for the shape of the lioness in all directions. He would kill her. But he couldn't see her. He couldn't see...no, it was hard to see clearly. His vision was blurring.

No, Tariq thought desperately.

He would kill her!

Pain and blood loss were taking their toll, smothering him in their cruel embrace. He felt their weight, felt them pushing his body lower to the ground. His eyes were heavy, his head clouded. The pain lessened. Someone would come. His banu...they would tend him. He had told them--no...he hadn't. But the Sultan. His banus...they knew. Someone would know. Someone would come.

Someone...










O'tep...










Tariq'ra'd closed his eyes.