Azael's Chains

Price

When Hermione came to, the Death Eater was pumping into her-- again or still, she wasn't sure. Her body was a molten landscape of pain, a buffet from deep and throbbing to sharp edges. And he still had that cruel spell on her, the one that made her quake with unbidden pleasure.

He sighed against her, mouth pressing the heat of his breath through her hood and she felt herself dripping with his fluids. He was speaking incomprehensible words to her, stroking her reverently as he came down from the orgasmic high.

The hood was pulled from her head and light blinded Hermione's swollen, red eyes. She blinked and narrowed them to see the world. Dolohov disengaged from her and more of his seed ran down her thighs.

"Welcome back." His own eyes were heavy-lidded, the gaze of a leopard sated after the hunt. "Have you had enough, then, katyonok ?" She nodded, wincing at the chain of pain any movement brought. "You will be a good girl for me? Ah, say it, kitten."

Dry tongue rent across dry lips. "I will be good." His eyes flashed. "Antonin. I'll be good, Antonin."

He stroked damp, frizzing curls from her cheek. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

She was lowered slowly, toes scraping against the rough stone floor, and she hissed when her feet flattened on the floor. Her arches were on fire. And then the shackles on her wrists released and she collapsed.

The deeply masculine chuckle surrounded her as Antonin bent to gather her in his arms. She was shaking with the effort of controlling her own bodyweight, but he easily held her to his chest. He hummed Russian sentiments in her ear as he carried her up the stairs and to his ensuite.

He crouched and half-rested her weight on one knee as he turned the handle controlling the water. It spouted out in a steaming river of lilac scented water. He eased her into the tub and she wrapped her arms around her knees lest she fall apart, hissing as the hot water seeped into cuts and soothed deep bruises.

The water sloshed and then large arms tugged her between long legs. Antonin was holding her.

Hermione jerked away, lancing herself with the ghosts of her punishment.

"Shush, kitten. Let me take care of you." One hand flattened against her chest to tug her against his own. "I will not use magic to heal you, but I will take care of you regardless." He kissed her neck, rubbed raw from the hood, then took up a cloth and soap and began washing her from head to toe.

It was unscented soap, and he did not apply it to the burns directly, she noticed. His hands were thorough and tender, rubbing at stiff muscles and patting away bloody wounds. He hummed a strange song as he moved over her, tending to every part of her without hesitation, then he scrubbed himself efficiently.

"Hold tight, kitten. I will dry myself first." He did so with his wand, though he toweled her with a soft length of cloth, draping another around her shoulders after using it on her damp curls.

"Now sit still." Hermione sat back on the lid of the toilet as Antonin procured a tube of ointment and knelt before her. He smoothed the cooling gel over the burns of her feet as though he hadn't caused them himself. Between her toes and up her arches, little lines on her thighs, her chest. She had to stand, gripping one of his arms for dear life, for him to reach some,. But when he had catered to those and her knife cuts, he swept her up again and to his bed.

As Antonin pulled her to his chest and lavished affection upon her, Hermione's mind was curiously empty but for little thoughts that slowly swam to the surface. She found she could either ignore them so they sank below the surface once more, or she could reel them to her. It was peaceful but for the tenderness of her body.