Lifting her head slowly, she frowned as she looked around, her head aching, and it took her a moment to realise what was wrong with her vision. She wasn't seeing a blurred film of white; she was wearing a mask that covered her face and there was no way to get it off. She could feel two straps holding it in place, just like the Hunters used. Though unlike the Hunter's, a gag had been wrapped around her head, so tight that it was digging into the corners of her mouth.
Turning her head, she found herself chained to the foot of the bed, sitting on the floor with her arms behind her. A second chain attached her foot to it, just in case she managed to get her arms free.
It was hard to see through the white cloth and she twisted her head, trying to take in everything around her, but there was nothing to really make out. Just a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a door.
The walls were made of stone, the ceiling stone and the floor stone, all leading her to think that maybe she was still in the Hunter caves. Did that mean Vincent was around somewhere? Or Dainin?
Struggling with the cuffs, she strained and flinched when the bed made a loud screeching sound against the stone floor. She had alerted someone to her presence, a soft sound coming from another room, and after a moment, the door opened,.
Looking up, she found the form of Neah slinking into the room, and she frowned, glaring up at him.
He was only wearing his mask and a pair of black pants that hung low on his hips, revealing just how many cuts he had on his body. Much to her alarm, there were new ones on his hip and one on his shoulder, the knife still in his hand.
"Hi," he said softly, watching her for several seconds before he moved forward and crouched down in front of her.
Tilting her head up to squint at him through the white cloud that was the fabric, she found him to be masked as well and with a slight thrill of tension, she suspected hers had been modelled after his just as he had told her in the forest.
"You look so beautiful in that mask," he crooned.
She didn't like it at all, and she shook her head, unable to tell him what he could do with his mask.
That was what she got for wanting to believe Neah was simply misunderstood. He goes and kidnaps her. She should have listened to Vincent.
Reaching out, he lifted the mask up over her face and she glared at him, levelling the full force of her murderous fury on him.
"Now don't look at me like that," he sighed, stroking her cheek. When she turned away, he hooked his fingers in the fabric of her gag and tugged her head back around, his free hand lifting to tug his own mask up to reveal his face. "Don't be mad, I only wanted to show you how much I love you."
Jerking back from him, she shook her head, and he sighed, irritated by her stubbornness.
"Why do you have to be difficult?" he asked her, rolling forward onto his knees at her side and trailing his hand down over her arm. Reaching around behind her, he lifted out a healthy handful of her hair.
His face was tender as he picked out a smooth section and cut it free with his knife, looking down at the six-inch length in his fingers.
"So pretty…" he murmured, setting the knife down on the bed and picking a length of black ribbon out of his pocket. Placing the ribbon down on the bed, he carefully placed the length of hair down on top of it and tied the ribbon off in a neat bow.
"There we go, for my collection," he said happily.
Collection? Collection of what? Hair?
She found out a few moments later when he went to the wardrobe and pulled out a large, carved wooden box. Returning to her side with it, she looked down as it was opened, and she was horrified to see that it was filled with similar locks of hair in hundreds of different colours.
Sweet mother, Neah had done this before, hundreds of times with hundreds of people, the length of the hair suggesting women, but it was impossible to tell with the mythicals, many of the men had long hair as well.
Looking up at Neah, he frowned at her wide eyes as he set her lock of hair in the box and closed the lid, crossing the room to place it in the wardrobe.
"Now, don't look like that. I won't hurt you if you behave," he said, but she somehow doubted his honesty there. Judging by that box, she was somewhere in the range of one hundred, possibly two hundred, and she wasn't hearing or seeing the rest of those people.
Did he kill them? Was she in the room with a serial killer? Well, he was in the room with a serial killer, but she didn't collect parts of her victims; that was creepy beyond all measure. That was beyond creepy. That was terrifying.
Sure, she enjoyed killing like any other homicidal freak out there, but collecting mementos was something the human killers did. The ones who solely killed for the fun of it.
Looking up at him, she took in the sight of his bloodied shoulder and side, confused by the fact that he had mutilated himself and she had a sudden fear that it might have something to do with her.
She had heard of creatures like him before, the ones who enjoyed killing so much they did it solely for sport, but they had never come near her. So she, like everyone else in their world, tended to ignore them and pretend they didn't exist. But now she was faced with one and she had to wonder why the mythical community didn't have more heroes to deal with beings like Neah.
Kneeling back at her side, he reached out and gripped her head gently, pulling her towards him to kiss her forehead. The warmth of his skin made her shudder, wanting to cringe away from him, but she couldn't move at all.
"I just want you to be safe, and I want to love you," he murmured against her skin. She didn't know what he meant by loving her, but she wasn't overly keen to find out. With that in mind, she jerked her head back, then forward, and her forehead smacked into his lips.
He swore and fell back, both lips bleeding heavily while she struggled furiously with the cuffs that bound her. She didn't think they were iron; she didn't know what they were, but they were hot, and she strained against them, the bed screaming against the stone as she pulled against it.
Neah stood, his chest heaving and dripped with blood from his mouth, his eyes furious as he stared down at her.
She wasn't getting out, she knew she wasn't getting out, and still she struggled to get free, her wrists and hands aching with the pressure of the metal on her skin.
"Apologise!" he snarled.
She had been intending to ignore him, right up until the tip of the large knife touched her jaw and she felt her skin breaking under the pressure of the point.
Looking up at him, his jaw was clenched, and his teeth bared. It was a real threat when she considered all of those sharp teeth.
She couldn't apologise, not with the gag in her mouth. Instead, she nodded very slightly, whimpering as the knife slid along her flesh to leave a small cut that trickled blood down the blade.
He stared at her for a moment and then reached around behind her, releasing the gag. Glad to have relief from the fabric, she pushed it out of her mouth, her tongue dry as paper with all her saliva being stolen by the cloth.
The knife was moved away, and he looked down at it, then lifted it to his mouth. She watched with a horrified fascination as his tongue, black in the dim room and almost long enough to reach his collarbones, thick at the base and tapering down into an oddly sharp point that he used to lick her blood from the knife, his eyes turning speculative as he looked at her lips.
"Clean it up," he ordered.
Completely stumped on what he was referring to, she blinked up at him, his chin lifting slightly, and it took her a moment to realise what he wanted.
She didn't want to do that, not even slightly, but it was better than getting another kiss from his knife. Leaning forward, she slowly licked the blood from the point of his chin up to his lower lip. The taste of his blood on her tongue was electric and he growled as she obeyed him.
"Chest too," he breathed huskily.
Forcing herself to obey, she looked down at his chest. It was disgusting, perverted in a way that made her want to run away as far and as fast as she could.
Leaning down slowly, she licked away the drops of blood from his skin, and he shivered at the cold touch of her tongue on his chest.
"Good girl," he purred as she leant back, his eyes going down to her jaw. "My turn."
Leaning down, he dragged that disturbingly long tongue up the length of her neck and jaw, his saliva wet and hot on her skin, but it made him happy, and he nuzzled against her neck as his arms slid around her middle.
Inching himself closer, he pulled himself against her and nestled close, his body curled so that he could lean against her like a child.
Looking around the room, she was desperate for something to help her escape, but there was nothing, only the knife that was out of her reach. This wasn't the room they had been in before; this was a different room that smelt entirely different to her, less like him and more like stone and rotting flesh.