Prompt# 376 - Retribution- Thunder's Reach (cont.) - Tekia - Original

[tekia.livejournal.com]

Title: Thunder's Reach
Fandom:Original
Prompt: Retribution
Warnings: a bit of blood, ghosts, and pirates
Rating: pg-13
Summary: She came from a long line of famous pirates, and she was going to be damned if her little rat of a cousin took that fame from her.

Cirrus leaned close again, nearly touching their noses. This close, she couldn’t help but noticed how much he looked like her own father, his father, and their great-grandfather, the Thunder King. They all had the same black hair and sea blue eyes, only his were clearly tinged with greed and madness. She also knew that she had the same color eyes, and wondered if that same light shown in her eyes as she glared back at him, all the wrath and hatred she felt but was unable to vocalize.
His hand fisted in her hair. “After the ceremony, you realize that you’ll be nothing but a shell of what you are. Your mind and soul will belong to me.”
She kicked her legs, and he reseated himself astride her, his knees digging painfully into her thighs. “I might miss this spitfire attitude of yours, but I gotta tell you, the having you for a slave is so much more appealing.”
“And I gotta tell you,” a new voice said, “you need better occultists.”
Cirrus jumped in his skin, and his head snapped around. Just over his shoulder, she could see the faint blue glow of Sammrat Monsoon. She would deny the sound she made at the sight of him as a squeal of joy, but the emotion bloomed in her chest and brought tears to her eyes.
He was alive…
Well…
Back. He was back, in all his ghostly glory, his own familiar blue eyes bright with rage, his fists clenched at his sides.
Cirrus climbed off the bed, and she didn’t miss how his hands were shaking as they released her hair, letting the black strands fall into her face. He gave a disbelieving bark of a laugh.
“What are you going to do, ghost? You can’t touch me without your cat’s body. Which is floating in the ocean somewhere.”
Sammrat Monsoon tilted his head to one side. “Another life to add to the weight of my retribution.”
Growing bolder as the ghost didn’t move, Cirrus moved, his hand reaching for a knife sheathed at his belt. “Your retribution, your revenge, is outdated. What can you do to me that will save your soul? The priest will be here soon enough, and he will expel you as those fools had failed to do.”
“They expelled me from the cat, sent me back to my bones, but their magic was poor. And I have had many years to cultivate my powers. And to plot my revenge.” His eyes briefly flicked to her. “You know that knife won’t do anything to me.”
“Not to you, but you care for her,” Cirrus said, scorn dripping from his words. He sat back on the bed, now with her body between the ghost and him. The knife touched her neck. “What won’t you do, to spare her life, I wonder.”
And Sammrat Monsoon smiled. She felt Cirrus freeze at her side, the knife’s blade kissing her skin, blood welling up.
“In all my years of plotting and planning, I had never accounted for her. She changed the game, you see.”
“She usually does. Image how everything changed for me, when she was alive when I wanted her dead. She brought you back into the game, and that’s changed the rules.”
Sammrat Monsoon nodded. “Yes, yes it has. And my plans.” He ducked his head, hiding another smile. “I had planned to retrieve the artifact and return to my bones and move on to the next life. But now.” He caught Cirrus’ eyes with his own eerie stare. “But now I find that I want a life.”
Cirrus laughed. “Your years of being undead have addled your wits. You’re dead. You’ll never be alive again.”
“Not true,” Sammrat Monsoon protested, that cold smile back on his lips. “I was alive while I possessed the cat. And I’ll be alive when I possess you.”
Cirrus jumped again, and she gasped as the knife sunk into the skin of her neck even more. Before they could do much more than that, Sammrat Monsoon was moving, phasing through the bed and sending a cold shiver through her, he merged into Cirrus, the body flailing as the two soul fought over the host.
She could only watch, tied to the bed as she was, as Cirrus fell to the floor, low, wet grunts the only noise it was making. And then he sat up, bracing his arm on the bed, and burying his face in his arm. She watched in horror, wondering which one had won the fight, but unable to make a sound of her own.
And then he lifted his head, grinned at her, panting. “He really was weak of heart,” Sammrat Monsoon said in Cirrus’ voice. She huffed out a distressed noise and he reached out to pull the gag from her mouth. She licked her lips before speaking.
“We have to get out of here.”
He picked up the knife from where it had fallen beside her neck and began sawing at the ropes holding her. “I don’t think we do.”
“He has people coming.”
“And I’m him.”
“They’ll know you’re not him.”
He shook his head. “Maybe, but as far as they know, they expelled the ghost. I know enough about him I’m sure I can fool them long enough to get us to safety.” He sat on the bed as she sat up, rubbing her wrists. “I also had an idea.” He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing against her knuckles. “He wanted to marry you. Mayhap we can marry instead.”
She pulled her hand free to brush his hair out of his eyes. “He wanted a marriage in the old ways. Slavery more than marriage.”
“We can tell them you had a change of heart.”
She smiled and leaned forward. “Maybe I did.”