Edited by Sprite_65 and bluetrain.
Since it starts out looking as though it might be a BDSM story, it is only fair to warn readers looking for stories of that type, that 'A Demon Made Flesh' contains little to no BD, D/s, or SM. 'Demon' will be a plot and character-centred fantasy story, which (as of July 2002) I am expecting to post in five chapters.
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Khulan stood in the centre of the room, biting her lower lip nervously as her prospective buyer circled her closely. He was pursing his thin, bloodless lips and making soft murmurs of approval and, more frequently, grunts of disapproval, as he judged her assets according to some internal standard of his own. She fervently prayed he would not buy her: malevolence seemed to ooze from his pores, filling the air, clinging to her skin like a film of grease. She cast a frightened glance at the slaver standing in the corner: it was only fear of inciting Ajai's wrath that prevented her from purposefully trying to displease the man as he examined her. Just the thought of angering him again made her shudder, the memory of the cruel bite of his whip still painfully fresh in her mind.
The slave dealer was also nervous: Lord Sechen had not been at all pleased with the other two girls the dealer had procured for him, and if the lord rejected this last one as well, Ajai knew exactly who would be taking the heat from his unhappy bosses. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but the movement did nothing to relieve his tension as he waited. Gods, could the old fool not just make up his mind and be done with it! Finally, unable to stand another moment of silently awaiting his fate, Ajai cleared his throat uneasily: "Well, my Lord? She was just purchased from her father a few weeks ago, and our best healer has confirmed that she is fertile just as your Lordship requested. Is she not a lovely young creature?" His tone was one more of pleading, than inquiry.
Lord Khuyildar Sechen had the air of one who is accustomed to being pleaded with, and disdained to so much as acknowledge Ajai's existence, continuing his slow inspection of the slave before him. He finally stopped his pacing directly in front of Khulan. With one bony hand on either side of her head in a vicelike grip, he forced her chin up, compelling her green eyes to meed his icy blue stare.
A closer examination of his appearance did nothing to reassure her: his white hair was pulled straight back and gathered in a leather thong behind his head, only serving to reinforce the impression that the tightly stretched skin of his face might split at any moment and peel away from the bone. She could not suppress a shudder of fear as she felt his eyes boring into her: she tried to pull out of his hands to escape his stare, her fear of Ajai momentarily forgotten in her instinctive need to get away from this man.
Khuyildar released the trembling girl, who stumbled backwards, and turned to the dealer. "She'll do," he said flatly, throwing a handful of gold at the slaver. A sneer of contempt twisted his face as the man fell to floor, scrambling after the coins and greedily clutching them to his chest. With a dismissive snort of disgust he turned back to the girl. "Come here, my pretty thing." His words dripped with the cloying sweetness of decaying meat, and he enjoyed the way she shrank away from him even as she forced herself to obey. He ran a pale finger down her cheek, "You're going to be a good little pet, aren't you my dear? You're not going to make me do bad things to you like some of my naughty girls, right, pretty?" He continued to move his finger down her neck and across her right breast, digging his long nail into her nipple until she flinched in pain. "Come then, little one," he said softly, his lips curving in what might have been a friendly smile, had it held the slightest hint of warmth. "Your chariot awaits to take you to your new home."
His words were not really meant as questions, but Khulan vigorously nodded her promise to be good nonetheless, not even wanting to think about what he might do to those who angered him. As she followed him out, and saw his 'chariot', she felt a deepening sense of dread. At first glance the beasts harnessed to the dark coach appeared to be horses, but she noticed that they had forked hooves and scaley, rat-like tails. Turning as one, they regarded her with glowing red eyes - eyes that marked them for what they were: demons. Her blood grew cold: she knew that only the most powerful of dark conjurors would dare to summon from the lowest level of hell, the abode of true demons. She wished fervently that her mother, the non-gifted daughter of a mage, had never taught her anything of the ways of power; she would have been much happier if she had not recognized what the presence of such creatures meant.
Khuyildar could see that, upon seeing his Najasi minions, the girl understood what he must be. He was pleasantly surprised: it was far more satisfying to toy with those who understood the true nature of the evil they faced. "So, you are a clever girl as well as pretty, and know something of us and our ways," her new master noted approvingly. "That is good, you will learn quickly and not waste too much of my valuable time." He was amused by the confusion her face betrayed. "What? Did you actually think my interest in a common peasant girl was sexual?" He gave a sneering laugh, "With one word I can have a dozen succubi naked and grovelling before me, each begging me more tearfully than the last, for the honour of merely gazing upon my cock. Ah, my poor, foolish little pet," he continued, his tone both patronizing and threatening, "I know how anxious you must be to win your master's favour. Rest assured that I have a special task set aside for you, my sweet one, one which you can truly hope to excel at." That said, he opened the door of the coach and gestured for her to enter.
Khulan stepped unwillingly into the red-velvet interior, and was immediately enveloped in a scent that must have been pleasingly floral once, but was now musty and stale. Taking a seat on one of the two upholstered benches, she could not suppress a shudder of revulsion at the way the plump cushions seemed to cling to her as she sank into their crimson flesh. The windows of the small coach were covered with shades, so Khulan spent the whole journey staring intently at the floor, her hands, and anything else that allowed her to avoid looking at Lord Sechen, all the while agonizing over what foul purpose he might intend her for. He, on the other hand, appeared quite content to pass the time silently watching her, like the owl might a mouse, and she could feel his cold gaze penetrating her very soul.
They rumbled along the city's cobblestone streets for a time, never slowing, the noise of the wooden wheels on the pavement drowning out all other sounds expect for the occasional angry cry as someone was forced to scurry out of their way. Soon the rough stones gave way to one of the deeply rutted roads leading out of town: these main thoroughfares were dotted with villages. Khulan listened intently whenever the sounds seeping in from outside indicated that they were passing through one of these hamlets, searching for any familiar voice that would tell her she was home once more. Desperate thoughts of darting out the door and back to the farm ran through her mind as she listened: surely her father would change his mind about selling her when he found out what sort of man had purchased her. Time dragged by, and with it her hope faded as the villages became less frequent and then ceased altogether. Only the occasional slowing down to make a turn now broke the monotony of the trip and, all hope of escaping vanished, Khulan stared miserably at her tightly clutched hands in her lap.
