Page 7 of Oh, Sacred Dark
Of course, those blissful hours of sleep had been a brief reprieve. It hadn’t been long until Roman had been informed that he was going to be shipped off to a new coven, to a new high witch and a new Dom and all the horrors that came with that.
Not for the first time, Roman had wished he had died the night Imber had been raided and shut down. That when his father had looked at him with the knowledge that his own son had betrayed him, he would have thought to stand up to him instead of hiding away.
But Roman had always been a coward. Had always managed, despite the odds, to survive.
Roman fought not to react as the door to the room he was in opened suddenly. From the corner of his eyes, he reassured himself that staying seated was appropriate, Cross and the man sent to take care of him, Lark, remaining in their seats.
The two men who had entered were Doms, the pulse of them scraping against Roman’s sensitive nerves. Archie, High Witch of Roman’s temporary coven, he had met. The other was introduced as Tyler, continuing this place’s habit of only offering first names. Roman wondered if it was a way to trick him into being overly familiar and then punish him for it.
Roman wished he could say that, in the fifteen years since presenting as a sub when he was eleven, he’d learnt how to handle Doms, but they were impossible to figure out in any consistent way. Some liked to give Roman clear rules that were impossible to follow, just to see him fail. Others liked to keep it vague so they could spring something on him he could be admonished for.
Roman had been punished for talking and not talking. For being presumptuous enough to kneel and not anticipating that his place was on his knees at all times. He’d been punished for thinking a Dom wanted one of his shitty meals, and for not knowing that of course dinner had to be made before they were back.
It was insanity, to try and follow the dips and valleys of a Dom’s desires. Roman had learnt to simply flatten himself out into nothing. To not speak until spoken to. To not do until ordered. To not exist until he was needed for something.
It annoyed some Doms, but mostly, it helped keep him out of trouble unless someone targeted him.
The Dom he’d been given to—Tyler—was a complete unknown. All Roman could read off him was intense dislike coupled with a severe Dom energy, which didn’t bode well for Roman.
Roman didn’t dare look at Cross as he was led out of the room. He had a crazy, fleeting thought of jumping out the window, of running away into the woods where nobody would ever hurt him again.
That wasn’t how the world worked, though. The reality was Roman following his new Dom to a bare room. Being told about food and linens, but not being given permission to eat or seek comfort—rewards, Roman assumed, if he was ever able to be good enough to achieve them. And then, being left alone in a strange room in a strange coven to wait to be needed for something.
Maybe they’d let him starve here. Maybe they’d let him rest.
It was a pretty thought, but it would never come true.
**********
The other main thing Roman had learnt about Doms was that they’d use whatever you gave them against you. There were no safe words, no hard limits—those were just things Doms used for punishments. Roman knew that the best thing to do was lock himself up in a stiff shell and try to feel the least possible. To curl into himself and protect whatever soft parts of him remained.
In his new prison cell, Roman tried to forget who he was. Tried to forget the taste of Chaos Magic that still lingered at the pit of his throat after all those months. How it had climbed through the coven bonds and turned his blood into syrup—thick and wrong and sluggish.
Tyler had visited once, looking angry, and Roman had held perfect posture even though he hadn’t dared kneel in case it invited something he wasn’t ready to deal with yet because he was weak, and stupid, always had been—
Hadn’t Roman’s father told him time and time again? Since the day it became obvious Roman was a sub and needed to be put on his knees, in hisplace. His father had been made High Witch, and Roman had known it was the beginning of the end, although he had assumed it was him who would end up losing.
Roman wondered if Tyler could tell, if that was what the Dom was reacting to. Roman tried to be nothing, but there was still something left to hate.
So Roman remained alone with his thoughts and his nightmares and, of course, the Drops that had plagued him for as long as he could remember, the worst kind of pain he’d ever felt. The worst kind of loneliness and loss, as if he were being held underwater and drained of his breathing, as if he were being pushed down to where it was dark and cold, where nothing could survive.
Where nothing could exist.
**********
It had been a Monday, the first time Roman had witnessed Chaos Magic.
It was a stupid detail to remember, but every detail about that day had been branded into him, the skin of his memory burning, hissing, aching still to this day.
Everybody knew about Chaos Magic, the same way people knew about murder and stealing and lying. It was a corruption of the balance which was innate to every other type of magic—of taking only what was given. Instead of reaching into nature, people could use sacrifice instead—the taking of life, of will, of body, of self.
Roman saw his coven rip things from people—not just skin and blood, but suffering of every kind—to be used for power. He could still feel the way the air had thickened with what they had been doing, a hollow humming that wouldn’t let Roman sleep, or eat, or breathe.
He’d lived like that for what felt like a very, very long time, until Cross had found him after one of his punishments and offered him the chance to fight back.
Roman had hesitated. He’d never forget that about himself. Despite everything he had seen, everything that had been done to him, fear still overcame him.
In the end, he hadn’t really had a choice—he simply couldn’t live in that place anymore.
